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“Think, Tiffy...” Rocco calls to AB.

Tiffy, I think to myself. I'm going to get shot by a guy named Tiffy. So much for AB.

“…It's not as if anybody's gonna see it,” Rocco finishes.

“Oh, they'll see it all right,” AmberLea says cheerfully, fiddling with the camera, “In fact, they're seeing it right now. They've seen everything since you got here.”

“What are you bleeping talking about?” says Mustache.

AmberLea holds up a hand; her cell phone is in it. A black wire is running from the phone to the camera. “We've been Skyping the whole thing to all Spencer's web subscribers ever since we got here. He has a lot of fans. Say hi to the nice people.” She swings the camera toward the Wings and the bikers and the posse dudes. There's a lot of twisting and bleeping as hands cover faces. “It's okay,” AmberLea says. “We got some good shots earlier, even your license plates. Anyway, we'd better hurry, because the cops will probably be here soon. Especially since I'm skipping out on house arrest and wearing one of these.” She yanks up the cuff of her skinny jeans. There's something around her ankle.

“Ah, geez, bleep, bleep bleeping bleep,” says Orange Beard.

“What is it?” says Rocco.

“It's a
GPS
ankle cuff, Pop,” says AB Wings. “Remember when Vincent was under—”

“I remember, I remember. The cops are coming? The hell with this. Let's pop 'em now.”

“Good thinking,” says AmberLea. “Murder charges on top of everything else; sounds like a plan to me.”

Rocco Wings isn't listening. He's fumbling with his glasses and the pistol on his knees. Behind him I hear an engine trying to start. We all look. Scratch and his homey are in the Civic.

“Bleep this,” says Orange Beard, “I'm outta here.” He heaves his gun as far as he can into the bush and runs for his chopper. Well, not exactly
runs
. It's hard to run in bike leathers, chains and boots, especially if you're short and four feet wide. Let's say he waddles fast. Mustache beats him to the bikes by a mile. He's trying to kick-start the bike and throw away his knife and gun all at the same time when Orange Beard gets there. The Civic engine is still trying to turn over as KK and AB grab Rocco's walker with him still in the seat and half carry, half hustle him toward the
SUV
, his little white shoes waving in the air, the monster gun swinging wildly. Rocco gets off two shots. The first one hits a woodpile, and I guess the second one hits the helium tank in the Caddy because there's a
BOOM
and the trunk lid shoots off, and suddenly white powder is wafting down on the whole clearing. It makes a nice, Christmas-style ending as four Ontario Provincial Police cruisers roll into the clearing, roof lights whirling.

For a second the whole scene looks as if it's frozen inside one of those snow-globe shakers. Then I look at AmberLea and stammer, “How...? Did you...? Were they...? Is that really...?”

AmberLea shakes her head. She lifts her phone and the camera. The wire for her earbuds runs from the phone to the bottom of the video cam. It's stuck there with a piece of gum. AmberLea is a criminal genius.

“To hell with that,” says Gloria Lorraine. “It was a beautiful scene, Amby. You played it like a pro. I wish we'd worked together more. Now, get me to the graveyard.” She tugs at my arm to steady herself and goes down like a house of cards.

THIRTY-THREE

Jer and Mike Karpuski and a lady who turns out to be AmberLea's mom, Tina, arrive just before the ambulance does. Mike tells us he called the cops. “I parked at the top of Jackfish Road after you turned,” he says into the camera. “I was going to cruise down in a bit and make sure everything was okay when the bikers and the
SUV
all headed down there too, and that seemed kind of funny, so I called the plates in to the guys at the OPP detachment here. It turned out they were very interested.”

The staticky chatter of police radios washes over everything. Scratch and his homey are already in the back of a cruiser; Mustache and Orange Beard are being loaded into two separate ones. Al and the Wings are in a line, handcuffed, by the
SUV
. The rain of white powder has left them looking as if they all have really bad dandruff. KK keeps running a finger across the shoulder of his brother's blazer, and then licking off the powder. “It really is icing sugar,” he keeps saying.

“I tried to tell ya,” Al says sadly. “The delivery guy never showed with the merchandise. That was supplies for the bakery.”

“Alphonso.” Rocco Wings looks up from where he's cuffed to the seat of his walker. “On behalf 'a my boys, I apologize. It was their mistake. They're young an' hot-headed. It's the delivery guy needs a one-way ticket, maybe. But lissen, it was business, nothin' personal. I will square it with you by picking up the lawyers on this one.”

