The Showstopper

by Robin Merrill

  “What?” Billy hollered back.

  “Gloria has a shovel!” Sandra screamed at the top of her voice, which still wasn’t very loud. She wished she had her ref whistle, though, short of tweeting out her message in Morse code, she wasn’t sure what good it would do in this situation.

  “Shovel!” Peter screamed. He was much louder.

  “What?” Billy hollered again. Billy could be loud too.

  “Never mind that,” Bob said, suddenly appearing beside her. He waved his arm in the air and all the snow that was around her tires flew to either side of their car.

  “Whoa,” Peter said. “That was awesome.” He headed for the van.

  “Yeah, well, I can’t do it for the whole road, so you’re going to have to drive with caution.”

  Before he’d even finished his sentence, Sandra was in the driver’s seat, putting her key in the ignition. “It’s okay. The plow truck went through at least once before the snow turned to ice. We might well go off the road, but at least we shouldn’t get stuck in the road.”

  Peter climbed into the front seat.

  “No, sir, mister! You’re not twelve yet. Get in the back.”

  “Mom! He’s getting away!”

  “Get in the back!”

  With a dramatic sigh, Peter climbed into the back, and Bob appeared in his place.

  “Buckle up,” Sandra said to both of them and then eased her van out onto the road, grateful she’d had the foresight to back into her spot when they’d arrived at rehearsal. It seemed as though that arrival had taken place years ago.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Bob said. “You don’t have to risk your life to catch him. Everyone in the theater is out of danger now that he’s gone. Well, everyone except the two of you.”

  Sandra glanced in the rearview mirror. “He’s right. I never should’ve let you come, Peter. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” She slowed the van down.

  “Mom! I’ll be fine. Come on! You’re losing him.”

  She sped up a little, but not much. She didn’t want to let him get away, but she wasn’t willing to drive faster than thirty-five miles an hour to catch up to him.

  “At least he left us a trail,” Bob said.

  “Yep.” His tire tracks were the only tracks on the road. “If he pulls onto another road, we’ll certainly know it.”

  “Are there any other roads?” Peter asked.

  “Yes, there are some camps up here, and there are old logging roads—”

  “Why would he pull onto an old logging road?” The “You’re crazy, Mom” was implied.

  Sandra didn’t like his tone. “Because he’s a murderer! And he’s trying to get away from us.”

  Bob laughed. “I doubt he even thinks we’re following him.” Bob’s mirth surprised her. He seemed to really be enjoying this. Maybe she wasn’t the only one forming an addiction to sleuthing.

  “Good. Let him think he’s gotten away.” Up ahead, yellow lights flashed through the trees. “Is that a plow?”

  Neither of her passengers answered her, but the answer became clear ten seconds later when they came around a corner and there it was: a giant ugly county vehicle hogging the whole road. She yanked the car to the right to get out its way.

  “Uh-oh,” Peter said, and Bob grabbed the handle over the window.

  “It’s fine,” Sandra said, in complete control of her vehicle. “I know how to drive.”

  “I never doubted you,” the angel said.

  Behind the snow plow followed two police cars with flashing blue lights.

  “Uh-oh,” Bob said.

  “They’re a little late,” Peter said.

  “Yes, that too. But I meant uh-oh that Otis’s tracks are gone.”

  Sure enough, Otis’s tracks had disappeared. He had obviously swerved to drive on the freshly plowed, sanded, and salted half of the road, and Sandra followed his lead. “That’s okay. We’ll still get him. Bob, grab my phone. It’s in the cup holder. I doubt we have a signal yet, but we really should call the police and tell them the murderer is headed back toward town.”

  “No, no signal yet.”

  “Okay, keep checking. You should have one soon. And Peter, keep your eyes peeled for where he might have turned off. I doubt he will turn off, but if he does, I don’t want to miss it.”

  “You got it, Mom.” Peter turned and pressed his nose against his window.

