Chapter Six

Amber stood opposite the theater, waiting for a break in the traffic so she could run across the street. Of course, if Bubba caught her jaywalking, he’d stop and give her a stern talking-to, which would completely waste the time saved by not walking to the corner and crossing at the intersection. She checked both sides of the street for his blue uniform, and once assured he wasn’t in the vicinity, she ran across the street at the next opening in traffic and headed for the theater.

The marquee emblazoned with the neon letters spelling out “Bloomfield Cinema” came right out of the fifties. Unlike the sign at the Fancy Schmantzy, this one hadn’t been touched since then, with the exception of changing burned-out light bulbs. The ancient structure stuck out from the building like a large awning over the ticket window and sidewalk except, instead of being only a thin covering, it was about six feet thick.

She smiled, remembering trips to the old theater with the youth group from church. Once, because neither she nor Stan were really interested in the movie, they’d gotten distracted by the multitude of small lights on the underside of the huge protruding sign. The rest of the group had gone inside, but they’d stayed outside looking at the lights under the awning, comparing them to the stars in the sky. One thing had led to another, and they’d agreed that not even an astronomer could count the stars, which were infinite in the heavens, but they could actually count the lights.

They’d missed the opening of the movie but knew there were exactly 468 light bulbs on the underside of the Bloomfield Cinema sign.

Amber jogged to the ticket window where Ronnie’s father sat reading a book. Before she could explain why she wasn’t buying a ticket, he raised one hand and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder toward the door. “Stan’s already here. They’re in the lobby waiting for you.”

She nodded her thanks and went inside.

Just as retro on the inside as out, the walls were a mixture of golds and browns, completed by a high valance ceiling painted in the same tones. To her left, at the concession stand, Minnie measured butter to pour into the popcorn machine. Amber waved to Minnie, who smiled and waved back as Amber continued walking.

To her right, a rail portioned off the area where people entered the lobby from outside, where she would have been if she’d actually bought a ticket. At the end of the section cordoned off by the rail stood a young man wearing black slacks and a uniform golf shirt that matched the décor. Movie posters decorated the theater walls and doors, but unlike the new, multiplex mega theaters in the cities, this building housed only one theater. One poster highlighted the current feature, which was the pirate movie she’d heard about, and a couple foretold upcoming movies. Another, covered with some kind of plastic preservative, looked like it had also come from the fifties with a picture of some handsome man and beautiful woman. She had no idea who they might be, but she was sure her parents, or more likely her grandparents, would have known.

Beyond the entrance to the theater, the water fountain protruded from the wall. Amber looked past the opening to the stairs leading to the balcony. It was a place she’d never been, and never would go. Whenever the youth group had gone up in the balcony, Stan had stayed with her in the lower level, not making fun of her intense fear of heights. The rest of the group had thought it very romantic, but Amber knew it was just Stan being kind.

Behind her, a few patrons had already arrived early for the movie. Unfortunately, none of them dressed as pirates.

But there was one pirate in attendance.

Gnorman.

Not a Pittsburgh Pirate, but the classic kind. A blue vest with a bright red hat, along with a pirate’s eye patch complimented a child’s plastic sword in his raised hand, where the trophy should have been. Standing beside Gnorman were Ronnie and Stan, neither of them dressed as pirates.

Unaware of Amber watching, they both gestured toward Gnorman as they talked, not paying attention to anything going on around them.

Stan looked like he did most times she saw him at the end of the day, like he’d just crawled out from beneath a car, and given the time, he probably just had. Grease streaked his dark brown hair, and his usually clean-shaven chin sported a five o’clock shadow, probably because it was now nearly seven.

She had to smile. All their lives, from the playground to school to youth group outings, and even college, Stan had always saved the dirty jobs for last in the day. He’d been clean as the proverbial whistle at lunch; by the end of the day, he looked like he’d been rolling in the pit under the hydraulic hoist. Today must have been quite a day fighting his mechanical demons.

