The Dead Man in Indian Creek (8 page)

"What are we looking for?" I whispered.

Parker didn't answer. He was trying to open the door to the back room where Evans and Pam repaired things.

"Damn," he muttered, jiggling the knob, "it's locked."

Putting my shoulder against the door like they do in movies, I shoved hard, but nothing happened except I got a pain in my arm.

Parker pushed me aside. "I can get it with my library card," he said.

I watched him stick the plastic card in the crack between the door and the frame and jiggle it around. In a couple of seconds, he had the door open.

"Where did you learn to do that?" I asked him.

"I'm always losing my house key and locking myself out," Parker said. "This gets me in every time."

He shone his light around the room and zeroed in on Pam's worktable. The box of dolls she'd taken out of the kitchen was lying there, and he opened it. Carefully he lifted out a doll and examined her. In his flashlight's beam, the doll stared at him, her eyes wide open. Although Pam had carefully repainted her face and repaired her clothing, she hadn't given her a new wig. In fact, all the dolls in the box were still bald.

"Quit breathing on me, Armentrout," Parker said as he put the doll back into the box. "You smell like anchovies."

I stepped back, embarrassed. "No worse than you do," I muttered, but Parker was too busy opening another box of dolls to pay any attention to me.

These dolls were finished. Wearing wigs, clothes, and shoes, they lay as still as sleeping children. When Parker picked one up, her eyes didn't open.

"That's weird," he said, tilting the doll back and forth. "She's all fixed, except her eyes."

Putting her down, he tried another doll, but her eyes wouldn't open either. In fact, not one of the six dolls would wake up no matter how hard we rocked them back and forth.

Parker looked at me. "This is really strange." He grabbed one of the bald dolls and looked into the hole on top of her head. Then he tilted her back and forth. "Her eyes work," he said. "Why would the others be all packed up, ready to go, if they're broken?"

I shook my head. "We better get out of here, Parker," I said. The darkness was getting to me, and the shop made lots of funny sounds, creakings and squeakings like mice or maybe rats burrowing through all the old junk.

"I'm going to take one with me." Parker lifted a doll out of the box and stared at its sleeping face. It seemed to be dreaming something unpleasant, and I would have preferred to leave it where it was.

"They'll notice it's gone, Parker," I whispered. The flashlight was making strange shadows on the wall and ceiling. If we'd been characters in a movie, spooky music would be playing, and everybody in the audience would say, "Get out of there, boys, before it's too late."

"Anyway," I added, trying hard to make a joke, "aren't you kind of old to play with dolls?" Unfortunately, my voice refused to cooperate and every word cracked as it left my mouth.

Parker frowned at me. "You're scared, aren't you?"

I shook my head. "I just think we ought to leave everything the way we found it."

Parker put the lid on the box and started for the door, still carrying the doll. But before he reached it, we heard a car enter the parking lot.

"What do we do now?" I stared at Parker, too scared to move or even think.

Parker looked around the workroom. "Shut the door and make sure it's locked," he whispered. "Then hide. And for God's sake, be quiet."

As I closed the door, I heard another car pull into the parking lot, and then low voices approaching the shop–Pam, Evans, and somebody else.

Trying not to bump into anything in the dark, I wedged myself behind a large wardrobe standing cat-ercornered in the darkest part of the room. I didn't know where Parker was, but, as I heard a key turn in the door, I hoped he was well hidden.

When the light went on, I shut my eyes; like an ostrich, I was trying to believe that if I couldn't see them, they couldn't see me.

"Where are the dolls?" the stranger asked.

Opening my eyes slowly, I peeked around the edge of the wardrobe, grateful for the shadows all around me. A couple of feet away, I saw Pam and Evans. Another man stood even closer, but his back was turned toward me. He was short and stocky, but he looked strong and his sports jacket was tight across the shoulders.

"One box is finished." Evans shoved the dolls toward him. "And the other is almost done."

"How long before it's ready?" the stranger asked.

"In just a few minutes." Pam sounded so nervous I wondered if she were scared of him. "All I have to do is fill the dolls' heads and glue their wigs on."

