Sammy Keyes and the Curse of Moustache Mary (11 page)

Holly adds, “Why don't we just go back to Dot's and call the police from there?”

So we're tromping along, heading for our bikes, when Marissa says, “Wouldn't it be a lot easier if we just took the gas can to Dot's house? That way the police could get it from us there, and we wouldn't have to come back
here
.”

She had a point. And when Holly says, “If you're worried about fingerprints, you could pull the sleeve of your sweatshirt over your hand or pick it up with a stick,” and Dot chimes in with, “It's not like it's in its original location, either,” I decide they're right. We'll take the can with us.

So we go back to the ravine, find the big white rock, and
I shinny down the hill, no problem. But then I can't find the can. Anywhere.

Marissa calls, “What's the matter?”

“It's not here.” I hunt around some more and then look up the hill at them. “Is this the right spot?”

They check, then all three of them nod at me. Dot calls, “Are you
sure
it's not there?”

They wind up coming down the hill to help me search, but after a few minutes we stop, one by one, and look at each other. Holly whispers, “It's not here,” and Dot adds, “Definitely not here.”

Marissa says, “Which means that someone else
was
.”

“Let's get out of here!”

I know they're right—that's exactly what we should do. But still, I'm having trouble giving up. I mean, without the evidence I'd have sub-zero credibility with Officer Borsch. Sure, for once I had some witnesses, but if I knew the Borsch-man, that would probably only make him four times as annoyed. Especially since I'd stuck my nose in when I'd told him I wouldn't.

But the rest of them were already scrambling out of the ravine, so I took one last dig through the leaves, then chased after them.

We got to the fence, pushed our bikes through, then wrestled the sections back together and blasted down the road. But when we got to Meadow Lane, they kept going straight.

I call, “Hey, wait! Where are you going?”

They stop, and Dot calls back, “I promised my mom, remember?”

“But…”

Marissa says, “You were going to call the police
now?
”

“Well, yeah…I thought…”

“Sammy! They're not even there to answer the phone. You'd have to call 911, and I hate to break it to you, but this is
not
an emergency.”

“But…”

Holly says, “They're right, Sammy. The gas can's gone, so there's nothing to show them, and what can they do tonight, anyway? Let's just call them in the morning.”

“But…”

They all three cry, “Sammy!” so I push off and grumble, “All right, all right…I'm coming.”

When we turned in to Pioneer Village, it was clear that everything we'd heard was true—the place was Party Central. The yards and streets were swarming with people—kids, adults, teenagers—all kinds. And music was blaring from here and there, getting mixed up in the air as a happy-sounding noise.

Now to tell you the truth, I hadn't wanted to go to any Pioneer Village block party partly because it seemed kind of, well, scary. Like it would be dark and full of people I didn't know, doing things I didn't want to do.

This wasn't anything like that. There were sparklers going in the street, kids playing tag and keep-away, and adults sitting on lawn chairs with blankets covering their laps, just soaking it all in like they were at a parade.

Marissa says, “Wow! This is cool!” and then Dot spots her
brothers lighting off fireworks in the street with a couple of other boys. She points and says, “There they are!”

I figure she's going to want to go talk to them, so I head off in their direction, but she grabs me and says, “Sammy, stop! Where are you going?”

“Don't you want to talk to them?”

“Um…no. Let's just watch for a minute, okay?”

Well, I don't really understand this, but I back up and we all straddle our bikes and watch. After a few minutes, Dot whispers, “They don't even seem like Troy and Stan.”

I look at her and ask, “What do you mean?”

“They seem different.”

“
How
do they seem different?”

She shrugs and says, “I don't know…they seem… older. Especially Stan.”

They seemed the same to me, but what did I know about brothers? Then this girl with short blond hair and big hoop earrings brings Stan a soda and nuzzles up to him.

Dot's mouth drops open. “Do you see that? That girl's putting moves on my
brother
.”

We nod like, Yeah…we see it, but Dot's looking pained.
“Why?”

I ask, “Why's she putting moves on your brother?”

“Yeah!” She shakes her head and says, “She must not know him very well…”

We laugh, and Marissa asks, “Why don't you go meet her?”

Dot rolls her eyes. “You trying to get me killed? No, let's just get out of here!”

But it's too late. Troy's spotted us and he's not wasting time in telling Stan who he's seen. You can practically hear Stan say, “What!?” and then he looks to where Troy's pointing—straight at us.

Stan whips his arm off Blondie and stands there looking really self-conscious for a few seconds, before he decides to come marching toward us. And by the time he gets to Dot, he's mad. “What do you think you're doing, spying on me?”

“I'm not spying on you…I'm…I'm…”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, really, we're here because…because we've been invited to a party.”

“You're lying!”

“No, I'm not!” Then she looks down and says, “But would you call home and let Mom and Dad know you're all right? They've been trying to get ahold of you because of the sirens, but no one's picking up Marko's phone.”

Stan says, “I knew it!” and is about to lay into Dot some more, but Marissa comes to her rescue. “Actually, Dot's not lying. We're on our way to a party at”—she pulls a piece of paper out of her back pocket and reads— “6324 Wagonwheel Road. Do you know where that is?”

“Wagonwheel's right around the corner.” He looks at her kind of skeptically. “Whose party?”

Marissa says, “A guy named Taylor.”

He blinks at her. “Briggs?”

Marissa nods.

He takes a step back and says to Dot, “No.”

“What do you mean, No?”

“No sister of mine is going to a Briggs party.”

“What!? How can you say that? Do you even
know
him?”

“I don't need to know him. I know Karl, and that's bad enough.”

“Why? What's the matter with Karl?”

Stan shakes his head. “Just stay away from them, you hear me?”

“Stan!”

