Okay, I thought, with a sigh of relief. This isn't so bad. I'd have to start checking palms, see if any of the Star Seekers were hanging around Peacock Flats and watching out for me. What I heard next blew away my happy thoughts.
"The second group is called the Trimarks. They are identified by an inverted triangle on their palms, the sign of an evil, twisted personality. The point of the triangle faces downward toward the wrist and may appear anywhere on the palm partially or fully formed. The most dangerous of the Trimarks have a perfect inverted triangle located where the head line and fate line intersect. Trimarks have varying degrees of supernatural ability, but they share a single philosophy: 'What's mine is mine. What's yours is mine. And I will take it by whatever means possible.' "The Trimarks may be white-collar criminals or common thugs. They're dangerous and unpredictable but all of them have the uncanny ability to relate to their victims using charm, vulnerability ... whatever works to gain that person's trust.
"Allie, here's the part that affects you; they know about the moonstone. They want it. It's possible they know you have it.
The speaker paused again. I realized the airplane fantasy wouldn't cut it. I needed a rocket ship to carry me to another planet. The sudden chill I felt had nothing to do with the soft May night and everything to do with the impenetrable shadows next to the barn. I continued to listen as I stepped inside the trailer, shut and locked the door. I dived onto the couch and pulled the comforter over my head, the phone still pressed to my ear.
"The Trimarks have devoted their lives to chaos and evil, hoping to profit as a result. They were at the crucifixion of Christ, the Nazi death camps, the Kennedy assassination, Hurricane Katrina. One can only imagine what might happen if they get their hands on the moonstone. Trust no one. Remember ... you are the maid who's strong of mind.
On that note, the eerie voice ceased, and I heard nothing but static. I dashed out from under the covers and buried the phone at the bottom of my backpack.
Sleep did not come easily that night. The night sounds I usually found to be soothing morphed into something far more sinister. In my troubled state, the wind in the trees blew to disguise the sound of approaching footsteps. A car door slammed. Had a carload of Trimarks pulled into the driveway? A tumble weed, tossed by the wind, brushed against the side of the trailer like clawed fingers scrabbling for an opening.
Not only was I scared out of my wits, I didn't have the moonstone. What if I'd broken some cardinal prophecy rule, and the result would be chaos and destruction? It was too horrible to think about. Though I tried desperately to ignore it, a seed of dark suspicion began to sprout, its tangled roots spreading like poison. Junior. His reluctance to let me see his palm. Junior. Who now had the moonstone.
When my exhausted mind finally gave up, I drifted off to a landscape of nightmares in which every single person I knew appeared before my eyes like some weird, psychedelic slide show. Faye, Mercedes, Manny, Patti the bus driver, Cory Philpott, Junior, Mrs. Burke, Diddy, Mike Purdy, Mr. Hostetler and more. One by one they paraded through my dreams. The pounding of my heart provided the percussive background for the message I could not forget. "Trust no one.
* * * *
Saturday. Dump day once again, which suited my frame of mind. Crappy. I was sleep-deprived and worried sick. Since Faye no longer had her fake illness she was free to drive, even though I was now the proud possessor of a Washington State Learners' Permit, thanks to Deputy Philpott.
We hitched up the trailer and headed for Friendly Fred's. I considered using the mother-daughter time to fill Faye in on the whole thing. The cell phone. The Trimarks and Star Seekers. My doubts about Junior. I needed to unburden myself. I decided to play it by ear.
We took a side trip to the post office so Faye could mail her special package to Big Ed, even though I tried to talk her out of it. That's when all hell broke loose again. I don't know why, but when Faye and I were together in the pick-up, disaster followed. Bad karma, I guess.
The post office parking lot was jammed with cars. It was a small lot with an entrance at one end, the exit at the other, designed to get people in and out quickly. It wasn't designed for Faye and I pulling our house behind us.
Even though it was Saturday, the lobby was open so people could access their post office boxes. Faye handed me the package. It was plastered with enough stamps to send it around the world and marked "CONFIDENTIAL," in big, black letters.
