CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

 

 

I batted at the irksome light blinding me. “Stop,” I pleaded. “Go away.”

“She’s ba-ack,” Pete said in a sing-song voice.

I sat up too quickly and faltered, my movements overwhelmed by dizziness and frustrated by my thick winter jacket. Pete grabbed my arm and lifted me. I groaned. “My head hurts.”

“Good thing it’s so hard.” Dad leaned against the doorframe and tried to get a laugh, but his ashen face and darkened eyes gave away his concern.

“Right.” I struggled to paste a smile on my face, but that sent nails of pain shooting into the back of my head. I grimaced.

“Darlin’,” Dad said.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my head. What had happened?

I moaned. “The jewelry bag.” I searched the floor for any sign of it and moaned again.

“We’ve got it.”

“You do? What happened?”

Chief West sauntered next to Pete. “We were hoping that you could tell us.” She wore the official winter police uniform: shiny black boots, dark pants creased within a millimeter of being blade-sharp, leather gloves, and a short navy-blue zippered jacket sporting her badge. The brim of her cap shielded her eyes, which, I could only guess from the tone of her voice, sparked with some anger.

“The lights are on.” I could see.

“The furnace too.” Pete’s eyebrows rose, waiting.

Short and sweet would have to do since the details were a bit fuzzy. “I saw a light, found a safe, unlocked it, and found a bag.”

“You still didn’t explain how you came to find the safe and have the combination,” said Chief West.

A deep, threatening voice asked, “Were you in on the heist? Was your partner going to cut you out? Who is it?” My dad looked ready to punch Ronnie Christianson.

I squeezed my eyes shut and recounted finding the code on Jane’s memory box now covered in green paint, translating the age-old figures into numerals, and Ricky’s cryptic allusion to Peter Pan.

Pete said, under his breath, “Second to the left, and straight on till morning but Grace always changed the combination.” He knew he shouldn’t smile, so only one side bowed up. “I got here as fast as I could and ran into Daniella. She said no one was home. Chief West pulled in behind me and managed to hold her for a few more questions. We found you and you kept mumbling something about a sack. Daniella clutched a sack she said she’d found in the snowbank and couldn’t explain or identify the contents. The chief confiscated it.”

I pulled at my neckline. The temperature was getting uncomfortable.

“It contains the artifacts belonging to the Titanic exhibit.” The bag dangled from Jane’s hand. She leaned into my dad, her tornadic hair interlacing with his. What a pair they made! Puffy winter coats hung over Dad’s red flannel pants and Jane’s spindly bare legs. They’d managed to pull on boots, but I didn’t see any sign of hats or gloves. “I called Yvonne. She’d like you to deliver it tomorrow.” Jane turned to the chief. “Is that okay?”

“Certainly. I know there’s a clock ticking, and I know where I can find the evidence.”

“Did Mrs. Jericho knock me out?”

The chief shrugged.

I rubbed the knot on my head. “Did she kill Miss Grace?”

“We have no evidence to that effect.” The chief turned to my dad. “You may take her home now.”

Jane handed me the bag, and supported by Dad and Jane, we stepped into a snow globe. Tiny white flakes danced through the streetlights, peacefully landing on my eyelashes and nose. I lifted my face and caught a few on my outstretched tongue. I tittered, slightly intoxicated by the evening’s resolution and Dad and Jane joined me.

Our chuckling ceased when we reached my kitchen and looked into Ida’s stern face.

“I’m sorry—” I started to say, but she cut me off with a slice of her hand.

“You could have been hurt.” One hand covered her mouth as she staunched a sob. Then she reached out with both arms. “Come here.”

We nearly toppled when Maverick joined the four of us, standing on his hind legs in a group hug. After regaining my balance, I nuzzled his face and scratched the top of his head. “It never would have happened if you’d been with me. Next time.”

I yawned.

 

* * *

 

Friday commenced with an infuriating alarm. When I finally silenced the din, and wrenched open my eyes, Maverick pressed his cold nose onto my cheek and finished the task of waking me. The wind howled and the gusts rattled the windows. I threw back the curtains and discovered a new world. Who knew there were so many shades of white? It had stopped snowing but, nonetheless, it was difficult to discern the street from the yards, the walkways, the trees, and the mounds covering stationary vehicles. The only movement came from branches arching against the wind, swinging at the offensive flakes, and missing, or the occasional plow exploding the snow sculptures into miniscule particles that resettled into new shapes.

If the road was impassable, the district would text school closings but there were none. Jane and I commiserated over tea and toast.

If the weather held, Jane expected Drew to return from his assignment, so she packed up her things and we caravanned to work.

The weather service provided minute-by-minute updates. The forecasters predicted four more inches of snow and winds to pick up. One minute after we achieved the minimum time commitment and avoided a makeup day, buses were recalled to transport kids home during the narrow window of calm before the storm cranked up. Students dropped off at school, and those who drove themselves, were excused to insure safer travels.

My plan to call Ida and Dad to make sure we were set with supplies for the weekend was derailed by the long list of voicemails left by Yvonne. I listened to the first two cheerful messages but discontinued the third when it turned a little testy. I punched in her number, and it went to voicemail. “Yvonne. I’m on my way. I’ll be out before the storm really kicks in.”

Yellow and white lights pulsed on top of the massive plow in front of me, clearing the street and giving me a sense of safety. I should have known it was false.