The Big Dip (5 page)

I shoved people aside and barreled into the Horror House of Mirrors.

The strobe lights spun around me, flashing on for a second, then off. On, then off. The effect was blinding, worse than darkness. I smashed into a woman holding a little girl's hand. When the lights flashed on, I saw the woman's and the girl's faces reflected in about twenty different mirrors. The woman opened her mouth wide for a good laugh-filled scream.

I pushed past her—and rammed into a mirror. Now I got the concept. In the Horror House of Mirrors, you didn't know what was a passageway and what was the
reflection
of a passageway. Fun.

The canned laugh burst out yet again. “Boo-waaahhh-ha-ha! Watch for surprises!”

Water doused me and the other people crammed in the narrow crooked passageway.

Then there were the surprises that weren't on the menu. Baseball Cap loomed near me several times over. “Out of the way,” he barked at the kids.

Wrong group to order around. “No, YOU git outta the way, mister!” Moving as a pack, they rammed into Baseball Cap— sending him
thwack
into a mirror. The crackle of falling shards mixed nicely with the canned screams.

As Baseball Cap fell, his gun toppled out of his pocket. Now the screams around me were real.

“Carrie Sue!” shrieked the woman next to me. She hoisted her kid, and, trying to flee, promptly bumped into another mirror.

Carrie Sue started bawling. I thought of Ellie, being who-knew-where and scared.

I put my arm around the woman's shoulders. “It's okay,” I said. “Stay close. I'll get you and Carrie Sue outta here.”

Sight was a useless sense in this place. It was better to rely on touch. Still holding onto the woman, I started feeling my way out. Whenever I didn't touch glass, I knew I was making progress.

“It's okay, Carrie Sue,” the woman soothed her daughter. “This nice boy is helping us. Oh, thank goodness,” the woman breathed, as we glimpsed blue sky at the end of the last passageway. “Daylight! What a relief!”

I was glad to see daylight too. I'd had enough of the Horror House of Mirrors to last a lifetime.

On the other hand, daylight might make my own lifetime a short one. In daylight, I'd be an easy target for Baseball Cap.

“Horrible!” Carrie Sue's mom exclaimed to the attendants and people in line. “Guns…broken glass…”

“Cool!” breathed several kids. A boy my age gloated, “I
knew
the Horror House of Mirrors would be the best ride ever.”

I was about to take off when the woman grabbed my arm. “And this wonderful boy got us out of there. What a hero! You deserve an award, son. I'm going to phone the police chief about you
right now
.”

She fixed plier-like fingers on my arm. Her eyes were moist with gratitude.

“Uh…please don't bother,” I said. My gaze kept veering to the dark interior of the Horror House.

Then, what I'd been afraid of happened. Baseball Cap stumbled out of the Horror House exit—holding his gun.

I pulled my arm free.

Carrie Sue's mom screamed.

She stared at her hand, which had come away bloody. I looked down at my arm. Blood poured from a deep cut near my elbow. I'd scraped it on a broken mirror shard without even realizing it. It was like the blackberry bushes all over again. In my panic, I hadn't felt a thing.

Everyone was gawking at me.

Their stares were like a radar signal to Baseball Cap. Following them, he homed in on me. His eyes met mine.

Then somebody shouted, “He has a gun!
He has a gun!
”

People panicked. They collided with each other in an effort to get away from Baseball Cap. Then, like a massive paint spill, they spread all over the fairgrounds.

I ran with them. Being part of a mob was solid cover.

It didn't last long though. People scattered in different directions.

I had to go somewhere too. But where? The PNE exits were too far—Baseball Cap would see me.

My desperate gaze panned the fairgrounds. Colors, smells, blue sky and sun melted together.

Then a smell scorched my nostrils.

Red hots on the grill.

Chapter Eight

Amy cleaned my injured arm with rubbing alcohol from the Herbie's first-aid kit. The sting distracted me from what was happening over at the Horror House. A police officer was stringing yellow caution tape in front of the entrance. Others were pacing around, jabbering into cell phones.

I knew they were talking about the gun-toting man. But I didn't want him to be found. I needed to meet him later so I could get Ellie back.

Amy murmured, “Poor Joe. It's like you're up against Hydra.”

