I was still puzzled over Revelle's comment about "the kid," as in, "The kid said Allie hasn't been wearing the moonstone." Clearly, he wasn't referring to Junior, since Revelle called him by name in the very next breath. Other than Kizzy and Faye, I'd told nobody else about the moonstone. Of course, that meant nothing in light of what I'd been told last night.
"The Trimarks know about the moonstone. They want it. It's possible they know you have it.
I stopped suddenly and thought about the ramifications. Surely Trimarks did not pop into the world fully grown, any more than Star Seekers did. If I was a Star Seeker, there could be teenage Trimarks hanging around John J. Peacock High School. But who? Cory Philpott? No way. The message said Trimarks could be charming or vulnerable, anything to win a person's trust. Cory was just plain obnoxious. I'd known Manny and Mercedes all my life and they were no more Trimarks than Blaster the bull. Matt? Possibly, although his charm was wearing thin.
The gathering darkness nipped at my heels. The wind rising from the north tried to blow me back to Willow Lane. I broke into an all-out run, hoping to get home before pitch dark and/or the storm moved in. When I heard the sound of a tractor coming up behind me, I glanced over my shoulder and spotted the old guy who'd been feeding his cows. He pulled up beside me, and we chugged along together at the same pace for a while.
Finally, he said, "Hold on there, girlie," and hit the brakes. I stopped and put my hands on my knees to catch my breath.
He spat a stream of tobacco juice and scowled at me. "The name's Willard. You're gonna get yourself killed out here in the dark. Where ya headed?
I assessed the situation. The flat bed wagon behind the tractor was now empty. And since Willard looked about two hundred years old, I figured he wouldn't try any funny stuff. Most of all, I was too just too tired to take another step. "Sir, do you know where Sid and Sandra McNeil live?
He cackled, then adjusted his upper plate, displaced by his burst of hilarity. "Course I do. Climb on the wagon, girlie. I'm slow but steady. Nothin' runs like a Deere!
He cackled again Truthfully, I could have jogged home faster, but "slow and steady" was a whole lot safer than running down a country road in the dark on a Saturday night. I was grateful for the ride. Willard stopped in front of Uncle Sid's house and gave me another lecture, something about "young girls out after dark." If he only knew that was the least of my worries.
I thanked him and trudged down the driveway toward the darkened trailer. The truck was in its usual spot. I opened the door and switched on a light. No sign of Faye ... or Roy.
I looked around for a note. Faye always left a note. Not this time. I figured she was still mad about the way I acted in front of Roy. Maybe they'd gone out for dinner and a movie. I tried to be happy for her. She'd been out of the dating loop for a long time. I fixed another peanut butter sandwich and curled up on the couch, too exhausted to think about the strangeness of the day.
At two in the morning, a hard rain pelted the metal roof of the trailer, the sound weaving seamlessly into my dream. I was marching down Peacock Flats Road, beating a drum and leading a parade of John Deere tractors when a Hispanic woman burst from the crowd of onlookers, shot me in the face with a squirt gun and screeched, "Bad girl! Always chasing my Junior!
The blast of cold water running down my face turned out to be rain blowing in through an open window, not a squirt gun attack by Senora Martinez. I closed the window and dried my face with a dishtowel. Still groggy with sleep I wondered if Faye had come in and decided not to wake me. She hadn't. I pulled the shade to one side part and looked outside. Nothing had changed.
Okay, I was now officially worried. Never, in the entire fifteen years of our bizarre mother-daughter relationship, had Faye left me alone at night. Never. Ever. She has strong feelings on the subject and never fails to express them, especially when I'm bummed about something.
"Allie," she'd say. "I may not be the best mother in the world, but you're stuck with me, and I'm sticking to you like Elmer's Glue. That's how it is. That's how it will always be. So, get over yourself.
Wide awake now, I listened to the sounds of the night, imagining danger in every variation. Why had the frogs stopped croaking? I'd always felt safe in our snug, little home. Cramped and inconvenient, but safe. I glanced at the door and its flimsy lock, the windows I'd climbed through more than once when Faye misplaced her key. Might just as well put out a sign saying, "Come and get me. Don't bother to knock.
