by Jane Tesh
“Jordan needs to see this map.”
Peterson wasn’t easily convinced. “How do I know you’re not the man we’re looking for?”
“Call Jordan and ask him.”
It took a few minutes, but Peterson managed to get his radio to work. Jordan’s voice was as rough as the static surrounding it.
“Tell him to get his butt across the street.”
Jordan waited in another alley beside Royalle’s. He scowled, arms folded. “Didn’t I tell you to keep away? What is so damned important? We’re trying to have a stakeout here.”
“This.” I unrolled the map and showed him the room above the Haymore Building. “If your man’s in there, he could pick you guys off one by one.”
As we both looked up at the Haymore Building, somebody jumped from the roof of Trilby’s Antiques.
“What the hell?” Jordan took out his bullhorn. “You on the roof! This is the police! Freeze!”
The slim figure, all in red and yellow, crouched on the rooftop.
Damn it, Tor. What are you trying to prove?
Then the figure turned and straightened. Hmm. Unless Tor had grown shorter and better looking since Tuesday, this was another man.
Wait a minute. First Kary and now—? This couldn’t be what I was thinking.
Jordan aimed his gun at the figure. “This is your last warning! Come down!”
The figure leaped easily to the roof of the next building and disappeared. As Jordan instructed his men to give chase, I stood for a moment, undecided. Then I got back in my car, raced home, and ran up the stairs. I crashed into Camden’s bedroom, expecting to find it empty, or Camden half-dressed, one foot in a yellow sock and a guilty look. He was rolled up in bed, asleep, his hair over his eyes.
I looked around, baffled. No red and yellow clothes strewn on the floor, no mask dangling from a doorknob. The window was closed. I turned on the bedside lamp and gave Camden’s arm several shakes before he woke up.
“What?”
“I want to see what you have on.”
He pushed himself up on one elbow. “Don’t you get enough sex without having to bother me?”
“Just get up.”
He pushed back the covers. He had on his usual worn white pajamas. “What the hell is all this about?”
“Oh, I had this crazy idea you might be the Parkland Avenger.”
He sat up and leaned back against the pillows. He sighed theatrically. “It was only a matter of time before you discovered my secret identity.”
“We had a sighting. The guy looked about your size.”
“Well, I must be pretty damn fast.”
“With your super alien DNA, anything’s possible.” Now that I thought about it, there was no way Camden could’ve gotten downtown and back, unless he had an accomplice who knew how to drive. “I’d better have another word with Tor—only this guy didn’t look like him, at all. There must be a whole flock of Avengers.”
He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Any theories on why I would be likely to join them?”
“Sublimating your feelings in regard to your inability to prevent Jared’s murder?”
I’m not sure what he would have said in reply, because at that moment, Mom came to the bedroom door, tying the sash of her—good lord—leopard patterned robe. “What are you boys up to? It’s almost midnight.”
I said, “Were we too loud?” and Camden said, “Sorry to wake you.”
She came in. “Sounds like a serious conversation. Is everything all right?”
“Fine,” I said. “I needed to discuss the Avenger case.”
“This late at night? Are you sure you weren’t having another nightmare, Cam? You two come downstairs and let me make some hot chocolate.”
We trooped down stairs to the kitchen and sat at the counter while Mom bustled about with the milk and chocolate syrup. Camden yawned and rubbed his eyes, but I was wide-awake. I had to rethink the case of the multiple Avengers. This Avenger tonight had been Camden’s size, which is to say, about five seven, a hundred and thirty pounds, the size of your average teenager. Some kid on a spree? Fraternity stunt? Super Teens Gang initiation?
Mom stirred the milk as it heated. “Now what’s so important about this case that it can’t wait until morning?”
“I had some information I wanted to share with Camden.”
“Next time, save it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Cam needs his sleep, and so do you.”
“Sometimes I stay up late working on a case.”
“It’s a silly case, anyway. As soon as this person gets tired of playing dress-up, he’ll stop.” She poured the syrup in and stirred some more. “You know I went by the hospital to see Brooke today. She agrees with me.”
Oh, man. More interfering. “Did she tell you who the Avenger was?”
“No, but it’s time for this nonsense to stop.” She poured the milk into mugs and set the mugs on the counter.
I took a drink. “How was Brooke feeling?”
“Much better. She hopes to be with us for Christmas—which reminds me. I need to get her a gift. What do you think she’d like?”
“A Parkie award.”
“Can you buy one somewhere?”
“Just kidding. If she’s going to keep on writing dangerous exposes, she’ll need a bullet-proof vest.”
Mom poured the last of the milk into her cup. “I still think all this Avenger stuff is a hoax.”
“Well, maybe somebody doesn’t like that.” The only person with his panties in a wad was Chance Baseford, and he’d never do anything as common as a drive-by shooting.
“What about all those unhappy people in ‘Your Turn’?” Mom asked. “Maybe one of them decided enough was enough.”
“That reminds me.” I got up and went to the pile of newspapers we keep by the door with our recyclables. I dug through the pile until I found several copies of the “Your Turn” insert. “I wanted to have a look at these.”
