by Laney Monday
“That she’d agree with her brother on anything. How sad.”
But it just didn’t feel right. Maybe that was because of my own bias. I’d bought into the narrative she’d sold me—she was the responsible, stable one, and Zack was the screw-up. She wasn’t very nice to her brother, and that had really turned me off from liking her. But I couldn’t help sympathizing with her frustration, thinking what Zack really needed was some tough love. Could it be that she cared that much about her brother, that she couldn’t stand seeing her grandmother continue doing something that could ultimately help him ruin his life? Could that have made her snap?
“Yeah,” Will said, “I guess that’s the best word for this whole thing. “Sad.”
I said good-night to Will and went to get ready for bed. It was midnight. In one hour, Gunter Hatton would be getting his mysterious delivery. Gunter Hatton, who still felt like the killer to me. If Zack would lie to help Delaney, would she do the same for him? What if neither one of them was guilty? The information about the meat thermometer could’ve gotten out. It was possible. Or, maybe the killer was someone else they knew, and they’d found out from him or her.
If I wasn’t convinced Delaney was the killer, how could I pass up this chance to find out what Gunter Hatton was up to? What if this was my one chance to catch the real culprit? I glanced at my phone, considered calling Will. He was exhausted, and he thought he had the murderer in custody. No, I couldn’t call him until I was sure I had something. Something worth losing a much-needed night of sleep over.
Instead of putting on my pajamas, I started dressing for stealth. I glanced at the window. Stealth, and rain. Though I’d been immersed in an indoor sport for most of my life, I was still an outdoor girl. I had a rain shell—A pretty, pale minty green one Blythe had bought me. Not quite the color for night-time spying. I needed to be invisible. So, a navy blue hoodie and black leggings were the best I could do. I pulled out a pair of dark gray running shoes and started to put them on.
“Brenna? What are you doing?” Blythe sat on the edge of her bed, ready to tuck in for the night.
I paused, then confessed, “I found out Gunter Hatton is involved with something dirty. He’s expecting a delivery soon. I’m going to find out what it is.”
She gestured at my choice of clothes. “I assume Gunter didn’t invite you over? And he doesn’t know that you know about this?”
“Right.”
“More snooping. Is there anything else you forgot to tell me?”
There was just a teensy trace of bitterness in her tone. So unlike Blythe. But then the last few days had been so unlike normal for us.
“I’m sorry. There’s a lot going on. I need to do this.”
“Fine,” Blythe said sharply. She got into bed, shut off her bedside lamp, and turned her back to me.
26
I peered out the front window at the fine streams of rain. It wasn’t coming down all that hard. Maybe it would even let up.
On that hopeful note, I opened the door and stepped out of the cover of the font step. Thunder boomed, and rain pelted the stairs. Bigger and bigger drops, until they weren’t drops at all; they were streams, shooting from the sky and bouncing off the concrete. On the bright side, the rain itself was now almost as loud as the thunder had been. If this kept up, I wouldn’t have to worry about making any noise.
By the time I’d gotten within a block of Gunter’s house, I was thoroughly soaked.
“Brenna!”
I nearly jumped out of my skin when Blythe called my name. I pointed at her shiny pink rain slicker. “What are you wearing?”
“It’s pouring down rain. Where’s your rain coat?”
“At home where it belongs. Not being spotted by a criminal is more important than staying dry. Give me that.” I held out my hand for her raincoat.
Blythe whimpered softly and took it off. But instead of handing it over, she carefully folded it and stashed it under a bush by the sidewalk. I eyed her matching pink rain boots.
“No way!” she whispered fiercely. “Let’s go home, please, Brenna. It’s either nothing, or it’s not the kind of thing we should be involved in. It’s too dangerous.”
“You’re making it dangerous. You—”
“Shh!” Blythe pulled me back at pointed furiously down the road. An old Volkswagen van plowed its way through the standing water on the roadway in front of Gunter’s house.
“Let’s go. In back. That’s where his shop is. There’s a driveway from the alley. If anything’s going down, I’ll bet that’s where.”
