Sammy Keyes and the Runaway Elf

by Wendelin Van Draanen

  “Yeah, I know. Ribs. Does she bring him to work?”

  “I’ve only seen him a couple of times and then she’s shooed him back in the kitchen.”

  “When’s the last time you saw him?”

  She shrugged and said, “I don’t know … Maybe a week ago?” She retied the strap of a sandal. “What kind of dog is it you’re looking for?”

  “A Pomeranian.”

  She laughed, “Hers ain’t no Pomeranian. Basically, it’s got no hair.”

  “Neither does this one.”

  “What?”

  So I explained to her about the fur bomb and said, “I used to know what she looked like, but now I haven’t got a clue. She probably looks more like a rat than a dog.”

  The Gypsy laughed, then got up and said, “You know what? I’m going back in there to have a look-see. If I spot any oversized rats I’ll let you know.” She looked over her shoulder at me. “Get over here out of the light, would you? This ain’t the best place for you to be hanging out.”

  So I moved into the shadows and waited. And a few minutes later the Gypsy came back saying, “I guess Paula took off for the night. Desi says she said something about an emergency and split. I checked the kitchen—no rats there. Other than the regulars, of course. I checked the bathroom, too. No rats, but there is a water bowl.”

  “Is there water in it?”

  She nodded. “I’d tell you to sneak a peek yourself, but I think you’d live longer if you went home.”

  I thought about it and agreed. If Marique had been in the bathroom, she was gone now, and there wasn’t any reason to go back inside. So I tell her thanks, and I’m heading up to the sidewalk when she calls, “Hey! What if I hear something? How do I get ahold of you?”

  Now, she seemed nice and everything, but I didn’t think I ought to give a pool shark with rose tattoos and soleless sandals my grams’ number, if you know what I mean. But then I didn’t want to miss out if she heard something, either. Finally I said, “I go to William Rose Junior High. It lets out a little after three.”

  “Got it,” she said, then disappeared into the shadows.

  FOURTEEN

  Heather didn’t even rattle the box on her desk. She just pitched it into the trash and tried to avoid my evil eye.

  Me, I got another pasta present. This time it was a snowflake made out of macaroni. And actually, it was amazing. It was painted white and sprinkled with glittery blue and white specks. I peeked over at Monique, but she wasn’t looking at me at all. Neither was Brandy or Tawnee. And I couldn’t tell about Cassie—there was too much hair in the way. I check around for other prospects, but when Marissa flashed me her Polaroid camera, I forgot all about Kris Kringles and started thinking about our plan.

  When homeroom was over, Marissa, Holly, and I huddled up in a corner, and I got a little lesson in how to point and shoot. Marissa handed it to me and said, “Happy hunting.”

  I went hunting, all right. Trouble was, I couldn’t find the Beast. Not between homeroom and first period. Not between first and second. Not between second and third. And I was starting to worry that she really was going to pull off sneaking by me between classes when I spotted her ducking into Miss Pilson’s classroom.

  I did a U-turn and popped in behind her.

  She takes one look at me and says, “This isn’t your classroom, get out!”

  I held the camera up to my eye and moved in.

  “What are you doing? Get away from me!”

  I pressed the button. The camera sputtered and whined, and spat out a picture.

  “Hey, you can’t do that! Give that here!”

  What I gave her was my best I’m-gonna-get-you stare, and I ducked out the door.

  At lunch I zipped into the library and got two more. The first one came out great, but she hid her face behind a book when I took the second one, so I tossed it.

  After school I got one of her coming down the steps, and when she saw me wagging the picture she blocked her face from me with a notebook and ran off.

  I tucked the pictures away and smiled as I headed off to pick up Elyssa. If Officer Borsch couldn’t pick Heather out of a crowd after seeing those, he was the world’s biggest mole.

  Elyssa didn’t waste time saying hello. She raced down the steps and said, “You’re never going to believe this. He flooded the classroom!”

  “Who, Shane?”

