Sammy Keyes and the Power of Justice Jack (20 page)

“What’s that?”

“As we travel along the Jericho road, anyplace is paradise.”

He’s looking like Serious Elvis now, so I nod as I keep walking and say, “Thanks.”

But Elvis isn’t done. “Keep a pocketful of rainbows.”

“Will do.”

And since I’m now at the corner and about to cut across a red light, he calls, “Always stop, look, and listen!”

I laugh. “Thanks!” And as I’m heading across the street anyway, he shouts, “By the way, my real name’s Pete Decker! I’ll get you passes to my show if you’re ever in Vegas!” And since I’m so shocked to hear his real voice and his real name, I do something you should
never
do when crossing against a red light.

I stop, turn, and stare.

All of a sudden horns are blaring and zooming by and I’m running and jumping like crazy trying not to get killed.

“You almost had the steamroller blues!” he shouts when I’m safely across. Then he waves. “Bye, Sammy! I’ll remember you!”

I wave. “Who could forget you?” Then I hurry up the sidewalk and sneak back over to the Senior Highrise.

Now, when I’d left the Highrise, I’d gone out the front door and waved real big and shouted good-night to Mr. Garnucci so he’d know that I was leaving the building. Which meant that I now had to sneak up the fire escape to get back inside. No biggie, but halfway up it hit me that I’d made a mistake.

A kinda
big
mistake.

When I’d come in with Justice Jack and the Wedge-o-matic, I’d had my backpack and my skateboard, but when I’d gone out, I didn’t have either.

I tried to convince myself that Mr. Garnucci wouldn’t notice something like that. Especially considering all the excitement about Justice Jack delivering the Wedge and then the big payouts and everything.

But still. It bothered me. I could just see him waking up in the middle of the night going, Wait a minute …!

So I’m a little preoccupied sneaking back into the Highrise, and I really just want to deliver the Tums and get home quick, but while the Wedgie Woman’s checking her change, she says, “Don’t rush off, sugar. Sit a spell.”

So, great. Now I have to
visit
with her? Like doing her laundry and shopping and hoisting her off the bathroom floor isn’t enough? Now I have to chitchat?

About
what
?

She can see me thinking. “Come on, sugar. It won’t kill you to visit a minute.”

I take a deep breath. “Mrs. Wedgewood, I have homework and chores to do, and I’m starving.” And then, just because I’ve never actually admitted that I live next door, I add, “And I still have to help my grandmother with a few things before I go home.”

“Home,” she says with a cagey smile. “We both know what a long walk that is.”

“Look, Mrs. Wedgewood, I don’t mean to be rude, but I do have other responsibilities.”

“Sit,” she says.

I don’t know how to explain it other than to say that there’s something about two beady eyes, five chins, and a crooked wig that adds up to scary.

So I sit.

“Now, then,” she says. “Tell me about your mother.”

“My
mother
?” I try to pull it back a notch. “What do you want to know?”

“Well,” she scoffs. “I know she’s beautiful and self-absorbed and in denial about her responsibilities, so we don’t have to cover that. I’m curious what her plans are for after
The Lords of Willow Heights
is off the air. Is she coming back to Santa Martina?”

This did not feel like a theoretical discussion to me.

This felt like she knew something I didn’t.

And while the wheels in my head are whirring around trying to figure out which direction to go, Mrs. Wedgewood adds, “She’s very good in her role, by the way. I like her better than the original Jewel.”

“You watch it?”

She smiles. “Since it first aired thirty years ago.”

My eyes bug out. “You’re serious?”

“Of course. Which is why it’s so sad to see it going off the air.” She studies me a minute, then sighs. “She hasn’t told you.”

I just look down.

“And neither has your grandmother?”

The truth is, I’m mad. Why am I learning this from her? Why am I always the last person to know? But I don’t want the Blubbery Blackmailer to see she’s getting to me, so I try to cover. “Are you sure? Maybe it’s just a rumor?”

“Oh, it’s official, all right. And your mother and grandmother both know. They’ve had several heated phone calls about it. And you.”

I stand up. “Look, Mrs. Wedgewood, it’s a little creepy to think about you eavesdropping on us—on
them
.”