I didn't know what she meant by Hydra. Skip, I thought sourly, would.

I said, “Lemme guess. Hydra power— the new feminist electricity.”

She laughed. “Hydra was a monster in Greek mythology. Cutting off its head didn't work, because it sprouted new ones. What I meant was, just when you get rid of one enemy—Babs Beesley—you face another one.”

A cunning one too, I thought. Baseball Cap had kidnapped my sister without making a sound.

He was slippery as those oily red peppers gleaming on the Herbie's grill.

And I had to outwit him tonight.

I wrenched my mind away from my worries and looked at Amy. Again I noticed how dark her eyes were. Dark and deep and sympathetic.

“Here's what I don't get,” I said. “Baseball Cap phones me and makes a deal to swap the Margaret rose for Ellie. After that, Beesley follows me to VanDusen and pulls a gun. What's the point in her doing that? If she shoots me, how do they get their plant?”

Amy shrugged. “Maybe they thought they could fast-track the process by getting the rose at VanDusen.” She chewed her lip. “Except…you didn't have it yet. You hadn't removed it from the display.”

We stared at each other. Both of us shook our heads. “Doesn't make sense,” I said slowly.

We were sitting on footstools, so the Herbie's counter hid us from passersby. I heard a familiar “Carrie Sue!” and stood up to make sure the lady and her kid were okay. I felt responsible for wrecking their afternoon. It was my fault that Baseball Cap had barged in and smashed up mirrors.

Mom and kid seemed to be over their Horror House experience. They were beside a vendor wagon loaded with mountains of candy floss. Carrie Sue had dropped a huge blue-floss-filled cone on the ground.

“Oh, Carrie
Sue
,” her mother was scolding. She dug in her purse for money to buy another cone.

“Blue candy floss,” grimaced Amy. “How can Katie Sue eat that?”

“Carrie Sue,” I corrected.

And I thought: Carrie…
Sue
.

Then I knew what I'd got wrong.

Clutching my forehead, I slumped back onto the footstool. “
Carrie Sue
. A double-barreled name.”

Amy plunked back down beside me. “Yeah, so?”

I was so stunned that I could barely reply. “Margaret Rose isn't a flower, Amy.
It's a person
.”

Across from Herbie's, workmen carried a huge mirror into the Horror House to replace the one Baseball Cap had smashed. A cop stood by the caution tape, preventing anyone else from going in. His face grew redder and redder in the hot sun.

Amy took a jumbo Coke over to him, courtesy of Herbie's. It was a nice gesture— and it gave her the chance to ask if they'd caught the man with the gun. I saw the officer shrug. Then, no doubt to impress Amy, he scowled around the fairgrounds. I scooted away from the counter and sat down in front of a computer.

It was several minutes before Amy got back. I teased, “What was with the long chat? Seems to me our boy in blue over there has a thing for deep dark eyes.”

She blushed. “He's just lonely, Joe. He has to stand there for the hour, at least. I felt sorry for him.”

I thought again how nice Amy was. I said, “If you ever get tired of Skip, let me know, okay? It may be tough to believe now, but my life is generally crime-free. Reassuringly dull, even.”

Amy smiled. “Thanks, Joe. It's just that Skip and I…Well, I know he's away right now, but when he gets back…” She stopped, embarrassed.

“Yeah, I understand,” I said. I cleared my throat. “Uh…I think I've embarrassed us enough for now, so let me deftly change the subject. I just googled
Margaret Rose
, only this time without the word
plant
. Get a load of this.”

I turned the screen toward her.

Amy's mouth formed an
O
.

Another dark-eyed, dark-haired beauty gazed back at Amy from the screen. This one had something Amy didn't, though.

A crown.

I said, “Amy, meet Margaret Rose.
Princess
Margaret Rose of Britain.”

We read about the princess. Younger sister of Queen Elizabeth II, Margaret Rose had died in 2002. “Being a heavy smoker contributed to the princess's early death,” the biography concluded.

I drummed my fingers on the side of the keyboard. Too bad about the Princess's lifestyle choices, but what concerned me was her connection with Jake. “Jake referred to
the
Margaret Rose,” I said. “As in, something named after the princess?”

