Sammy Keyes and the Night of Skulls (15 page)

But I don’t have my skateboard, and as I walk between trees and bushes I start getting the creepy feeling that Heather could totally ambush me. I mean, she’s come out of nowhere and attacked me before, and even though by now she ought to know not to mess with me, somehow I think it still hasn’t quite sunk in.

Plus, even if she wasn’t going to ambush me, she might be tailing me to see where I live. Heather’s tried
that
before, too, and believe me, her figuring out that I live in the Senior Highrise would be disastrous.

Now, I don’t want to go looking over my shoulder to see if I’m being followed. I mean, if I
do
look and she
is
there, then she’ll know I knew she was watching and realize that the whole exchange with Officer Borsch was staged.

So after the next curve I do what I always seem to do when I’m trying to hide from someone—I dive behind some bushes.

It’s already too late when I realize that I’ve picked a stupid spot. There’s a straightaway ahead and if Heather
is
following me, it’ll be pretty obvious that I ditched it somewhere. Plus, I’m feeling kind of ridiculous. I mean, why am I hiding in bushes?

Again
.

And how paranoid am I, anyway? Like they don’t have better things to do than follow me?

Well, apparently not. I’m in the bushes for all of ten seconds when I hear Monet say, “Why do you even care?”

“Look, if you can’t shut up, go back!” Heather hisses.

I see them through the bushes as they scurry by, but all of a sudden Heather stops, punches her fists on her hips, and turns clear around in a slow circle. “Okay, so where is she?”

Monet eeks out, “Maybe she knew we were following her?”

“Maybe she
heard
you, you idiot!” Heather throws her hands in the air. “I can’t believe this happened
again
. Where did she go?”

Monet starts looking around. “Um … maybe she’s hiding in the bushes?”

I can practically see the light bulb go on over Heather’s head, and believe me, there’s definitely an Uh-oh in a thought bubble over mine.

Their backs are turned, so I pick up a softball-sized rock and hurl it over their heads and into the bushes on the other side of the walkway.

“There!” Monet cries. “Did you hear that? She’s in there!” But before I can escape, the bushes where I’d hurled the rock start rustling and shaking, and a deranged-looking homeless guy comes staggering out of them.

Heather and Monet both scream and then hightail it past me, around the corner, and
out
of there. And now
they’re
the ones being followed, because after yelling some pretty X-rated language the homeless guy staggers down the walkway after them.

Getting over to the Senior Highrise was pretty easy after that. Especially since I decided to use the front door. I mean, it’s not like I was planning to stay inside all day, and since the manager knows I “visit” Grams regularly to bring her groceries and do her laundry and stuff like that, it’s no big deal to go in the front door once in a while.

I just have to remember to
leave
.

“Hey, Mr. Garnucci!” I call over at him when I come through the door.

“Sammy!” he calls back. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy.”

“Your grandmother expecting you?”

“Yup,” I tell him. “I promised I’d help her with some chores.”

“Wish more kids were like you.” He nods toward the elevator. “Go on up. She came home from church not too long ago.”

So up I go. And while I’m riding the elevator, I’m feeling really weird. Like I’m one of those people playing about six games of chess at the same time. You know,
where they make a move at one station, then go to the next and move a piece there, then go to the next, all the way down the line until they wind up back at the first game.

The difference is that people who play chess like that are really good at it. They think lots of moves ahead and store every game in some separate little corner of their brain. Me, I’m going from one board to the next with no idea what I’m doing, and no time to think about what a long-range strategy might be. I just make some random move and find myself at the next board, hoping not to get trapped in a checkmate.

Anyway, as I’m letting myself into Grams’ apartment, I’m thinking that I don’t want to be at home so much as I want to be
alone
.

I need time to think about my next move.

My next
moves
.

So right away I tell Grams, “I came in the front door so I could do the laundry. And then maybe I’ll vacuum.”

Her eyebrows stretch high. “Really?” Then she seems to rethink the wonderfulness of my offer. “You can’t leave the laundry room, you know.”

“I know,” I tell her, because for months now someone’s been stealing clothes that have been left unattended. I wiggle my eyebrows at her. “The Nightie ’Napper.”

She eyes me suspiciously. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No!”

“Because there was another incident reported just last week.”

“Was it another nightgown?”

“Yes.”

I give her a little grin. “Muumuus and nighties. The ‘Napper’s kinda kinky.”

“Or very well dressed at someone else’s expense,” she grumbles.

“Well, don’t worry. Your nightie’s safe with me. I won’t leave the laundry room.” Then I add, “I’ll bring my homework.”

Now she’s
really
looking at me like I’ve lost some marbles, but she doesn’t actually say anything. She just gets some money and soap and fabric softener while I collect the bed sheets and towels and dirty clothes.

Then I haul everything down to the basement, and after I get the machines going, I scoot an old folding chair up to a small table and set out my binder and books. And while the laundry’s swishing and sloshing in the machines and my homework’s staring up at me, I just sit there looking out into space, trying to figure out what my next move should be.

With the skulls.

With the Vampire.

But most importantly, with Casey.

By the time I finally hauled everything back up to the apartment, I’d decided that my first two moves were phone calls: one to Officer Borsch and one to Casey.

But how?

And when?

And what, exactly, was I going to say?

If I’d been living in a normal apartment, the how part would have been easy. I’d have taken the phone to a quiet corner while Grams was in the bathroom or bedroom and just called. But the Senior Highrise is old. And since everyone living in it is old, too, the people who own it probably figure there’s no reason to do anything
new
to it. So for a phone we’ve got one of those old-fashioned wall jobbies. You know, with the twisty cord that anchors the handset to the wall?