“Can I help it if my ears are unnaturally receptive? I don’t set out to listen, but the walls are paper-thin, and, sugar, your situation is intriguing. Like a real-life soap happening right next door.”

I head for the door. “I need to help Grams, then get home.”

“And home is …?”

“None of your business,” I snap.

Now, for me this is like setting loose a tidal wave of pent-up anger, but to her it’s just a little ripple. “Come back, sugar. No need to get defensive. Can’t you see we’re a lot alike, you and I?”

I just stare at her with my jaw dangling.

“Sugar, it’s obvious neither of us should be living here. I do what I have to to stay, and so do you. And believe it or not, I admire you and I have my concerns about your situation.”

Now, I know she’s a sweet-talking blackmailer. I know I should deny everything and storm out, but she actually seems sincere, so I just keep standing there, staring.

“How does your mother expect you to continue the way you have been?” she asks. “What are her plans for you? It seems she only has plans for herself. And what are your grandmother’s plans for you?” She scoffs again. “Besides telling you to quit growing up so fast.”

“Grams is a rock,” I tell her.

“Oh, no doubt. But rocks stay put. They don’t move
forward. Or soar. You need to soar, Samantha. You’re smart and resourceful and you need to do something with your life.”

Now, I complain about my mother all the time, but the Whale doing it and jabbing at Grams makes me want to harpoon her!

Besides, who is she to give me advice about doing something with my life?

About
soaring
?

But before I can figure out what to say, she sighs and adds, “I know you’re not listening. I know you think I’m wicked. And you may not believe this, but I have not enjoyed my role in your life. But what else can I do? I do not want to wind up in a care home! I can’t afford a good one, and even the good ones are just places to go to die!”

I give her a hard look. “I get that, but you don’t have to do it the
way
you do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t ask for help, you demand!”

She laughs. “Like you would do all the things I need your help with if I just asked?”

“Look, Grams could have called Mr. Garnucci anytime and told him that you fall off the toilet and can’t get up.”

She gives me a hard look. “And I could have called any day to say you were living here!”

“You’ve made that threat every day since you moved in. The point is,
we’ve
never threatened you. You would have been out of here within a week if Grams had called Mr. Garnucci instead of helping you. And if you tried to get back at us, it would be easy for me to not visit for a
week or two while he got you moved into an old-folks’ home. Even if you sprang it on us, Mr. Garnucci knows I come to help Grams a lot, so he wouldn’t be surprised to find me visiting. And since I have a massive wardrobe of two pairs of jeans and three shirts and absolutely no stuff, he sure wouldn’t
find
anything.” I shake my head. “Grams has never even
hinted
at turning you in, and the sad thing is, I would have been happy to help you. Nobody wants to live in a nursing home—I get that. The Senior Highrise is bad enough.”

She just sits there like a wiggy walrus. So after a minute of her staring at me, I take a deep breath and tell her, “Look, you say you’re concerned about my situation and I don’t expect you to make it better, but could you please stop making it worse?”

She nods her head just a little, then whispers, “I’m sorry,” and puts her arms out.

At first I don’t understand the arms.

And then I do.

I try not to show how grossed out I am just thinking about it, but, really, there’s no avoiding it. So I hold my breath and let her hug me, and when I resurface from the Stink Swamp, I smile the best I can, then escape.

And I’m planning to dive straight for the shower, ’cause, believe me, after you’ve been swallowed up by the Stink Swamp, there is nothing else on your mind.

Trouble is, Grams has the news on.

The minute I walk through the door, Grams goes, “Shh!” like she’s forgotten all about the payouts and the emergency trip to track down Tums. “The mayor’s on!”

“Oh, good grief,” I grumble as I head for the shower. I mean, come on. Who cares?

“Samantha!” She waves me over. “It’s about the statue.”

I stop short. “Did Justice Jack find it?”

“No! It’s still missing.”

I probably would have just gone and taken a shower, but right then the mayor says, “No, this is a personal reward. It is in no way connected to taxpayer dollars.” His voice is very smooth. Polished. And in the back of my mind it sets off a little puff. Like a smoke signal. But before it can form into anything real, the
words
he’s said register and snuff it out.

