Nightmare Mountain (11 page)

“Who’s Gladys?” she asked.

The smile disappeared from Glendon’s face and he closed his eyes. “My sister,” he said. His voice was so soft that Molly had to strain to hear his words. “My twin sister.”

He was silent for such a long time that Molly thought he’d fallen asleep. Her own eyelids were growing heavy and every muscle in her body ached with fatigue. She put her arm on the table and rested her head on her arm. She was so tired, so terribly tired.

“Mommy always liked Gladys best,” Glendon said. Molly looked at him. He was lying perfectly still, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, as if to keep out the painful memories.

“No matter what I did,” he went on, “I was never as
good as Gladys. Mommy fussed over her, and played with her, and made her little dolls. She would never make one for me, because I’m a boy. Dad used to argue with Mommy about it and that made it worse. Gladys would tease me and make me mad and then when I’d fight with her, she’d run and tattle to Mommy and I’d get punished. It was always like that—always!”

“Where is she now?” Molly asked. “What happened to her?”

“Mommy and Gladys left, when I was four. Dad says the divorce was because he and Mommy didn’t love each other any more but the real reason was because Mommy didn’t love me and she couldn’t stand to live with me any longer. She never loved me. Not ever. She told me so herself.”

“She did?” Molly was stunned. No matter what kind of trouble she got in at home, she couldn’t imagine Mom ever saying anything like that to her. Even last year, when Molly almost flunked American History because she lost her semester notebook, Mom never said she didn’t love her.

“She said I was a horrid, nasty boy. She took Gladys and moved to Arizona but she wouldn’t take me. And I never hear from her, not even on my birthday.”

Molly sat up and put her hands on her hips indignantly. “It doesn’t sound like she was much of a
mother,” she said. “Frankly, I think you’re better off with Aunt Karen.”

Glendon opened his eyes and gazed up at Molly. “Yes,” he said softly. “She’s really my mother now, and I’m glad she is. But she might die. I might lose her, too.” He looked terrified. Alone and sick and terrified.

Molly felt sorrier for him than she’d ever felt for anybody in her life. She wondered if she really looked like Gladys. She hoped not. Maybe Glendon had just said that because he was angry.

Since he was being so talkative, she wondered if he’d tell the truth about all the other mysterious things that had happened since she arrived.

“Did you push the hay on me?” she asked.

Glendon frowned, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.

“No,” he said. “Why would I do that?”

“What about the cod-liver-oil pills? Did you poison them?”

“Me? You think
I
poisoned my mother?”

“I know you wouldn’t poison your mother but I thought you might have tried to poison me. You seemed to hate me so much and then all of these terrible things started happening. For awhile, I even thought maybe you were driving the truck that night, and tried to hit me on purpose. Now I know it was Craine, but for awhile, I wasn’t sure.”

Glendon looked shocked. “I didn’t do any of it. Honest, Molly! I was really mad that you came to visit, especially when Mother started fussing over you just the way Mommy used to do with Gladys. It brought back all those bad times and I felt as if they were happening all over again. You even said we looked like twins and Mother said she’s always wanted a daughter. But I would never poison anybody.”

Molly believed him. She didn’t have answers to a lot of her questions, but she believed Glendon. After all she’d gone through to keep him from freezing to death, she was glad he wasn’t the one who had nearly killed her.

“Craine must have pushed the hay on me,” she said. “In the barn, before I woke up, I thought I saw Uncle Phil, only he didn’t have a beard and I couldn’t get my eyes focused enough to realize I wasn’t dreaming. Maybe Craine was there all along, up in the loft, and we didn’t know it. But why would he push the hay on me? He didn’t even know who I was.”

“Probably he thought you were me,” Glendon said.

“Why would he want to hurt you? He’s your uncle. Yet he’s stealing from your dad and he didn’t care if you died in the avalanche. What happened in the past, between your family and Craine?”

“Uncle Craine lived with us for six months after Mommy and Gladys left. He and Dad were partners; they started the llama business together. Then one day a man
from the bank called Dad and told him that Uncle Craine was cheating him. He was taking part of the money for himself instead of sharing everything fifty-fifty, like they had agreed.”

“So Uncle Phil had him arrested?”

“No. They had a big fight about it and Dad said Uncle Craine should leave and not come back.”

“Did he ever come back, until now?”

“He couldn’t. He was in prison. Uncle Craine worked at a hardware store before he and Dad became partners. The owners of the hardware store found out that Uncle Craine stole money from them, too. They’re the ones who had him arrested. He was released a month or two ago.”