We darted through spongey grass, around bushes, toward the back of Gunter’s house. Instead of a fence, an evergreen hedge separated Gunter’s front yard from the back. I should’ve thought of the alley to begin with, and come in the back way. It was too late for that now and I wasn’t about to let a hedge stop me. I was going to back up and try hurdling over it, but Blythe tugged my sopping sleeve.
She pointed at a tiny gap in the hedge. I slipped in front of her, sucked in my stomach, and held my arm over my face as I scraped through. I spat out rain water and bits of shrub. Behind me, Blythe sneezed. We both froze for a second, but all we could hear was rain. It occurred to me then that it wouldn’t be any easier for me to hear someone sneaking up on us than it would for someone else to hear us sneaking up on them. Such a comforting thought in the wet and the shadows, with a murderer lurking somewhere around town.
“Aah-choo!” Blythe blew her way out of the hedge with a sneeze.
I looked around frantically so see if anyone was there, if anyone had heard.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I got something in my nose.”
I waved off her apology, held a finger to my lips, then motioned toward Gunter’s truck, parked off to the side of his driveway. Did he always park it there, or had he maneuvered it out of the way because he was expecting someone else to pull in, possibly with something heavy, or a lot of stuff, or…
The same van that had driven down the street in front of the house moments ago was coming down the alley. It was him! Gunter’s mysterious visitor with the goods. It had to be. Blythe and I ran for cover behind Gunter’s truck. The van came to sloshing stop in the middle of a growing puddle in Gunter’s driveway. In the glow of the headlights, the color of the van was clear—green. Very green. A yellow smiley face air freshener swung from the mirror. Under the circumstances, Mister Happy-Face took on a decidedly sinister air. What kind of contraband was inside? Drugs?
I shivered, then took deep, intentional breaths to slow my pounding heart. The same technique I’d used to keep composed when I was fighting on the world stage, under the lights, with a full stadium cheering against me.
Who conducts a highly secret operation in a lime green VW van, anyway? I asked myself. Maybe this was nothing more than a visit from an old hippie friend.
The driver backed up until the rear doors of the van were close to the studio door. Then he cut the engine. A young man slipped out and shut the door behind him with care. Hmm. Not a quick slam, even in this downpour. He was driving a very conspicuous vehicle, but he’d brought it around to the back, and he was apparently taking some measures not to draw attention.
As the young man, wearing jeans and a light rain jacket, approached the studio door, it creaked open. Next to me, Blythe gasped. It was pitch dark in there, and we’d assumed it was empty, that Gunter would be waiting in the house. In the studio doorway, a flashlight beam flicked on. It was Gunter. He held the beam low, aimed at the ground.
“You brought her?” Gunter said.
His voice was hoarser than usual. With nerves, fear, or just excitement? It was hard to tell.
Next to me, Blythe mouthed, “‘Her?’”
“Of course. It just took me a little longer than I expected. I got lost,” the young man said in a low voice. “Couldn’t see in this rain.”
“Is she secure?”
“She’s all strapped down. Don’t worry, she’s not going anywhere.”
“Wait! We can’t let her get wet. I’ll be right back.”
I braced myself for the sight of a body emerging from the back of the van. Or—a live person? Could Gunter be involved in kidnapping? Human trafficking? That sick son of a—
Gunter ducked his head and darted through the downpour. He gripped an open tarp in his hands, and it billowed behind him in the wind. “We can’t keep cutting it this close, you know?”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to get her done as fast as I can.”
“You know what’s on the line here, don’t you?”
I thought I saw a subtle change in the young man’s body language. A pause. A look on his face, of intense fear and disgust.
“She gave me a hard time,” the young man said. “There’s only so much I can do, by myself.”
“Some of them are tougher than others,” Gunter conceded.
The men carried the mysterious cargo into the studio, and I followed.
“Brenna! No!” Blythe mouthed.
But I had to. I had to see who was in there. They left the door open, and I waited just outside, standing against the outer wall. I peeked into the studio. Both men had their backs to me.