It’s in the kitchen, and the cord does make it over to the fridge and
almost
to the stove, but if you want to have a private conversation? Forget it.

And since I really didn’t want Grams to overhear, I needed to get out of the apartment and use the pay phone next to Maynard’s Market. And since I’d come in
the front door of the Highrise and had to be seen leaving, it made sense to do it soon. Besides, I wanted to get it over with. I thought Officer Borsch needed to know about the skulls, and it was eating me up to have this secret from Casey. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to live with what I’d done, but I couldn’t live with hiding it from him.

The hard part was
what
to say. All through folding the laundry and putting it away, all through making up Grams’ bed and vacuuming the apartment, I thought about what to say. Not just to Casey, but to Officer Borsch, too. And finally, after I’d loaded the dinner dishes and wiped down the kitchen counters, I took a deep breath and asked, “You need anything from Maynard’s?”

Grams had been kind of quiet during dinner and wasn’t making a peep now. And since she was giving me a funny look I said, “I came in the front door, remember? So I have to—”

“I know, I know,” she says, waving it off, but now she’s all watery-eyed.

“What’s wrong? I just asked if you needed something from Maynard’s.”

She sniffs and shakes her head. “You’ve been doing chores all afternoon, and now you’re asking if I need anything from the market? You’ve become so responsible. And you have a
boyfriend
 …” She gives me a quivery little smile. “You’re really not a little girl anymore.”

Before I can say anything back Grams has opened her purse and is asking, “What would
you
like from Maynard’s?” She looks up at me. “Have you outgrown Double Dynamos?”

I laugh. “Two scoops of ice cream double dipped in chocolate and rolled in yummy crunchy nuts? Who could ever outgrow that?”

She hands over some money. “Your arteries will someday, but for now, enjoy it.”

I take the money and say, “Thanks,” and as I’m heading out I tell her, “Don’t start worrying if it takes me a while to come back, okay? I may stop in and see Holly.” Then I jet down to the lobby, holler, “See ya later, Mr. G!” to Mr. Garnucci, and head over to the pay phone by Maynard’s Market.

Now, when I’d been down in the laundry room, I’d gone scavenging for change. There wasn’t any of Grams’ laundry money left for phone calls, and even if there had been, I wouldn’t have felt right about pilfering. It’s pretty sad when you don’t have enough change to make two phone calls, but that’s the way things are, so I just do my best to deal.

I hadn’t found any coins in the bill changer or the soap machine or any of the washers or dryers, but that made sense—nobody’s living in the Senior Highrise because they want to, so they’re not careless with cash, even change. So I’d had to look for coins that had done their version of a fire drill. You know—drop, roll, and cover?

Anyway, I’d found an old metal hanger and used it to scrape around under the washing machines, and—as the nuns at St. Mary’s Church love to say—bingo! I’d found a total of nine quarters, two nickels, and a peso … plus a lot of really gross lint and a bunch of random trash, but whatever. The coins had cleaned up just fine.

Anyway
for once I had plenty of money jingling around in my jeans—it was slipping the coins into the pay phone that I was having trouble with.

And then it hit me that the whole reason I was having to call Casey
now
was because I’d called Officer Borsch
before
, and here I was, about to call Officer Borsch
again
.

After pacing around the pay phone for what seemed like
forever
, I shoved in the coins and dialed, and my stupid heart started slamming around like a paddleball.

Casey picked up on the second ring.

“Hey,” I said. “It’s Sammy.”

“Hold on.”

His voice was really detached. Almost cold. And it was at least a minute before he came back on the line.

“Sorry about that.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just had to get out of the house. Where are you calling from?”

“Maynard’s. The pay phone outside.” I give a little laugh. “I guess I had to get outside, too.”

“Because?”

I pinch my eyes closed.

I’d already made a wrong move.

“Uh … because I didn’t want Grams to hear me ask you to meet me at the graveyard tomorrow?”

“At the graveyard?”

“Yeah.” I laugh because even though I’d spent a lot of time thinking it out, it
was
a weird place to ask someone to meet you. But I just went with it. “At high noon. By the main gate. Can you be there?”

“What’s happening? Shoot-out at the Crypt Corral?”

I laugh again. “It’s a surprise. You need to bring two bottles of water and a beach towel.”

“A beach towel?”

“Yup. Can you meet me?”

He laughs. “I’ll be there.”

“Great.”

And I’m about to say, See you there, and hang up when he asks, “Have you done anything about the skulls?”

“You mean like go back over to the police station?”

“Yeah.”

“That didn’t work out too well the first time we tried it. Do you think I should?”

There’s a moment of quiet and then, “Don’t you?”

“Maybe Billy should?”

“
Billy?
Like anyone’s going to take what he says seriously?”

“So you think I should?”

“Yes!”

All of a sudden I felt way better. “Okay, then I will.”

“The sooner the better, don’t you think? The guy pulled a
knife
on Billy.” Then he adds, “I’ll go with you if you want.”

I wished I could reach through the phone and hug him. “Just meet me at the graveyard tomorrow, okay?”

“With two waters and a beach towel,” he says with a laugh. “Can’t wait.”

So I get off the phone feeling really good, and right away I pick up the receiver again and call Officer Borsch.

He also picks up on the second ring. “Borsch here.”

“Hey, it’s Sammy.”

“Oh, good. I’ve been wondering what you wanted to talk to me about.” And before I can say anything he adds, “I know doing the right thing has caused you trouble, and I’m sorry.”

I snort. “It’s like a minefield.”

“Well, I’m not divulging my sources, if that’s any consolation.”