Sammy Keyes and the Runaway Elf (18 page)

I rummaged through the dresser and there were clothes all right, but not what you’d expect in a rich girl’s wardrobe. Mostly jeans and sweatshirts and socks. I looked under the bed pillow and then the mattress, but there was nothing stashed under them. And the more I looked around, the more panicky I got. I mean, Vera’s
picture might have convinced
me
, but it probably wasn’t enough to convince anybody else. Especially if they didn’t want to believe.

So I started looking again, and that’s when I thought to check out the jacket. I picked it off the bed and stuck my hand in a pocket. It was empty, but I could feel something heavy in an inside pocket. I groped around, and what I found was a little tape recorder. I put it down on the bed and started going through the jacket again. I could hear a piece of paper crumpling around in the lining somewhere, but I couldn’t seem to figure out which pocket it was in. Then, just as I found it, I heard, “I forgot my jacket, that’s why!”

I yanked the paper out and threw the jacket on the bed. Then I scooped up the black book and the recorder and dived into the closet. A second later, Tina comes in, grabs her jacket, and leaves.

I wait until it’s quiet, then I push the penlight on and unfold the paper. And what I’m sitting there holding is a receipt. A kennel receipt. I stuff it in my sweatshirt pocket along with Vera’s picture, and then check out the buttons on the recorder. I press Rewind, then Play, and after a few seconds of static, “Maaaariiique! Maaaariiique!” fills the closet. I snap down the Stop button as fast as I can, then put the recorder with the receipt and picture.

All that’s left is the Croc’s bible, and when I open it up, what I see is amazing. It’s like FBI notes. There’s the name of the person, their Social Security number, address, phone number, where they bank, their maiden name, their mother’s maiden name—information like that, and
then pages of notes about every person. Gossipy things. Cruel things.

I should have closed the book and gotten out of there, but it was like reading the devil’s bible. There was dirt on Mayor Hibbs, there was dirt on the superintendent of schools and the chief of police. You name someone important in Santa Martina, and she had
something
on them. And the more I read, the more I knew, I now had something on
her
.

I closed the book and was just getting up when Tina’s bedroom door flew open and the light flicked on.

I had closed the closet door the best I could, but it was still open a few inches, and I didn’t dare move it any more. Tina came charging in and searched the floor and around the bedspread. I held my breath and inched my way backward, trying to find something to hide beneath, but her closet was so empty that it was like trying to hide behind a miniskirt. And I’m just getting ready to pull down some clothes to cover myself, when I hear the Croc roll in.

“Mother! What are you doing back here?”

The Croc studies her and says, “I thought you said you were leaving.”

“I left! I just came back because I’m … I’m missing something.”

“Missing something?”

“My … my wallet. I was sure I left it in my jacket.”

I could see those crocodile eyes squeeze together. “Don’t lie to me, child.”

Tina looks down and then checks under her bed again. “I’m not lying.”

“I’ve always been able to read you like a book, Christina. You’re lying.”

“I never lie to you, Mother! I lie
for
you plenty, but not
to
you.”

“Well, if you left and came back, why didn’t I hear the annunciator?”

Tina just stands there, blinking. Then she whispers, “That’s funny. Neither did I.”

She goes charging out, and in the time it takes the Croc to turn around, Tina’s back. “It’s been turned off!”

“By?”

“Don’t accuse me! Why would I turn off the alarm?”

“Well, it certainly didn’t switch off by itself.”

Tina checks the pockets of her jacket again. “Did you let anyone in while I was gone?”

“That girl from across the street came over with some sob story about giving Samantha more time. She was pretty persistent and she took up a bit of time, but I didn’t let her in the house.”

Tina stops patting her pockets. “Sammy’s friend?” She sits down on the bed and the color disappears from her face. She whispers, “Sammy knows about the alarm.”

“How the devil would she know about the alarm?”