The floor creaked as she walked toward the wardrobe and unlocked it. On the other side of the thin board separating us, I heard her rummage around. Then she shut the doors again, locked them, and walked back to the table. While I watched, too scared to breathe, she began packing a doll's head with little bags of white powder.

All of a sudden the stranger looked up from the box he'd been examining. "There's only five dolls in here," he said.

"What are you talking about?" Pam asked. "I put six in before we left for dinner." Her voice shook a little, and she clutched the doll she was working on against her chest. Never had I seen a person look so frightened.

"Do you want to count them yourself?" The stranger leaned toward her and shoved the box across the table.

"There
are
only five." I could hear shock in Pam's voice as she turned to Evans.

"You wouldn't cheat me, would you, George?" The stranger asked. "We've been friends for a long time," he went on, "but I can't afford another partner like Dawson." The sound of his voice made me wish I could shrivel up into a little dustball and roll off into a corner.

"Are you kidding, Flynn?" Evans choked out a laugh. "I'd never try anything like that. Didn't I dump Dawson for you?"

"You made a great job of it too," the man named Flynn said sarcastically. "Almost getting caught by two kids."

There was a brief silence. Suddenly Evans snapped his fingers. "Parker!" He spoke so loudly I thought he'd found his hiding place, but then he went on, "I bet Parker's got the doll. He's been snooping around here all week."

I could practically feel his eyes X-raying through the furniture, searching for Parker and me.

"You don't expect me to believe that." Flynn leaned back against the wardrobe and it tilted, almost squashing me.

While he spoke, I heard Evans moving around the room, hunting for us. Why hadn't Parker listened when I told him not to take the doll?

"Don't blame this on my son," Pam said. "Leave him out of it, George! He's got nothing to do with it!"

I held my breath as Evans checked a pile of crates near me. If Flynn hadn't been leaning on the wardrobe, squashing me against the wall, Evans would probably have seen me. As it was, he was so close I could have touched him.

Then, just when I thought my ribs would crack, Flynn stepped away, and the wardrobe swayed forward, freeing me to breathe again.

"You're saying Pam's son broke in here and took one of the dolls?" Flynn's voice was full of scorn as Evans returned to the worktable without seeing me. "Don't kid me. You just wanted a little more than your share. A new house, a new car, a fancy cruise, something you couldn't quite afford."

"I'll get the doll," Evans said. "Just give me some time."

"You better," Flynn said. "You know as well as I do what it's worth. I can't afford to lose five thousand because I trusted a greedy fool."

"Come on, Pam," Evans said. "Let's get Parker."

"Pam stays here with me," Flynn said. "You go find the kid by yourself."

"Parker doesn't know anything about the cocaine," Pam said to Flynn as the door slammed behind Evans. "He's only twelve years old. He couldn't possibly be any danger to you."

Except for the sound of Pam crying, the shop was silent for a long time. Then I heard the MG, and in a few seconds, Evans was back.

"Nobody was home except that damn dog," he said. "He almost tore my leg off."

"Do you have any idea where the boy might be?" Flynn asked.

"He's got a fort out near Bluestone Quarry," Evans said. "He could be there, or he could be at his friend Matthew's house."

"I'll drive," Flynn said to Evans. "You make sure Pam behaves herself."

Gripping Pam's arm, Evans followed Flynn. The last thing I heard her say was, "Promise you won't hurt Parker." Then the shop door slammed shut, and we were alone in the darkness.

A
S SOON AS
I thought it was safe, I stumbled out from behind the wardrobe. My legs were so stiff and cramped I could hardly walk, and the room was pitch black. I bumped right into Parker before I realized who it was.

"Where were you?" I whispered. "I was sure they'd find us."

"I was lying down behind that pile of boxes." Parker pointed to a dark corner. "Evans was about a foot away from me. I thought I was a goner for sure."

"Me too." I took a deep breath and started toward the door. "We better get out of here."

Before we left the shop, we looked outside. In the autumn moonlight the parking lot was empty except for Evans's MG.

"Let's go," Parker said. Sticking to the shadows, we ran to the woods and raced through the underbrush, dodging tree trunks and stumbling over roots, barely noticing which direction we were going.

"Well," I said when we paused for breath. "What do we do now?"

