Cross-Check

by Phil Lollar

  Someone is coming! You can’t be seen! Get clear! He slunk backward out of sight of the car, then raced to his camouflaged spot in the grove of apple trees. This is not how it was supposed to go! It wasn’t supposed to happen this way! He watched the car race up and stop behind Riley’s truck, and Whittaker and Connie get out.

  “Whit!” Connie screamed.

  “Go in the house and call the fire department, quick!” Whittaker barked at her.

  “All right!” She headed toward the house.

  Whittaker called out, “Tom! Tom!”

  Why don’t they see Riley?

  Then, just before Connie got to the house, she screamed and pointed. “Whit! He’s lying in the doorway!”

  They raced to him, pulled him away from the barn, and turned him over gently. “He’s unconscious!” Whittaker said. “Help me with him!”

  Connie trembled visibly, and her voice shook as she prayed, “Dear Jesus, please let him be okay!”

  They sat him upright, and Whittaker smacked him smartly on the face a couple of times. Riley coughed and sputtered.

  The horses screamed and pounded at their stalls.

  “Whit . . .” Riley gasped, “the horses . . . get the horses!” He lapsed into a coughing fit.

  Whittaker jerked him to his feet. “Take him over to the porch, Connie!” Whittaker ordered, and then he bolted back to the barn.

  “Be careful, Whit!” she screamed after him, putting Riley’s arm around her shoulders and leading him to the porch. She sat him on the steps and ran inside the house.

  Whittaker disappeared inside the barn.

  Several seconds that seemed like hours passed. Maxwell barely breathed. The flames consumed more and more of the barn. Smoke billowed out the doors. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Maxwell thought.

  Suddenly he heard Whittaker yell, “Hyaahh! Hyaaah!” and almost instantly two horses burst out of and away from the flaming structure, followed closely by a coughing and spluttering Whittaker. Whittaker ran over to Riley on the porch. Connie exited the house with a pitcher of water and some cups and joined them. “The fire department’s on its way!” she exclaimed.

  Whittaker nodded and gasped. “Leah and Rachel are all right, Tom. They’re out.”

  Maxwell felt so relieved, he nearly fainted. Everyone’s okay. At least everyone is okay.

  Connie yelled, “And just in time, Whit! The roof’s coming down!”

  The barn collapsed in on itself, crashing down to the earth in a cloud of dust, smoke, and flame. Maxwell, who could finally feel his legs again, used that distraction to beat a hasty and unnoticed retreat back through the orchard.

  At the porch, Connie poured water from the pitcher into the cups and handed one to each man. Whit grasped Tom’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Tom gulped his water and coughed. “Yeah. I’m all right.”

  “What happened?” Connie asked.

  Tom wet his handkerchief with water from his cup and wiped the dust and ash from his eyes and face. “I . . . was on my way to the council meeting . . . I looked in my rearview mirror and saw smoke . . . so I came back to this! . . . I tried to get the horses . . . but the flames flared up, and I got knocked silly.”

  Connie poured him more water. “I wonder how it happened?” she asked.

  “I must’ve . . . left something flammable . . . lying out,” Tom gasped.

  Whit looked back at the still-blazing structure. “Or someone set the fire deliberately,” he said.

  The front wall and doorframe now collapsed to the ground. Tom watched in anguish. “But why would anybody want to set my barn on fire, Whit?” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “Why?”

  Back in town, Glossman presided over the vote. “Mr. Finster?” he intoned.

  “Aye.”

  “Mr. Hirnsby?”

  “Aye.”

  “Mr. Donohue?”

  “Aye.”

  “And I also vote aye. That’s four aye votes, with one default.” Glossman smiled. “Congratulations, Dr. Blackgaard. You have your license.”

  The assemblage applauded politely as Blackgaard rose and bowed genially toward the council. “Thank you, Mr. Glossman, and you other council members,” he said. “I’m sure this is just the beginning of a long and profitable association between myself, Blackgaard’s Castle, and the town of Odyssey.”

