Sammy Keyes and the Runaway Elf

by Wendelin Van Draanen

  I whispered, “I’m sorry!”

  She took another look at the picture, then hugged it to her chest, sobbing.

  I didn’t know what to do. I stood there like an idiot, watching her matted head bob up and down, wishing I’d never brought the picture. Finally I said, “I can put it back if you want.”

  She hugged it tighter and looked almost scared. “No!”

  “But …”

  She looked at the photograph again, then touched the glass gently, as if it might burn her. “We were so young. So young.”

  I watched her drift back in her mind. “Angelique was always the baby. She was only a year younger, but Mama always called her Baby.” She tilted the picture toward me and whispered, “Wasn’t she beautiful?”

  I nodded. “You both were.”

  She gave me a sad little smile, then lay back against the pillow and closed her eyes. A little stream of tears started running across her temples, and before you know it, she was sobbing again. Finally she wiped her eyes and looked at me. “I was such a fool.”

  Now, I knew she wasn’t talking about all the times she’d chased me down the hall or the way she’d trapped me coming up the fire escape stairs, or even the phone calls she’d made about me to the manager. It was like none of that had ever happened. She was talking about something big. Something that had made the Daisy then into the Daisy now.

  Very gently I asked, “Did it have to do with Angelique?”

  She looked at the picture and nodded.

  “Do you want me to call her?”

  She shook her head. “She’s gone off to be with Mama.” She touched the picture again and sighed. “And Billy McCabe.”

  “Who?”

  She sat up a bit. “Billy McCabe. He was a boy in my class. He asked me out for malts and I went, even though I didn’t particularly like him. When he brought me home, he took one look at Angelique and that was it. They were in love.”

  “But if you didn’t particularly like him …”

  She choked out a laugh and said, “I thought that she should’ve found someone in her own class. But what I thought didn’t matter a hoot to her. She went off and became Mrs. Billy McCabe. And while she was picking out china and linens, I was working in a factory canning apricots. And the more those rotten yellow things came rollin’ down the belt, the more I started hating Angelique.

  “She was always writing me, telling me that I’d find somebody someday and be as happy as she was. And I could tell that she really wanted me to so she wouldn’t have to feel guilty anymore about stealing Billy from me.”

  “But—”

  “So I decided I wouldn’t find someone. Why on earth would I find someone just to make Angelique happy? Suitors would call, and Mama would tell me to go out with them, but I wouldn’t. I’d sit down and write Angelique a letter instead. I wasn’t about to let her off the hook for what she’d done.

  “Well, one day I turned around and I was thirty, and suitors weren’t knocking anymore. Shortly after that Mama died, and after we buried her I only heard from Angelique on my birthday and at Christmas. And then it was usually just chitchat about the weather.” She looked back at the picture. “She got Billy and I got nobody.”

  “But … what about Mr. Graybill?”

  She shook her head and sighed. “There is no Mr. Graybill. Never has been. You get to an age where everybody assumes you’re married and they start calling you Mrs. even if it’s supposed to be Miss. It’s not the kind of thing you want to constantly go and correct people on.” She looked at me. “My name’s Daisy Lorraine Graybill. Always has been, always will be.”

  Well, let me tell you, I had shivers running all through me. Creepy, scary shivers. And I think she saw me shudder, because her lips tried to crack into a smile as she said, “I know what you’re thinking, Samantha, and you’re right. But there’s nothing I can do about it now.” She put out her hand for me to hold. It felt rough and cold. “All these years I thought I was justified. All these years I blamed every misfortune on her.” She closed her eyes and then, from deep inside her throat she whispered, “I’m sorry, Angelique. I was such a fool.”

  I sat there, frozen, not wanting to pull my hand away but not wanting to leave it there, either. In a little while her grip loosened and a bit of drool ran out of the corner of her mouth. I whispered, “Mrs. Graybill?” She didn’t answer, so I slipped my hand free and tiptoed out of there.

