Gallows Hill (6 page)

"I hear you fell on the steps the other night," Sarah said.

"I hold you responsible," Charlie said as he pulled the locker door open. "I got so pumped up by that business about the cruise ship that I thought I was diving into the ocean. It's the story of my life that there didn't happen to be water in it."

"How did you fall?" Sarah asked him.

"Like a ton of bricks."

"I mean, how did it happen?" Sarah prodded. "Did somebody trip you?"

Charlie turned to stare at her. "What makes you ask that?"

"I don't know. I mean, it seemed like a possibility—"

"Of course nobody tripped me," Charlie said quickly. "Why would anybody do that?" He turned back to the locker. "Actually I guess I do need some help with this. Do you think you could haul those library books out from under that heap of gym clothes?"

"Sure," Sarah said, dropping to her knees beside him. When she leaned into the locker, the stench of rotten fish almost bowled her over.

"I didn't get tripped," Charlie repeated, sounding almost defensive. "I stumbled over my two big feet. This isn't my lifetime to be coordinated. In my next incarnation I plan to be a graceful ballerina."

"Do you really believe in reincarnation?" Sarah asked him.

"It makes as much sense as anything," Charlie said. "Voltaire said, 'It's no more surprising to be born twice than to be born once.'"

"I never thought of it that way," Sarah said, surprised that the "class clown" would even know who Voltaire was. "It might be worth being born a second time to see you do a pirouette." She took out the books—and let out a groan at the sight of their tides.

"What's the matter?" Charlie asked her.

"They're all on the Salem witchcraft trials. Is that what you're going to do your report on?"

"I thought I would. It's more interesting than the other topics. I figured everybody else in the class would decide the same thing, so I hightailed it to the school library at lunchtime and grabbed up the only three books on the subject. Needless to say, our library is not exactly made for heavy research."

"Then that's it for me," Sarah said glumly. "I was also planning to do my paper on that subject."

"No problem," Charlie said. "You take one book home and read it, and I'll take the other two. Then we'll trade. Everybody else is out of luck."

He slammed the locker closed with his left hand and then attempted unsuccessfully to snap the lock back in place.

"Here, let me," Sarah said, reaching over and securing it. "Anything else I can do for you while I'm being useful?"

There was a long pause.

Then Charlie said tentatively, "How would you like to throw newspapers?"

"You mean, take over your paper route? I don't have a bicycle."

"You wouldn't need one," Charlie said. "Mom will let me use her car as long as I get it back so she can drive it to work. I can drive and point out the houses, but I. can't throw. You can have full pay for the couple of months you'll be doing it. I just don't want to lose the route. If they hire a substitute, I'm afraid I won't get it back."

"That sounds good to me," Sarah said. "I need to earn some spending money, and there's nothing in the classifieds that looks even possible. When would you want me to start?"

"Tomorrow, if you can. Mom did the papers this morning, but she sure wasn't happy about it."

"What time?" Sarah asked.

"I'll pick you up at six-thirty, and we should be done in about an hour. It takes longer than that with a bike, but the car will speed things up."

"Do you know where I live?" Sarah asked him.

"Of course. You're on my route."

"Then I'll see you in the morning," Sarah said. "I'll be outside waiting."

She straightened up easily, while Charlie lumbered to his feet and thrust one of the three history books into her hand. "Want to start with this one? It's the thickest."

"One is as good as another," Sarah said. "Thanks. I'll see you early tomorrow."

She continued down the hall and out through the wide front door. She couldn't help noting that the cement steps that led down to the flagpole area were wide enough that it was hard to imagine anybody stumbling off one. Still, accidents did happen, and Charlie seemed the type who might be prone to clumsiness.

Eric was waiting for her in the Charger. The afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window glinted off his hair and made him appear to be wearing a golden helmet.

"So there you are! I was starting to worry that I was being stood up." He leaned across and opened the door on the passenger's side so that she could slide in next to him.

"I stopped to give Charlie Gorman a hand with his locker," Sarah explained. "He fell Saturday night and broke his wrist."

"Yeah, I heard about that. Poor old Gorman, stuff like that is always happening to him."

Eric started the engine, and Sarah glanced surreptitiously around, in the hope of spotting Kyra enviously watching them, but the lot had pretty well cleared out, and neither Kyra nor the group she ran with was in evidence.

"I have an idea I want to run past you," Eric said as they pulled out into the street. That performance on Saturday was a blockbuster. It blew people away. Everybody at school today was talking about it. The ones who didn't get their fortunes told feel like they were cheated."

"I got worn out," Sarah said apologetically. "Besides, it was almost over."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. You were obviously terrific. But there were plenty of kids still in line when you closed up shop. The more they hear about how mysterious it was—how right on target you were about everything you told people—the worse they feel about not having gotten in to see you. I've even had people asking me if you're a junior, which would mean you'd be around to do it again next year."

"So, what are you getting at?" Sarah asked him.

"Private readings," Eric said.

"A fortune-telling business? You can't be serious!"

"I think it could be a profitable venture," Eric said. "Not only would we get the kids who didn't get a chance at it Saturday, I think we'd get a lot of repeats. The ones who did get their fortunes told have had time to think about it now and wish they had asked you more questions. They want another shot at it."

"I can just imagine how that would go over with Mr. Prue!"

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the school," Eric told her. "We'd do it out of school hours at some other place. And we'd swear all our clients to secrecy. Mr. Prue will never get wind that we're doing it."

"You keep saying 'we,'" said Sarah. "What part would you play?"