“It has to be something to do with her,” Amy said. She moved the keyboard in front of her. “Let's try typing
The
Margaret Rose
.”

Entries leaped up.
The Margaret Rose,
considered the gem of Scottish culture
…

“A jewel,” exclaimed Amy.

“Makes more sense than a plant,” I said.

Our hopes lasted the full two-and-a-half seconds it took to load the site. Three red-haired women in frilly blouses and kilts beamed at us from onscreen. A fiddle version of “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean” blared out the computer speakers.

“‘The Margaret Rose, named after Britain's beloved late princess, is a talented trio of fiddlers,' ” Amy read aloud in a flat voice.

“‘Book these lovely lassies for your wedding,' ” I continued. I covered my face with my hands and groaned. “I'll be booking them for my funeral.”

Chapter Nine

There were millions of Margaret Rose entries. We started clicking through them. It was like searching the Pacific for a lost toothbrush. There were Margaret Rose boats, tearooms, china patterns. There was even a Margaret Rose muffin plate.

There was nothing that thieves would be desperate to get hold of. Nothing that I could give to the police.

Then the Herbie's computer froze. I guess it was feeling as discouraged as we were.

While Amy rebooted the computer, a couple of boys approached the stand. They were both chubby and chewing bubblegum.

“Herbie's is closed due to an E. coli outbreak,” I informed the boys.

“Huh? Whaddya mean?”

“Ma gave us money for red hots. We want red hots!”

“Get lost,” I ordered.

The boys walked slowly away, glaring back and muttering. I was pretty sure the words they were muttering would not have warmed Ma's heart.

Amy was thinking about other words. “We're not getting anywhere with
Margaret
Rose
,” she pointed out, twisting a strand of her hair. “Maybe we should think about what else Jake said. He mentioned a plant.”

“Yeah?” I scowled at the two chubby boys, who were still glaring at me. “So, okay,
plant
. I'm thinking leaves, stems, little bumblebees.”

Amy ignored my bitter humor. “I saw Jake talking to the police, right? That makes me think of another kind of plant. A
police plant
, as in police informant.”

I was impressed. “If Jake was a plant, that could be why Babs Beesley shot him. He was snitching on her and Baseball Cap. Give this girl a gold medal—or the collected dvds of
CSI
.”

Amy grinned. “Now if we could just figure out
what
Jake was snitching about.”

The computer was ready again. Newly inspired, I started up the Internet.

But before I could type anything, the two boys stormed back. A security guard marched right behind them.

“What's this about an E. coli outbreak?” the guard demanded. “Why is Herbie's still open? Why haven't I heard about this?”

“There's no E. coli outbreak at Herbie's,” Amy told the guard.

Shoving his bubblegum into a cheek, one of the boys blurted out, “Yeah, well,
he
told us we couldn't have red hots.”

The kid pointed at me in the back. I shrugged and pretended to concentrate on the computer.

“There is no E. coli outbreak at Herbie's,” Amy repeated coldly. “I'm sorry to hear such rumors being spread.”

Good girl, I applauded silently. The best defense is an outraged offense.

The guard swung his annoyed gaze to the two brothers. “What are you guys doin'? Creatin' trouble?”

Out of sheer nervousness, I was having trouble not laughing. If I laughed, the guard would get mad. He'd be on me like an ant on a picnic cake.

I distracted myself by reading. The home page was the
Vancouver Sun
news site. I read the story that the woman at the library had been reading. The story about the crime wave at the PNE—the gallery thefts and the shooting.

On the other side of the counter, one boy whined, “We don't lie, do we, Bruce?”

“Not often,” his brother replied. They both sniggered.

I read about the missing valuables that had been on loan from the Royal Museum in London. For security reasons, the story didn't specify the items stolen.

I swerved my eyes back. The
Royal
Museum. In
London
.

“That guy on the computer. He started it!” one of the boys shouted. The other one swore, colorfully as a rainbow.

“Uh, buddy—can I ask you a few questions?” the security guard demanded.

They were talking about me, to me, but I couldn't take my eyes off the story. The type blurred, swam together. Again I remembered Jake whispering to me. I remembered him clutching my jacket.