  And it’s not that I was in a hurry to get to the Landvogt mansion. I wasn’t even thinking about Mrs. Landvogt. I was thinking about Mrs. Graybill and her sister and Billy McCabe. And for some reason I started running. Hard. And I kept right on running—down the road, across the street, past the supermarket—as fast as I could. And the whole time I was running I was checking back over my shoulder at the nursing home. Like I was running from something that was chasing me.

  Something that would kill me if it could catch me.

  ELEVEN

  I thought Tina was going to fall down and kiss my feet. “Oh, thank God you’re here! Mother’s beside herself.” She let me in and the alarm bo-beeped as she closed the door behind me.

  I asked, “Is that thing always on?”

  “The Tattler? Twenty-four hours a day.” She gave me a wry little smile. “Mother began her paranoia phase when I went away to college.” She did a double take at the Christmas tree. “Oh, look at that,” she said, then switched the lights on. “It’s dismal enough around here without forgetting to turn on the tree.”

  “Went away to college? But I thought you lived at home.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, I guess so,” and then added, “That’s been temporary for about a year now.”

  I guess I still looked puzzled, because she leaned in and whispered, “I’m a disgraceful dropout.” She led me toward the kitchen, saying, “Mother’s managed to spread her stuff out over the entire top floor, so I’ve been sequestered to the servants’ quarters.” She scowled and said, “Which under the circumstances seems apt, don’t you think?”

  I didn’t even want to touch that, so I just followed her into the kitchen and watched as she put a glass of water on a little silver tray. She shook her head and said, “Personally, I think Mother should ask her doctor for a sedative. Of course, I also think she should tell this friend she has on the police force about Marique, but she won’t do that either.” She rolled her eyes and smirked. “You can see that what I think doesn’t count for much around here.”

  I was following her out of the kitchen when she said, “Oh!” and turned back around.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “If I don’t want this thrown in my face,” she said with a frown, “I’d better do it right.” She put down the tray and said, “Right there in the pantry … could you get me a lemon?”

  The pantry was like a walk-in closet for caviar. There were fish eggs and fish eyes, pickled eel and smoked partridge. I moved over an aisle and saw grape leaves, gingered garlic, ostrich paté, candied rhubarb, and then a whole bunch of stuff I couldn’t even pronounce.

  I was trying to keep my brain on lemons, but I’d never seen food like that before. And I guess I got sidetracked, because when Tina called, “On the bottom shelf in the back!” I jumped like I’d been caught snitching cookie dough.

  I found the lemons all right, and I probably would’ve rushed one right out to her, only this small panel of switches and lights on the wall caught my eye. And I was trying to figure out what in the world it was, when Tina popped her head in and said, “Did you get lost?”

  I gave her the lemon and pointed to the panel. “What is that?”

  “The Panel of Paranoia,” she said with a laugh. “You know—the security panel.”

  I smiled back at her and said a real profound “Oh.”

  We moved back into the kitchen, where she cut a very thin slice out of the center of the lemon and slid it into the water. She repositioned a napkin, gave me a little smile, and said, “Ready?”

  We both kind of stud
ied the chandelier on the ride upstairs. Halfway up, I asked, “So it’s just the two of you living here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged. “I guess I was expecting cooks and maids and gardeners and stuff.”

  She laughed. “You’re looking at ’em.”

  “You do all that?”

  “Well, not all of it. And we did used to have help but … I don’t know. Mother’d get mad and fire one and then she wouldn’t replace them. She still calls in a cleaning lady every once in a while, but when I moved back I got saddled with the day-to-day stuff.”

  When the elevator came to a stop, she pushed the door open and whispered, “I wish she wasn’t doing this to you. You seem really nice.”

  I felt like telling her the same thing, but I didn’t—we were already at the Crocodile’s door. Tina peeked inside. “Mother?” She came back out and headed farther down the hallway. “She must’ve gone into her office.”

  We stopped at the last doorway before the hallway turned. Tina knocked on the open door. “Mother?”

