Authors: Betsy Byars
Death's Door (7 page)
“Pow ... pow!” Meat finished it for her.
Meat's mother went on quickly, “Go on about what you saw.”
“Do you remember about a week ago when they had the parade to raise money for Habitat?”
“And during the parade somebody shot at the mayor.”
“Yes.”
“Nobody's safe anymore.” She paused to remember. “And didn't it have something to do with drugs? The mayor's trying to clean up the city and the drug dealers don't like it?”
“Well, the paper didn't actually say that. What it did say was that it was a professional job, and if the mayor hadn't had on a bulletproof vest, he'd be dead.”
“And what was Neiman doing?”
“Nothing. Standing on the corner, waiting for the parade to get by so he could cross the street, I imagine. There was a reporter on the other side of the street, and just as the mayor's car went past Uncle Neiman, there were some shots, and the reporter snapped the picture.”
“I hope I didn't throw that paper out,” Meat's mother said. She started into the kitchen.
“Oh, wait. I made a copy of it. What'd I do with it?” He found it on the floor of the hall, by the coat closet.
As she looked at it, Meat peered over her shoulder. “See, Mom, everyone in the picture is looking at the mayor in horrorâthey thought it was another Dallasâexcept Uncle Neiman. He's looking up, like he sees something interesting in the building across the street.”
Meat's mother drew the picture closer.
Meat continued. “And whoever saw that picture thought Uncle Neiman had seen him.”
“He does appear to be seeing something.”
“He does.”
“But Neiman has terrible eyesight. He can't see from here to there.” His mother pointed to the back door.
“Yes, Mom, but whoever's trying to kill him doesn't know that.”
15
SAFER OUT THAN IN
The drive had been silent except for Herculeah's urgent shouts of “Brakes!” or “Red light!”
The rush hour had passed, and after-supper traffic was light. Herculeah was grateful for that. She felt that if she had to yell “Brakes!” one more time she was going to throw the seat forward and jump out of the car. She'd be safer outside the car than in.
Now Uncle Neiman made a wide turn onto a street with less traffic. He was still straining forward tensely over the steering wheel, but Herculeah relaxed a little.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said.
“What street is that?” he asked. “Can you read the sign?”
“Wentworth.”
“Is that the bank over there?”
“First National.”
“Okay, good. I know where I am. Go ahead and ask your question.”
“Well, what I'm wondering is, when was the first time you thought someone was after you?”
“Last Thursdayâthe day after the mayor was shot. I was crossing Conning Boulevardâor trying toâand a car almost ran me down.”
“You thought it was an accident?”
“At the time, yes.”
“Did you see what kind of car it was?”
“Dark.”
“That doesn't help much. And you didn't see the driver?”
He shook his head.
“Or the license plate?”
“Oh, no.”
“I guess that was too much to hope for. So that was Thursday.”
“Yes.”
As a car pulled out of a side street, Herculeah cried, “Brakes!”
He slammed on the brakes. “What's that fool doing?” he asked, “turning like that.”
Herculeah fell forward. She braced her arms against the front seat and it fell forward too. At that moment she had a chance at the door handle.
She reached for it with one hand. With the other, she grabbed the buckle of her seat belt. But for some reason that she couldn't understand, she stopped.
“He had the right of way. Didn't you see the YIELD sign?”
“No.”
She leaned back in her seat, surprised at herself. I'm still sitting here and not out there running along the sidewalk because I'm me. I have to know what's happening. I have to be there at the finish.
“So,” she continued after a moment, “what happened on, say, Wednesday?”
“Nothing.” He peered over the steering wheel. “Is this Conning?”
“Yes.”
“That's where I almost got run over. Want to see?” He didn't wait for her answer. “I'll show you.”
Uncle Neiman made an abrupt turn from the wrong lane. Horns blew. Brakes screeched. Herculeah tightened her seat belt.
“Have you ever driven this car before?” Herculeah asked when her heart had started up again.
“No.”
“Have you ever drive
a
car before?”
a
car before?”
“A few times.”
“Well, you don't drive like it. Whose car is this anyway?”
“A friend's.”
“Does he know you've got it?”
Uncle Neiman ignored the question. He came to a stop in the middle of the intersection. “This is where it happened. I was standing there.”
Horns blew. Traffic stopped behind. More horns.
“I see it. Go ahead.” She glanced out the back window into the furious face of a driver.
“It happened the day after the mayor got shot at. Did you read about that?”
“My mom mentioned it. Tell me while you drive.”
Uncle Neiman moved cautiously through the intersection.
“I had gone for lunch over at the BistroâI always eat thereâand I came home by the same way, Conning Boulevard.”
“And?”
“And I started across the street, and a car came at meâI mean,
at
me. A man grabbed me by the back of the jacket and yanked me to the sidewalk or I wouldn't be here to tell about it.”
at
me. A man grabbed me by the back of the jacket and yanked me to the sidewalk or I wouldn't be here to tell about it.”
“You were lucky.”
“You think so? My hat fell off my head, and he did run over that. I could show you the tire marks, if I still had it.”
“That is not what I would call a lucky hat. Did you happen to see the shooting?”
“The mayor?” He shook his head. “I was there but I didn't see anything.”
“Maybe you saw something that you don't know you sawâsome little insignificant thing. That does happen.”
“Mostly in mystery books.”
Herculeah interrupted to say, “Oh, I wish I had my granny glasses.”
“Glasses?”
“Little round ones. They make me fog out. The whole world becomes a blur. They help me think.”
“You put on glasses so you won't be able to see?”
“Yes.”
