Toby and AmberLea drive me home. I tell them what happened. AmberLea has filmed everyone getting off at each stop. She huddles with me in the backseat and we watch. There’s not much to see: the guy climbs off behind some other people, shades on and fumbling with something at his mouth. Then someone gets in the way and he’s moving out of the frame, with the scarf pulled up to his nose. Then he’s gone. “I wish you’d texted me earlier.” AmberLea sighs.
I tell them about the sniper threat. AmberLea groans. “That’s right out of Die Job Four. Don’t you remember? Bruce Willis, Nicole Kidman—”
“And Christopher Walken, 2006,” Toby finishes for her.
I don’t remember. I should remember, but right now all I can think is, This is for real as I punch Deb’s number into my phone. She’s still not picking up. I leave another message.
“I wonder whose grow op you stumbled into,” Toby says as he parks behind the family van.
“It doesn’t matter.” I stuff my phone into my pocket and pop the seat belt. “It doesn’t even matter that my grandpa might not be the killer. They think he is. What if he isn’t? There won’t be any music. They’ll kill Bunny.”
“FBI,” says AmberLea. “No, I mean RCMB or whoever.”
“No. He said no cops. And they’re watching me. They’re probably watching us right now.”
“Okay, okay, calm down.” AmberLea presses her hands down on my knees to keep them from bouncing. “You’re doing an Angry Bird here. He told you to think carefully, right? Okay, let’s think. For now, we have to go with your grandpa as the guy, right? We have to look for the music, just in case. Maybe it’ll buy time, if nothing else. So, where do we look?”
“Well, Grandpa’s stuff was all split up when we sold his house. We got his piano and music, but the anthem’s not here; the guy said so himself. The only other place is the cottage. There’s an old piano there, too, and music.”
“And all the spy stuff was there,” AmberLea puts in.
“So I’ve got to go back to the cottage. Now.” I jump out of the Cayenne, run to the house, grab the keys, race back out and hop in the van. I’m in overdrive.
Unfortunately, the O’Toolemobile is not. This time it won’t start at all. I slam the steering wheel with my hand. The horn starts beeping. I yell and slam the wheel again. This does not help. AmberLea taps on the window. I crank it down.
“Spence,” she says over the horn, “we’ll drive you.”
Toby reaches in to the key ring and presses the alarm button. The horn stops. “Sometimes that works.” He grins.
I take a couple of breaths to slow down. “Okay,” I say, climbing out. “Let’s go.”
“Deal,” says AmberLea. “Right after we go see Aiden Tween.”