The Crossroads (20 page)

“Ma'am, we
have reason to suspect that—”

“He's here!” Sharon screamed. She could see there were three police cars in the driveway.

“Billy O'Claire?”

“Yes! He's here!”

Hargrove turned to a female officer standing behind him in the doorway. “Mary Beth?”

“Got her. Ma'am?” The female officer grabbed Sharon and escorted her out of the building.

Hargrove pressed a button on his walkie-talkie.

“Jimmy?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You and Dave cover the side. Keep an eye on the windows.”

“Will do.”

“Springer?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You and Bull cover me. I'm going in.”

“Ten four.”

“The woman is secure,” the female officer's voice crackled from the walkie-talkie. “I'll cover the front door.”

Hargrove pulled out a high-intensity torchlight and moved forward. He stepped into a dusty corridor that looked like it might be the Spratling family gallery. Ancient portraits lined all the walls.

“You like the paintings?”
Eberhart made Billy O'Claire snarl.

Hargrove swung his light to the right.

O'Claire was standing in front of a painting. He held a knife.

“Drop the weapon. We have you surrounded.”

Billy jammed his blade into a crusty canvas portrait of Julius Spratling and tugged down to slice a long gash through the dignified old man's head and chest.

“Cheapskate! Old man Spratling was a penny-pinching welsher, never paid people what they were owed!”

“Mr. O'Claire, put down the knife.” Hargrove raised his weapon.

Billy's eyes twitched. “Shoot me! Please? Stop me!”

“Drop the knife and nobody needs to shoot anybody.”

“You don't understand. It's the only way.” He gagged. “
Don't listen to this coward!
I can't take this anymore!
Shut up!
Shoot me!”

Billy dropped the knife and clutched his head. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

Hargrove holstered his pistol and reached behind his back for a pair of handcuffs.

“What do you think you're doing, fuzz?”

“Let's take this nice and easy.”

“No way, copper! You'll never take me alive!”

“Freeze!”

Billy ran to the foyer, where he saw the swirling red lights of police cars pouring in through the open front door.

“Freeze!” he heard Hargrove yell.

Billy didn't freeze. He raced out the front door. He was going to end this once and for all. He was going to save his son!

The police took him down with a single bullet. Billy O'Claire died in the driveway of Spratling Manor—right where his father and mother had died twenty-five years before him.

The phone
rang. Judy snatched it up.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Jennings? Ben Hargrove. I just wanted to let you know we got him.”

“Mr. O'Claire?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You have him in custody?”

“No. He's dead. You were right. He came after Miss Spratling. He sounded crazy. Talking to himself. And he had a knife.”

“I'm sorry you had to—”

“Yes, ma'am. Me too. Anyhow, I thought you and Zack would like to know.”

“Thank you.”

Judy knew
there was still one piece of the puzzle missing. She also knew she held the key to cracking it.

Literally.

She squeezed the tiny bank key in her hand.

A bright beacon of light swung across the kitchen windows. Judy went to the back door.

“Davy? Is that you?”

“Howdy, Mrs. J.! You remember my pops?”

“Well, I certainly remember his flashlight.” Judy shaded her eyes. “Are you okay, Davy? After last night?”

“Oh, I'm fine. How's Zack?”

“Fine.” She wondered whether Zack and Davy had had any visitors during their overnight stay in the graveyard. Had Bud shown up?

“We was gonna have us that sleepover at my place tonight,” Davy said. “Remember?”

“I'm all set!” Zack stood behind Judy, carrying a small gym bag.

Judy turned to Davy's father. She knew that Billy O'Claire was no longer a threat. If the boys spent the night at Davy's house, she and Mrs. Emerson could check out that safe-deposit box at the bank.

“Sir, are you sure you're okay with the boys sleeping over at your house tonight?”

“Yep,” said Davy's father.

Judy knelt down to look Zack in the eye.

“Honey, the sheriff caught the plumber,” she said.

“You figured it out, didn't you?” Zack whispered. “You told the police how to catch him.”

“Well, I had a hunch. Turns out I was right.”

“Thank you!” He hugged her.

Judy thought about how much Zack had been hurt in his short life. There was so much she wanted to say. How she was sorry his mother had been so mean. How things were going to be different now.

But “Have fun, honey” was all she said.

From the look on Zack's face, it might have been enough.

“We will,” he said. “Hey, you could use a little fun, too. Maybe you should go see a movie or something. I mean, Dad's not home. I'll be over at Davy's. You and your librarian friend could go out to dinner or the movies or…”

Judy smiled. “Don't worry. I know how to have fun.”

“You're not going to stay home and watch TV, are you?”

“No. I'll probably go hang out with Mrs. Emerson.”

“Zack?” Davy called. “Come on, pardner! We need to find us some good green switches for marshmallow roastin'!”

“I gotta go, Judy. See you tomorrow.”

 

Judy went
inside and placed a call.

“Mrs. Emerson? Judy Magruder Jennings. I'm free this evening and I was wondering—do you think you and your husband could meet me at the bank in, say, ten minutes?”

Zack and
Davy waited in the woods until they heard the garage door grind up, then grind down.

“She's off to the movies or Mrs. Emerson's house,” Zack said, tugging down on his Mets cap, ready for action.

“Good thing you suggested it, pardner.”

“Yeah. But what about your father? Won't he wonder where we are?”

The boys had hung back near the stump while Davy's dad hiked across the highway. The old man had never looked back to see if the boys were following him.

“Pops? Shoot, he's plum tuckered out. I'll betcha he marched straight home, plopped into bed, and forgot all about us. You grab some matches?”

“Yeah.” Zack zipped open his gym bag. “I brought the whole box.”

Sharon went
down to the carriage house and kissed her baby.

“Is this your night off, girl?” her mother asked.

“No. But I had to see Aidan and make sure he was safe.”

“He's fine. Look, Sharon—it's a shame about the police shooting Billy, but you need to get back to the big house. Don't give Miss Spratling any excuse to fire us!”

 

Miss Spratling
was waiting in the darkened foyer when Sharon returned.

“Did your mother offer her sympathies on the loss of your ex-husband?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“How considerate. Of course, they all mourn at first. But then life goes on, doesn't it? After the cards and flowers and condolence calls, they all forget and you're the only one left to mourn his death!”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Come along,” Miss Spratling commanded. “We must prepare the chapel. Father Murphy is on his way.”

Sharon had never been allowed to enter the Spratling family chapel before. It was also the one room her mother had never cleaned. In fact, no one was ever permitted inside the chapel except Miss Spratling herself. But tonight was the fiftieth anniversary.

Tonight was special.

Judy and
Mrs. Emerson were sitting in a conference room, staring at the long metal tray they had removed from the safe-deposit room.

Hank Emerson, head of security for North Chester First Federal, had the second key needed to open the double-locked box. Now he was in the security office, making sure the bank's surveillance cameras were sweeping the parking lot, vault, and lobby while ignoring the conference room.

Judy raised the hinged lid. A brown envelope was tucked inside the narrow box. She undid the flap clasp and discovered what looked like a high school term paper: a typewritten report tucked inside a clear plastic binder with a slip-on spine. The lettering was blurry: a carbon copy off an old typewriter.

Judy knew they had found the missing link.