“I wonder why he came back.”

“To steal some llamas, probably. He’s been in trouble all his life, even when he was a kid. My grandma thinks he’s into drugs but there’s no proof. Dad’s the only one who could ever get along with him but that’s because Dad always sees the good in everybody. He kept giving Uncle Craine another chance. He always
wants
to think Uncle Craine has reformed.”

“It must have been awful to have him live with you.”

“I hated it. He was mean. He was even mean to the animals when he thought Dad wasn’t looking.”

Glendon yawned. Molly yawned, too.

“Let’s get some sleep,” she said. “We can talk about Craine later.”

Glendon didn’t answer but this time it wasn’t because he was being ornery. He was already asleep on the floor.

Molly walked wearily to the sofa and lay down. Her stomach grumbled. Except for the hot chocolate, one slice of toast, and half a banana, she’d eaten nothing for thirty-six hours.

As soon as she had a nap, she’d fix something to eat. A bowl of chicken noodle soup would be easy to prepare. She would even eat vegetable soup, if that’s all there was.

She closed her eyes. Maybe, she thought sleepily, I’ll dream about pizza. Thick, hot pepperoni pizza. With extra cheese.

Minutes later, a siren screamed.

Molly’s eyes flew open and she struggled to sit up. For a moment, she thought she was back in Los Angeles, in her own bedroom, hearing a fire truck or a police car in the street below her window.

Buckie barked and she remembered where she was. Had she slept long? She didn’t think so but she wasn’t sure.

She struggled to her feet. Every inch of her body protested when she moved and she longed to lie back down on the sofa and go to sleep again.

Instead, she walked to a window at the front of the
house and looked out. She gasped and clutched the window ledge.

He was back.

The black pickup truck was roaring down the lane toward the house. The brown llama was still tied in the back.

The siren got louder and she knew it was coming this way. They’re after him, she thought. The siren must be a Highway Patrol car or, more likely, the sheriff. Sheriff Donley must be chasing Craine. All she had to do was keep Craine out of the house until the sheriff caught him.

Quickly, she bolted the front door. She ran to the kitchen door and locked it, too.

“What is it?” Glendon asked. “What’s happening?”

“It’s Craine. He’s coming here and I think the sheriff’s after him.”

Glendon started to get up, moaned, and fell back to the floor. “I can’t move,” he said.

“You don’t have to. Is there any other way he can get in, besides the doors?”

Glendon shook his head, his eyes wide.

Buckie barked again.

Molly’s mind whirled. The windows! Was it possible for him to climb in a window? She rushed from window to window, checking each one. They were all tightly fastened.

“Buckie,” she called. “Quiet!”

Buckie stopped barking and trotted to Molly’s side.

Molly looked at Glendon. “You be quiet, too,” she said. “We’re going to stay as still as we can and maybe he’ll think we aren’t here. Maybe he’ll try the doors and leave.”

Glendon said nothing, but he nodded his head, to show he understood.

Molly put her hand on Buckie’s head, trying to calm him so he wouldn’t bark again. “Down, Buckie,” she whispered, and Buckie lay on the floor in the corner.

The siren was louder now, and she knew it had turned and was coming down the lane toward the house.

Footsteps pounded up the front steps. The door shook. Buckie growled but Molly reached down and stroked his head until he quieted. She stood still, listening.

The siren faded quickly from a loud scream to a thin wail and then quit altogether.

The footsteps thundered off the porch and then, almost immediately, she heard them again, on the back porch. She flattened herself against the kitchen wall and looked down at Glendon. He was still lying on the floor, just inside the kitchen door, with the rug on top of him. He stared back at her and didn’t move.

Voices shouted in the front yard. “Around in back!” someone yelled. “You go that way, I’ll go this way!”

From where she stood, Molly could see Craine’s face
through the glass pane on the back door. He looked desperate, the way an animal might look when it was cornered by hunters. He turned his head from side to side, trying to see if his pursuers had found him. He pounded furiously on the door and Molly wondered if the lock would hold.

She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t look in and see her watching him. Hurry, she pleaded silently to the men. Please, please hurry!

There was a loud crash and glass flew across the kitchen. One big shard hit Molly in the face. Her hand flew to her cheek and when she looked at her fingers, they were red with blood.

Molly looked up again. Craine had put his fist through the glass pane on the back door. Before Molly could react, he reached inside, unlocked the door, and stepped into the kitchen.

As he did, his foot hit Glendon and he looked down. Instantly, he reached down and yanked Glendon to his feet. Glendon cried out but Craine put one arm around Glendon’s throat to silence him.