"Just scoot on in there and drop it in the outgoing mail.
There's no place to park, so hurry.
"Yeah, yeah." I was tempted to dump the package in the nearest trash can.
"Lose the attitude!
I slammed the door and moseyed into the post office. Mrs.
Burke, carrying an armload of mail, was coming out. "Allie!" She was delighted to see me, as usual. Part of me hated what I did next, but I had to know. I waved Faye's package.
"Could you hold this for a sec? My shoe's untied." Mrs. Burke, always accommodating, stuck out her hand, palm up. I bent over to re-tie my still tied shoe and got a gander at her palm on the way down. Sigh of relief. No inverted triangle. No star. Nothing unusual at all.
"Thanks, Mrs. Burke," I chirped.
"How's your friend, dear? Has she improved at all?" I was about to answer, when I heard honking horns and yelling coming from the parking lot.
"Gotta go. Catch you later." I shoved Faye's package through the mail slot and hustled outside. "Oh, no," I groaned.
A huge semi, loaded with hay, blocked the exit lane. Our pick-up and trailer stretched from one end of the tiny lot to the other, effectively keeping all the cars from backing out.
Faye was yelling at the truck driver, who was tightening the tie-downs holding a giant tarp in place. He pretended to be deaf. The people who were blocked in their parking spaces began to mutter and curse. I spotted a couple of kids from my class, pointing and laughing. My face burned with embarrassment.
Mrs. Burke ran up to me. "Oh my goodness, what a mess!
Can your mother back the trailer out into the street? Once she's out of the way, the rest of us can get out.
Faye had a number of talents, but backing a truck and trailer wasn't one of them. I pointed at the truck driver. "He's the one messing things up. Why can't he move?" "His motor conked out," somebody yelled. "Back the trailer out!
I trotted over to the driver's side. Faye sat, staring straight ahead, clutching the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white.
"You have to back up, Faye. People are getting mad." "You know I can't back.
"Yes, you can," I insisted. "I'll tell you which way to turn the wheels.
I tried to sound confident, even though my backing ability was more pathetic than Faye's. We usually planned our route so we could pull forward at all times.
After Faye managed to get the trailer jack-knifed, and all I wanted to do was bury myself under the load of hay, Deputy Philpott arrived. Of course.
"You two, again?" I could tell he was trying to act all tough and disapproving. But I saw a brief smile beneath his billygoat whiskers.
Faye clutched her throat and fluttered her eyelashes. "Oh, thank God you're here. Can you help me?
A blush bloomed on Philpott's lean face. "That's why I'm here, ma'am. Just slide on over.
Yeah, it was sickening. By the time we were on our way, I couldn't resist saying, "You just had to mail that stupid package, even though I told you not to. You knew that parking lot was too small for the trailer.
"Oh, give it a rest, Allie. It's over now. No harm, no foul." "Oh, really?" I shrieked.
"What the hell's the matter with you?
And so it continued, all the way to Friendly Fred's and back home. By then, I was so angry there was no way I would confide in Faye.
We parked the trailer and hooked up the water and electricity without speaking a word. I made a peanut butter sandwich and sat outside with a book. Sometime later, Faye came out of the trailer.
"I'm driving to Vista V
alley to see about a job. If you want, I'll drop you off at the hospital.
Her voice was subdued, apologetic. I cleared my throat and closed the book, but didn't look at her. "That would be great. Thanks.
She dropped me in front of the hospital. "I'll pick you up here in an hour.
I nodded and shut the door, carefully this time. I watched her drive away and decided, when she came back, I'd tell her about last night. The Trimarks. The Star Seekers. I needed to talk to somebody, and Faye was all I had.
Chapter Twenty
The third floor was teeming with visitors, some somberfaced, others laughing and joking. A toddler ran down the corridor, an older brother giving chase. As I walked past the nurses' station, I looked for Nurse Haugen. But the ferocious little blond was on duty today, the one A. Haugen called the night nurse. Her gaze swept over me, lingering on my feet. The bloody-foot-dirty-flip-flop story must have spread through the hospital like wild fire. Thankfully, my feet were squeaky clean and clad in sneakers. I guess I passed inspection, because she returned to her paperwork.
