Rattled (16 page)

“No!” Jilly looked horrified. “You can't do that without
me
. Don't worry, Mom or Dad will call back soon, we'll tell them everything, they'll know what to do.” She checked her watch again. “Crap! I'm supposed to be at the Robertsons'.”

“Go. You're gonna be late.”

She stopped at the front door. “I think you should come with.”

I flashed back to the last time I babysat Noah and Angus Robertson. It was five months ago and I was still having nightmares. “Nah.” I shook my head. “My head's pounding. I just want to lie down.”

Jilly looked torn. “Okay. You know the Robertsons' number if you need me. Oh, and there's a couple DVDs on my desk that I forgot to return. Crawl in bed and watch a movie or something, maybe it'll take your mind off things till the 'rents call. And phone me right away when they do.”

“I will, and don't worry.” I pushed her out the door. “I'll be fine.”

Chapter 21

S
cream 3, The Grudge
, and
When a Stranger Calls
. Those were the DVDs Jilly suggested I watch to help take my mind off things. I left them on her desk and padded down the hall to my room.

There it was, perched on the top shelf of my bookcase, my most prized possession:
Titanic, 3 Disc Special Collector's Set.
I lifted the case down and ran my fingers lovingly over the fabric cover—my version of comfort food.

Even though it was a hot August night, there seemed to be a weird kind of chill in the house. I wrapped myself tightly in my Hello Kitty blanket.

Passing the phone on the hall table, I stopped and stared at it really hard hoping my telekinetic powers would kick in and make it ring, make Mom call. I had an upset feeling in the pit of my stomach. Uneasiness, or
nerves
, whatever it was, I wanted my mom.

Truthfully, there was still a teeny part of me that hoped we were wrong about Mrs. Swicker. It would be way easier knowing you lived across the street from some freakazoid nutcase, instead of a real live criminal. There was
some
reassurance in the fact that if we were right, and this all hit the fan, she would be history. But Megan and Sam would probably be gone too. What was going to happen to them? Especially when they found out Mrs. Swicker wasn't their mother? How was it all going to go down? I could feel myself getting more anxious by the minute, so I tried to block out those thoughts for now.

In the family room, I popped the DVD into the player and curled up on the sofa. My eyes filled with tears before the mournful notes of the theme song finished. It got me every time. The excitement and stress of the past few days was catching up with me. Weariness seemed to be seeping into every inch of my body. The last thing I remembered were the words “This ship can't sink!”

When my eyes flew open, the room was in total darkness except for the flickering light from the TV screen. It cast creepy moving shadows along the wall. I pressed my hand to my chest. It felt as though my heart was going to jump right through my skin.

A half-frozen Kate Winslet was floating, hanging onto a deck chair, blowing a whistle over and over again. Sighing with relief, I realized it had probably just been the sound of the whistle that woke me. I wiped some stray drool from the corner of my mouth and squinted at my watch to check the time. 10:21. Why hadn't Mom and Dad called?

A noise echoed through the darkness. It sounded like a doorknob slowly turning.

“Jilly?”

No answer.

“Jilly?!” I called a little louder.

Again, no answer. But then there was a strange shuffling sound.

There was a pounding in my ears as all the blood in my body drained to my feet. My hand darted out to the lamp but at the last second I snatched it back, afraid to turn it on. I didn't call Jilly's name again. Something told me it wasn't her.

But someone was in the house.

Slowly I rose from the sofa and inched my way through the dark towards the kitchen, hoping to quietly slip out the back door. I must have been holding my breath. I felt dizzy and had to keep grabbing onto pieces of furniture for balance.

I was one step away from the kitchen. About to cross the threshold, the light flicked on, making me freeze like a statue. It took a second for my eyes to adjust.

There she was, leaning against the wall. Mrs. Swicker, her hand still on the light switch.

I jumped, startled. What could she possibly be doing here? I was totally confused.

“Hello, Lydia,” she said coolly.

I was still trying to clear my head and didn't reply.

“You know, Lydia,” she began, then stopped to root around

in the giant purse that hung messenger-style across her body.

“Here we've been neighbours all this time…” She pulled out a giant bottle of vodka, slowly unscrewed the cap, and tossed it on the counter. “And we've never really gotten to know each other.”

My eyes grew wide.

“So let's do that.” She took a swig from the bottle. “Let's get to know each other.”

She came towards me. I noticed the bottle was already half empty. I shrank back against the doorframe.

With her foot she slid a chair out from under the table. “Sit down, Lydia.”

My brain was sending me a message to be afraid, to get out. Quickly, my eyes darted around the kitchen and I shook my head no. Sitting down would place me farther from the door, from a way out.

Her eyes narrowed at my defiance. “How did I somehow know you weren't going to make this easy?” She took another mouthful of vodka.

I tried to make a break for the door, but she was surprisingly fast and side-stepped, cutting me off. “Oh no you don't!” She gestured with the bottle for me to get back, spilling some on the floor.

This was nuts.
She
was nuts. I was terrified.

“What are you doing here?” I finally worked up enough courage to ask.

“Oh…I think you can probably figure it out.”

“I—I don't have a clue.” But it was slowly dawning on me.
She knows. She knows I know. Why else would she be here?

“Cut the crap. I know you're lying.” Her voice was icy as she hissed the words through clenched teeth.

I could feel myself break out in a clammy sweat and goosebumps both at the same time. “No I'm not,” I whispered.

“Do you really think I'm that stupid? That I don't know a
liar
when I see one?”