  “Bring her in!”

  She’d been dipped in lavender. Silky, shiny lavender. But the minute she turned from her desk I knew—she was definitely still a crocodile. She looked at her watch. “You’re almost an hour late.”

  I knew there was no sense telling her about Mrs. Graybill. “I’m sorry.”

  Tina put the tray down near her mother and asked, “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  “Some privacy would be nice.”

  The doorbell rang. Tina sighed and said, “I’ll get that,” and disappeared.

  Mrs. Landvogt zoomed her wheelchair straight at me and said, “Sit down. I want to know what you’ve got. Every last detail. I want to know where you’ve been, who you’ve talked to, and what they’ve said—everything.”

  She practically ran me into an ironwood chair with dragonhead arms. I tried stalling. “What about that phone call you got?”

  “What about it?”

  “Did you tape it?”

  “Tape it … no! How am I supposed to tape it?”

  “Don’t you have an answering machine?”

  “Of course I have an answering machine!”

  “Where is it?”

  She pointed to her desk. “Over there. You mean to tell me I can record a conversation with that thing?”

  I felt like crossing my eyes at her. “It’s a recorder …?”

  “So how do I do that?” she snapped.

  I went over to her desk and opened the tape panel. “Right here: ‘To Record a Telephone Conversation: Tap MEMO/2WAY.’ ”

  The Croc zoomed over and looked down the bridge of her nose at the instructions. “Well, why didn’t you tell me that before? I could’ve had his voice on tape!”

  I closed my eyes and tried to count to ten. “So it was a man?”

  “That’s right.”

  The security system be-booped in the distance. “What did he sound like? Any accent?”

  “He sounded mechanical. Like he was holding his nose.”

  “Well, what did he say exactly? What does he want to do? An exchange?”

  She hacked out a laugh. “That’s right. This Friday night at eight o’clock, under the clock in the mall.” She knocked on her cast. “Tell me how I’m supposed to deliver that kind of money in this condition?”

  “Mrs. Landvogt, why don’t you call the police? Tina says you have a friend there who—”

  “Don’t start with that again! You know what they’ll do to her.” She scowled and added, “Besides, Andy would botch the whole thing. He can’t find his way out of a paper sack.”

  “But the mall, the Friday night before Christmas … he’ll just disappear into the crowds.”

  She buffed a thumbnail, saying, “That scenario is really irrelevant because we both know you’ll find her before then.”

  “But—”

  She put her hand out before her, admiring her claws. “You’ve proved it already.”

  “I haven’t done anything!”

  “Sure you have. The way you tricked me into telling you about Royce, that bit with the recorder. You’re clever, you’re resourceful, and you’re motivated.” She looked straight at me. “Aren’t you, Samantha?”

  There was a knock at the door. The Croc let out an impatient sigh and said under her breath, “That girl will never learn to follow directions.” She called, “What is it?”

  Tina came in with a cardboard box. “I’m sorry, Mother, but I’m worried. It was just like when the ransom note was left.”

  The Croc froze. “What do you mean?”

  “There was no one there. I checked all the way down to the street. I didn’t see a soul. Just this on the porch.”

  “Well, open it!”

  Tina tore off the tape but then hesitated and handed the box over to her mother. “Here … maybe you should.”

  The Croc pulled back one flap, then the other, then screamed. Like she’d opened a box of tarantulas.

  I took a step closer and right away I knew that the special delivery didn’t contain flowers. I put my hand in the box and came up with a fistful of fur. Orange fur.

  I didn’t know crocodiles could faint. But this one did, right there in her chair.

  Tina rushed over to her mother and fanned her with an envelope while I checked the box. It was Marique all right. Her tags, her fur—everything but her body.

  When the Croc came to she whispered, “Is she … is she …?”

  I picked up some fur and said, “Yup. She’s bald.”

  “She’s … what?”

  “Bald. It’s all fur.”