I went to Faye's bedroom, sat on her bed and tried to fight the panic rising within me like an oncoming wave.
Deep breaths, Allie. Relax and breath deeply, so you can think, make a plan.
As my heart rate slowed, my brain began to function again. If Faye wasn't home by morning, I'd talk to Uncle Sid. Check and see if he saw Faye leave and with whom. If he had no answers, I'd use Trujillos' phone and call Cory's dad. Though I didn't want to think about it, maybe she'd been in an accident.
I crawled under the covers and buried my face in Faye's pillow. It smelled like the baby shampoo she used on her blond, flyaway hair. My throat ached with the effort of holding back tears, so I quit fighting and let them flow. Never had I felt so helpless and alone. My life had spun out of control since the day Kizzy placed the moonstone around my neck. I was traveling down a twisted trail without a map, a journey with no destination.
I rolled onto my back and held my hand up to the light. I caught a tear on the tip of my index finger and touched it to the star on my palm. Why, of all the people in the world, had the fates chosen me? Why was I the one with the Gift, a gift I didn't want?
I was just a kid and, right now, all I wanted was my mother.
* * * *
At exactly seven a.m., I woke up, face down, on Faye's soggy pillow, still dressed in yesterday's clothes. I splashed cold water on my face and changed into jeans and a tee shirt. The wind had picked up where the rain left off. I opened the blinds and watched a tumbleweed bounce down the driveway and come to rest against the pickup.
Uncle Sid was an early riser. I'd probably find him in the barn or leaning against the fence, talking to Blaster. I grabbed a sweatshirt and opened the door. A gust of wind caught the door and pulled me forward. I held tight, teetering on one foot, reaching for the step with the other. I looked down and stopped mid-stride. A plastic sandwich bag weighted down by a rock had been placed on the cement block step.
Puzzled, I hopped over the step and closed the door. When I moved the rock and saw what was in the bag, the air whooshed out of my lungs. Faye's locket ... the locket she removed only to take a shower ... the locket holding my baby picture. With shaking hands, I opened the baggie and pulled out a piece of paper, folded in half. My name wasn't on it, but I knew it was for me.
I read, "Go to the phone booth at Tom's Corner Market. Wait for a call. Tell no one. We'll know if you do.
An inverted triangle was scrawled at the bottom of the note.
Still clutching the locket, I ran into the trailer to get the pick-up keys. They were gone. Frantic to get to the phone booth, I flew out the trailer and started down the driveway. That's when I spotted Tiffany's Barbie bike leaning against Uncle Sid's house. Although it was made for a ten-year-old, it would surely be faster than running. With any luck, I'd have it back before it was missed.
I hit the road, pedaling furiously against a stiff wind. The seat was too low and my legs were too long. I must have looked like a dork, hunched over the tiny bike, pink streamers flying from the handlebars, knees bobbing up and down like pistons. I didn't care. I needed to get to Tom's Market before something awful happened to my mother.
Twenty minutes later, out of breath and scared out of my wits, I hopped off the bike and pushed it across Tom's asphalt parking lot. I was heading for the phone booth tucked up next to the store when my right calf muscle seized up in a fiery ball of pain. I groaned and leaned over to massage it.
"Hey, Allie, how's it hangin'?
I knew that voice and stifled a groa
n. "Call me Diddy" was standing in the door of Tom's Market, clutching his groceries in a cloth, re-usable bag.
"Cool bike," he said, walking toward me.
What kind of idiot would think I owned a pink Barbie bike? Diddy, that's who.
"It's not mine," I snarled.
But Diddy was not deterred. "You got a cramp?" he asked, stepping out of the store.
I muttered a very bad word under my breath and kept rubbing. Diddy blinked rapidly several times and added, "Probably because the bike's too small for you.
Immobilized by the throbbing pain in my leg, I was forced to make conversation. "Your mom lets you shop here? I thought you vegans only bought organic stuff.
Diddy blushed and held up the bag. "We needed rice.
I straightened up and gingerly tested my right leg. Yes! I was cramp-free and soon to be Diddy-free.
"Gotta go, Diddy. See you around.