One door down from Kizzy's room, a woman began to wail, the volume increasing exponentially as the pitch grew higher. I clapped my hands over my ears, wondering how people could get well in a place like this. They probably died just to get some peace and quiet.
When I got to Kizzy's room, the door was closed. My overactive mind began to dream up possible reasons for this anomaly. Like I'd walk in and see an empty bed as I did before, or find Kizzy lying dead with a sheet pulled over her face, or see a team of doctors and nurses wielding scary medical implements, standing around her bed yelling, "Stat! Stat!"
Such was my state of mind when I opened the door a small crack and peeked in. Two people stood by the window, deep in conversation. My first thought was, Wow, what a good-looking couple. Both tall and blond. Both well-dressed.
Could be movie stars. A millisecond later, my reluctant brain caught up, and my heart leaped from my chest into my throat. Christian Revelle and the real Carmel Tigani were in Kizzy's room with their heads together, no doubt having a nice little chat about Revelle's rendezvous with the fake Carmel and puzzling out who was behind that little scheme. From their expressionsCarmel's sneer, and Revelle's flushed face and jutting jawI gathered they knew ... C'est moi!
Revelle's eyes flicked over to the door and narrowed suspiciously. Panicky, I stepped back into the hall, pulled the door shut and took off at a dead run, knees high, arms pumping like some crazy cartoon character churning up clouds of dust. I peeked over my shoulder to see if Revelle was a step behind me. He wasn't. A crowd of people stood by the elevator. I briefly considered joining them, the whole safety-in-numbers thing. But what if Revelle strolled out of the room and darted into the elevator at the last moment? If he was a Trimarkand I was pretty sure he washe would grab me and convince our fellow passengers I was his out-ofcontrol, junky, teenage daughter. Heck, they'd probably help Revelle load me into his Escalade.
Skirting the crowd, I headed for the stairs. I slammed through the door and crashed into a tall, thin guy wearing scrubs and carrying a large drink in one hand, a sandwich in the other. With a grunt of surprise, his hands flew up as we collided. Our arms and legs flailed frantically in an effort to keep from falling down the stairs. We ended up in a tangle of limbs pressed up against the wall, his sandwich mashed against my chest. The soft drink cup landed upside-down on the concrete stairs in a violent explosion of ice and cola.
"What the...!" the guy yelled as I tried to extricate myself. "So sorry," I gasped. "Emergency.
I jerked free and started down the stairs, one hand holding
the railing, the other picking the bologna sandwich off my chest. I really did feel bad about the guy's lunch but then again, maybe the spilled cola and ice would slow Revelle down.
I'd just reached the second floor landing when I heard a door open above me and men's voices. Could it be Revelle asking the scrubs guy if he'd seen the teenage girl who'd lifted his wallet and run away? In a matter of time, security would be looking for me.
I picked up speed, taking the stairs two at a time, almost dizzy from rounding the corners so fast. Later I kicked myself for being so stupid. I should have popped out on the second floor and ducked into an empty room. But no, Allie was scared spitless and the only thought in her head was, "Run! Run!"
I kept going until the stairs ran out. I burst through the door and looked for the main entrance, but nothing was as I remembered. No gift shop. No espresso bar. No cheery volunteers pointing the way to the elevator. Disoriented, I took in the confusing maze of dim, unfamiliar corridors with growing panic. Where in the hell was I? Or ... was I in hell?
Deep breaths, Allie. Calm down and get your head on straight.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard a "ding," and the elevator door began to slide open. I froze in my tracks and prayed it wasn't Revelle. Sometimes God listens. The door opened to reveal a middle-aged couple. The man started to step out. The woman grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back.
"For crying out loud, Frank, we're in the basement. You pushed the wrong button.
Okay, I was in the basement. In my haste, I'd missed the first floor. My relief was short-lived when I realized I'd compounded my problem. If I galloped back up the stairs to the first floor, I might encounter Revelle running down the stairs. I'd have to hang around the basement for a while until the coast was clear.
