Chasing AllieCat (12 page)

“You two are good to go,” Mike said, handing Joe his wheel.

While we paid Mike, Joe said, “So, you can’t tell us where Allie is?”

“Mo-Jo!” Mike yelled.

A tall, skinny guy stuck his head out of the back room.

“I changed my mind,” Mike said to Mo-Jo. He pulled his apron off over his head and hung it on a peg beside the workbench. “I’ve decided to go riding. Cover for me?”

Mo-Jo emerged fully from the back room. He reminded me of Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. He waved Mike away. “Have fun.”

Then we rode away.

“You got the feeling I did, didn’t you?” Joe asked.

“That Mike is avoiding telling us what he knows? Definitely.”

“Notice he never said
no,
he hadn’t seen Allie?”

That night, I had a nightmare. I heard Allie screaming, “Run, Father Malcolm, run!” and I was screaming, “Run, Allie, run!” I woke up screaming just as a giant evil ATV had caught up to Allie. I was sweating. When I finally fell back asleep, I watched the crucifix on the chain getting tighter and tighter, and the mashed-up face turning bluer and bluer.

Scout shook me awake. “Sadie, Sadie, you’re dreaming.”

I opened my eyes.

“Pretty impressive lungs there, girl. You’re
loud.
We can hear you screaming all over the house.” He sat down heavily on the fold-out bed, testing it to make sure it would hold him.

“Nightmare, I guess. Father Malcolm. And Allie.”

He brushed hair away from my sweaty face. “I s’pose every time you close your eyes, you see his smashed-up body.”

I nodded. “Sorry I woke you up. I wish we knew where Allie is. That makes it all worse.”

“She’s got to show up soon.”

“Scout—what if—what if whoever did this to the priest got to her? I mean, we know she made it to the gas station to call, but nothing after that. We’ve been assuming she took off—but what if—Scout, I’m scared.”

He shook his head and brushed my hair back again. I expected the usual adult response of
don’t worry, it’ll be fine, I’m sure she’s fine,
but instead Scout said, “I’m a little scared, too, Sadie. That’s why I want you to be so careful. But after what I’ve seen, I’d feel sorry for anybody who tried to beat that girl up.”

I smiled a little. “But still … I sure hope she’s okay. And that she still does the race.”

“I only know her a little bit, but it looks like she’s pretty fearless. Seems pretty un-Allie-like not to race after all the training you guys have done.”

We both sighed.

He stroked my hair once more and left me to stare at the ceiling in the dark. It took a long time to fall asleep again, so I lay there running my thumbnail over a cedar shake next to the roll-away bed. That way, I could smell the cedar. And not think about Father Malcolm’s smashed-up face. And try not to worry about Allie. And try not to think about racing.

Eighteen

Sister Mary Cecille

July 3

After Joe got off work the next day we took an easy spin around Mount Kato, not pushing for time, but reminding ourselves of the ruts, the turns, the twists in the climbs, the downhills.

“I have to do this,” Joe said. “Otherwise, I know I’ll freeze up during the race. I can’t tell you how bad I want to throw up at the top of every big downhill.”

“It’s better than being a crappy climber,” I said, standing in my pedals to crest one of the rollers. “Allie says if you can climb, you can race. The rest is bike handling.”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m nervous. Remember who crashed down the ravine?”

“You’ll be fine.”

We stopped at the bottom to rest. Joe said, “I heard you screaming last night.”

“Sorry.”

He shook his head and wouldn’t look at me. “It’s okay, Sadie. Sadie-Sadie. I don’t blame you. I keep seeing the priest in my head, too—”

I tried to hide my smile. He’d given me a nickname.

“My bike sure handles better since Mike trued my wheel,” Joe added. He started pedaling again and said, “Let’s go see the nuns.”

“Nuns? What nuns?” I stood on my pedals to catch up with him.

“There are nuns at every Catholic church, aren’t there? Wouldn’t somebody at Father Malcolm’s church know Allie if she goes to church there or something? What the connection is?”

“I can’t believe we haven’t thought of that before.”

The convent house matched the church, square and brick, with a red geranium on either side of the door. Very prim, very proper. When Joe rang the bell, a woman with short iron-gray hair, wearing black slacks and a white button-up shirt, came to the screen door with a smile. “Can I help you young folks?”

“Uh, hi.” Joe smiled back. “We’re looking for some—ah—any nuns—who know Father Malcolm—or have worked with him for a few years.”

Her smile disappeared. “God bless him.” She crossed herself. “That would be me. I’m Sister Mary Cecille.” She pushed the screen door open.

“Nice to meet you,” we chorused. “I’m Joe Montgomery.” “I’m Sadie Lester.”

Joe continued, “We’re friends of Allie Baker. And she knows Father Malcolm.”

Sister Mary Cecille stared at us. She glanced up and down the street and started to pull the screen door shut again. “Who sent you?”

“No one,” I said. “We just need to find Allie.”

“Please go away. We don’t want any more trouble.”

Joe and I looked at each other.

