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Bummer. Scaring her son was the last thing Sandra wanted to do. “Honey? Can you come down here, please? I’ll explain. Go use the front stairs.”
Peter hesitated. “I don’t know if they’ll let me.”
“You’re right. Hang on.” She grudgingly stepped back over Treasure’s leg, again tempted to move it to a more seemly position, and then scooted up the stairs to her son. “Let’s go together.” She resisted the urge to take his hand into her own, but then, as if he’d read her mind, he slid his fingers into her palm, and she squeezed them as they headed up the sloped center aisle of the auditorium. It appeared no one else had moved. Everyone stared as they passed.
“Now where are you going?” Jan screeched, and Sandra flinched at the pitch of that caterwaul.
She didn’t answer the overbearing stage manager, and pulled Peter along a little faster behind her. But just before she started down the stairs, she had a second thought, and pulled Peter into the ticket office, where the phone was. She tried to be silent as she pulled the door shut behind her, but it clicked loudly into place. Fearing they’d soon be interrupted, she hurried to dial 911.
“Who are you calling?” Peter whispered.
“Cops.” She wished she had her purse with her so she could locate Detective Chip Buker’s direct number.
“Billy already called them.”
“Shh—”
The ringing stopped. “911. Do you require police, fire, or ambulance?”
She hesitated, wondering just how ridiculous she was being, and then identified herself, gave her location, and asked if police were en route.
“Ma’am, this line is for emergencies—”
“I know, and this is an emergency. Are the police on their way?”
“Yes, ma’am, they are. Please be patient—”
“Thank you,” Sandra said, without letting her finish. She hung up the phone. Good. Billy was a good guy. Her judge of character wasn’t great, but at least it wasn’t abysmal. She took Peter’s hand again and together they sneaked out of the room and down the stairs into the basement. Nearly every room in the building was on this bottom level, as most of the first floor was taken up by the auditorium itself.
As Peter descended behind her, he whispered, “What is going on, Mom?”
She got to the basement and looked around for Bob. She didn’t see him. She turned toward her son and took him by the shoulders. “Honey, I need you to trust me right now.”
He nodded.
She wasn’t convinced. “I mean really trust me, even if part of you doesn’t want to. I need you to trust me.”
He nodded with more vigor. “Yes, Mum, of course I trust you!” His face looked too pale in the dim light.
“Okay, good. As you may have guessed, Treasure was definitely murdered. There is evidence. So I think you should stay with me until the police get here. I’m sorry that I left you. But I had a good reason.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been keeping a secret from you. The truth is ...” She took a gulp of air. “The truth is that I’ve been talking to an angel. An honest to God, supernatural angel. He helped me get out of that little scrape with you-know-who back in September, and I’ve asked him to come here now to—”
Peter interrupted her with a bold laugh that sounded eerily like his father. It was a good thing she loved his father.
“I know. I had a hard time believing it too, when Bob first appeared to me.”
Peter laughed even harder. A tear leaked out of the corner of his right eye. He gasped for air. “The angel’s name is Bob?”
She put a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, and, honey, we’re in a tight spot right now, so I need you to focus. We can laugh and talk about this later. But for now, know that if I’m talking to someone, it’s him. I don’t know if he’ll allow you to see him.”
Peter stopped laughing. “He’s invisible?”
Why was this such a surprise? “Yes. Usually. He lets me see him, and Sammy can see him.” Just saying her baby’s name made her miss him, but she was grateful he was home safe with Dad. They were both blissfully unaware that she’d somehow gotten tangled up in another murder scene.
“Come on, he’s probably still with Treasure.” She took Peter’s hand and led him across the large basement until she saw Bob standing right where she’d left him, scowling at her. “Bob, you know my son Peter. I’ve told him everything.”
Bob nodded as if he’d expected that. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”
“I had to. I didn’t want my son thinking I was nuts.”
Bob stared at Peter for several seconds and then looked at Sandra. “I’m here as a favor to you, remember?”
She didn’t see how this connected to her telling Peter the truth. “I know, and I’m grateful.”
Bob ran a hand through his short curly hair and looked at Peter again. “Okay, but, Peter, please don’t tell anyone else about me. I’m not supposed to be flitting around the county appearing to people.”
Sandra looked at Peter to see if he’d heard Bob’s voice, and his eyes were wide as saucers. She took his hand. “Are you okay, honey?”
He nodded once, slowly. “I see him.”
Good. So that was out of the way. “I’m glad. Thank you, Bob, for letting him see you. That makes my life much easier. But, Peter, you really can’t tell anyone about him, okay? It’s serious.”
Peter nodded, his brow knitted. “Is your name really Bob?”
Sandra gasped, a little embarrassed at his impertinence. She tried to remind herself that she was asking him to process a lot right now. Someone he knew had probably been murdered; there was probably a murderer in their midst; and he’d just met a supernatural being. A supernatural being whose name just happened to be Bob.
To her relief, Bob chuckled. “Sort of. My name is Binadab. It means, ‘My father is generous.’ But for the last few centuries, it’s just been simpler to call myself Bob.”
This information threw Sandra for a loop. Was he suggesting people nowadays were too stupid to pronounce his name? Should she be offended? Could she pronounce his name? She tried. And failed. “Is that Hebrew?”
He nodded. “Don’t worry about the pronunciation. It’s kind of you to try, but I meant it when I said Bob was easier. For everyone. And I really don’t mind Bob. It seems to suit me.”
It did suit him. This was true. But his Hebrew name seemed to suit him too.