  “Yeah! He plugged up the sink with gum and turned the water on when we went out for lunch. When we came back, Miss Ugalde slipped and fell and got her rear end all soaked.”

  “Did she get hurt?”

  “She got mad!” Elyssa giggled. “It looked like she wet her pants!”

  She skipped along beside me, going on and on about Miss Ugalde and Shane, but when we got to Cook Street and I said, “I’ve got to stop off at the police station for a minute, okay?” she got real quiet.

  “Why do we have to go over there?”

  “I have to talk to Officer Borsch.”

  She stopped walking and crossed her arms. “I hate him.”

  I laughed. “I know. Me too.”

  “So why do we have to go visit him?”

  I thought about this a minute. Then I pulled out the pictures of Heather and said, “See her?”

  “Yeah?”

  “She’s my Shane.”

  Elyssa looked through the pictures and said, “I think I saw her at the Christmas parade.”

  “You did? Where?”

  “Just walking by. I saw her when we were getting ready.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She laughed and nodded. “I thought she was a clown.”

  I looked at the pictures again, and it hit me how I was so used to the way Heather looked that I didn’t really see her anymore. But with her wild red hair and earlobes loaded with jewelry, she did look like a clown. A kind of crabby clown, but a clown.

  “Was she wearing any kind of costume?”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Did she have a cat?”

  “A cat? Nuh-uh. At least I don’t think so. I just saw her walking by when we were getting ready.” All of a sudden her hands flew up to her mouth. “Do you think she’s the one who threw the cats?”

  I nodded. “Which is why I want to go to the police station, okay?”

  She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no, either. We walked along, and when we got to the station, she sat down on a bench right outside the door and said, “Hurry, okay?”

  “Why don’t you come in with me?”

  She shook her head.

  I pulled open the door. “Please?”

  She crossed her arms and stuck out her bottom lip. “No.”

  I looked inside and then back at her. “Okay. You wait right here. I’ll be quick.”

  The lady at the counter was wearing a uniform with patches and all, but she still looked more like she should be serving rat burgers at Palmer’s than working for the police. Her hair was bleached but was poking out black roots everywhere, and her orange fingernail polish had been chipped about halfway back. She was digging through some papers on the counter, and with her hair and her nails and her humongous nose she looked like a giant bird with a nest on its head, scratching for grubs.

  She looked up at me. “Yes …?”

  “I’m … I’m looking for Officer Borsch.”

  She scratched through her nest, saying, “He’s off today. Is there something I can help you with?”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Elyssa sitting on the bench. “No, I’ll just stop by tomorrow.”

  “Do you want to leave a message?”

  I started for the door. “No … well, maybe you can tell him I’ll come back tomorrow. About this time.”

  “And you are …?”

  “Sammy. Tell him it’s about the cats.”

  She raised her beak a few inches. “Oh, the cats. He’ll want to hear about that.”

  It sounded like she was making fun of me, and I almost said something back to her, but I didn’
t. I figured anyone who went through life looking like a vagrant dodo didn’t really understand how they came across anyway.

  I went outside and said, “Ready?” to Elyssa.

  She didn’t stand up. “If I had to choose between Shane and Gil, I’d choose Shane.”

  I stood there looking at her until it hit me what she was getting at. I sat down next to her and said, “I don’t like Officer Borsch any more than you do, but I also don’t think Heather’s funny like you think Shane is. She’s just plain mean.” I stood up and put out my hand. “Ol’ Borsch-head may be grumpy and fat and ugly, but he doesn’t go out and try to hurt people like Heather does.” She took my hand and we started down the walkway. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not an easy call, but I’m in a big mess and it’s partly because of Heather.”

  “Because of the cats?”

  “Let’s just say that if Heather is the one who let those cats go, she’s made my life a lot more complicated than it would’ve been if she hadn’t let them go.”

  “Why?”

  So I started talking about Mrs. Landvogt and what a crocodile she was, and for some reason I began talking like her and pretending I was her. And since it made Elyssa laugh, I started really getting into it, and I guess I got carried away because all of a sudden she stops laughing and says, “She said that?”

