Chicory Up: The Pixie Chronicles (26 page)

From the way the littlest girl in the pack winced, Chase guessed she had a headache, too. Probably a reaction to whatever venom Snapdragon had applied to the spikes. A fat tear rolled down her cheek, catching on her upper lip. She sniffed pitifully.

“I just wanted to see the pretty Pixie,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.” Her chin trembled in prelude to more tears.

“I’m sure you didn’t, sweetheart.” Chase went down on one knee beside her. He figured she’d tell him more than the two oldest boys with chins thrust out defiantly and lips pressed together in a narrow line. The oldest boy squinted his eyes and peered at Chase suspiciously. He remembered that look; had tried it on many times when he was that age.

He’d need the keys to the kingdom to open their mouths.

And Thistle was the only one he knew who knew how to penetrate Pixie, now that Chicory was gone. He wondered if Dick had found her yet.

“Are you going to arrest the Pixies, Mr. Policeman?” the little girl asked. Another tear threatened to spill down her cheek.

“No, sweetheart. I’m going to figure out how to fix the Pixies so they don’t hurt anyone. Now you let Nurse Hazlitt take care of you, and I’ll check up on you later.” He trapped the tear with a finger against her cheek, then he stood up and went back to his exam room for his boots and his coat and his weapons.

“Sergeant Norton, you haven’t seen the doctor yet,” the nurse protested. “This is looking serious. What if the bird that attacked you all was rabid? Hell, I don’t know if birds
carry rabies, but they do carry a host of other nasty viruses. We have to stop this now. What if we don’t find the sick bird before Halloween? We’ll have to cancel the festivities to keep our children safe. And that will cost the town a whole lot of money.”

“I’ll come back when you and the doc aren’t quite so busy. I have to find a lost Pixie.”

“T
HISTLE!” DICK CALLED, pounding on the back door of Mabel’s house. He listened carefully for any sounds of movement within. Nothing.

“Thistle!” This time he used the spare key hidden inside a fake rock beside the back steps. “Anybody home?”

Empty. Already the house had that faintly moldy smell of vacancy. The place was devoid of life. Not even a Pixie flitted by the window. The showery morning had turned to a steady autumnal downpour. Any self-respecting Pixie would have crawled into winter hibernation.

“Thistle, where have you gone?” he asked the air.

A soft, muffled sob replied. He listened, seeking direction. The sound came again. He tracked it to the dining room. Slowly he pushed open the swinging door to the small room between the kitchen and the front parlor.

He expected to find Thistle curled up in a chair crying over whatever malicious scene Snapdragon had staged downtown, and the lies he whispered into her ear. What lies?

He didn’t know anything. Only that something had frightened Thistle and she’d run away.

Instead of her thick black hair, he saw only a soggy adolescent girl with raggedly cut dishwater-blonde hair. She wore jeans and a T-shirt that had seen brighter and more solid days. Her bare feet were stuffed into tennis shoes a size too small, judging by the way her big toes pushed against the worn canvas.

The girl who’d approached him downtown.

The lost look in her eyes reminded him of Dusty when she needed a buffer between her and reality.

“Who are you, really?” Dick asked, startled by the pathetic sight.

“Huh?” The girl looked up, startled, eyes wide like a deer caught in a car’s headlights, needing to flee but not quite sure where to go or how to escape the monster bearing down on her.

“I won’t hurt you.” Dick held his hands away from his body, palms up, careful to keep his fingers open. What had his psych class in med school said about confronting frightened teenagers? A runaway by the looks of her; scared, alone, cold, and hungry. “Just tell me who you really are and why you are here?”

“Di… did Mabel send you?” she asked, twisting her head right and left, tangled hair flying into her eyes.

“Um… sort of,” Dick replied. He stood stock-still, not wanting to frighten her into flight, but still needing to know… to know if she was one of the runaways that Phelma Jo helped with new ID and transportation out of town.

And what she had to do with Sandy Langford.

Shit, was Mabel involved in that, too? She must be.

“Who sent you to Mabel?” Dick asked.

“Kids at the shelter. They told me to check with Mabel at the police station and where to find the spare key to the back door if she wasn’t there. She wasn’t there.” She left a lot out of that tale.

“Mabel is in the hospital with a heart attack. I… my girlfriend and I are house-sitting for her until she’s better.” That stretched the truth a bit, but also explained why Mabel had been so insistent that someone live in the house while she was away.

She needed someone to guide these kids along her underground railway.

Did Thistle know? Had Thistle met this girl already, maybe mentioned Sandy to her as a school friend of Dick’s. More than a friend, actually.

“Oh.” The girl’s chin trembled and a new spate of tears threatened to spill from her frightened eyes.

“Look, I need to find my girlfriend right away. Have you seen her? About this tall.” He held his hand level with his chin. “Black hair, purple eyes.”

The girl shook her head. “The place was empty when I got here.” She sniffed again and bit back more words that wanted to spill out.

If she didn’t lie outright, she didn’t tell the whole truth. He needed the whole truth in order to find Thistle.

“I thought this was someplace safe,” the girl said around her tears.