I looked up and down the hall. No patient rooms to duck into. Just solid doors leading to God knew what! Probably dead bodies and harvested organs. The very thought made me queasy. Maybe I could find a restroom to hide in. I was on that very quest when an official looking woman with glasses on a chain around her neck and a pencil behind her ear came around the corner, stopped dead and fixed me with a stern look.
"Are you looking for the main entrance?
Before I could answer, she covered the space between us in two long strides, grabbed my arm and marched me toward the elevator. I tried to pull away, but she clung to me like a crab on steroids.
"Oh, don't bother," I babbled as she dragged me along, her steely fingers digging into my upper arm. "Just go about your business. I'll find my way out.
The elevator door slid open and we stepped in. I really didn't have a choice unless I clocked her a good one, but that would just make things worse.
"No problem," she said. "It happens all the time. People hit the wrong button and think they're on the first floor...
I found out why she had a death grip on my arm when the elevator doors opened. A chubby, baby-faced security guard and the guy whose lunch I'd ruined stood side by side in front of the elevator. "That's her!" The scrubs guy said. "She's got mustard on her chest.
Apparently, destroying an employee's bologna sandwich was a hanging offense at Regional.
The woman released me and strode away.
Desperate to get out of the limelight, I lifted my hands helplessly and smiled at the security guard, whose name tag read "R. Johnson.
"Listen, R, I'm really sorry. If I had any money, I'd buy him another sandwich.
R. Johnson blushed. "My name's Reggie. They only put the first initial on the name tag. Saves money, I guess.
I fluttered my eyelashes a la Faye. "Oh really? I didn't know that.
Scrubs Guy shifted his weight from one foot to the other and cleared his throat.
Reggie drew himself up and tilted his head back so he could look down at me. "Young lady." His voice was a full octave lower. "You cannot run in the hospital, especially on the stairs. Someone could have been severely injured.
I nodded briskly, hoping he'd get the hint and hurry it up. When he continued to stare at me without speaking, I prompted, "And...
The pump was primed, and the words poured out. I glanced up and down the hall while he droned on about "reckless abandon" and "insurance claims.
This wasn't good. We were drawing a crowd. The back of my neck got that crawly feeling. What if Revelle was on his way down? He'
d step out of the elevator and find me there, gift-wrapped and tied up with a bow.
But Revelle didn't take the elevator. He took the stairs. The door to the staircase was down the hall to my left. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a door open. Revelle stepped out and looked around like he was trying to figure out which way to go. I gasped and slid behind Reggie's bulky body, looking around frantically for a hiding place. When my gaze landed on the sign pointing to the chapel, I knew I'd found my salvation. No God-fearing Americanwhich I was pretty sure included Reggiewould deny me this inalienable right.
"Reggie!" I cried. "I need to pray. You know, ask for God's forgiveness.
I whirled and headed for the chapel. Reggie trailed behind. With a snort of disgust, Scrubs Guy wandered off.
I slid into a wooden pew next to a middle-aged woman, folded my hands and bowed my head. R. Johnson sat next to me. I prayed Revelle wouldn't find me there. I really did. Pray, I mean. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably only five minutes, Reggie's pager went off. He leaned toward me and whispered, "Gotta go. Remember our little talk, okay?
After he left, I counted to one hundred and stood. The woman next to me took hold of my hand and murmured, "God bless you, child.
Her face was so sweet, her words so sincere, I felt a pang of guilt for using this sacred place for my own selfish needs. I thanked her and tiptoed out.
After making sure the lobby was Revelle-free, I dug around in my pockets for change and went in search of a pay phone. I had to warn Junior. Last night, I'd added him to my list of possible bad guys. And, he did have the moonstone. But, in the clear light of day, I'd seen it differently.
If Junior was a Trimark, would he go to all the trouble of finding a fake Carmel to meet with Revelle? I didn't think he would, and I had to trust somebody. I had to let him know Revelle was on to us.
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