  Chapter 26

  “You’ve got a signal,” Bob announced.

  Sandra put her foot on the brake, and the van slid to a stop.

  “Why are you stopping?” Bob asked, his voice tinged with criticism.

  “Because if I go around that corner, the signal will disappear.” She took the phone out of his hand and dialed 911 for the second time that evening.

  “Hello.” She tried to sound pleasant as she identified herself and explained the situation.

  The operator sounded confused. “But the victim is still at the theater?”

  “Yes, but the killer is heading back toward Plainfield, or he might even already be there. I’m not sure how fast he’s—”

  “The police still need to go to the crime scene, ma’am.”

  Sandra swallowed her irritation. “I know that, but they don’t all have to go there, do they? Especially when the killer is about to get away?”

  “How do you know he’s the killer?” Her skepticism nearly vibrated the phone.

  “Because he admitted it, right before he took off running.”

  “Oh. All right. I’ll send a unit your way. What is your location?”

  Sandra told her for the second time, though she had to estimate. Somewhere between the narrow Maple Stream bridge and the Plainfield town line. She started driving as she explained this, knowing she wouldn’t be all that heartbroken if she lost the signal now. As she thought might happen, the call turned to fuzz and then to a dead line as the minivan descended into another valley.

  “Look!” Bob cried out, pointing out the windshield.

  Sandra looked, but she didn’t see anything. Did angels have supernatural eyesight along with everything else?

  “What is it?” Peter asked.

  “I think it’s his truck,” Bob said quietly.

  Sandra slowed, still trying to see whatever it was Bob was accusing of being Otis’s truck, and then there it was, in the ditch, on its side. “Oh wow, I hope he’s all right.”

  “That’s why I like you, Sandra,” Bob said. “Because you genuinely care about people.”

  The praise made her uncomfortable. She hadn’t meant to be sappy about Otis’s welfare. He was not a nice man, but she didn’t want him dead. “I thought you liked me because I help you on secret sleuthing missions.”

  “Uh, who called who here?”

  Touche. She pulled the minivan over to the side of the road and turned her flashers on. “Now what?” Should they get out? Should they wait for the police? Was Otis even dangerous at this point? She didn’t think so. Ethel had almost gotten the best of him. If she could take him out, the three of them should be able to handle him, right? Without waiting for Bob to answer, she slowly climbed out of the van. She pulled the collar of her coat up, grateful for the extra costume-room-layers she’d borrowed. “I think we should stay together,” she said loudly, again surprised by the authority in her own voice.

  “Good idea. Let’s.” Bob was suddenly ahead of her, almost to the truck, a supernatural head start that annoyed her. It wasn’t fair. Peter, on the other hand, was nearly pressed up against her.

  “Do you want to wait in the car, honey?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “You said we should stay together.”

  Honestly, she wasn’t sure what the right play was. It might be safer to leave her son in the minivan. Or, it might be safer to just keep driving and get him home to his bed. She sent up a silent prayer for protection and hoped she wasn’t being too foolish.

  “He’s not here.” Bob stood on the edge of the road, staring down at the pickup. Sandra, wan
ting a closer look, slid down into the ditch, almost going onto her butt in the process, and peered in through the windshield. Sure enough, he wasn’t in there. She looked around, using her phone for a flashlight, as she’d given the actual flashlight back to Peter. “There!” She pointed to fresh tracks heading into the woods.

  “Why would he go into the woods?” Peter asked.

  Sandra didn’t know. Wasn’t he worried about freezing to death? It wasn’t sub-zero or anything, but it was below freezing, and the wind chill had to be knocking on dangerous. She didn’t know what to do. If she let him go, he might die. If they pursued him, one of them might get hurt. Still, she didn’t think this was likely. She looked at the safe minivan parked in the darkness and then she looked at the woods. She hated being indecisive.

  “Come on, Mom. Let’s go find him. We’ll be fine. It’s not like he has a gun or anything.”