Gunter ripped the tarp aside with dramatic flair. Underneath it was a long, cloth-wrapped bundle with a distinctly human shape, tied to a board with bungee cords. Whatever was under there, it wasn’t moving. Her. She wasn’t moving. The men started unhooking the bungee cords, and I stopped breathing. My chest ached. Where was Blythe? I couldn’t see her anymore. Had she called the police? Of course she would call. How long would it take them to get here? How long would it take Will? At least five minutes. I didn’t have five minutes. Whoever that was under there—if she was still alive—she didn’t have five minutes.
I had to act now. I could only take on one of them at a time. Which one was more dangerous? Gunter, or the younger guy? The stranger had youth on his side, but my money was on Gunter. Besides, his back was turned. He was closest to the door. I crouched, then pounced on him with all the spring I had left since my knee injury. I slipped my hands in and had the choke secure, my legs wrapped tightly around Gunter’s body, before he even knew what was happening.
“Let her go! Let the girl go!” I cried.
“Let who go?” the young man said.
“The girl.” I nodded to the table.
Gunter’s gurgling ceased. His body went slack. I let him drop to the ground. Sometimes people came to right away when a choke was released, but I’d had that one in deep, and I was counting on Gunter being wobbly on his feet and disoriented even once he did come around.
“There’s no one,” he stammered. “There’s no one there. Look, don’t hurt me. I’m just an art student.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I grabbed a chisel from a shelf on the wall. It was covered with plaster dust.
“It has everything to do with that!” He reached for the bundle on the table.
“Hands up!” I said. His hands shot up in the air. On the floor, Gunter twitched, then moaned. I switched the chisel to my left hand and swiftly undid the rest of the bungees. I tore off the cloth and revealed—something hard and cold. Plaster.
“See?” the young man’s voice was high, almost a whine. “It’s a sculpture. Who are you?”
“I’m undercover,” I said quickly. My head spun with a mix of relief and confusion. A sculpture. I’d just assaulted Gunter Hatton, renowned local artist, over a sculpture.
Which was exactly what you’d expect to find in a sculptor’s workshop. I took a step toward Gunter. He blinked at me. I almost started apologizing, checking to see if Gunter was okay. But something stopped me. This wasn’t right. My gut had told me Gunter was up to no good from the second I saw that text. And every move he and his little visitor had made tonight gave me the same impression.
“Of course it’s a sculpture,” I said, playing it cool. “A sculpture of a girl, right?”
“Well, yeah, a mermaid.”
“What are you going to do?” the young guy said, “Try to sell it on the black market? Good luck with that. It doesn’t even have Gunter’s signature on it yet.”
Gunter’s signature? Was Gunter’s art really that valuable? And if Gunter had made the sculpture, what was this guy doing with it? Gunter slowly raised himself into a sitting position. He started to fall over, then reached out and caught himself.
I grabbed a bungee cord. “Turn around,” I told the stranger. “Put your hands behind your back.”
I tied his hands securely, then took out my phone.
Gunter found his voice. “No. Don’t call them. I’ll pay you. Come on, Brenna. Who are we really hurting?”
“I’d say you’re hurting someone, or you wouldn’t have anything to hide, would you?”
The young guy said, “Look, I don’t know who you are, but I don’t want any trouble.”
“She’s nobody.”
The young man muttered, “This wasn’t worth it. No one should die over this. I told Dalton—”
“Keep your mouth shut!” Gunter snapped.
“Nobody, Gunter? Nobody’s ready to hog-tie you and dial the cops.”
“Look, lady. It’s good work. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a gig where I actually get paid for what I’m good at? Making art? Gunter here hit it big. He found a big fan who loves his work and has been selling it overseas. They can’t get enough of it in Japan. They love the small-town artist angle. But Gunter can’t meet the demand.”
“So you make the artwork for him?”
“Some of it. Then he signs his name, ships it off to the foundry, who sends it to the buyer, and we both get paid. Like I said, we’re not hurting anyone.”