He propelled Glendon out the door and on to the porch. Buckie stood up, growling, but Molly grabbed his harness and held on. She leaned forward, peeking out the door. She knew Craine hadn’t seen her.

Sheriff Donley and another man raced around the corners
of the house, one from each direction, and stopped. They looked at Glendon and Craine on the porch and then at each other.

“I’m going to get in the truck,” Craine said, “and I’m going to drive away. If you want this kid to live, you will stay right where you are and not try to stop me.” His left arm was tight around Glendon’s throat. His right hand held the gun.

The sheriff and the other man nodded.

But he won’t let Glendon live, Molly thought. He’s just saying that, so they’ll let him get away. He hates Glendon and he’ll do something terrible to him.

“Throw your guns on the ground,” Craine said.

The two men looked at each other again.

“Now!”

As the sheriff and the other man slowly removed their guns from the holsters, Molly slid her hand across the countertop until she reached the empty mug. She didn’t know if she had enough strength left, but it was the only thing she could think of to do. Someone had to stop him. If they let him drive away with Glendon, she was positive she’d never see her cousin alive again.

She grasped the bottom of the mug, looked at her target, and raised her arm. She threw the mug as hard as she could at the back of Craine’s head. It hit dead center.

“Hey!” Craine yelled, and instinctively he let go of
Glendon, put both hands to his head, and turned to see what had hit him. Glendon quickly stepped away from him and stumbled across the porch.

Molly let go of Buckie’s harness. “Get him!” she screamed and she pointed at Craine. “Get Craine!”

Buckie leaped. With his teeth bared, he flew through the open doorway, straight toward Craine.

At the same instant that Molly yelled at Buckie to get Craine, Sheriff Donley raised his gun and aimed quickly at Craine’s legs. Just as Buckie landed on the porch and sank his teeth into Craine’s thigh, the sheriff pulled the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot exploded in Molly’s ears.

Buckie yelped.

Glendon screamed.

Molly put her face in her hands.

She didn’t want to look.

The hospital bed felt wonderful. It was warm and clean and, best of all, safe. At last she could relax, knowing Craine was behind bars.

“There’s some mild frostbite in those fingers and toes,” the doctor said, “but otherwise you’re in remarkably good shape, considering what you’ve been through. We’ll keep you here a day or so, to rest, and then you should be good as new.”

“I’m starving,” Molly said. “I’m so hungry, I’m even willing to eat cauliflower. And brussels sprouts. And spinach.”

Uncle Phil laughed. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “We’ve already ordered soup for you.”

“How’s Glendon?” Molly asked.

“He’s suffering from hypothermia, torn ligaments,
and a broken arm,” the doctor said. “They’re putting a cast on his arm now and he’ll need to stay here in the hospital for a few days, but he should heal nicely. I foresee no complications. You did a nice job with that splint, by the way. He probably would have needed surgery on his arm, if you hadn’t held it straight with the spoon.”

“Glendon is lucky to be alive,” Uncle Phil said. “When the avalanche hit, he covered his head and that must have created an air pocket big enough for him to survive until you dug him out.”

Chicken-vegetable soup arrived and Molly thought she’d never tasted anything so delicious. She didn’t even bother to pick out the peas. While she ate, Uncle Phil told her what had happened while she and Glendon tried to escape from the avalanche and Craine.

“Karen hovered between life and death all night,” he said. “I stayed with her, of course, and I didn’t worry about you and Glendon because I got two messages that said Glendon had called and everything at the ranch was fine.”

“How is Aunt Karen now?”

“Better. The crisis is over, thank God, and she’ll get well. It wasn’t poisoning, after all. Your cod-liver-oil pills had a tamperproof seal—the manufacturer can tell from a code number on the label—and the lab found no trace of cyanide or any other poison.”

“What was it, then?”

“The cookies.”

“My cookies? There was poison in the cookies I made?” Molly was horrified. This was even worse than if the cod-liver-oil pills had been at fault. Glendon would hate her for sure, when he heard this.

“Not poison,” Uncle Phil said. “Peanuts. Karen is allergic to peanuts and she didn’t realize there were any in the cookies. She thought she remembered your mom’s recipe.”

“There weren’t supposed to be peanuts. We didn’t have any chocolate chips so I used peanut M & Ms instead.”

“Karen couldn’t sleep because of her cold, so she got up in the night and made a cup of tea. She decided to have a cookie, too. She said with the raisins and the chocolate, she didn’t taste the peanuts right away and she swallowed some. Apparently it triggered a severe asthma attack and she slipped into a coma.”