  We think. Who knew what he had stashed in that giant truck?

  Peter started for the woods, and Sandra grabbed him by the arm. “If we’re going, I’m going first.”

  “Actually”—Bob miraculously appeared in front of them—“I’ll go first. I’ve obviously got the best eyesight.”

  Obviously. Though, he was kind of cheating by being an angel and all. “Okay, let us know if you see anything,” Sandra whispered, and then took care to take quiet steps as she walked through the noisy crust on top of the snow.

  It was no use. While Bob glided along with near silence, Peter and she sounded like a couple of lumbering Sasquatches.

  They walked and walked and Sandra was glad she was in good physical shape. Uphill and down, Otis made a straight beeline through the forest. Whether he had a destination in mind remained to be seen, but he was sure staying on course.

  Bob stopped short and held up a hand. Sandra and Peter almost crashed into him as they too came to a halt. “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Is Otis a hunter?” Bob asked.

  Sandra had no idea.

  “Yes,” Peter said with certainty.

  Bob turned toward them and then stepped so close to Sandra that he made her uncomfortable.

  “What is it?” She fought the urge to step back.

  “Don’t look. We don’t want him to know that we know, but he’s in a tree stand up ahead.”

  Now that was creepy. She immediately looked.

  “Don’t look!” Bob snapped.

  “Oh stop it. He can’t see my eyes from his perch, unless he’s got angel eyesight.”

  “I thought he might be a hunter, because he’s acting like he knows these woods.”

  “He’s always bragging about his hunting stories. Fishing too,” Peter said. “Sometimes I think he’s lying. No one catches that many fish.”

  “If he throws people down stairs, he probably lies about fishing too,” Bob offered.

  “So what do we do?” Sandra didn’t want to climb a tree.

  “I’m not sure. Do you have a signal?”

  Sandra checked her phone. “No. But I probably will if we go uphill again.” She looked around for a hill, but couldn’t see anything beyond the range of her phone’s flashlight. “Or maybe I should climb my own tree.”

  “Can he see us right now?” Peter asked.

  Bob thought for several seconds. “Not sure.”

  “Can he hear us?” Peter asked in a mouselike voice.

  “I don’t think so. He’s at least a hundred yards ahead of us.”

  “Maybe we should go back.” Peter’s voice quavered in fear. Or maybe he was just cold.

  Sandra took his hand into her own. His fingers were icy. “Maybe we should.” Once again, Sandra was annoyed by her own indecisiveness.

  Then they heard a semi-manly shriek followed by a mighty crash from about a hundred yards ahead.

  Chapter 27

  “Did he just fall out of the tree?” Apparently, Peter found that idea exciting.

  “I think ... maybe.” Bob was already so far ahead of them that he was out of sight.

  Peter took off, and Sandra, much to her dismay, brought up the rear. Hadn’t this been her investigation in the beginning? She lost sight of Peter, and her heart tightened in panic. “Peter!” she called out, even though that probably wasn’t smart given that they were in pursuit of a murderer. “Wait for me!”

  Seconds later she realized she’d run out into a clearing and looked up to see both Bob and Peter standing still staring at a small hunting camp. “Is this his?” she said breathless.

  “I don’t think so.” Bob pointed to the cabin. Her phone light followed his pointing, to a giant sign over the door that read, “Welcome to Lewie’s Lodge.” Who on earth was Lewie? And did it matter? Probably not, as he didn’t appear to be home. There was no vehicle in the unplowed driveway and no tracks in the pristine snow. There were no lights on inside or smoke coming out of the chimney. They heard a bang and all turned to see a small shed standing on the edge of the clearing. Then they heard the whine of an engine. At first, Sandra thought it was a chainsaw, and her blood ran cold with fear, but then Otis went whizzing by on an ancient snowmobile. Relief washed over her in a blissful wave. But this relief was quickly replaced by a renewed fear for Otis’s safety. He really was trying to freeze to death. She’d never forgive herself if he died trying to get away from her.