"I'd take care of the business end of things, do the promotion, take in the money, sort of act as your manager. That way you could keep yourself aloof from the nitty-gritty. The mysterious Madam Zoltanne shouldn't have to deal with the grunge work."

"And Kyra?" Sarah asked. "Is she going to be out in front hiding in a bush with the radio? Because if that's what the plan is, forget it. It was bad enough having to work with her at the carnival."

"Nothing like that," Eric assured her. "We won't need to use the radio. We'll have appointments set up in advance so that I can get all the information from Kyra ahead of time. And since she'll know who's going to be there, she'll be able to do in-depth research and dig up some really hot stuff."

"Won't people catch on to how we're doing it?"

"Maybe so, maybe not," Eric said. "That doesn't really matter. Nobody takes this seriously. They'll just be there for the fun of it. They'll be paying for entertainment, like going to the movies."

By now they had pulled up in front of the house on Windsor Street. Eric set the gearshift in park but left the engine idling. He turned sideways to look at Sarah, and she was struck all over again by the charismatic warmth of his personality and the mischievous twinkle in the depths of his hazel eyes.

"What do you say?" he asked. "Would you like to be partners?"

"I can't believe that you're actually suggesting this!"

"If you don't need the money..."

"It's not that I couldn't use the money. It's just that the concept's so crazy!" And then, to her own astonishment, she heard herself say, "I'll think about it."

"Don't take too long, or we'll lose the opportunity," Eric said. "We need to strike while the iron is hot. People are all revved up from the carnival right now, but the excitement is going to die down if we don't keep it building. You can't go back to just being 'that new girl from California.' We've got to capitalize on the mystique you established."

"I told you, I'll think about it," Sarah said. She opened the door and got out. "Thanks for the ride. I'll be out in a minute with your radio."

She hurried across the yard and into the house. As usual she heard sounds of activity from the kitchen, and this time the house was permeated by the smell of spaghetti sauce.

Without stopping to speak to her mother, she went on down the hall to her room. The tote bag containing the costume and radio was still on Kyra's bed, where she had set it when she got home Saturday night. She extracted the walkie-talkie and the gaudy, sparkly costume. She didn't know what to think about Eric's proposal. The income from Charlie's paper route would only be temporary, and it would be nice to pile up a backlog of cash. She was tempted also by the thought of an association with Eric that would lead to their spending enough time together to have a chance to really get to know each other. At the same time, the idea of a fortune-telling business was so unorthodox that it was almost impossible to imagine.

She glanced across at the paperweight on her desk. The glass seemed cloudier than it had been when she had left for school that morning, as if it had lost its clarity during the course of the day.

With the radio still in her hands, she crossed to the desk and stared down into the murkiness of the globe. She knew, of course, that it had to be her imagination, but the shadows seemed to be shifting, as if there were actually motion in the depths of the ball. When she leaned in closer, she saw what appeared to be the figure of a woman bent into a contorted position as if in terrible pain.

That's ridiculous, Sarah told herself firmly. It's all my imagination. If I keep this craziness up, I'm going to be a nutcase.

Snatching the Gypsy costume out of the tote bag, she tossed it over her arm and set off down the hall with it and the radio. She was halfway out the front door when she heard a crash from the direction of the kitchen.

And then a long, shrill scream.

CHAPTER SIX

Her first impression upon racing into the kitchen was that the room was awash with blood. Thick and clotted, it spattered the white walls and cabinets, dripped down the side of the stove, and plastered the arms of her mother, who stood, bent double in agony, as the syrupy crimson liquid pooled at her feet.

An instant later Sarah took in the aluminum pot, which was on its side on the linoleum floor, and realized she was wrong. The "gore" that transformed the kitchen into what appeared to be a butcher shop was in reality spaghetti sauce, and Rosemary's arms were not draining themselves of her life liquids, they were sizzling in a molten substance that had adhered to her skin like rubber cement.

"Oh, God!" Sarah gasped. "Oh, Mommy!"

The childhood name flew out of her mouth as if she had spoken it only yesterday, instead of half a dozen years earlier when, following the example of her friends, she had started calling her mother by her first name.

"What's going on? Who screamed?" Eric seemed to appear out of nowhere and, as he took in the scene, crossed the kitchen in three long strides to grab Rosemary and spin her around so that she was facing the sink. As she moaned in pain, he turned on the tap and thrust her arms under the rush of cold water.

"Get ice," he ordered Sarah as he adjusted the spigot so that the water gushed out full blast.

"Shouldn't it be butter?" Sarah stammered, groping numbly for the refrigerator-door handle. "I think I read somewhere that if you put butter on burns—"

"I said ice!" Eric barked. "And get it fast! Her flesh is still cooking!"

Without further argument Sarah grabbed for the handle of the freezer, jerked it open, and yanked out the ice trays.

"Hurry!" Eric commanded. "First ice and then some dish towels to wrap it in!"

Moving as if set on automatic pilot, Sarah followed his instructions, smashing the trays against the counter to loosen the cubes and snatching the dish towels from their rack to the left of the sink Quickly and efficiently Eric fashioned ice packs and applied them to Rosemary's arms.

Choking back sobs of relief, Rosemary collapsed against the counter.

"That's so much better!" she gasped. "It's like getting a shot of painkiller! I've never had anything hurt so much in my life!"

In all the turmoil the sound of Ted's car in the driveway had gone unnoticed. Sarah was startled to find him suddenly in the midst of them, white-faced with horror as he took in the scene of chaos.

"What happened?" he demanded. "Who's been injured?"