“Just from eating a few peanuts?” Molly was incredulous.

“An allergy to peanuts is not uncommon,” the doctor said. “An extreme reaction like this—it’s called
anaphylactic shock
—is rare, but it’s happened before. Peanut allergy is a strong food allergy.”

“I didn’t know she was allergic to peanuts,” Molly said. “I would never have put them in the cookies, if I’d known.”

“There was no way for you to know,” Uncle Phil said. “She got a rash from eating peanuts once when she was a child and hasn’t eaten any since. I had at least six of those delicious cookies myself, so I should have warned her about the peanuts. I didn’t even think about her allergy.”

“Neither of you could have guessed she’d have this kind of reaction,” the doctor said, “so don’t blame yourselves. Just be glad we were able to save her.”

Molly finished the soup, closed her eyes, and drifted into sleep. When she awoke, her first thought was that the hospital room would make a terrible collage. Everything was white. She wondered if the administration had ever considered painting all the ceilings red or putting plaid blankets on the beds.

She realized that Sheriff Donley and Uncle Phil were in her room, talking. Apparently their voices had awakened her. She stopped thinking about collages and listened to the conversation.

“How did you know Craine was stealing my llamas?” Uncle Phil asked. “What tipped you off?”

“I got a call from Mort Simmons, a new llama breeder over near Glacier. He said someone from Baldwin Llama Ranch brought in three llamas yesterday, and sold them for less than their value because he needed money fast. The fellow brought a pregnant llama early yesterday morning and returned late in the afternoon with the
other two. He had registration papers but Mort wasn’t comfortable with Craine’s explanation of the background of the animals. He said he had the feeling that Craine didn’t really know anything about them.”

“I’m surprised Craine used his real name.”

“Craine showed him an old business card for Baldwin Llama Ranch, one that still gave his name as a partner. That’s what made Mort believe it was a legitimate sale. And he did have the papers for the animals.”

Uncle Phil slammed his fist into his palm. “That rat! He knew I keep the registration papers in my file in the barn. All he had to do was match the coloring on the llama to the description on the paper. I don’t have any business cards with his name on them, though. I burned those long ago. Do you suppose he saved some cards all this time because he planned to do this?”

Sheriff Donley shrugged. “Business card or not, Mort still felt uneasy about the deal, so this morning he decided to call and ask a few more questions. When he tried to telephone your place, the line was dead. That’s when he notified me.”

“Thank goodness he did,” Uncle Phil said.

“As soon as he said he bought the llamas from Craine, I knew something was wrong,” Sheriff Donley said. “My deputy and I headed out to your ranch right away. We had just turned off the Forest Service road onto your lane, when we saw your black truck coming toward us,
with a llama tied in the back. Craine was driving.”

Molly shifted in bed, listening intently.

“I turned on my siren and blue lights,” Sheriff Donley continued, “but instead of pulling over, Craine made a fast U-turn and started back to the ranch.”

“Why would he do that?” Uncle Phil said. “The road doesn’t go anywhere. He must have known he couldn’t escape.”

“I suspect he’s on some drug and not thinking clearly. I don’t know. People like Craine, who break the law, never think they’ll be caught and then when they are, they get desperate. He told me in the car on our way to the jail that he would do anything to keep from being locked up again. Anything!”

Uncle Phil shook his head sadly. “Anything except try to earn an honest living,” he said. “The saddest part of all this is that Craine wrote to me, just before he got out of prison. He asked me to hire him, to help on the ranch.”

“After what happened before?” Sheriff Donley said. “He must be crazy.”

“He swore that he’d learned his lesson. He said he’d get $100 when he was discharged and asked me how far I thought he could get with $100 and no job.”

“Other people make it. If they want to go straight, they can find work. Don’t feel guilty for turning him down.”

“I didn’t turn him down. I hoped he really had
changed so I offered to let him stay at the ranch with us until he found a job. But he never showed up. After he got out of prison, six weeks ago, I never heard from him. I thought he must have found a job.”

“Not Craine,” the sheriff said. “He tried to get rich quick by stealing.”

“And in the process, he nearly killed my son.”

“Your son and your niece. Craine admitted he pushed the bale of hay out of the loft.”

“What was he doing in the loft?” Uncle Phil asked. “And why would he want to hurt Molly?”

“He says he only planned to visit you. He hitchhiked as far as he could and then walked the rest of the way to your place. He got there late at night and didn’t want to wake you, so he decided to sleep in the barn. He woke up when the ambulance arrived. He saw the attendants put Karen in the ambulance and he saw you leave. That’s when he decided he could make some quick money. He’d already seen Merrylegs in the barn and, of course, he knew what she’s worth. He figured he could take her away, sell her, and return the truck and you would never know he had been there.”