  Preview of Book Four

  Eugene, Connie, and Whit sat quietly in the waiting area of Odyssey General Hospital. It had been just Connie and Eugene for the longest time, but finally Whit emerged from a treatment room with his arm wrapped in a bandage and his hair looking a bit frizzy. He assured his employees that he was all right, then joined them as they continued to sit in silent vigil, each lost in thought.

  Finally, Connie stretched and sighed. “I wish someone would tell us something!” she said. “How long have we been here, anyway?”

  Eugene checked his watch. “Three hours, 57 minutes, 13 seconds,” he said quietly.

  Connie squeezed Whit’s hand. “How’s your arm?” she asked.

  “Fine, Connie. Just a little sore.”

  There was another long silence. They watched as several patients were wheeled in and out of rooms on gurneys. Connie took another deep breath and stood up. “Boy do I wish someone would tell us something!” She surveyed the room. “Does anyone want anything from the cafeteria, a cup of coffee or—”

  “Whit?” a voice said.

  They all turned. Doctor Farber was headed for them. Whit and Eugene rose from their chairs as she approached. “Hello, Dr. Farber,” Whit said.

  Farber spied the bandage. “How’s the arm?”

  “A little singed,” Whit answered with a shrug. “I’ve had much worse.”

  The doctor smiled. “I understand you’ve been waiting to hear about the Cunningham-Schultz girl?”

  “Yes, we all have.”

  Farber consulted her chart. “Well, she’s pretty banged up. A possible concussion and some nasty bruises. We’re going to have to watch her closely. She’s had quite a shock—literally.”

  “I know the feeling,” Whit replied. “But . . . she’ll be all right?”

  The doctor nodded. “I think it’s safe to say so, yes.”

  Connie heaved a sigh of relief and leaned against Eugene. “Oh, thank the Lord!”

  Eugene pushed her back upright.

  “Can we see her?” asked Whit.

  “Not right now,” Farber demurred. “I gave her a sedative in emergency. She needs all the rest she can get. Her parents are watching her, and I’d like to keep it that way for a while.”

  “We understand,” Whit said. “Thank you.”

  Farber took a breath. “That wasn’t the only reason I came to talk with you. I also brought you a visitor.” She turned back and called, “Uh, Sheriff?”

  Eugene gulped. “Sheriff?”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have other patients to attend to,” Farber said.

  “Of course. Thanks again, Doctor,” Whit said.

  Farber patted Whit on the shoulder and walked away as the sheriff approached.

  The sheriff tipped his hat and said, “’Lo, Whit.”

  Whit nodded. “Bill.”

  The sheriff sighed. “I don’t know how to say this, Whit, without comin’ right out and sayin’ it. We’re gonna have to conduct an investigation into this incident.”

  “Investigation?” Connie squawked. “It was an accident!”

  Whit held up a finger. “Connie . . .”

  She backed off.

  Whit turned back to the sheriff. “I understand, Bill.”

  “Well, you know what that means,” the sheriff said apologetically. “Now, it’ll just be temporary, until the investigation is over.” He pulled a paper from his back pocket. “I got a court order here . . .”

  Both Connie and Eugene started at the sight of the order, but Whit continued before they could say anything. “Of course, Bill. I’ll cooperate with you fully. But you won’t need t
he court order. I was gonna close down Whit’s End myself anyway.”

  This time, he couldn’t stop his employees’ outbursts.

  “What?”

  “Mr. Whittaker!”

  Whit held up his hands, and that stopped them from going any further, at least temporarily.

  The sheriff nodded. “All right, Whit. We’ll work out the details in the morning.” He tipped his hat again. “G’night, all.” He turned and strolled away.

  “Good night, Bill,” Whit called after him.

  Connie and Eugene were on him almost immediately:

  “Close it down?”

  “But why?”

  Whit frowned. “I’m conducting an investigation of my own. I have to make sure Whit’s End is safe.”

  “But it was an accident, Whit!” Connie implored. “An accident!”

  Whit squeezed her hand and Eugene’s arm. “I know, I know . . .” He looked them both in the eyes sincerely and with great affection, then dropped his gaze to the floor. “Look . . . my place was designed and built to help kids. And now it’s done just the opposite. I have to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

  He dropped his holds on them, took a step back, and looked up at them again. “I’m sorry, but until further notice, Whit’s End is closed.”