“I don't need any granny glasses for that. My eyes do a good enough job of creating a fog all by themselves.”
“What do you mean?” Herculeah asked.
When he didn't answer, she leaned forward.
She said, “What are you saying?” this time stressing each word.
“I'm saying I don't see anything but fog. The truth of the matter is that I can't see from here to the next corner.”
He bumped up onto the curb and off again.
“That was the next corner,” Herculeah said.
“I told you.”
16
MAGOO
“It's true,” Uncle Neiman continued mildly when they were back in their lane again. “I'm almost blind. My friends call me Magoo.”
“How did you ever get a driver's license?”
“I don't have one.”
“You don't have a driver's license?”
“I used to. My eyesight was better then. Nowadays I remember my way around. I've been traveling these streets all my life.”
“Stop this car. I am not kidding. I am getting out of here.”
Uncle Neiman speeded up.
“I said I want out!”
“There it is!” Uncle Neiman said.
“What?”
“My shop.”
He put on the brakes and came to a stop in the intersection. Herculeah glanced behind them to see if they were going to cause another traffic jam, but there were no cars in sight.
“See, I got us here, safe and sound.”
Herculeah said, “Huh!” Then she glanced down the street with interest. “Which one's yours?”
“Third on the left, between Goodwill and the adult video store.”
Uncle Neiman stepped on the gas and moved quickly to the corner. Herculeah peered over her shoulder.
“Aren't you going to stop?”
Uncle Neiman steered the car around the corner into the wrong lane, narrowly missing a minibus full of old people, and back again.
“I'm not even sure I saw it,” Herculeah said.
She had a vague impression of a dark brick building that had once been a house. She thought she had seen a sign on the door, but Uncle Neiman certainly hadn't given her time to read it.
“I can't turn in. The manâthe gunmanâmight be waiting for me. A woman's raincoat and hat isn't going to fool him. Did you see anybody suspicious?”
“I didn't see anybodyâperiod. All the stores looked closed.”
“That doesn't mean there's nobody there.”
“Too right.”
“I'm going to stop on Hunter Street. The alley goes right through to the shop. Nobody knows about the alley but the shop owners. It just looks like a space between buildings. You can go down the alley to the back door of the shop andâ”
“Hey, I didn't say I was going to do this,” Herculeah interrupted.
“Well, if you decide to, that's what you can do.”
Uncle Neiman parked the car beside a pawnshop that had its bars up for the night. He parked the way he had before, halfway up on the curb.
“Well, here we are,” he said. “You didn't think I could do it, did you?”
“No.”
“And not so much as a scratch on the car.”
“It wasn't the car I was worried about,” Herculeah answered.
17
THE SOUND OF SILENCE
Uncle Neiman had not turned off the ignitionâmaybe he was too blind to find it, Herculeah thought. More likely, he was waiting for her to make up her mind.
“Are you getting out, or not?” he asked, confirming her thought.
“I'm thinking about it,” she said.
Her choices, it seemed, were both unappealing. She could take a chance on getting the money from the safe without being seen by the gunman, or take a chance on driving around some more with Magoo and living through that.
The motor continued its hum.
“Let's go over it one more time,” Herculeah said. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do.”
“You will walk down the alley to the back door. You'll find it easily because there's a sign that says DEATH'S DOOR-NO ADMITTANCE.”
“Don't I wish,” Herculeah said.
Uncle Neiman reached under his raincoat and into his pants pocket and brought out a ring of keys. He selected one key from the rest and offered it to her. The rest dangled below.
Herculeah made to move to take it.
“Then what?” she said.
“Then you'll find yourself in what used to be the kitchen of the house. Now it's where I keep my rental books.”
“Used paperbacks?” Herculeah asked, trying to get a feel for the room she'd be in.
“I don't handle anything but used books,” Uncle Neiman said. “The rental library's a mixtureâpaperbacks, hardbacks, magazines. Some of these books have been in and out of the shop fifty or sixty times so they're showing their age.”
“All right. So I go through the kitchenâthe rental library. What then?”
“You'll pass the steps that lead upstairs. My apartmentâs up there. I don't suppose you'd be willing to pack a few of my things while you're there.”
“You suppose right.”
“I could sure use my own raincoat. I'm beginning to feel like I'm three years old in my sister's cast-off clothes.”
“No.”
“My mother never made me wear the girl's dresses, but those old-timey coats had a lot of wear in them.”
“No!”
“All right.”
After a silence, Uncle Neiman continued. “If you don't want to go upstairsâ”
“I don't.”
“You keep on walking. Death's Door used to be a private home, and so the two rooms across the front are the old dining and living rooms. The dining roomâyou'll go in there firstâhas ten stacks of books, five here, five here.”
He diagrammed it with his hands.
“Well,” he corrected himself, “it usually has that many. One of the shelves fell on meâwas pushed on me, if you want the truth. It was no accident.”
“Probably not.”
“And I never cleaned it up. The books are still on the floor.”
“That's the room where the safe is?” Herculeah asked. “The dining room?”
“No. Keep to the right. You'll pass the counter with the cash register and the telephoneâ”
Herculeah's heart quickened at the thought of a telephone.
“And the computer. Go past that and into the living room. There are bookcases against the back wall. One of them has a glass door. It's locked. It's where I keep my valuable books. I've got an autographed Josephine Tey.”
“What's that?”
He looked at her with disappointment. “Well, she's English.” He decided to give her another chance. “I've got an autographed Donald E. Westlake.”
She shook her head.
“Well, who have you heard of? And don't go asking for an autographed Nancy Drew, because they were written by anybody that felt like writing them. There never was a Carolyn Keene.”
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