The Man with the Red Bag (9 page)

He stopped suddenly, stood for a moment, and then went inside a store. I looked up at the sign over the door:
CODY HARDWARE
.
ALL YOU NEED FOR RANCH OR FARM
.

We sidled in.

The owner wasn't kidding. There was everything here you could possibly need, winter or summer, for a farm or a ranch. There were small tractors with the name John Deere emblazoned on their sides; there were snowmobiles. There were garbage cans and feeding troughs and bins that held flower bulbs or assorted nails and screws. Something for everyone.

Stavros was at the far end of the store.

Geneva and I hid behind a large barrel filled with pickles that smelled strongly of vinegar. Do people really buy pickles from a barrel anymore? And in a hardware store? I guess they do in Cody.

Stavros paced along one of the aisles, and as we watched he picked up something I couldn't see and carried it to the counter.

Geneva whispered, “What is it? What did he buy?”

My throat was so tight I could hardly answer. I
wanted to cough, just a little cough. But I didn't dare. What if Stavros looked over and saw us?

“It's a shovel,” I said when my voice came back. “He's buying a shovel. And a flashlight.”

G
eneva and I crouched behind the pickle barrel. She'd grabbed my wrist and dug her nails in. I pried her fingers off my wrist.

As the salesman wrapped the shovel in heavy brown paper, he and Stavros were having a conversation that seemed to be interesting and friendly. The shovel had one of those short folding handles, and it folded up to be not much longer than a baseball bat. Stavros set the red bag on the counter, moved his fingertips over the padlock, unzipped the top of the bag,
and slipped the flashlight in. I saw him carefully relock the bag.

“Let's go,” I whispered to Geneva.

We hurried out of the store and along the sidewalk. No need to keep watch on him right now. We'd seen all we needed to see. I had no doubts anymore. But I was pretty sure whatever he was planning wasn't going to take place on the streets of Cody. Not in daylight. Not with that shovel and flashlight.

Geneva and I talked so fast, our sentences crossed each other in midair, so mixed up I could hardly tell who was saying what.

“He's going to bury something.”

“Or dig something up.”

“You don't bury a bomb.”

“Some bombs you do. There are bomb-sniffing dogs that can find them.”

“Oh, man, I wish we had one of those right now!”

We kept tripping over our own feet as we looked back to see where Stavros was.

“He's coming. But he's a half block away,” Geneva said.

“I know that. I can see, too, you know.”

“Why didn't he bring the shovel and flashlight with him from home?”

“He couldn't. Security would have been on him. You can't board a plane with stuff like that.”

“Because of terrorists.” Geneva shivered, and I shivered with her.

“He said it was almost over. He's going to do it. He's come all this way from New York.” I decided that every word Charles Stavros had ever spoken was engraved in my brain. “And Geneva,” I said, “you absolutely have to help me watch him in the hotel. We have only three nights. No making excuses and bugging out. We're in the circle, the Big C. We have to be able to see his door every single minute.”

“And if he comes out, and he's carrying the bag and the shovel and the flashlight? What do we do?” Geneva bit her lip and pulled her shoulders up against her ears. “Oh, man! If that happens, I hope you're on watch and not me. How do we stop him?”

“I'm thinking,” I said. “Your dad has a cell phone, right? Do you know the number?”

“What do you think? Like I call him all the time?”

“But you could get the number. And I could
borrow Grandma's cell. She's let me before. Then we'd have a link. If things got really hairy, you could call your dad and—”

Geneva rolled her eyes. “Can't we link with somebody else?

“Who? The Doves? Midge? Millie?”

“Buffo,” Geneva said. “He'd be great!”

“He and Blessing don't have a cell. Remember they were waiting to use the phone in the hotel? Anyway, your dad would be just as good as Buffo. Better. He loves you. If he thought you were in trouble, he'd—”

“Oh, sure. He loves me.”

I didn't answer that. “Just get the number, okay?”

We were both quiet. Then Geneva said, “What if he decides not to go to the rodeo? Will that mean we can't go? I want to. I
really
want to”

“Me, too.”

“But I've even got my rodeo cap.”

We could see our bus waiting in front of the hotel, Scotty standing by the open door, and I didn't mean to quicken my steps and I don't think Geneva meant to, either, but suddenly we were walking so fast we
were almost running. The bus and Scotty seemed so safe.

