The Odds of Getting Even (21 page)

Fire!

Dale and me sprinted for the garage. I yanked open the wide door and a tidal wave of heat and smoke slammed into us.

“Lavender!” Dale shouted, his scream more like a cat's than a boy's.

“Here!” Lavender shouted. “Dale! The jack slipped! Hurry!”

Flames scrabbled their fingers up the back wall and a thick black curtain of smoke pressed down from the ceiling.

We dashed to the heavy jack at the side of the car. “Turn the knob on the jack,” Lavender shouted, struggling to squirm from beneath the car. “Hurry.”

The lightbulb overhead exploded.

I fumbled with the small metal button on the side of the jack. The smoke grew heavier by the second, stifling me and clawing my eyes.

“Turn it, Mo!” Dale said. “Turn it!”

“I can't.”
My world became a blur of smoke and tears. “Help!” I shouted as the fire crackled.

Dale's hand shoved mine away, his fingers rough and frantic in the heavy smoke.

The knob clicked.

“Mo, here,” Dale gasped, grabbing the jack's handle. I threw my weight onto the blistering handle and together we jacked the car up up up.

Lavender skinnied from beneath the car. “Run,” he gasped, staggering to his feet. “Get out. Now.” He toppled sideways. We rushed to his sides—one beneath each arm—and half dragged him across the garage.

I slammed into Harm at the door. “I've got him, Mo,” he said, scooting into my place. “Get away from the garage. Run.”

Pop! Pow!

We ducked as small explosions rattled the building behind us.

Finally we collapsed, panting, on the cool lawn.

Grandmother Miss Lacy fell to her knees beside us. “Are you all right?” she asked, fumbling with Lavender's collar. “Breathe, child. Oh my word, breathe.”

An explosion slammed against the ground and a wave of heat bowed us low.

“My car,” Lavender said, turning to the garage. He closed his eyes. “My car.”

The roof caved in, throwing a shower of sparks to the stars.

An hour later we sat in the parlor, watching the volunteer fire department rake coals and hose down charred rafters still glittering with embers. The ash-white skeleton of the number 32 car stood stark in the moonlight. Starr's men prowled the edge of the forest, searching.

The phone rang. “Mo,” Grandmother Miss Lacy called. “It's Lana.”

I hurried into the kitchen, suddenly starved for her voice. “Hey,” I said, the tears crowding my eyes. “I'm sorry I didn't call sooner.”

“Are you all right? We just heard.”

“I'm fine,” I said, very quick. “Me and Dale saved Lavender's life. Starr's taking our statement. Please don't make me come home. Lavender needs me. He almost died,” I said, my voice wobbling.

Her silence hugged me tight. “All right, sugar. Tell Starr we're making free coffee and breakfasts for volunteers. Call me if you need me, Mo. Promise you will.”

The phone rang just as I hung up. “Hey, Miss Rose,” I said. “Dale and me just saved Lavender. Hang on.” I covered the mouthpiece. “Dale,” I shouted.

I strolled back into the parlor. “Miss Lana's making free breakfast for you all.” Outside, neighbors stood in clumps. Capers talked to Sam, who'd tipped his volunteer fireman's hat back on his head—a movie-star look.

Dale stomped back in and glared at Lavender. “You
made Mama cry,” he said, and hurled himself onto the sofa beside me.

“Tears of relief, I'm sure,” Grandmother Miss Lacy said, letting the curtain fall. “We were lucky tonight.”

Starr perched awkwardly on an old lady chair. “Any idea who hates you this much, Lavender? Jealous husband, jilted lover? Anybody?”

“I wish I knew,” Lavender said, his voice cracking as he leaned forward to rest his forehead in his hands.

Starr tapped his pen against his pad. “Tell me again what happened.”

Lavender coughed. “What I did was stupid.”

“Understatement,” Dale muttered, his face dark with anger.

Lavender gave him a tired smile. “Don't ever slide under a car without the jack stands in place.”

“I already know that,” Dale snapped. “You've said it a hundred times.
I
listened. Daddy said to watch your back. You aren't even trying to be careful.”

Lavender closed his eyes. For one heartbeat, I thought he would cry.

“Dale, I made a mistake. I'm sorry. Let it go,” he said. He turned to Starr. “Sam borrowed my jack stands this morning and I forgot. I couldn't sleep, so I came over to mess with my car. Tinkering settles me down.”

He took a deep breath. “I wanted to check the
muffler. I jacked her up, made
sure
the jack was set, slipped under, and . . . I heard footsteps.”

I interrupted. “What kind of footsteps?”

“Good question,” Starr said.