“Let it go, Brenna. We can go on like nothing happened. No hard feelings. The whole town doesn’t need to know you tried to choke me to death.”
“I didn’t—”
“You didn’t choke me unconscious and leave me for dead? That’s sure what it felt like to me. Isn’t that what it looked like to you, Aaron?”
“That’s exactly what it looked like to me.”
“That’s enough. If you two think you can bully me, then you have no idea who I am.” I turned on my phone to call Will, but I stopped halfway through.
A tall figure darkened the doorway, gun drawn.
27
“Freeze!”
I knew that voice. I loved that voice. Will was here, with Tony Pfeiffer. And I was glad, at least about Will. But at the same time, how was I going to explain this?
I put my hands up in the air, just like Gunter and Aaron. Better safe than sorry, even though these guys knew me. It was dark, and I wasn’t taking any chances. Besides, I wouldn’t put it past Tony Pfeiffer to shoot me in the rear or something.
“Where’s the victim?” Will said.
“There isn’t one.”
“What?”
“There is no victim.” I pointed at the table where the mermaid lay.
“A sculpture?” Will said.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Pfeiffer guffawed at that. His little head bobbed on his skinny neck.
“Hey Tony, did anyone ever tell you you sound like a Muppet?” I snapped.
Will caught my eye for a split second. He gave his head the tiniest shake. Disapproval, or just disbelief? I gave a little, apologetic shrug.
“See, there’s no victim. Total false alarm,” Gunter said.
“Actually, there is a victim,” I said quickly. “Lots of them. Just not here. It’s not kidnapping or murder he’s involved in; it’s fraud.”
“It’s his name. He can sign it on what he wants!” Aaron said.
Gunter kicked him, still with his hands up. Not the smartest kid, this Aaron the Art Student.
“Arrest her!” Gunter pointed at me with one of his upraised hands. “She tried to kill me!”
“Re-a-a-a-ly?” Tony said, sounding intrigued.
“Um…don’t I have the right to remain silent?”
&nbs
p; “See!” Aaron said. “She choked him. I’m a witness. If you let me off the hook for this fraud thing, I’ll testify.”
“I acted in defense of what I thought was a helpless woman. I didn’t think I had time to wait for the police. I didn’t know if she was still alive. She was all wrapped up.”
Tony moved toward me with a pair of cuffs. I looked to Will. Rescue me! Please!
Will pushed Tony aside. “I’ll do it.”
What?
He did it. The man I loved cuffed me like a criminal. The cuffs snapped into place. That sound had such finality to it. I guess that’s what I deserved for putting him in this position. Why did all my idiotic ideas seem so right before I actually acted on them?
Will lingered close to me for a second, behind my back, his hands still on my wrists. “You’re killing me, Brenna,” he whispered.
“Look on the bright side,” I whispered back, “You get to frisk me.”
He turned me around and gave me a stony look. “Only so Tony doesn’t get the pleasure.”
Great.
We heard the sirens approaching. Gunter’s property was swarming with all five of Bonney Bay’s available officers. The fire department rushed in next, with a stretcher. Of course they’d sent an ambulance. As far as Blythe knew when she made that call, there was a woman under those tarps.
“No one’s hurt,” I said. Unless you counted my pride, which had been dealt a gushing mortal wound.
“Speak for yourself!” Gunter said. “I want to get checked out. I was unconscious just a minute ago, thanks to her.” Gunter nodded at me, his hands cuffed behind his back, courtesy of Tony.
Chief Sanders appeared in the doorway. He eyed me, standing next to Will, in cuffs. “What’s this, Riggins?”
“Just a misunderstanding.” I gave Chief a lame smile. I had a feeling I’d just tossed whatever respect I’d earned in Sanders’ eyes down the toilet. I was back to being a meddlesome idiot, or worse. A criminal.
Okay, so I’d done a little breaking and entering and other semi—and completely—illegal stuff in the name of justice. But physically hurting someone who hadn’t laid a hand on me…