“Hi,” Scotty said as we came closer. “Interesting town, Cody.”

“Really,” I said, and realized I'd hardly seen it. Only the inside of Cody Hardware. Maybe I'd never be in Cody again in my whole life. And I'd missed it. I'd missed the museum and all that cool stuff. But how important was that compared to saving whatever or whomever Stavros was after?

“Hop in,” Scotty said. “I'm going to drive to the museum and pick up the others. Or you can wait here and get yourselves a soft drink in the hotel coffee shop. I'll be back in about twenty minutes.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Stavros was only a few steps away, and I decided quickly. “We'll go on the bus with you.” Geneva and I flopped into different seats.

“Here comes Mr. Stavros,” Scotty said. “We'll hang on a minute and see what he wants to do.”

Charles Stavros waved and climbed up the bus steps.

“We're just going up to the historical center, if
you want to come.” Scotty looked at the long package Stavros was carrying. “Shopping, I see, Mr. Stavros. Shall I put that up in the rack for you?”

“Well…” Stavros hesitated. “Okay. I guess that will be all right.”

He handed over the package but kept the red bag. “You skipped the center?” he asked Geneva and me.

“Yeah.” My voice snagged in my throat.

“Too bad,” he said pleasantly. “I hear it's a good one. Well, I missed out on it, too.” He held up his bandaged hand. “But I did get this taken care of.”

“That and more,” Geneva whispered to me.

How could he be so calm, I wondered, planning what he was planning? He'd be a good villain in my book, in
any
book, no question. Two dimensional. Maybe even three.

Our coach lumbered up the street, made the loop in front of the historical center, and gathered our group back aboard. They lugged all shapes and sizes of gift bags.

“That visit was worth the whole trip,” Mr. Dove announced. He carried a square, flat package. “Indian painting,” he said. “Very powerful.”

“Their gift shop was great,” Midge told us. “I wanted to take something home for my dogs, but there are so many of them. So I bought this for my husband instead.” It was one of those viewers that show places of interest. “Since he couldn't come,” she added.

Geneva's dad walked down the aisle and handed her a small velvet bag. “I hope you like this,” he said hesitantly.

She pulled open the drawstring top and trailed out a silver chain with a butterfly pendant of blue stones. The stones were all different shades of blues, some almost as dark as her eyes, some a pale blue-green.

Grandma saw it as she was getting into her seat. “Oh!” She put her hand to her throat. “That is absolutely beautiful, Geneva. All turquoise and so intricately set.”

Geneva was very still, dangling the chain between her fingers.

“I know it's not your birthstone, Geneva,” her dad said softly. “You are December nineteenth.”

“Right,” Geneva said. “But I love this. It's beautiful.”

“And I know how you love butterflies,” he said. “Do you remember when I took you to the Monarch Festival when you were, oh, maybe four? All those black-and-orange butterflies hanging from the trees and then soaring up, like a bright cloud?”

Geneva nodded again. She touched the pendant. “I didn't think you'd…remember the day with the monarchs.”

I could tell she was almost crying.

Her dad touched her cheek. “Turn around and let me put this on.”

She turned awkwardly in her seat. I watched him fasten the necklace in back and then, secretly, smooth the yellow tufts of her hair.

“Thank you,” Geneva said.

I'm not a very mushy person, but I guess I am sort of a writer so I have feelings and intuitions. Right then I felt that Geneva was thanking him for the butterfly, but even more for remembering.

She suddenly got out of her seat, moved past me and past her dad, and sat in a seat by herself. I wanted to talk to her more about Charles Stavros and our plans for tonight, but this didn't
seem to be the right time.

I moved in next to Grandma.

“Wouldn't it be fine if this trip brought the two of them together?” she whispered.

“Totally,” I answered. I stared out of the bus window, past Grandma's head. Across from us Charles Stavros sat, detached as ever, the red bag close beside him, the red bag with the big flashlight and whatever else was in it. And, in the rack above his head, the shovel.

 

We were on our way now to dinner and to our hotel, which was outside the town.

“Don't worry. We're coming back in for the rodeo,” Declan said. “First a real, honest-to-goodness cowpoke dinner, beans and ribs and fried chicken and biscuits. Three kinds of pie!”