  It took me a minute to switch from being the Crocodile. “Said what?”

  “That she’d throw you out in the street if you didn’t find her dog?”

  I tried to backpedal in a hurry. I mean, her mom was friends with Officer Borsch, and the last thing I needed was for him to find out what I’d said.

  She could tell I was trying to cover up, though. She tugged on my arm and whispered, “I’m not gonna tell!”

  I knew she could keep a secret—I mean, that was why I was walking her home in the first place—but I was still feeling pretty stupid for getting so carried away in front of her.

  When we arrived at the nursing home, the first thing the receptionist did was call down the hall, “She’s here!”

  At first I thought Mrs. Keltner was worried because I was a little late bringing her daughter in, but when she came around the corner I realized it didn’t have a thing to do with Elyssa. She said to me, “I’m glad you’re here. Daisy’s been asking for you all day.”

  I followed her down the hall. “She’s been asking for me?”

  “More like demanding. I thought she was going to blow a gasket when I told her I wouldn’t pull you out of school so you could visit her.”

  When we got close to her room I could hear, “Samaaaanthaaaaa … Samaaaanthaaaaa … Samaaaanthaaaaa,” coming down the hallway like the voice of a ghost. Shivers ran all through me and I had to just stop and listen a minute. “Samaaaanthaaaaa … Samaaaanthaaaaa … Samaaaanthaaaaa …” came her voice, over and over again.

  Mrs. Keltner whispered, “She’s been doing that all day. Every waking moment. She wouldn’t even touch her lunch.”

  I tiptoed into the room and sat down in the chair beside her bed. She was wrapped up in her robe with her eyes closed, looking very pale. I whispered, “Mrs. Graybill?”

  She said my name a few more times, then sputtered to a stop and opened her eyes—first just a crack, then all the way. Her eyes were glassy, like they had a film of tears across them. She let out a sigh. “You’re here.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I just scooted around in my chair a bit and said, “Do you need me to get you something from your apartment?”

  Her head moved back and forth against the pillow as she put out her hand and said it again, “You’re here.”

  Her hand was cold and rough, and holding it felt very strange. Like holding hands with a statue. She looked into my eyes and whispered, “Forgive me, Samantha. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

  I almost said, Forgive you for what? but then I remembered all the times she’d barged through Grams’ apartment looking for me. The times she’d lain in wait, hoping I’d slip up so she could kick me out of the Senior Highrise. The times her hand had practically cut my arm off while she sprayed threats in my face. What could I say, though? I looked down, then shrugged and nodded.

  She didn’t blink. “The truth, Samantha. I need to hear the truth. Can you forgive me?”

  I thought about it seriously this time. About the things she’d done, about the things she’d said, about the way she’d hated me—it was like looking through little snapshots of my life with her. But the most recent snapshots—the ones of her calling my name and crying over her sister—those showed a whole different Daisy Graybill. So finally I squeezed her hand and whispered, “Of course I forgive you.”

  She closed her eyes and took a really deep breath, then little by little, she let it out. She mouthed, Thank you, and then closed her eyes.

  I watched her, lying there in her dirty pink robe, her chest going up and down, up and down. And I wanted to leave, but somehow I couldn’t. I just sat there with my hand in hers, watching her, thinking about the things we’d been through, the things she’d been through, and I wondered. About Billy McCabe. About Mrs. Graybill’s sister. About her mother. About her life. And somewhere in all that thinking I realized that something about Mrs. Graybill was different. Her hand was still cold, and there was still a drop of drool at the corner of her mouth, but something was different.

  Then it hit me. Her chest wasn’t going up and down anymore. It was just still. I shook her a little and whispered, “Mrs. Graybill?” Her arm was limp. “Mrs. Graybill!” I stood up and shook her shoulders. “Mrs. Graybill!”

  I don’t know what happened to me. I’d never felt like that before. Ever. I started shaking and panting for air and running back and forth, trying to figure out what to do. And in the middle of all that, tears started running out of my eyes because I knew—Mrs. Graybill was dead.