“I'm serious.”

Dot says, “Actually, we're only going there to get Sammy's skateboard back.”

“What's her skateboard got to do with it?”

I say, “It's a long story, but his friend's decided to have a conscience and give my skateboard back. We're just going to pick it up.”

“Do you want me to go get it?”

We all say, “No!” I mean, that would be pretty embarrassing, sending Dot's brother to fetch my skateboard.

He looks straight at Dot and says, “Don't even go in side, you hear me?”

“All right, all right!”

He nods a little and says, “Okay,” then heads off across the street.

Dot calls, “Don't forget to call Mom!”

“All right, all right!” he says, and goes back to his friends.

We head down the street slowly, going between sparklers and fizzers, and Marissa says, “What do you think that was about, Dot?”

“Oh, I don't know. He was probably just trying to spook us again.”

Holly says, “He seemed pretty serious to me…”

Dot scowls and says, “Yeah, and how'd he seem when he was talking about ghosts in the carriage house?” She shakes her head. “Half the time I don't know
what
to think of him.”

When we turned onto Wagonwheel Road, my stomach felt kind of topsy-turvy and I couldn't really figure out why. We found the house, then parked our bikes and went up the walkway, two by two.

There's a party happening inside, all right. The curtains are drawn, but we can hear music blaring. So I take a deep breath, reach out, and ring the bell. And after a couple of minutes of nobody answering, I reach up to push the button again, but before I can, the door flies open. And who's on the other side? Not Taylor or Karl. Not Baggy Boy or Snake.

No, it's the Vicious Viper herself—Heather Acosta.

Heather looked like
she'd
just been goosed by a big black pig. And I'm afraid I probably wasn't looking too cool and collected myself because we both blurt out, “What are
you
doing here?”

The minute I asked I knew it was a stupid question. Taylor and Heather were friends. And standing there looking at her, I realized that they were a lot alike. Taylor was older and smoother, but you could tell that underneath was someone sneaky. Mean and sneaky.

So I put my jaw back in socket and said, “We're here to see Taylor.”

She laughs, “Oh,
sure
you are,” then comes in like a mosquito after blood. “Get out of here…all of you. There's no way you're crashing
this
party.”

“We don't have to crash the party, Heather. Taylor invited us.”

It was like throwing gasoline on a fire. Heather's face turns red, and she cries, “Liar!” then slams the door in my face.

We look at each other and bust up. Completely.

Now I wanted to be at this party about as much as Heather wanted me there. But I did want my skateboard back, and I had the feeling that if I didn't get it now, I might not get it back at all.

Marissa says, “Well, I don't think ringing the bell again is going to get us in—you want to go around back?”

We all look at her like,
Marissa?
because she's usually the
last
person to suggest going someplace we're not wanted.

She says, “Look, it's a party. Whenever my cousin has a party, people come in and out like they own the place.” She perks an ear up. “I can hear people in the backyard— let's just go in the side gate and around that way.”

If Marissa was game, who was I to argue? We squeezed between the bumpers of the cars in the driveway and went through the side gate like we knew exactly what we were doing.

And Marissa was right. There were a lot of people in the backyard. Trouble is, they were all old. Not old-old— I'm talking cocky-old. Hostile-old. You know, high school–old.

And all of a sudden we
didn't
look like we knew exactly what we were doing. We just stood there at the edge of the backyard, huddled up, wondering how cannibalistic this savage tribe was.

Music was blasting from a boom box on the patio, but no one was dancing. A lot of them were smoking cigarettes, and almost all of them were drinking. Beer. And pretty much, they weren't
doing
anything but talking and laughing, and smoking and drinking.

Straight ahead there was a building in the far corner of the yard—sort of a cross between a toolshed and a cabaña—and people seemed to go into it, but then not come out. And around the corner of the house, past the
patio area, we could see through a sliding glass door into a room where people were shooting pool.

Skateboard or not, this felt wrong. The whole thing. And to tell you the truth, I was scared. For some reason, standing there on the edge of the lawn felt like standing on the edge of the world, and I sure didn't want to take the next step.

I whispered, “Let's get
out
of here.”

Dot blinks a bunch and says, “No kidding.”

And we're about to do a U-turn when Taylor comes out of the cabaña and spots us. We hurry back to the gate, but he chases after us, saying, “Hey! Wait up. Marissa, where you going?” And as soon as he catches up to us, he blocks our path and says, “Why don't you come in?”

Marissa says, “We…we just came for Sammy's skateboard. We can't stay.”

Taylor puts his arm around her waist and says, “Aw, c'mon. Why don't you come in, just for a little bit? It's a party!”

Marissa shakes her head and says, “No…we've got to get back,” but he guides her along, and before you know it we're at the front door again, only this time we walk right through.

Holly tugs on my arm and tries to tell me something, only I don't understand it. Then she wiggles her nose and points to Taylor. I mouth, What? and there she goes again, wiggling and pointing.

Finally, I pull her aside and ask, “What are you saying?”

“He's been smoking.”

I look at her like, So?

“Grass.”

I just stand there, staring at her. Then I whisper, “Marijuana?”

She nods.

“How do you know?”

“Believe me, nothing else smells like that.”

Well, I did believe her. Not because I thought she'd ever smoked it, but because before she moved to our town she'd been in some pretty bad foster homes, and her life hasn't exactly been sheltered.

If I had been alone, I would've turned around and left right then. But Marissa was being swished down the drain by Taylor, and there was no way I was going to let that happen. So we followed them through the foyer, past a formal living room, down the hall, and back to the kitchen. And the funny thing is, there wasn't any smoke in the house at all. It was more like Potpourri Palace. Little dishes of it were everywhere, and the house smelled like roses and apples.