  “I can keep up with him.” Bob disappeared, leaving her and Peter standing in the snow. Despite all their movement, her hands, especially the one clutching the phone, were going numb.

  Peter took off for the shed at a full sprint, and Sandra, assuming he was hoping for some warmth from the meager shelter, went after him.

  She entered the small space and shone her light around its walls, nearly jumping out of her skin when her light passed a giant moose head jutting out of the wall. “Let’s go into the house, Peter. There’s probably a wood stove, and maybe some blankets.

  “I’m not looking for blankets.” He ripped a tarp off a mound near the edge of the shed. “I was looking for this.” He looked up at her with wide eyes. “You want to drive?”

  Not really. But she sure wasn’t going to let him do it.

  Trying to hide her trepidation, she approached the relic. Despite having endured many a Maine winter, she had no idea how to drive a snowmobile. She didn’t even know how to start one. Pretending she knew what she was doing, she swung one leg over the seat and sat down, almost bouncing off the old plastic as her blue-jeaned rear end realized just how cold that seat was. The key was in the ignition, and she turned it, but nothing happened.

  “Watch out, Mom.” Peter pushed her right knee out of the way and reached down and grabbed a black plastic handle with both hands. She leaned out of his way as he yanked for all he was worth. The machine beneath her belched, but then went back to silent. Peter let the cord slide back into the machine and then yanked again, grunting this time. The machine roared to life, violently vibrating every cell of her body, but then died.

  “Maybe it’s not going to work.” She wished it wouldn’t. What was she going to do with this thing once Peter got it started?

  “It’ll work. You’ve got to give it some gas. As soon as it starts, push the throttle—”

  “What throttle?” she cried.

  He pointed toward a small black button on her handlebar. Desperate to not have her son think she was completely useless, she slapped her hand over the handle and nodded. He yanked again, and as soon as she felt the vibration, she gave it some gas. The engine roared, as did her adrenaline and for a brief second, her pride. But then the snowmobile lurched ahead, narrowly missing the shed wall, and almost throwing Sandra off the back of it. She held on, accidentally tightening her grip with the only hand she had on the sled and giving it even more gas.

  Precious seconds later, she realized the error of her ways and took her thumb off the button. The engine sputtered, and she panicked that it was going to stall, so she pushed the button again and gave herself whiplash. At least by now she had the good sense to hang on with two
hands, but this was quickly getting old. Maybe she should have let Peter drive.

  She hadn’t realized Peter had been running after her until he jumped onto the back of the sled, wrapped his hands around her waist, and screamed into her ear, “Go, Mom, go!” Absurdly, this reminded her of the Dr. Seuss book she’d read to Peter seventy thousand times during early childhood. What had it been called? Oh, the Places You’ll Go? Was that it? She tried to remember as she and her son picked up speed and headed toward the icy trees.

  Chapter 28

  Peter really should be wearing a helmet. Sandra slowed the sled down at this thought.

  “He’s getting away!” Peter cried so loudly that it hurt her ear.

  They knew no such thing, of course. They had no idea where Otis was. They didn’t even know where they were. The trail had sprawled into a dozen branches since they’d started this escapade, and Sandra was certain they’d lost him. It had snowed less here than it had up in the mountains, and it was difficult to distinguish fresh tracks from old ones. She slowed to a stop and turned to look at her son. “We should go back!” she hollered over the engine.

  “What? Why?”

  The engine sputtered, and she gave it enough gas to keep it alive. “Because we’ve lost him, and I don’t want to run out of gas in the wilderness.” She didn’t think she needed to list her other reasons. That she didn’t want her son to get frostbite or hypothermia. That winter had just started and there really wasn’t enough snow yet for snowmobiling, so these trails were in horrible condition. That her back had never hurt so badly in her life, and she was worried that she’d broken it. That she couldn’t feel her face.

  Peter dropped his head, but he didn’t argue.