  The Croc picked up the box and whispered, “Maaaariiique!” Then she said it again, only louder, “Maaaariiique!”

  Now, there was something about the way she said her dog’s name that made my back tingle. But it wasn’t until she said it again that it hit me—hers was the voice I had heard the night of the parade.

  I looked at her, crying over a box full of fuzz, and realized—I didn’t have a clue what was going on here. Not a clue.

  * * *

  It was dark by the time I got away from the Landvogt mansion. And maybe I should’ve gone straight home, but I was dying to tell Marissa about the fur bomb and besides, I was thirsty and there’s always a shelf full of sodas in the McKenzes’ refrigerator.

  Marissa’s eyes bugged right out when she saw me. She yanked me in by the arm and said, “Sammy! Oh my God, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you?”

  “About your mom!”

  A big uh-oh stuck in my throat. “What about my mom?”

  “That’s her, isn’t it? On TV?”

  I sat down in a chair and hid my face behind my hands. “Oh, no!”

  “What’s the matter? I thought she wanted to be on TV.”

  I looked at her through my fingers. “As the GasAway Lady?”

  She laughed. “Well it’s a start, right?”

  “You sound just like Grams. That stupid commercial is more like Boom! The End. I mean, who’s going to want to put the Amazing Expanding Woman in a movie? It’s embarrassing!”

  Marissa shrugged. “It’s not that bad … Even Mom thought it was pretty good.”

  “Your mother saw it?”

  Marissa nodded, then hitched a thumb toward the kitchen. “She’s actually in there cooking dinner.”

  “Cooking cooking?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. She and Dad joined some gourmet club and I think we’re her guinea pigs. C’mon. She’s even wearing an apron.”

  I followed her and laughed. “This I’ve got to see …!”

  Mrs. McKenze looked over from her six-burner stove with a smile. “Hello, Sammy. What a pleasant surprise. Can you stay for supper? We’re having”—she checked her cookbook—“costolette di vitello alla milanese.”

  Marissa whispered, “Veal cutlets.”

  Well, it did smell good, but from looking at the set table I could tell I’d never be
able to figure out which fork went with which part of the dinner. And between silverware etiquette and polite conversation about the GasAway Lady, I figured that I wouldn’t be able to eat much.

  I smiled at her and said, “No, but thanks. Grams is expecting me.” Then I remembered that Marissa had said that her mom had met the Crocodile once, so I asked, “Mrs. McKenze? What do you know about Lilia Landvogt?”

  She poured some olive oil into a frying pan. “Not much, really. I was over at her house one time for a dinner party, but she didn’t really impress me as someone I wanted to get to know.”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She played with the flame under the pan. “I think it was mostly the comments she made about her daughter.”

  “About Tina?”

  “She was mad at her, and I could even understand why. I just don’t think it’s appropriate to talk ill of your children in public like that.”

  “What was she doing? Calling her names or something?”

  Mrs. McKenze peeled a piece of breaded veal off a plate and slid it into the oil. “I don’t even remember. I just came away thinking that she was not a very nice woman.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  Another piece of veal sizzled into the oil. “Oh, it’s been years. Years and years.” She turned the flame down a bit. “Why all the questions, Sammy?”

  I looked down. “She’s … uh … kind of mad at me.”

  “Lilia is?”

  I nodded.

  “In heaven’s name why?”

  I eyed Marissa, who just shrugged and shook her head, so I said, “To make a long story short, I was in charge of her dog and it ran away.”

  For a second there I thought Mrs. McKenze was going to drop the veal. “Well, then you know exactly what I mean.”

  “I do?”

  “Sure. That’s the same reason she was mad at Tina!”

  All of a sudden I felt dizzy. “Wait a minute—Tina lost their dog?”

  “That’s right. Lilia said she left the gate open and it ran away.”

  “Was it a Pomeranian?”

  “I don’t even know, to tell you the truth.”

  “Was it named Marique?”

  She flipped the veal over in the frying pan. “Is that the name of the dog you were taking care of?”