I limped over to the phone booth. I stepped inside and watched Diddy meander across the parking lot. He turned, gave me a goofy smile and dug a cell phone out of his pocket. Probably calling his mother because he was too lazy to walk home..
The inside of the phone booth was filthy, littered with empty beer bottles, fast food cartons and unopened packets of condiments. It stunk of old grease and rancid sweat. I stared at the phone, willing it to ring. Fifteen minutes crawled by. Two people drove up and wanted to use the phone. In anticipation of this happening, I'd opened a packet of catsup and smeared it on the phone.
"Bloody nose," I said, pointing at a red stain next to the dial. "I've got hepatitis B. My mother went to get disinfectant.
Consequently, I was the only one around when the call came through. I lifted the receiver and held it to my ear. "This is Allie.
"Okay, Allie, listen up." Revelle's voice was low and menacing. "You give me the moonstone, and mama gets to go home.
My hand clenched convulsively around the receiver. "Let me talk to Faye.
"Why would I do that?
"Maybe you killed her and dumped her body somewhere." I almost choked on the words.
"Hold on a minute.
Revelle's voice was muffled like he had a hand over the mouthpiece.
"Hey, Baxter. Allie wants to know if her mother's still alive. Take the tape off her mouth for a sec.
I heard footsteps followed by a brief pause. Then, the scrape of a chair, the sound of a blow and my mother's piercing scream. The receiver slipped from my nerveless fingers and banged against the wall. I was shaking so hard, I had to use both hands to grasp it.
I heard Revelle laugh." Sounds to me like she's still alive.
The cruel indifference of Revelle's laughter while Faye screamed in pain tapped into the part of myself I'd tried desperately to deny. Last night, I'd been a scared little girl who cried for her mother. That girl was gone. Like a flower bursting into bloom, my heart opened and accepted the gifts I'd been given. At that moment, I became Allie, the strongminded ... Allie, who'd proven her mettle three times ... Allie, the star seeker who would fight Revelle with every ounce of power she possessed.
"Put Faye on the phone or I'm hanging up." A half-baked plan was already forming in my mind.
Revelle sighed. "Oh, please. Do you really think you're calling the shots?' "Do it and I'll help you find the moonstone.
"Find it? What the hell are you talking about?
"Put Faye on.
He uttered a muffled curse. The phone banged into something. I heard Faye whimper and the words, "Talk to your daughter.
"Allie?" Faye voice was choked with fear. "Are you there?
"I'm here," I said. "Stay strong. I'm coming for you."
Chapter Twenty Three
Back on the itty-bitty bike, pedaling fast. This time heading south in bright sunshine with the wind at my back. Having embraced my super-power status, I decided the sun's appearance and the wind blowing me toward Faye were good omens.
Between Tom's Corner Market and our place, a narrow dirt lane veered left off the road and wound through an abandoned orchard. The roadside mailbox was battered, the post leaning at a forty-five degree angle, having been bashed once too often by local guys playing "mailbox baseball." The name "Bradford" was barely visible.
The Bradford place had once been a thriving apple operation, complete with warehouse, pickers' shacks and its own packing plant. But that was years ago, before I was born. As the story goes, Mr. Bradford hung himself in the warehouse and everything fell apart. The rest of the family split the fortune and took off. Cory Philpott insisted the place was haunted, that he and his dad had seen the ghost of old man Bradford wandering through the weed-choked, dying orchard. Not that I believed him.
"No Trespassing" signs were posted along the perimeter of the property. I waited until the road was free of carsRevelle had insistedand pushed the bike down the lane, muddy from last night's cloudburst. I was heading for the Bradford warehouse as I'd been instructed to do.
The lane curved to the right behind the orchard then ran parallel to Peacock Flats Road. The old wooden warehouse was still standing, but barely. Pieces of the roof were missing and the right side of the building was caved in. A loading platform stretched across the front with stairs at both ends. The wide double doors at the front of the building were warped with age and didn't quite meet in the middle. Sitting by the door on a wooden nail keg, was Didier Ellsworth Thompson the Third.
At first, I couldn't wrap my brain around it. Why was Diddy here? Had he heard about the Bradford ghost and wandered down the lane to check it out? If so, I had to get rid of him before he got hurt.