"The police," Parker said. "We have to get the doll to the police."

I stared at him, not believing my eyes. In all the rush, I hadn't noticed he still had the doll. "Why didn't you leave it there?" I yelled at him. "Maybe they'd find it on the floor, think it fell out of the box or something, and forget about us."

Parker shook his head. "Flynn's not going to forget us or Pam either. You heard what he said this doll is worth."

"But Parker," I said, "if the cops get Evans and Flynn, they'll get Pam too."

"She'd be better off in jail than with either one of those crooks," he said. "God, Armentrout, what made her get involved in something like this? How could she be so stupid?"

I couldn't answer Parker, but I knew he was right about Pam. From what I'd seen of Flynn, I was sure she'd be safer with the police. A cold gust of wind knifed right through my jacket, and I shivered. "Let's get moving," I said. "If they've gone to my house, they'll be back this way any minute."

We ran on through the woods toward Blake Street, thinking we'd take the shortcut behind Jennifer's house, but just as we reached the edge of the woods, we heard Otis barking somewhere behind us.

"Quick!" Parker jumped Swenson's hedge, and I stumbled after him. We raced through their yard and the next three, dodging lawn furniture, bicycles, and woodpiles. Then we were scrambling over Jennifer's fence with Otis close behind, still barking happily as if he thought we were playing a wonderful game of hide-and-seek.

When we hit the ground, Jennifer's dog, a little poodle named King Tut, raced down the back porch steps, yapping and growling. Swerving away from his sharp teeth, I headed for the driveway but stopped when I saw a van, lights out, gliding silently down the street toward us.

Parker grabbed me and dragged me up Jennifer's back steps. He banged on the door till Jennifer lifted a corner of the shade and peeked out the window. In the meantime, King Tut had sunk his teeth in my leg, and Otis was prancing around Parker and me, his toenails clicking on the porch, his whole body wagging.

"Parker," Jennifer mouthed through the glass. "What are you doing here?"

"Let us in," Parker whispered. "It's an emergency."

Jennifer opened the door a crack. "I'm home alone baby-sitting," she said, "And Mom said I couldn't have anyone in the house."

Without another word, Parker pushed right past Jennifer, and we crowded through the door. Otis came too, and so did King Tut, still hanging on to my leg like a leech.

"Lock it!" Parker cried and helped Jennifer slide the deadbolt into place. Then he turned out the light and the three of us dropped to the floor, too scared to move.

"What's going on?" Jennifer whispered. She was staring at the doll.

"We're in big trouble," Parker said.

I had finally pried King Tut off my leg, mainly because he'd gotten interested in something else. He was staring at the kitchen door, growling deep in his throat, his body rigid. At the same moment, Otis forgot about the trashcan he'd been investigating and growled too.

The porch light was on, and I could see the shadow of a man looming up against the window in the door. Luckily the blind was down, so he couldn't see us crouching on the floor.

"Don't open the door, no matter what he says," Parker whispered.

Jennifer shook her head. I knew she wouldn't open that door for anything on earth.

"If Parker Pettengill is in there, please tell him his mother wants him." It was Evans, trying to sound just as nice and polite as he did when the old ladies with blue hair pulled up to his shop.

Jennifer whimpered a little, but she didn't say a word. King Tut and Otis, united by a shared danger, were still barking and growling, and I was making myself as small as possible.

"Parker," Evans said, "come on out. You and Matthew were supposed to be home by ten."

Evans's charming voice made it sound as if this were a simple case of a curfew violation, but no one was fooled. Otis hurled himself at the door so hard it shuddered, and King Tut leaped about hysterically. If only he'd been born a mastiff instead of a little poodle, I thought. With his disposition, he would have torn Evans into pieces and eaten him live.

The doorknob turned then, but the lock protected us. I looked at the window and imagined the glass breaking and Evans's hand coming in to open the door from the inside. And maybe that would have happened, if a car hadn't entered the driveway. As its headlights swept the kitchen, Jennifer whispered, "It's my parents."

At the same moment, we heard Evans run down the steps.

"What should we do?" I asked.

"Hide in the basement," Jennifer said, pushing us toward the stairs. "And keep that dog quiet."