  I ran into the hallway calling, “Mrs. Keltner! Nurse! Anybody!”

  Elyssa was right there, sitting on the floor. She jumped up and said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Mrs. Graybill … she’s … she’s …”

  Elyssa’s mom came charging down the hall. She took one look at me and said to Elyssa, “Sit down. Right here. Everything’s all right. Just sit.”

  “But Mom …!”

  “Sit!”

  Elyssa sat, and her mom and another nurse and I went into the room. They went straight to Mrs. Graybill and checked her out, and it wasn’t long before Elyssa’s mom was putting her arm around me, whispering, “I’m sorry.”

  “Is she … is she …”

  Mrs. Keltner tried to smile. “She’s in a better place now. You’ve just got to let her go.”

  I couldn’t take it. I stumbled my way down the hall and out the door, and when I got to the curb I sat down and cried. And I cried so hard it almost felt like I had the flu—my stomach was wrenching, my body was shaking, and I couldn’t stop. I just couldn’t stop.

  Then all of a sudden there’s a hand on my back and a little voice saying, “I’m sorry she died.”

  I shook my head.

  Elyssa watched me dripping in the gutter a minute, then asked, “Why are you crying? Isn’t she in heaven now?”

  I slapped some tears away and shook my head. “Who knows where she is. She’s dead.” Then I stood up and said, “I gotta get out of here.…” and left her standing there, watching after me.

  FIFTEEN

  I tried calling Grams from a gas station. The phone must’ve rung a hundred times before I gave up and stumbled my way over to Hudson’s.

  He wasn’t home, either. And it felt weird, sitting on his porch all by myself, but I was too upset to go anywhere else. At first all I could think of was Mrs. Graybill, but after a while a lady went by trying to power-walk her Pekinese and I remembered: Mrs. Landvogt and Mr. Petersen and Paula Nook. And I felt like saying, Just forget it. It was hopeless. I was never going to get my hands on that blasted bald dog. And really, in the scheme of things, what did it matter anyway?


  But thinking about Mrs. Graybill got me crying all over again, so I forced myself to think about the Cyclops. What was she doing with the Stinkbug? And why were they so spooked when they spotted me? It all seemed to come back to the Crocodile. Maybe they were ransoming the dog, or maybe she was blackmailing them. Maybe both. One thing was for sure, it wasn’t neither.

  So I went back and forth between crying about Mrs. Graybill and fighting to focus on big bugs and Cyclopes and creatures from the swamp. And when my brain was exhausted from its mental tug-of-war, I knew I had to get up and do something.

  What I decided to do was head back over to Paula Nook’s house. I mean, she probably had a gun, too, but I hadn’t actually seen it yet, so I figured my odds of survival were better than nosing around Petersen’s Printing.

  So off I went, and when I got to Paula’s cul-de-sac, I stood across the road for a few minutes and just watched. There weren’t any pickup trucks parked on the street, so at least I was safe from Hero. The curtains were all drawn, and the trash was rolled out to the curb, and even though it was still daylight, the porch light was on. It looked to me like the Cyclops wasn’t home.

  I went up and banged on the door, and when no one answered I got down on my hands and knees and peeked through the mail slot. All I could really see was dirty tan carpet and the metal legs of two kitchen chairs. I put my mouth up to the slot and called, “Marique! Here, girl!” and then looked inside.

  No bald dog ran up to see me.

  I tried it again, only this time I called, “Ribs! C’mon, boy!”

  Again, no bald dog.

  I hurried over to the garage and kind of knocked on the door, whistling and clapping and calling, and I was just about to duck around to the backyard when a scratchy voice came from the house next door, “She took him with her.”

  I jumped a bit and tried to find the voice, but all I could see were windows with dirty screens over them. It came again. “You some relation?” I wasn’t sure, but I thought it was a woman’s voice.

  “I’m … I’m her niece. She asked me to come over and feed Ribs tonight.” I felt like I was lying to a house.