Camden set his mug down. “Have you uncovered a clue?”
“I’m not sure.” I brought the papers to the counter and looked through all the complaints: not enough school buses and dogs running loose and high taxes and low morals. It was all crap, but it sold newspapers. I remembered Ralph Galvin saying he wasn’t worried about another Sugar Baby story. Well, of course not. According to Brooke, he’d written that one.
Mom and Camden were waiting patiently for me to come out of my stupor.
“So what’s the deal with ‘Your Turn’?” Camden asked.
“I think it’s possible some or all of these stories are made up.”
“Even if they are, that’s not really a crime, is it?”
Mom looked skeptical. “Why would the newspaper people write that stuff? It sounds more like something a bored college kid would do.”
Some college boy playing a prank. Where had I heard that? The ladies of Hair’s Looking At You had said something like that, too, but they were talking about the Avenger, not “Your Turn.” And hadn’t I had the same thought tonight when I saw the Avenger leaping from the roof? I knew a college boy who thought superheroes were cool. I’d have to ask Sim Johnson where he was tonight.
I dumped the papers back in the recycle box. “I don’t know, Mom. I solve one thing and more mysteries pop up.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“Then Shall the Eyes of the Blind Be Open’d”
The next morning, Royalle’s was crowded, as usual, but I pulled Sim aside. “Want to help me with my investigation?”
“You bet!”
“Where were you last night?”
His eyes bulged. “Me?”
“Yes.”
“I was home watching TV.”
“By yourse
lf?”
“Mom was there. What’s this all about? You suspect me of something?”
“The Avenger was out and about last night.”
Oddly enough, Sim relaxed. “Oh, yeah? What’d he do?”
“Jumped around on the top of a building.”
“Didn’t solve a crime?”
“Nope.”
Now Sim’s expression was smug. He glanced around the store. I couldn’t figure out why. “Nothing, huh? Well, you can check with my mom. I was home all night.”
“Okay, thanks.”
He sauntered back to his place behind the counter, but the swagger wasn’t for my benefit. J.C. had come from the back of the store, holding a gift-wrapped box. Sim gave her a superior look. I gave her a closer look.
J.C., all in black, presented a very slim figure—almost boyish, one might say. I thought of the jokes she and Sim played and how competitive they were. I thought of her gym bag with the same team logo as Emmajean’s. When she went to wrap another gift, I followed her to the back counter.
“Hear about the Avenger last night? Saved a baby.”
She pulled a sheet of silver foil paper from the big roll. “Oh?”
“It was great. By the way, I told Sim, so I’ll tell you: your secret’s safe with me.”
“What secret?”
“I know Sim’s the Avenger. It’s okay. He’s doing a terrific job.”
The paper ripped sideways off the roll. “Sim’s the—” she stopped. “Oh, really? And he saved a truckload of babies, you say?” She threw away the torn paper and pulled off another piece.
“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. It was amazing the way he leaped from building to building, eluding the cops.”
She kept her attention on folding the paper around the box. She bit her lower lip. “How did you know it was Sim?”
“Something about the way he turned his head, his shoulders. I’m a professional, you know. I’m trained to notice these things.”
Now her lips were firmly pressed together. She chose a ribbon from the ribbon box and jerked it into shape.
I’d wound her up enough. “I know you have a lot of work to do. I’ll get out of your way.”
Back out in the store, I checked with Petey to see when the kids took a break. “You don’t mind if I hang around, do you? I’m thinking of getting a bracelet for my mother.”
“Always glad to have you here,” he said.
After about twenty minutes, it was break time. I wandered to the back and listened in. Sure enough, the kids were at it.
J.C.’s voice was a furious whisper. “It was my turn! What do you mean by going out?”
Sim’s voice was low and equally annoyed. “I didn’t! You can ask my mom! I was home watching TV all night!”
“Then why did Mister Randall say he saw you? What was the deal with the baby?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t go out. And he said the Avenger jumped around. He didn’t say anything about a baby.”
“I know you, Sim Johnson. You’re trying to get ahead of me. I’ve stopped three crimes, and you’ve stopped only two.”
“No, I’ve stopped three, and you’ve stopped two.”
“I saved that lady’s money!”
“Yeah, well, I kept that thief from cleaning out the store.”
“Shhh! Keep your voice down.”
There was an odd silence, and I wondered if they’d choked each other. I stepped in. Sim and J.C. had continued their argument via text, faces intent, fingers jabbing at their cell phones. I watched for a while, amused, as they texted and glared. I imagined the conversation was along the lines of “UR a Jerk!” and “UR2!”
The two teenagers noticed me and froze. J.C. was the first to catch on.
“You knew it was me all along.”
“No, but thanks for clearing that up.”
Sim rolled his eyes and gave her a punch on the arm. “Dope.”
“You’re the dope!”
I held up my hands. “Okay, okay. Truce. Give me the details, and I’ll make it easy on you.”
“It was my idea,” Sim said.
