I call AmberLea. She and her mom are going to the Christmas pantomime at the Royal Alexandra Theatre. Toby has begged off, so they have an extra ticket; do I want to come along? I pass. Skiing has left my muscles feeling as pounded as the keys on Harv’s laptop. Plus there’s that rip in my jeans.
“Where’s the music?” she asks, whispering so her mom doesn’t hear.
“It’s safe,” I say. “Not with me. I’ll tell you all about it later.”
“My phone will be on.”
There’s an awkward little pause, then we both say, “Later,” and click off. I lurch to the streetcar stop like the Tin Man in Wizard of Oz.
At home, everything is the way it should be: no attackers waiting, no messages on the landline, nothing more out of place than usual. I have a shortbread from the cookie jar/gun holder. It tastes a little oily. Then I grab a hot shower, which feels so good I debate staying in it forever. Unfortunately, the hot water runs out, so I creak down to the kitchen to start some mac and cheese.
For the first time in two days I have a chance to wonder what my cousins have been doing since they raced off. I wonder who took the Walther PPK. DJ’s too straight-arrow, and I know it’s not Bun or me. That leaves Webb and Adam. It’s a toss-up. Webb is the kind of guy, to tell you the truth, who’s edgy enough that I wouldn’t want him to have a gun. He might take it though. Adam and I talked about the new Bond movie, and he recognized the gun right off. I don’t know why he’d want it though. That’s a laugh. Why do I have a gun in the cookie jar? Why did Grandpa have them at the cottage? I pour a glass of milk.
By now the water is boiling. I stir in the macaroni and pour another glass of milk. I don’t feel quite as stiff if I keep moving, so I start pacing a circle: kitchen, dining room, living room, hall, kitchen again. My thoughts circle, too, around Grandpa. I’m remembering the Wikipedia entry for Josef Josef, the dictator who talked to the Americans in the 1960s. What I’m thinking is this: if the United States was trying to cut a deal with Josef Josef, maybe part of his price was that they get rid of Zoltan Blum. Clint the killer might really have been a CIA guy, but he wasn’t out to help Blum: he was tricking him. His real job was to kill him and get rid of the anthem. It’s a scary thought: the person you trust to help you is the one who’s out to get you. Kind of like Ipcress.
I stop pacing. It’s time to eat. I finish making the mac and cheese and take the pot to the table. While I wait for it to cool a bit, I ask myself the next question: was the killer Clint actually David McLean? Did David McLean trick Zoltan Blum into hitting a golfball bomb? In one way, it doesn’t matter—all that matters is that the SPCA thinks he did. In another way, it matters more than anything, because what I’m really asking is, could Grandpa D do this? And what for? Patriotism? Revenge? Justice? Money?
Part of me screams no. That’s the part that can think up innocent reasons for why he had a piece of Zoltan Blum’s music and remember that he imported Cuban golf balls. But I also remember talking about Grandpa and killing, in the kitchen before Christmas, and Bun blurting out something about ants. I didn’t get it then, but now I do. One time up at the cottage, when Bun and I were in our bunks after lights out, he said Grandpa had showed him a bayonet or something with old dried blood on it from a good guy who had died. He told Bun he took it away from a bad guy. I asked what “took away” meant. Bun didn’t know. All Grandpa had said was, The good guys are the ones on your side. After that, they’d zapped an ant nest with tins of Raid. Bun said Grandpa got right into it. I remember feeling jealous. I always figured Grandpa thought I was a wuss, because we never did much when it was just me and him, and killing ants sounded like fun. I reminded Bun that Jer said Grandpa was a killer because Grandpa flew bombers in the war. Bun had started chanting, Grandpa’s a killer, Grandpa’s a killer, until someone called to him to shut up.
I wonder when the next call will come. I wonder where Bun is right now. I wonder if he knows who’s on his side. I wonder if any of us do.