“I asked her to get a lemon for me.…” She looks up at her mother and chokes out, “She’s in this house. She’s somewhere in this house.”

“Oh, that’s nonsense! How could she get in past me?”

“I don’t know, but I think we should get you up to your room.”

“
What?
I’m not afraid of a twelve-year-old girl! If she’s
managed to break into the house, so what? Tina, why are you so nervous?”

“Trust me, mother. Let’s get you up to your room.”

Well, let me tell you, my heart was slamming its way all over that closet. My chance for sneaking out of the Landvogt mansion had come and gone. I was trapped. Like a cuckoo in a clock. And with the big hand pointing straight up, there was only one thing to do.

Cuckoo
.

I crammed the bible in the back waistband of my jeans, covered it with my sweatshirt, then opened the closet door and came out with both hands in the air.

Tina nearly fainted, but the Croc didn’t even flinch. “What is the meaning of this? How dare you break into my house!”

“You wanted me to find Marique. I’ve found Marique.”

“
What?
Well, where is she?”

I handed over the kennel receipt. “I think you’ll find her at the Wag and Whisker in Santa Luisa.”

She studied it, then handed it back. “This is a receipt for a dog named Bubbles!”

“My bet is that Bubbles is one bald little Pomeranian.” I looked over at Tina. “Isn’t it, Tina?”

Tina snatched the receipt and said, “You are really grasping. Bubbles is Buddy’s grandmother’s dog. She’s visiting Buddy’s sister for Christmas and she asked us to check Bubbles into the Wag and Whisker for her.”

The Croc blinked. “Wait a minute. That’s your receipt?”

“It sure is, and I don’t know what she thinks she’s doing saying that—”

I pressed the Play button, and “Maaaariiique! Maaaariiique!” filled the room.

“That’s
my
voice,” the Croc whispered.

“Exactly. Tina played it over Buddy’s megaphone at the
parade. Marique heard it and that’s why she went charging off the float.”

Tina rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding! How farfetched can you get?”

I looked at her and said, “It never made sense to me because you were home when the ransom note came and you were home when the fur got delivered.”

“That’s right! Mother, she’s just proved how ridiculous this whole theory is!”

I shook my head. “But then I remembered how both times you played with the lights on the Christmas tree. That was your signal to Buddy to make the delivery.”

Mrs. Landvogt was turning a very odd shade of green. Even for a crocodile. “You and Buddy did this?”

“Mom, don’t listen to her! There’s no way I—”

“And then I remembered how the first time I came over you looked straight at Marissa and asked if she was Sammy.”

“So
what?
”

“So if you’d been at the parade concentrating on anything besides getting your mitts on Marique, you’d have known I was Sammy, not Marissa.”

“Oh, come on! Like I’m supposed to remember every twelve-year-old girl I run into. Besides, I
taped
the parade. That’s proof right there that I didn’t do it!”

I looked straight at Tina. “If you don’t mind, I’m thirteen.” I handed Mrs. Landvogt Vera’s picture and said, “Here, take a magnifying glass to that and you’ll see Buddy holding a video camera, not Tina.”

She barely looked at it. “I don’t need a magnifying glass. I recognize his jacket from here.” Her voice sounded
scratchy, almost tired. She glared at Tina and hissed, “How could you
do
this to me? You’re my
daughter!
”

Tina knew there was no use denying it anymore. Instead, she went off like a rocket. “Your
daughter?
I’m not your daughter, I’m your slave! The only reason you want me around is so I can
do
things for you. You don’t want to talk to me, you don’t want to do things with me. You don’t care how I feel or what I think or how you hurt me!”

“How I hurt
you?
What is this you’ve been doing to
me?
You’ve been blackmailing your own mother!”

Tina snickered, then said, “Like mother, like daughter. I learned from the master. You got a problem? Call immigration. Or the health department.” Her eyes got really big. “Or better yet, the wife! I can’t stand being in this town anymore. Everyone knows I’m just your little agent. People are
afraid
of me! Why? Because I’m Lilia Landvogt’s daughter.”