“Accepted. I unnerstan, Rocco; I got kids of my own. I'm honored to take your offer. I'll send a special cake for your birthday.”

Rocco Wings nods, then glares at his boys. “Kids these days,” he says.

“Tell me about it,” Al says, as Mister Bones comes trotting over, the car keys jingling in his mouth.

Jer is standing by himself in the middle of the clearing, arms crossed, slowly looking things over. He's wearing the same clothes he had on in Buffalo, except he's added a too-long flannel shirt. Orange plaid. I know it's not his, but I've seen it before.

“How've you been?” he asks.

“Fine,” I say. “Good.”

“Glad to hear it. Looks as if I missed some fun.”

“Not exactly.”

We look at each other.

“Thanks for being cool with Mom,” I say. “I mean, covering for me.”

“That's okay, this once. We're going to have to get our story straight on the way home though.”

“Sure.”

I stuff my hands in my pockets. One pocket is kind of damp. Maybe I did wet myself a little. I pull my hands out.

“Uh, sorry I didn't tell you where I was going. First I didn't know, and then—I dunno—I just had to do it.”

“I understand.”

I look at him. By now my glasses are so bent I can only see out of one lens. Jer is a little fuzzy around the edges, but the middle of him is clear and sharp.

“I'll tell you about it,” I say. “You should hear first.”

“When you're ready,” he says.

Then I think of something else.

“So, uh, what did
you
do for three days?” I ask.

Jer looks at me for a long time. “First I freaked out,” he says. “Then I ran into Erie Estates and they freaked out and called Tina. When Tina arrived, we all freaked out. And then I decided to do what you asked.”

“Huh?”

“Trust you.” He hugs me really hard. I hug him back.

Jer says, “I went someplace quiet and did some thinking. There were some things I needed to work out. I've ditched the novel, for one. Anyway, I'll tell you later. You set a good example, kid.”

The ambulance is pulling in. “I'll be right back,” I say to Jer. As the ambulance and I crunch across the gravel, I remember where I've seen the shirt. At the cottage. Grandpa would wear it on cool days. He called it his go-to-hell shirt. I guess Jer will tell me about it, when he's ready.

GL is still on the ground. AmberLea and her mom, Tina, are crouching beside her. They've gotten her partly wrapped up in a blanket, and a coat is folded up under her head.

“…and then my leg just went out from under me,” GL is saying. Her face is pale. I notice for the first time that she's not wearing much makeup this morning.

“I know, Mother. You've told us. It happens sometimes with older people. I just wish you'd told us what you wanted. I'd have—”

“I wanted,” says GL, “to share this with AmberLea, before she turned into me, doing wild, stupid things.”

“You could have shared it with me too,” says Tina. “I don't even know what we're doing up here.”

“I thought it was too late for that,” says GL. She's biting at her lips. “I wasn't much of a mother. I never even told you who I was. And then Amby getting into trouble…I thought at least with that ankle gizmo you'd know where she was.”

“The—oh, good god, that thing doesn't really work. They just put it on to scare some sense into her. I've been frantic. If Mr. O'Toole hadn't called me…”

“Doesn't work?” says AmberLea. “You're kidding!”

Doesn't work? I think, remembering all those guns. I almost fall down myself.

“It's not too late, Gramma,” says AmberLea. She's holding GL's hand, at least until the paramedics ask her to stand back. They swing a stretcher down into position, all calm talk and asking questions about what happened and where it hurts. GL winces and yelps when they lift her onto the stretcher. The ground is rough, so they carry it instead of using the wheels. As the paramedics lift her into the ambulance she spots me. “Spencer,” she says. “Like Spencer Tracey. That's how I remember it. You've been a good sport, Spencer. Come here. In here. AmberLea!” she calls. “Bring the camera.”

I climb in and kneel beside her. “Lose the glasses,” she orders. “Prop up this pillow. More. There. You,” she says to a paramedic, “get a flashlight. We need a small spot.”

“Ma'am—” the paramedic starts to say.

“Just do it, we haven't got all day. No wonder pictures go over budget.”

AmberLea sets up the shot for GL's good side. GL directs the lighting. “How's my hair? All right. Spencer, turn the other way; we shoot faces, not ears.”