There were whistles from the Texans, and Buffo said, “Shucks. Blessing and I can eat three pies all by ourselves.”

“Anybody not want to go to the rodeo after dinner?”

I held my breath. Declan went around us inquiring.
Only one person was staying away. That one person was Midge.

“I don't think I could stomach it,” she said. “I know those riders aren't supposed to hurt the horses and bulls they ride, but I have my doubts. How do you make a horse buck and toss like that if he isn't in pain? I've heard they put spikes under the saddles.”

“Oh, dear.” Grandma's face crumpled. “They wouldn't, surely?”

“The Cody rodeo's been going for more than fifty years,” Declan said. “And I've never heard of any complaints from animal activists. Or the ASPCA.” He sounded personally offended.

“Well, I might just be the first,” Midge said. “The rest of you, enjoy.”

It might not be so easy to enjoy after what she'd said, but I still wanted to see it.

I watched carefully to be certain Stavros was going. He was.

Geneva sat alone. I turned twice, and each time I saw that she was leaning forward in her seat, touching the turquoise butterfly that swung on its chain around her neck. I wondered what she was thinking. I hoped
she'd still be able to concentrate on Stavros, too, because whatever he planned on doing was going to happen very, very soon. Time was running out. And what was
our
plan?

 

Dinner was great. There was everything Declan had told us about and more. Buffalo stew, gravy thick as pudding, steaming homemade biscuits. We were overstuffed as we groaned our way back to the bus, heading for the hotel, which was actually a fancy dude ranch: the Lazy Y.

Log cabins were scattered across the grassy grounds. Grandma and I and Midge and Stavros were in one of the smaller ones that Declan said had been part of the original house. The Doves, Geneva and her dad, and Buffo and Blessing were in another, and the Texans and Millie and Beth in the third.

Horses grazed peacefully in a meadow yellow with buttercups. There was a stream, and a pond, and tennis courts and an orchard. I think the trees were apple trees.

We had hardly any chance to look around. Declan had said we'd have time to enjoy it in the morning.

“Want to play tennis tomorrow?” Geneva asked.

“If we have nothing else to do,” I said meaningfully.

The bedrooms were upstairs. Mine had a feather bed with a comforter on top, white and fluffy as a marshmallow. It looked so tempting. What were my chances of sleeping in it all night long? Not good. I wanted to crawl in it right then.

“Wake up!” I said out loud. “You can sleep when you get home.”

I staggered into the little old-fashioned bathroom and washed my hands and face, rubbing my wet hands over my hair and into my scalp, massaging. “Vigilance!” I said. It was an excellent word that I remembered from a mystery novel. I said it again. “Vigilance!”

The mirror was old and blotchy, as if the surface was off here and there. In it I looked superstrange. Were my eyes really that sunken in? I propped my eyelids open with my wet fingers. Zombie eyes. I wondered who had lived in this house, and washed in this washbasin, and looked in this mirror. I was just beginning to freak myself out even more than I was already freaked when I heard the coach motor
below. Rodeo time. I pushed aside the frilly curtains and peered out the window. I saw Millie slouching out from her cabin, smoking a cigarette. She took a last drag, then tossed the glowing butt into the bushes.

Charles Stavros came from nowhere. He was ready for the rodeo in his windbreaker and scarf. The red bag was clutched against his chest and he was carrying the pillow from his bed. Declan had told us we should take our pillows because the rodeo seats were so hard. Stavros was moving fast. I saw him shout something to Millie, something that I couldn't hear, but it wasn't hard to see he was ready to explode with anger. He pushed aside the bushes and stomped on the ground, all the time speaking over his shoulder to Millie, his face grim. When he came out of the bushes he was holding the squashed butt of her cigarette.

I eased the window open just a bit.

Now I could hear some of his furious words. “Crazy…Fire…Don't you know…?”

Millie glared up at him, her hands on her hips. “Why don't you mind your own business?” Her voice was shrill, shaking with anger.

“It is my business. If you burn this place down…” He lifted her hand, jammed the flattened butt into it, then pushed past her onto the bus.

Quietly I eased my window closed and sank into the edge of my fluffy bed, wide, wide awake.

Stavros had been angry. More than angry. Furious. But there was something else. He'd been afraid. Afraid above normal. Afraid of fire.

What did that mean?