“A little fear is good for people. That’s no reason to turn on the person who has housed you and supported you and loved you!”

“Loved me?” Tina choked out a laugh. “
Loved
me? Is that some kind of a joke? You don’t love me. Ever since Yelsa got out you’ve hated me!”

The Crocodile blinked at her. “I haven’t
hated
you …”

“Well, you’ve never forgiven me!”

The Croc shrugged and let out a little sigh. “Well, it
was
unforgivable. You should’ve been more responsible.”

“I was
ten years old!
”

“Still.”

Tina slid down the wall onto the floor. She wrapped her arms around her legs, buried her face in her knees, and burst
into tears. And while she’s rocking back and forth, sobbing, the Croc gives her a disgusted look and says to me, “Well, I guess you’re off the hook.”

I felt like kicking her leg. And standing there listening to her daughter’s heart break while she sat there shaking her head made me want to yell at her about Mrs. Graybill and where a lack of forgiveness had gotten
her
.

But then I realized I wasn’t dealing with Mrs. Graybill. I was dealing with a crocodile. A cold-blooded reptile with her very own cross-referenced blackmailer’s bible.

I followed as she rolled over to the front door and opened it without a word. I stepped out, then turned and faced her from the porch. “I don’t expect thanks, Mrs. Landvogt. I just expect to be left alone. And in case you ever get the idea that maybe you’d like to try blackmailing me again, well, don’t.”

She gave me a condescending little smile. “Oh, what’s this now? A threat? Really, Samantha, what could you possibly do to me?”

I gave her a condescending little smile right back. “Let’s just say that if my grandmother or I should ever run into difficulties with any sort of authorities, or if anything should mysteriously
happen
to either of us,
this
will become a very public document.” I held up the black book and said, “You won’t live to tell your side of it.”

I think she swallowed her tongue. She choked and sputtered and her mouth went up and down like a seesaw. Finally she got right out of her wheelchair and started after me, but I was already gone. I was feeling so light and moving so fast that nothing, not even a posse of crocodiles, could’ve caught me.

I started reading the book that night. Among other things, I found out that the Gypsy was right about Mr. Petersen—he was in with loan sharks way over his head, and it turns out that Paula Nook’s ex was one of them.

It was fascinating reading, but the deeper I got into it, the more I knew that there was only one thing I could do with the book. I had to burn it. It felt radioactive—like the longer I was near it, the more it would rot me from the inside out.

Hudson didn’t even ask. He just opened the door at seven in the morning and lit me a fire. And when the book was done smoking its way up the chimney, he pointed to the three pages I had left in my hand and said, “I sense that’s an insurance policy.”

“Not for me. These two are for Mrs. Hallenback, and this one’s for Officer Borsch.”

Hudson raised an eyebrow. “Your pal on the force?”

I snorted, “Some pal,” and was in the middle of telling him how Ol’ Borsch-head wasn’t even willing to try to help me trap Heather when all of a sudden I remembered I’d never gotten Rudy a present for the exchange party. “Oh no!”

“What’s the matter, Sammy?”

“What am I going to do?”

“About Officer Borsch?”

“No!” I looked at him and asked, “You got anything that a guy who likes dirt might want for Christmas?”

Hudson gave me a worried look. “Dirt?”

“I’m Rudy Folksmeir’s KK, and we’re having an exchange party at the end of the day. I completely forgot to get him something.”

“But dirt?”

I laughed and said, “He’s way into dirt bikes.”

“Ah … dirt bikes.” He rubbed his chin a minute. “Why don’t we check in the garage.”

Hudson’s garage is like a little operating room for his car, Jester. Jester’s a 1960 sienna rose Cadillac that you’d better never describe as lavender. Jester doesn’t drip oil or water or any other bodily fluids, and there’s not a scratch on it.