Boo Who (49 page)

“Here!”
Wolfe heard Martin cry.
“In here!”

He rushed through the house toward the hallway. He ran into Melb’s bedroom and found Martin in the closet.

Martin turned to him. “I found it,” he breathed.

Wolfe stepped forward, and there, underneath a pile of clothes, was a small silver safe with a padlock on it.

“It’s not too heavy,” Martin said, pulling it forward, out of the closet. The men knelt on either side of it.

Wolfe took the chain from around his neck and held the key in his hand, looking at Martin, who urged him with watchful eyes.

After two tries of getting the key into the hole, Wolfe finally did it and clicked the lock open easily. He pulled the lock off and took a deep breath. “Here we go.”

Opening it up, both men peered in. Grabbing for the contents at the same time, their knuckles crashed into each other. They both yelped.

“I’m sorry,” Wolfe said. “Go ahead.”

Martin shook his head. “No, I want you to.”

He carefully stuck his hand in and pulled out what looked like a diary. And then another diary. Four of them. The men looked at each other.

“Journals,” Wolfe said, handing two to Martin.

“Whose?” Martin wondered. Then he said, “Look! On the front of each of them!”

In faded handwriting, on the front of each journal, were neatly printed,
S
a
fely
K
eep
A
nd
R
estore
Y
ou.

Wolfe could hardly believe it. “Safely Keep And Restore You! SKARY. It’s an acronym!”

Both men flipped open the journals and began reading.

Ainsley’s knees felt so weak she thought she was going to have to sit down. But she didn’t ever have a chance, for she moved from one place to the next, the cameras always on her, the lights bright and stunning her senses.

But she felt weary.

And she couldn’t help but notice Wolfe was nowhere to be seen. Had he left?

She told Alfred she needed a few minutes to recuperate, and though he obviously didn’t like the idea, he managed to smile and step out of her way. She moved to a quiet corner and sipped a glass of water, while the cameraman and director were taking an interest in Mayor Wullisworth and his Bermuda shorts.

She shook her head, trying to make sense of Wolfe. On one hand, he professed his love for her and said he supported her. But why wasn’t he here, at her big moment? She put a finger below her lashes to catch the tears, hoping she wouldn’t smear the fancy makeup job.

“Wolfe, where are you?” she whispered. She felt he was so far away from her heart. His words rang in her ears, but she needed him by her side.

“Ainsley!” she heard Alfred shout over the crowd noise. “Let’s go! We need your commentary on the table designs! And Melb and Oliver are getting ready to cut the cake!”

Ainsley closed her eyes and prayed to God for peace in her soul.

“This is unbelievable,” Wolfe said, after several minutes of silence. Martin glanced up, nodding with wide eyes.

“What’s in yours?” Martin asked.

“This looks like the entire story of how Skary came into existence.”

“What does it say?”

“Apparently Skary was created as a safe haven for moral rejects of society. It was created by three pastors, who built those shacks up in the hills. They would take in prostitutes, bootleggers, those accused of being witches, and give them food and water and protect them from being executed. That’s what I’m getting from all this, anyway. The handwriting is a little hard to read.”

Martin said, “I know who wrote these.”

“Says Clara here.”

“Yes. Clara is Miss Peeple’s grandmother. And according to this, a prostitute who was saved by these pastors. She had a daughter by one of the men who paid her for her services. That’s when she was taken in by these pastors, because she wanted to save her child, and the authorities had found out she was a prostitute. She ran for the hills. Literally.”

After a moment’s thought, Wolfe said, “Which means Miss Peeple’s mother was that child.”

Martin nodded, gazing at the pages in front of him. “That’s why she didn’t want anybody to know the town’s history. Because we would’ve found out her grandmother was a prostitute.”

“But it also explains why she has fought so hard to keep this town alive, using any means possible. It is this very town that saved her mother’s life.”

Martin thumbed through the pages, awe in his eyes. “This is how our town came into being, Wolfe. By saving misfits and rejects.”

Wolfe smiled. “And I guess it’s still doing that today.”

Garth Twyne stared through the community center basement windows, watching the festivities. He’d been invited, but he hadn’t felt like going. It was just a reminder that Ainsley’s wedding was soon to follow. He wasn’t sure what all the hubbub was about, but there were lights and cameras everywhere. He found Ainsley and watched her, sadness in his heart. He had tried to fall in love with Ginger, but there just wasn’t a spark there. He had always loved Ainsley’s poise.