Ronnie, on the other hand, hadn’t yet started her workday, and she was the opposite of Stan—perfectly groomed with her short black hair combed gently over her ears. Unlike the young man at the end of the rail, Ronnie wore no uniform, but instead a dated outfit Amber could only describe as old film star casual. Her perfection made Stan look even less so.

Ronnie laughed at something Stan said, reached to brush something off his shirt, and rested her hand on his forearm as she spoke.

Amber felt her smile fade. She cleared her throat and began walking toward them.

The second they saw her, Stan reached up, about to run his fingers through his hair, froze, then rammed his hands into his pockets. “Here he is. I can see the reference to walking the plank.”

One of the few early customers walked toward the concession stand and started checking out the snacks for sale. “I don’t think you need me,” Ronnie muttered. “I have to get to work. Excuse me.”

As she left them, Stan pulled his hand out of his pocket, plucked the envelope from Gnorman’s hand, and gave it to Amber.

After she ripped it open and pulled out the paper inside, Stan shuffled closer to read the note over her shoulder.

Amber sniffed. Usually by the end of the day she could smell the fruits of his labor on him, but today he was especially potent. “Nice. Ode de Oil. Tough day?”

“It’s actually Ode de Transmission Fluid. My day isn’t over yet. I have to go back.”

Guilt roared through her. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”

He looked down at her and smiled. “It’s okay. I want to help you find Gnorman. With the way this has been shaping up, it’s really piqued my curiosity. Finding Gnorman dressed like a pirate makes me picture Captain Jack, and I’m ready for an adventure.”

“You know what happened to the curious cat, don’t you?” She couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Speaking of pirate adventures, do you remember back in middle school when you thought it would be a great idea to build that raft and sail across Lake Bliss?” They’d found out the hard way that all the sticks they’d gathered and woven into a makeshift raft wouldn’t stay together with the constant jostling of the two of them laying on it, paddling with their hands.

Stan broke out into a laugh. “Yeah. We nearly made it half way across before it fell apart. What a couple of drowned rats we were that day.”

“That’s for sure.” They’d never been so glad for the swimming lessons they’d been forced to take as children, together of course. They’d learned the hard way how much harder it was to swim in clothes than a swimsuit. Amber’s smile dropped as she thought more about what had happened that day.

She’d been wearing shorts and a T-shirt with flip-flops, which had floated away, but Stan had been wearing full jeans and sneakers. When waterlogged they’d become very heavy, very fast, making it impossible for him to swim. The scariest moment of her life, more scary than being at the top of the Ferris wheel, had been watching Stan sink while frantically trying to tug off his sneakers in the middle of the lake. She’d treaded water for all she was worth to keep both of them afloat until he managed to loosen the laces enough to get his feet out of his sneakers. Suddenly the thought of being a drowned rat wasn’t so funny anymore.

She pushed the thought of losing Stan from her head to concentrate on the new and less dangerous adventure at hand—the new note.

Again, this one was made from words cut from the Bloomfield Gazette.

Avast! Me hearty and Scurvy Knave!

I have the treasure, hidden in my cave.

You will never catch me, I will win this race.

This is my adventure, so revel in the chase.

Stan reached out to steady the paper. “Scurvy Knave? I think someone reads too many bad adventure novels. But the poetry is kind of creative.”

She read the note again. “I just noticed something. This one is different. The others were worded so someone else is talking about Gnorman, but this one is worded like he’s talking to us.”

“You’re right. What do you think that means?”

She had no idea, but one thing she did know. They were no closer to getting the trophy back than they had been before they found Gnorman again. She looked down at her little gnome, attired like a semifamous pirate. “My best guess is that we’re supposed to leave him here. I hope this ‘revel in the chase’ doesn’t mean what I think it means.”

Stan reached down and tapped the tip of the plastic sword with his index finger. “I have a bad feeling that it does.” He sighed. For the first time since the debacle in Becky’s garden, he sounded tired. “I guess we’ll just have to follow him, wherever he goes. For now, we have to do it their way. But don’t worry. Whoever is doing this is bound to either get tired of it, or make a mistake. Besides, how long can it possibly last?”