“He’s offering a
reward
?”

“Five thousand dollars!”

I move in closer. “Wow.”

All of a sudden Grams turns to face me. “Good heavens!
What is that horrendous smell?” Her little rabbit nose wiggles in my direction. “Is that
you
?”

“Mrs. Wedgewood hugged me.”

Her eyes nearly bug through her glasses. “She
hugged
you?” She leans away from me. “And you survived?”

“Grams!”

“Well, honestly! What is she doing hugging you?”

I grin. “You mean after putting the squeeze on us so long?”

“Yes!”

“Look, I have lots to tell you, but I have
got
to take a shower first.”

She waves me off. “Yes! Do! Go!”

So while I shower and change into clean clothes, Grams heats up some leftover chicken and makes us soup and toast to go with it.

“Oh, thank you!” I tell her as I sit down at the kitchen table. “I’m
starving
, and this smells great!”

“Certainly better than you did,” she says with an evil-granny grin.

“Hey! Who’s always telling
me
to be nice?”

She lifts her nose a little, ignoring me, then dips her spoon into her soup like she’s dining with royalty. “So tell me everything.”

I’ve just taken a big bite of chicken, and while I’m chewing to clear my mouth, my mind flashes through my day—from the news about Lars and Sasha running off, to Billy showing up at Buckley’s as the Deuce, to the Man in Black who turned out to be a Hollywood agent, to
snooping at Pair-a-Dice, to Heather and her mother showing up, to shortcutting around the junkyard, to Justice Jack bringing in Mrs. Wedgewood, to the big Geriatric Goons payout, to the Elvis impersonator, to the Hug.

Finally I choke out, “Everything?”

She sips a little soup off her spoon. “Let’s start with anything that has anything to do with Rose.”

Well, that took us clear through dinner. And she was so riled up about the money she didn’t make and my “dangerous conversation with that duplicitous ogress” that there was no sense in telling her about anything else. Compared to losing out on a big payday and my having shown Mrs. Wedgewood “all our cards,” what did she care about Sasha and Lars? Or the craziness Billy had gotten himself wrapped up in?

“Look, Grams,” I finally tell her, “things are better than they were, not worse.”

But all she can focus on is one thing: “Did you ever come out and
say
you lived here?”

“No! But she knows I do! She’s known all along! And by the time we were done talking, she seemed really sorry. So this is a good thing. Stop worrying.”

She shakes her head. “I trust that woman as far as I can throw her.”

We’re both quiet a minute, then I wag my spoon at her. “Speaking of trust … what happened to our deal?”

“Our deal?”

“That we’d be honest with each other?”

“How have I not been honest?”

I just stare at her, and sure enough, she starts to squirm. Finally she tries, “What, exactly, are you getting at?”

“
The Lords of Willow Heights
? That it’s been canceled?”

Her face collapses a little, but she also seems relieved. “Oh, that.”

“What
else
is there?”

“Nothing,” she says, a little too quickly. “Nothing at all.”

I really want to push her on whatever it is she’s hiding from me, but I decide to concentrate on one cover-up at a time. “So, what’s Mom going to do now that
Lords
is canceled? What’s Casey’s dad going to do? He just moved there to be on that show!”

Grams tisks. “Canceled. After thirty years. Who would have thought?”

“I can’t believe it stayed on the air
two
years, but that’s not the point!”

She stands up. “I know, I know.”

“So?”

“So your mother’s auditioning for other parts.”

“On what?”

She gives a little shrug. “She’s vague about it.”

“What a shock,” I say with a snort.

And then Grams does what she always does when she wants to avoid discussing something—she makes up some excuse to go hole up in her room so she won’t have to deal with me or my annoying questions.

Whatever.

It’s not like I didn’t have a ton of homework.

It’s not like I
wanted
to talk about my mother.

So I cleared the table and powered through a language worksheet and then did the assigned reading and questions for science. And after taking a break to wash the dishes and clean the counters, I raided Grams’ stash of shortbread cookies, poured myself a big glass of milk, and got going on my math. By the time I’d finally finished my homework, it was ten o’clock and I was completely wiped out.