“Normally it would be.” But today was not normal. He looked closely into each corner as if he’d find Thistle hiding there, or answers, or something.

His phone chirped an alarm. “Damn!” He looked at the time, willing it to be twenty minutes, or an hour earlier. The black LED numerals on the white face ticked off more seconds in the wrong direction.

“Look, I
have
to get back to work. And I can’t leave you here…”

“Don’t kick me out. Please, I’m begging you. I… I can’t go back out on the street again. I… I just can’t.” She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

“I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name. And this isn’t my house. I can’t leave you here alone.”

“I won’t steal anything, or break anything, I promise.”

“How about I take you someplace that I promise will be safe and no one will think about looking for you there?”

She puckered her face suspiciously.

“You don’t have a lot of choices here… what is your name?”

“I’m Hope,” she said, firming her chin and looking him square in the eye, defying him to contradict her.

A made-up name, denying her true identity. Dick didn’t care. He just needed to get her out of here so he could go make some money so he and Thistle…

Damn. Thistle was still missing. Still hurting. Unless she’d gone back to Dusty after sulking a while in private.

Dusty. Of course. He’d take this child to Dusty instead of his mom. Dusty had teenagers working for her in the afternoons. Meggie and M’Velle could help her get this waif
where she needed to be, whether back home with her parents or into a shelter.

Was Sandy truly her mother?

“Come along, Hope. I’ve got a spare jacket in my trunk you can wear. My sister will get you help.”

“Who’s your sister?” Hope looked like she was digging her heels in.

“My sister presides over the heart and roots of this town, and the whole world winds up on her doorstep at some point.” Even if it was just a fourth-grade history field trip.

“Dusty! I need your help.”

Dusty looked up from her computer screen to find her brother stalled in the doorway and Phelma Jo staring beyond him.

“Now what?” Dusty asked. Her quiet museum and favorite place to hide from the stresses of dealing with people had become Grand Central Station today.

Maybe she should take a cup of tea into her office, lock the door, and leave the tours and ticket sales to M’Velle and Meggie.

The creak of footsteps on the floorboards upstairs reminded her that Meggie was giving the current tour. She worked better in the gift shop and M’Velle gave better tours. Which was why she insisted they swap places, to learn all the skills necessary to running this business and historical treasure.

“Um, ah, Dusty, this is Hope. I found her at Mabel’s. Um, maybe Phelma Jo can help her. Or you could take her to Mom. I don’t know. I’ve got to get back to work.” He turned to flee.

“Dick, why would I take her to Mom?”

“Because, maybe if she had a waif to smother, she’d let up on you and that hideous wedding gown. Oh, and if you see Thistle, hold onto her until I can talk to her. ’Bye.” He dashed out the way he’d come, leaving a miserable looking teenage girl behind.

“Another one,” Phelma Jo said on a heavy sigh.

“Another one what?” Dusty asked.

The girl studied her worn shoes.

“Get her warm and cleaned up, give her something to eat. Whatever she needs. Don’t worry and go all shy on us now, Dusty. She won’t judge you.”

“I’m not…”

“Yes, you are. This doesn’t mean we are now or ever will be friends. If she gives you any trouble, call this guy.” Phelma Jo fished a business card out of her purse and slapped it on the long table.

“Children’s Services…” Dusty read aloud.

“I ain’t going to CSD!” Hope protested, looking Dusty in the eye for the first time. Something clicked in Dusty’s mind, an almost recognition between them.

“What have you got against CSD?” Phelma Jo asked. She stood directly in front of the girl, daring her to lie. Or run away.

“Kids on the street talk,” Hope replied, tracing patterns on the plank floor with her big toe that threatened to burst through her tennis shoes at any moment.

“Runaway?” Phelma Jo asked. Her tone brooked no defiance.

Hope nodded.

“Don’t believe everything you hear on the street, kid. Not all foster parents are evil, and not all caseworkers are so overwhelmed they don’t care anymore. Marcus Wallachek is one of the good guys. He’ll take care of you.”

“Do you want to go home?” Dusty jumped in before Phelma Jo could intimidate the girl into running. Again.

Hope shook her head violently.

“I need to talk to Mabel,” Phelma Jo said, fishing for her keys in her slacks pocket. “Maybe your mom is the best person to take her for now. I’ll be in touch.” She walked deliberately toward the front door.

Dusty and Hope stared at each other. “Want to talk about it?” Dusty finally broke the silence.

“No.”

“I’ve got some instant soup and hot water if you need something to eat.”

The girl’s stomach growled loud enough for the Pixies in The Ten Acre Wood to hear.

“Eat while I organize my girls. Then I’ll take you to my mother.” And she intended to call Chase, too, the moment she got a bit of privacy.

“Sergeant Norton, where do you think you are going?” Police Chief Beaumain stood squarely in the doorway to Chase’s office.

Caught in the act. Chase had only stopped in long enough to check the recording of the 911 call from the school. Now he either had to stay put or run over his boss. Beaumain had earned his place as chief, and the respect of his force, with hard, honest work, and diligence above and beyond the call of duty.