J.C. looked scandalized. “It was not!”
“Just tell me.”
She scowled, put her phone in her pocket, and crossed her arms. “After the first Avenger came out, we thought we could do better. I thought we could do better. Sim’s not the only one who reads comics.”
“We’re both good athletes.” Sim gave her a glare. “And it was my idea.”
Before J.C. could protest, I said, “Argue about that later. What do you mean, the first Avenger?”
They both snickered. “That bow-legged guy,” Sim said. “We saw him running up the alley about a week ago when we were leaving work. Then we read in the paper he’d dented somebody’s car. Well, you know how I feel about superheroes. They shouldn’t be the laughingstock of a city. So, J.C. and I decided to do it right.”
“The night Royalle’s was robbed, I stopped the crime,” J.C. said. “If it hadn’t been for me, the thief would’ve gotten everything.”
“How did you happen to be on the scene?”
She stared at me as if I’d stepped on her cape. “I was on patrol, of course.”
“Pardon me.”
Sim took up the saga. “Then the clumsy Avenger gets in the way of the police car. All our hard work for nothing. We had to go out again.”
“This time, I kept the thief from cleaning out Carlene’s,” J.C. said. “You did a nice job of misdirection, Sim, I’ll give you that.”
I was ahead of them. Every successful superhero outing had been Sim or J.C. The idiot events had starred Tor as the Avenger.
Sim took a piece of ribbon and wound it nervously around his finger. “How did you guess it was us, Mister Randall?”
“Well, let’s see. Two competitive kids, one on the gymnastics team, another one a skier.”
He stared. “How’d you know I was a skier?”
“When I met you in the record store, you mentioned you were on a ski trip when the robbery at Royalle’s happened.”
“J.C. was supposed to wait before going out.”
“Why should I?” she said. “It was my idea.”
Time to set these two straight. “No, it was Brooke Verner’s idea. You just improved upon it.”
J.C. was still peeved. “If I hadn’t been out that night, you think anything would’ve been left in the store the next morning?”
“The thief only needed a couple of things.”
I got two sets of round-eyed stares. Sim stopped playing with the ribbon. “You know who the thief is, too?”
“I know just about everything.”
He watched my face and decided to believe me. “We’re in big trouble, aren’t we?”
“I don’t know. From what I can tell, you’ve been helpful, but the police aren’t happy with citizens climbing buildings at night. You’re going to have to give up your little hobby.”
J.C. sighed. “Well, it was fun while it lasted, although it made me nervous last night when the police started yelling.”
“Next time, they’ll be shooting, J.C. I don’t want you or Sim in the middle of that.”
She glanced at the clock. “Break’s over. What are you going to do, Mister Randall?”
“I’m going to buy a bracelet for my mother, and you’re going to wrap it in the nice silver paper.”
She and Sim looked grateful. “Okay,” she said.
Sim knew there was more. “Okay for now, you mean.”
“You two have to promise me you won’t go playing Avenger again. The thief’s given up her life of crime, so you won’t be needed any more.”
J.C. was intere
sted. “The thief’s a woman?”
“And no longer in the picture. Promise, or I’ll tell Petey.”
This got them. “Don’t tell Mister Royalle,” Sim said. “He’s a great guy, but he’ll think something like this is nuts. He’ll fire us.”
I looked at J.C. “Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Come help me pick out something nice for Mom.”
She and Sim returned to work, considerably subdued. I picked out a bracelet for Mom, and on second thought, picked out one for Kary, too. J.C. wrapped them, I paid and left. My next stop was the hospital. I had a lot of news for Brooke. Not one, not two, but three Avengers had kept Parkland in thrall. I’d have to remember to tell Camden I’d actually used the word “thrall” in a coherent sentence.
***
“Three Avengers?” Brooke shook her head in disbelief. “A great story, and here I am, stuck in bed. I wish you could tell me who the other two are.”
I pulled up a chair and sat down. “It doesn’t matter. They’ve retired. Besides, I think there’s a bigger story. I talked to the museum curator. Ralph Galvin was in charge of fund raising for the museum’s bicentennial, and a few dollars went astray.”
She took a deep breath. “I didn’t know about that, but I had my suspicions about Ralph Galvin being the author of all those stupid ‘Your Turn’ stories. I really respected him, David, but I recognized his style right away. When you work on a newspaper, you get to know how people write, certain phrases they use, even the way they indent their paragraphs. At first, I thought it was a joke, or maybe he was trying to get things going, but then, he was writing all kinds of inflammatory stuff, like that letter about the school teacher. I don’t know if you remember that. She was teaching a book some people didn’t like. Galvin almost got the woman fired.”
“Is he that worried about circulation?”
“No, I think it’s a power thing. He’s afraid Baseford or one of the other really good writers is going to take over.”
“So you confronted him about it?”
“I asked him what was going on with ‘Your Turn,’ that it seemed to have taken a turn for the worst, excuse the pun. He said it was none of my business, to keep writing about the Avenger. When I said I was tired of lying, he said he’d be glad to fire me and let someone else do the lying.”