He did have things to be thankful for, he supposed. He was no longer accused of cloning people, so that was a plus.

He decided to go home and order a pizza. But behind him, he heard a noise in the brush. His first instinct was to run like crazy, but after a moment, he realized it sounded like an animal caught up in something.

He cleared the brush and, to his surprise, found the owl that had been hooting for the past few weeks around these parts.

“Hey,” he said, gently pulling back the brush. “It’s okay.” He could tell that it had a broken wing. “Shsshhh. It’ll be okay.”

The poor owl was thrashing nervously. He ran to his truck and got out a pair of gloves and a blanket. When he returned, the owl seemed to have lost strength and stared up at him with helpless eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take care of you.”

Wolfe and Martin had been reading entries in the journals for an hour or so. Wolfe rubbed his eyes and laid down the journal in his hands. “This is a lot to take in,” he said. Martin nodded, still into whatever he was reading. “The last thing I read explained how they would go out and help these people.”

Martin looked up.

“They’d go into certain towns and find, say, a prostitute that was in trouble. And they would shake her hand and say, ‘May the Lord safely keep and restore you.’ And everyone knew that was the code word for being saved, though nobody knew where this place was. Apparently they’d pack up a small bag of things they owned, what they could carry on their backs, and then the pastors would sneak them out of town at night. Nobody knew where Skary was, because it was up in the hills, hidden away. But soon their numbers grew, and they made themselves a town. Became official in 1870.”

Martin said, “In here, which looks to be the last journal, it says that after they’d been a town for about two years, they destroyed all the evidence linking them to their past and started anew. The only thing that remained was the name, Skary. They knew through the generations, the word-of-mouth history would be lost.”

Wolfe shook his head. “But I guess in some way we’re always linked to our past. It shapes us to be who we are today, right?”

Martin nodded. “And I guess perhaps that is why Skary struggles. We lost the purpose that we were created for in the first place.” Martin’s fingers traced the edges of the journal in his hand, and he looked up at Wolfe. “Do you think this is enough?”

“To save Skary?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know,” Wolfe said softly. “I hope so, Martin.”

“Some may look at it as an ugly wart on our nose.”

“Others may see it as noble and good.”

Martin sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Whatever the case, it’s our last chance. To save Skary. To save the mayor. This is what our town is about, and either we’re going to embrace who we are, or we’re going to run from it.”

“What’s going on here?”

Wolfe and Martin scrambled backward, and then looked up to find Melb and Oliver standing over them. Melb’s face was twisted with anger. Oliver just looked shocked.

“Melb!” Martin jumped to his feet. “What are you doing home?”

She crossed her arms. “Well, what in the world do you think we’re doing home?” Martin and Wolfe both noticed at the same time the champagne glasses and bottle in Oliver’s hand. A bashful blush crossed Oliver’s face.

“Oh,” Martin said. “Um … this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Where’s the money?” Melb’s face was drawn in panic.

Wolfe said carefully, “Melb, there is no money. There never was.”

“Oh yeah, right!” she screamed, even startling Oliver. “You stole it!”

“This is all that was in here,” Wolfe said, holding up a journal.

Tears formed in her eyes. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “You stole it. You stole our money! You broke into our home and stole our money!”

Oliver’s eyes were cutting from one face to the next.

She asked, “How’d you get that lock open, anyway?”

Wolfe held up a key. “This safe belongs to Missy Peeple. She gave the key to me. She wanted us to find what was in here, which is information on the town’s history. Martin has been trying to find it to help the town out.” It was the most he could explain while being stung by the fiery darts shooting from her eyes.

Suddenly she broke down and cried. “I thought I’d found … I thought we were going to be … I just thought.

Oliver set down the champagne bottle and glasses and reached for Melb. “Honey, it’s okay. Please don’t cry.”

“I know it’s stupid,” she said, staring at the open, empty safe. “I just thought something truly magical had happened.”

“It has,” Martin breathed, staring at the journals.

Oliver took his thumbs and wiped her tears. Then he said, “My dear Melb, you do not have to worry. I’m a millionaire.”

It took her a second to register this. She stared at the floor, then looked at him. “What?”

“I’m a millionaire. I made a fortune back years ago when I sold my old car lot over in Gary. You don’t really think I make a living selling a couple of cars every two weeks do you?”

She was not the only one in the room with her mouth wide open. Oliver glanced around sheepishly. “I just do it for the challenge. I make some money off it, but every year I think I can do better, and I do.” He shrugged.