“We don’t either,” Joe said. “We just want to make sure Allie’s okay. You know her, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course I do. She went to CCD at our church, she was my student, and she—” She pursed her lips. “That’s all I can tell you, really. One must respect the sacred confidentiality of confession. Now good day.” She moved to close the screen door the rest of the way.

“Please.” Joe reached out a hand toward her, stopping the door. “We can’t find Allie. We’re really worried.”

“You should be,” the nun said. “And be
careful
.” She looked up and down the street again. “It’s probably not your business. Ask the Blessed Virgin for guidance. Maybe you shouldn’t get involved. Be safe. Go home now.” She tugged on the screen door. “Please.” Joe let go. She shut the door and turned away.

“Sister Mary Cecille?” Joe wasn’t giving up.

“Yes.” Sister Mary Cecille stopped, without turning to look back at us.

“What if we’d gone home or just kept riding when we found Father Malcolm? What if we’d said it wasn’t our business?”

She turned around and leaned toward the screen. “It was you.” She looked from Joe’s face to mine. “Oh, bless you. Thank you. For what you did. I wish I could help. But I can’t. I really can’t. And you may not be safe either. God bless you.” She reached back and hooked the screen door, then floated away inside.

Chills traveled down my spine.

Back on the sidewalk, I turned to Joe. “What the hell?”

“You’re swearing on holy ground.”

“Yeah, but who the hell cares?”

“Well, it makes it worse, doesn’t it?”

I looked to see if he was serious, and I realized he was.

“You really do take God seriously, don’t you?”

Joe shrugged. “Yeah. But right now we gotta figure out what’s going on. This just gets weirder and weirder. ‘
You should be?
Maybe you shouldn’t get involved? You may not be safe either?’
Holy crap, Sadie.”

“If Allie were here, she’d give you
crap
about saying that,” I said. “Is religion why you never swear?”

“Not necessarily religion. God. God’s name in vain and all that.”

I looked at him, trying to figure him out. “You serious?”

He shrugged and nodded. “Think we should go talk to the cops again? See if they can help us put anything together?”

“Can’t hurt, can it?” I knew that was the end of the God discussion.

We got back on our bikes, and Joe rode ahead of me.

At the police station, Officer Mick saw us and waved.

We asked for Officer Kate.

She hadn’t seen Allie, she said. Officer Rankin saw us talking to Kate and came over to say hi. He was friendlier than he had been in LeHillier.

We told them about what Sister Mary Cecille said. “She’s scared,” I said, “and she wouldn’t even let us in. Seemed terrified somebody would see us talking to her.”

Kate and Rankin exchanged a look.

“You know something?” I asked.

“Nothing really. We want to find Allison Baker, too. If you see her, can you let us know?”

“I guess.”

Officer Kate said, “If we find her, we won’t be able tell you where she is, but we can let you know she’s safe. And we’ll tell her to contact you. Thanks for coming in.”

When the door closed behind us, I said, “You’re right. This summer
is
getting weirder and weirder. I thought it was going to be the most boring summer of my life. Sheesh. It’s even weird to know so many cops.”

Joe squeezed my hand. I wasn’t sure anymore if what I felt was the thrill I always got when he touched me, or part of the overall shivers I had. We jumped back on our bikes.

We’d gone about halfway to LeHillier, the long way around on County Road 66, when the roadies came up behind us and caught us, drafting in a paceline like geese in half a V. TerryB was “pulling” at the head of the line, and Skarpohl, riding next, patted Joe on the butt as they whirred past.

“See you two at the race,” Mike yelled, and the whole line of them, colorful as tropical fish, skimmed away.

“Wow,” Joe said.

“Ever thought about a road bike?” I asked.

“Not until this week.”

We cornered Scout at the Last Chance to tell him about Sister Mary Cecille. He poured us each a root beer and chewed his unlit cigar while he listened. “Joe?” he said. “Make sure you have your cell phone all the time when you guys are out riding.”

Joe and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“And that’s funny, why?”

We explained Allie’s fetish about real mountain bikers not carrying cell phones.

Scout refilled our root beers. “Well, she’s not here, is she? Listen, like I said before. Don’t ride alone.” He pointed a finger at each of us. “Either one of you. And stay out of the woods. Entirely.”

We sat quietly for a few minutes. Joe and I both downed our root beers.

Joe said, “The last thing in the world I want to do is go look at Father Malcolm’s beat-up body again, but … ”

Scout and I both looked at him.

“But maybe we should go visit him.”

“Are you nuts?” I said.

“Maybe. But I can’t get the image of his bloody face out of my head, and maybe you’d quit having nightmares if we went to visit him. I mean, maybe, just maybe, the real thing isn’t as bad as what we remember. He’s still alive, after all. It might make him like a real live person instead of a nightmare. Ya think?”

The corners of Scout’s mouth turned up slightly around his unlit cigar. He stood up and moved toward the bar. On the way, he patted Joe’s shoulder. “Good man,” is all Scout said.