Lavender closed his eyes and rubbed his fingertips across his forehead. He cocked his head, like he could hear the footsteps all over again. “Light steps, like an athlete. I called hello, no one answered. I started to slide out and the jack fell. Something popped. Someone cursed, and I smelled smoke.”

“A pop?” Harm said. “An accelerant, to speed up the fire.” He gave us a sheepish grin. “I've been watching detective shows, trying to pick up some skills.”

Harm's a self-starter, like me.

Lavender continued. “That's all. I called for help. Thank God, Mo heard me.”

Grandmother Miss Lacy shook her head. “Flick Crenshaw's quick enough to set that fire and get out.”

“It wasn't Flick,” Starr said. “I've had an eye on him since the church robbery.”

“Your stakeout,” I said, thinking back. “So Flick robbed the church?”

Starr shrugged. “He volunteered to help search, which was out of character. Sometimes criminals return to the scene of the crime, to watch the investigation unfold. This wasn't Flick. I've checked.” He stood. “Anything else?”

“I don't know who started that fire,” Lavender said. “But I will never forget who ran into it to save me.” His gaze found Dale's and mine. “Thank you,” he said, his eyes filling with tears. “You are heroes to me.”

My heart opened so wide I almost fell in.

Starr headed for the door. “It's three a.m. Get some sleep,” he said. “Lavender, I'll send someone to watch your house soon as I can.” For some reason, Starr pointed at me. “Stay away from the crime scene. In fact, stay inside. All of you.”

“I'd better get going too,” Lavender said, hugging Dale and then me.

He smelled like smoke and fear.

As the door closed, Dale leaned his forehead against the window's cool pane. “I can't believe Lavender went under there without the jack stands. He almost let that fire take him away,” he said, watching Lavender climb into his truck.

Grandmother Miss Lacy touched his hair. “Lavender would never leave you, Dale—not if he could help it.”

“Daddy did,” he said, his voice flat.

Grandmother Miss Lacy studied him a slow Tupelo minute. “Lavender's not like Macon,” she said. “If he were, he'd already be gone.”

I'd never thought of it like that before.

From the look on Dale's face, I don't think he had either.

We Desperados sat in the parlor together for maybe an hour, trying to push the scared from our bones. Our talk dwindled, and the boys slumped in their wing chairs. Harm's snores and Dale's murmurs filled the silence.

I snuggled on the settee, waiting for a sleep too rattled to come.

Finally, I threw the covers back and slipped into the darkroom, to check my photos. They were almost dry . . . I squinted at my shot of Flick's car. What
is
it about that car?

I slid the negative back into the enlarger and cranked the enlarger up, casting the largest image I could. I focused. “Steering wheel, windshield wipers . . .”

Then I saw it: An air freshener dangled from Flick's mirror. A torn skull-and-crossbones.

“Gotcha,” I muttered. I developed the photo and hung it up to dry. I'll tell the others in the morning, I thought. I tiptoed to my settee, and fell into a deep sweet sleep.

T
hunk
.

I woke up. Dale and Harm sat frozen in their chairs, their eyes wide.

Bump
. The guineas squawked.

Not again, I thought, yawning.

Clunk
.

I'll give Grandmother Miss Lacy my tips all year if she'll just get a new boiler.

Gurgle-gurgle-gurgle. Squeeeak
.

“That ain't the heat system,” I whispered. “Somebody's in the kitchen.”

Harm crossed silent as nightfall to the fireplace tools. He grabbed the poker and handed the shovel to Dale. I plucked Beethoven's bust from the bookshelf. We slipped down the hall, to the kitchen.

Clunk.

Gurgle-gurgle-gurgle squeak
.

I reached around the door casing. “We'll surprise him.” They tightened their grips. “Now!” I whispered, flipping the light on and springing into the kitchen.

“Hyaaaa!” Dale shouted—the only thing he ever learned in karate.

“Nothing,” Harm whispered, taking stock of the room.

A clatter behind us. We wheeled, weapons raised. Grandmother Miss Lacy gasped, her eyes round as saucers. “What on earth?” she said, stepping over the broom she'd knocked to the floor.

Another bump.

“Shhhh.” Harm pointed to the floor. “Someone's under the house.”

Under the house?

Every nerve in my body jumped, ready to run.

Grandmother Miss Lacy nudged her hairnet up. “OH MY WORD,” she said, making her voice loud and clear like a first grader in a school play. “If you wanted a cookie, Mo LoBeau, why didn't you ask for one? And Dale, you scared me out of a year's growth with that terrifying karate scream.”

Excellent. Old person cunning.

“SORRY,” I said, very loud. “I DID NOT WISH TO WAKE YOU.”