“Honestly, Mrs. Swicker, I don't know what you're talking about.” I continued to deny her accusations. Then, trying to sound calm and confident, I said, “I'm expecting Mom and Dad home any second, you know.”

“Lydia, Lydia,” she said, shaking her head. “Don't you think I've thought of that? I've been on a stakeout all day. You know what a stakeout is, don't you, Lydia?” she asked in a sly tone, but didn't wait for an answer. “I saw your parents leave earlier with a suitcase, and I also saw that bimbo of a sister of yours traipsing up to the Robertsons'. I know she's babysitting.”

I was going to argue, but I couldn't make my voice work.

“I knew you were trouble the minute you opened that yappy trap of yours,” she continued, a crazed look in her eyes. “The incessant questions. How many times I just wanted to slap your face and scream at you to
shut up
!”

There was a huge lump in my throat that I couldn't swallow, no matter how many times I tried.

With an unsteady hand, she raised the bottle to her mouth. I heard the glass hitting her teeth. It made me shudder.

“And now I have to— ” Her next word was covered by the sound of the bottle being slammed down on the counter.

“Have to w-what?” I stammered, even though I was afraid of her answer.

“
Move
!” she screamed. “I have to
move
!
Again
!”

Tears were beginning to collect in the rims of my eyes. No Mom and Dad, no Jilly, no help. I was on my own. It was like being trapped in one of Jilly's movies.

“I swear, I—”

“Stop!” she screeched. “Not another word. I'm not going to let you screw it all up now. I've worked too hard, too long. Not you. Not some smart-ass kid who thinks she's the next Nancy Drew.”

“I won't, though. I won't screw it up! I don't even know what you're talking about!”

She ignored my words and just looked at me like I was the most despicable thing she'd ever seen in her life. “You're more clever than I thought, I will give you that much. It took me a while to figure it all out.”

“Figure out what?” My instincts told me I would be safer if I kept her talking.

“That you knew my secret, of course.”

I opened my mouth, but she cut me off. “Don't bother denying it. You're not as smart as you think you are. You left a trail.”

“A trail?” I frantically searched my memory, trying to figure out what she meant.

“The night of the recital,” she explained. “I watched Megan put that damn cat out before we left, but when we got home,
ta-dah!
There he was—inside.”

I could feel my eyes widen. I remembered. I remembered the bell on Megan's key chain, how Peter showed up when we snuck in that night. He must have come into the house with us and we didn't notice.

“Of course I immediately went through the house to see if anything had been disturbed,” Mrs. Swicker continued. “Nothing looked out of place, but then I remembered the box, that friggin' box! I checked it.
Someone
had been into it.”

“Doesn't mean it was me,” I insisted. “I wasn't anywhere near the furnace room.”

“Who said anything about the furnace room?” she asked triumphantly.

My stomach dropped. “A guess?” I mumbled.

“Yeah
right
,” she laughed.

I stared down at the floor feeling totally defeated. How could this not have occurred to me? It had never entered my mind that Mrs. Swicker would catch onto us before we had a chance to turn her in. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. We were going to be the heroes.

“Why didn't you just mind your own damn business?” she practically growled.

I wished I had an answer.

“But as it turned out…” She set down the vodka and smirked. “I had to get something out of the box anyway.”

I watched her reach in her purse and pull out the gun.

Chapter 22

I
gasped out loud and pressed my back against the wall to keep from falling down. Fear churned in my stomach and spread out to the very tips of my fingers and toes. It was a tingling feeling, like I wasn't even in my own body.

Mrs. Swicker held the gun up to the light, lowered it, and polished a spot on the barrel with the hem of her shirt. “It was right there on the porch. The nanny had left it—yeah, that's right, they had a
nanny
. Couldn't bloody well be bothered to raise their own damn kids. I just grabbed it and threw it over my shoulder. Figured it might come in handy. Little did I know.” She paused and sucked back some more vodka.

I finally clued in. The diaper bag.

“Didn't find them until later…” she continued.

I had to think for a minute. “The rattles?”

“Well, so much for ‘It wasn't me, Mrs. Swicker,
honest,
'” she mimicked in a squeaky voice.

My lip was trembling so much I had to bite it to make it stop.

“My first instinct was to get rid of them,” she admitted.

I shot a peek at the clock. Jilly might be coming home soon, maybe she would figure out something was wrong. Or Mom and Dad might get our message…
Just keep her talking.
“Why
didn't
you get rid of them? The rattles. Why did you keep them?”

She winked at me. “I came up with a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Instead of just tossing them, I thought…” she tapped the gun against the side of her forehead, “no, wait. These could come in handy. What if…someday I needed money? Well, let me tell ya, that day's right around the corner. Actually, I'm surprised I've been able to go this long. The photography biz isn't what it used to be.” She sighed wistfully and took another drink. “Fancy cameras cheap, all the things computers do now, people don't need a professional anymore.”

She wasn't making any sense. “So you were going to sell the rattles?” I asked. Yes, they were silver, but how much did she think she'd get for them?

“No, you stupid girl!” Spit flew from her mouth as she yelled at me. “I could use them to extort money from their stinking father!”

Now I wished I had sat down when she told me to. My knees had started to shake uncontrollably, but I kept going. “How? Use the rattles how?”

She seemed to calm right down, almost like she was happy to share her story. “All I'd have to do is get in touch, anonymously of course, demand money,
huge money
for their safe return. They'd want some proof I had them, and that's where the rattles come in. They're my proof—better than any photo. Like how are they to know what their kids look like now? But one look at those rattles and there'd be no doubt.”