Uncle Phil swore under his breath. “He probably intended all along to steal a llama,” he said. “Why else would he carry a gun and come in the middle of the night?”

“Good question. He put Merrylegs on your truck,
parked in the woods until early the next morning, and then drove to Glacier and sold her. Then he brought the truck back and went up in the loft to sleep. He woke up when I arrived to collect the food samples. He thought Glendon had seen him and had called me, so he was furious at Glendon. Later, when he heard someone in the llama pen, he looked down, thought it was Glendon, and shoved the hay over the side.” Sheriff Donley ran his fingers through his hair. “Then he climbed down to see if Glendon was still alive and discovered it was Molly instead.”

“But why did he bring the truck back?” Uncle Phil asked. “He had the money from Merrylegs; why didn’t he keep the truck? Or abandon it somewhere?”

“Greed. It was so easy to sell Merrylegs, and he got so much money, he decided to come back for more llamas.”

“Damn him!” Uncle Phil cried. “I should never have answered his letter. I certainly should not have told him how well the ranch was doing and offered to let him stay here while he looked for work.” Uncle Phil stood, walked to the window, and gazed out. “All my life, I’ve been giving him another chance and he always disappoints me. I should have known this wouldn’t be any different, even though he gave me that sob story about people on the outside never trusting an ex-con. In his case, he
shouldn’t
be trusted. I know that now.”

“If you had not offered to help him, and he ended up
in prison again, you’d always blame yourself for not giving him a second chance. Some people
do
change. Some become fine citizens after they’re released from prison. You had no way to know if Craine was one of them.”

Sheriff Donley turned to Molly. “I owe you an apology,” he said. “I assumed the hay incident was accidental. I should have gone up to the loft and looked. I might have found evidence that Craine had been up there. If I had looked around more, perhaps I would even have found Craine, and that would have saved a lot of trouble.”

“He had a gun,” Uncle Phil said. “If you had looked for him then, we might have had a real tragedy.”

“Why does Craine hate Glendon so much?” Molly asked.

“When Craine lived with us,” Uncle Phil said, “he was always angry because I spent my spare time with Glendon. Craine wanted me to go fishing and play tennis with him, to do all the things we used to do when we were kids.”

Uncle Phil looked sad. “Glendon needed a lot of attention then and when I tried to give it to him, Craine accused me of spoiling him. We argued about it so often that Craine couldn’t stand to have Glendon around. To be honest, I think he was jealous.”

“Glendon was only four years old,” Molly said. “How could a grown man be jealous of a four-year-old?”

“Craine has always had emotional problems. I hoped he’d outgrow them. I thought he would come to his senses and see that he was ruining his life. Unfortunately he never did and now it looks like he never will.” Uncle Phil sighed. “I admit Glendon was extremely difficult during that time. But there were reasons for his behavior and Craine should have been more tolerant. Glendon’s life hasn’t always been easy, Molly. There were problems in the past that you don’t know about.”

“You mean Gladys?”

Uncle Phil looked astonished. “He told you about Gladys?”

Molly nodded. “And about how his—his mommy left.”

“He’s never talked about that to anyone. I even took him to a child psychologist, because I knew he had some fears and resentment that he needed help with, but no one could get through to him. He simply refused to discuss it.”

Uncle Phil leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in disbelief. “While Craine was with us, Glendon got more and more withdrawn and even after Craine was gone, the problem didn’t get better. If I hadn’t met Karen, I don’t know what would have happened to him. As it is, it was almost a year after Karen and I got married before Glendon accepted her. I know he loves her now and he’s been much happier the last couple of years, but even with Karen, he refuses to talk about Gladys and
about my divorce. He’s kept it bottled up inside himself all this time.”

Molly felt honored that Glendon had shared his troubles with her. She knew that it was good for him to talk about Gladys and about how mean his mother had been to him. By talking about it, he could help the pain go away. He could quit dwelling on what happened in the past and put those unhappy years behind him forever.

Sheriff Donley broke into her thoughts. “Mort said you can come and get the llamas any time,” he said. “All four of them.”

“Four?” Uncle Phil said. “Did Merrylegs have her baby?”

“A healthy little female. Born last night.”

“Now that is good news,” Uncle Phil said.

“Craine was so busy stealing more llamas,” the sheriff added, “that he never cashed Mort’s checks.”