"Diddy!"
I dropped the bike and ran up the stairs. I started to ask, "Why are you here?" but the words died in my throat when I looked into Diddy's eyes. The soft, vulnerable look was gone, replaced by the cold gaze of a predator. The dark pupils seemed to grow larger in his pale eyes as he stood and watched me approach. The gangly limps and endearing clumsiness were gone. His wiry physique, clenched fists and squared shoulders told me all I needed to know.
Diddy was a Trimark.
Maybe I should have been afraid, but all I felt was anger at his betrayal. Diddy was "the kid" Revelle mentioned. Diddy had called Revelle to let him know I was at the phone booth. And, Diddy probably noticed when I stopped wearing the moonstone.
I marched up to him until we were toe to toe. "So you're a tough guy now, huh? Well, big, friggin' deal! I'm not scared of you Didier ... or Diddy ... or whatever the hell your name is.
I jabbed a finger into his chest, narrowed my eyes and leaned closer. "Word of advice. Get out while you can. I hear Bradford's ghost hates Trimarks. He loves to burn them alive. Trimarks have no power over ghosts. Did you know that?
My bogus story had the desired effect. His lip curled in a snarl, but Diddy backed away from me and looked over my head toward the lane leading out to the road. I moved closer. He took another step back. The hunter was now the hunted.
The door creaked open, and Revelle appeared. He rubbed his hands together and smiled. "Ah, the guest of honor has arrived.
Diddy shuffled his feet and glanced at Revelle. "Guess I'll take off, if you don't need me anymore.
Revelle's right eyebrow shot up. "You don't want to stay around for the party?
Diddy edged around me and headed for the stairs. "That's okay. Catch you later.
Much better odds with Diddy gone. Still two to one, but if things went according to plan, the odds would soon be even. But first, I needed to convince Revelle I was a scared, helpless kid. Lucky for me, he hadn't witnessed my scene with Diddy.
Revelle stood by the door and waved me inside. "After you.
Like an obedient child, I walked by him into the warehouse. It smelled of mouse droppings, dust and decay. Dim light leaked through the cracks in the roof. I stepped around a rickety table filled with bottles of insect spray and rusty paint cans. Apple bins lined the wall to my left, stacked from floor to ceiling. Reinforced with metal at the corners, each heavy, wooden bin
was large enough to hold twenty-five boxes of apples.
Next to the bins, toward the back, Baxter perched on an up-turned apple box, his hairy, muscular forearms resting on his knees. I spotted Faye a few feet from Baxter, her pale face and light hair like a beacon in the diminished light.
Revelle grabbed my arm. "Let's go say hello to mommy.
Meek as a lamb, I let him pull me along. I looked down, so he couldn't see my eyes. They would tell a very different story. Then I lifted my head and saw what they'd done to Faye. She was tied to a chair. A purple bruise bloomed high on her cheekbone; her right eye was swollen shut. A strip of duct tape covered her mouth, and tears streamed from her left eye. At Revelle's approach, a shudder ran through her body.
I gritted my teeth to control the rage coursing through my body. Shaking with fury and my need to kick and punch Revelle, I disguised my anger as fear.
"No!" I screamed. My knees buckled and I sobbed.
Revelle jerked me back up.
"Get the chair," he told Baxter.
Baxter disappeared into the shadows.
I gazed up at Revelle through my tears. "Please, Mr. Revelle. Faye doesn't know anything about the moonstone. I'm sure you don't enjoy hurting innocent people." I heard Baxter chuckle.
Revelle looked down at me, his handsome face twisted in a sneer. "Guess you don't know me very well.
Baxter appeared with a folding chair. "Want me to tie her up?
Revelle nodded. I glanced at Faye. Her head was down, her shoulders sagged. I needed Faye, if this plan was going to work. But not like this. I needed Faye, the fighter. I knew she was in there somewhere.
With my free hand, I groped around in my pocket and pulled out Faye's locket.
Cowering, I lifted my tear-stained face to Revelle's. "Before you tie me up, can I please give my mother her locket?
Moonstone Page 17