I bend in. This close she's a very old, very pale lady and her lips are quivering with pain. She reaches out a hand that's all bones and blue veins and red polish. I understand and reach my hand out to her. Her hand is cool. It clutches tight. She pulls me in close for the shot. “I meant everything I said out there,” she whispers. Her breath is like a musty sweater. Then, louder, “All right,” she says, “this is for David McLean, from Wanda Karpuski.” She kisses me on the cheek.

I start to get up and she pulls me back. “And this is for Spencer, from Gloria Lorraine.” She kisses me again.

“Cut,” says AmberLea.

REEL FOUR

BLACK SCREEN

SOUND OF HELICOPTER

FADE IN:

EXT.—HIGHWAY 17—AERIAL SHOT—DAY

Chopper swoops low and follows Jackfish Road. Fall colors dot the landscape. To the south, the gray-blue swell of Lake Superior.

EXT.—CLEARING—LONG SHOT, FROM GROUND—DAY

Chopper lands in clearing. TINA, AMBERLEA, JERRY, DEB and MIKE KARPUSKI climb out. SPENCER is not in the group. JERRY carries a shovel, TINA a bag.

EXT.—FOREST—HAND-HELD TRAVELING SHOT GROUP, FROM BEHIND—DAY

Group walks through forest along railroad tracks. They turn off into a small clearing, almost overgrown, with wire fencing around.

SOUND OF FEET CRUNCHING.

TINA

It's too bad your son Bunny can't be here.

DEB

Thanks. I know he wishes he could.

JERRY

Yeah. At least he'll be out in less than a year.

EXT.—GRAVEYARD—MEDIUM SHOT GROUP—DAY

TINA, AMBERLEA, JERRY, DEB and MIKE KARPUSKI are in graveyard. Red and orange leaves blaze as sunlight filters through the trees. One wooden cross still leans against wire fence, one has fallen over.

SOUND OF MURMURING VOICES, WIND RUSTLES LEAVES. A LAST FEW INSECTS BUZZ.

CLOSE-UP OF WRITING ON STANDING CROSS

Writing is in a strange language, maybe Latin.

CLOSE-UP OF WRITING ON FALLEN CROSS

Writing is too faint to read.

MIKE (OFFSCREEN)

Here.

PAN TO:

MEDIUM SHOT—MIKE

MIKE points to the earth at his feet. It has sunk a little. A dead tree has fallen across it and there's a piece of rotten wood at one end, like the wood of the crosses.

MIKE lifts away the log and clears the space.

JERRY digs a small hole near the rotten wood.

TWO SHOT—TINA AND AMBERLEA

TINA and AMBERLEA are holding a round metal box. (The kind used to hold a reel of movie film.) TINA opens it.

AMBERLEA wears a small antique locket hanging over her sweater.

CLOSE-UP—AMBERLEA'S AND TINA'S HANDS

AMBERLEA and TINA put a copy of the picture of Danielle and one of Gloria as a movie star in the box. AMBERLEA opens the locket to show the original picture of Danielle. She closes the locket. They close the box.

MEDIUM SHOT—ALL

TINA and AMBERLEA put the box in the hole and step back. JERRY fills in the hole. Then DEB hangs a small circular object on a loop of rawhide to the wire fence behind.

CLOSE-UP—ONE OF GRANDPA'S AIR FORCE IDENTITY DISCS

MEDIUM SHOT—ALL

Everyone bows their heads; then everyone hugs.

SOUND OF VOICES, BREEZE, ETC.

AMBERLEA walks toward, then off camera.

SOUND OF HER FEET CRUNCHING ON LEAVES CLOSE BY.

SOUND STOPS.

AMBERLEA (OFFSCREEN)

You know, Spencer, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship…

TILT UP FROM GROUP TO EXTREME WIDE SHOT— CLEAR BLUE SKY
A jet's vapor trail cuts across the sky.

SONG FROM CASABLANCA, “
AS TIME GOES BY
”

FADE TO BLACK

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There are a whole bunch of people who deserve most of the credit and none of the blame for this book.

First, my thanks to Eric Walters, who dreamed up Grandpa David and the whole Seven series, for both a great idea and his generosity in inviting me along for the ride. Also, thanks to Richard Scrimger. It was fun dreaming up Spencer and Bunny's family and coordinating their adventures.