her? If he clapped a hand over her mouth and didn’t give her time to shout for help?
She didn’t want to think. She crouched there, chest heaving, the fear up in her throat. She couldn’t shout if she wanted to. The rain beat furiously against the windows, like it wanted in.
Boomer came back into the room with a tall glass of milk and the sedative. Hurray! He was going to take it himself. He plunked the glass on the side table, started to sit, thought better of it, and trudged over to the bathroom. He didn’t close the door but his back was to her. She waited. The toilet flushed. Water was running in the bathroom sink. She tiptoed back behind the kitchen door, her heart pounding like the rain that was cascading down, slashing the window glass.
“Interloper!” Boomer shouted. Had he seen her? Was he shouting at her? She was shivering, right down to her toenails. Would she have time to escape? There was a drum roll of thunder and her feet froze to the floor. What if he followed her into the cellar and caught her and Spence there? Would he bury them in that hole?
“You little upstart!” he hollered. “I’ll find you. I’ll show you. You’ll be sorry! You’ll get your comeuppance!”
Lightning flashed again and again and she curled her body into a ball.
21
PIZZA AND A PUZZLING NOTE
“You rat,” Boomer shouted back in the living room. “I’ll prove you’re not all you claim to be. You wait, you just.,.” The words petered out at the end. Was he accusing her and Spence? Because they weren’t real detectives but just kids?
The cellar door opened and Spence peered out. She waved him back. “Not now,” she mouthed. Boomer came to the kitchen door and glanced about. She held her breath. If he didn’t sit back down she might collapse on the floor and then he’d find her...
“Bashy,” he said. “It was you.” He shook a finger at the cat that had jumped down from the top of the refrigerator. He stuck a frozen pizza into the microwave; she could smell sausage and cheese—she was suddenly, ravenously, hungry.
Back in the living room with the pizza, he put the sleep tonic into the glass of milk. Whew! Then he picked up the glass—and put it down again—without drinking. He coughed, his face went shades of purple, he sounded like he might choke. She considered banging on his back the way she did when her mother got into a coughing fit, but decided against it.
Slowly the coughing eased. He picked up the glass in shaky fingers and drank. Drank and drank, drank all the way down to the bottom. He licked the edge of the glass. And then ate the slice of pizza and wiped his sticky fingers on a paper napkin. It was hard to watch, she was so hungry. Outside the storm was moving off, the rain was quieting—she’d lost her background noise.
She hoped he’d go into the bedroom, but if he fell asleep in his chair, it was all right. They could tiptoe past him to the study and read the note he’d tossed on his desk. She waited. And waited. Until she heard the harsh sound of his snoring. He’d fallen sideways in his chair; his head was lolling on the cushy arm. He looked like an old man—had he aged, suddenly, like a character in a fairy tale?
No, he was simply sound asleep, the muscles in his face relaxed into soft wrinkles.
Even so, they’d have to work fast. Sometimes her mom took a sleeping pill and still couldn’t sleep she was so keyed up. Poor mom! She wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight either, if she knew what her daughter was doing.
Zoe tiptoed to the cellar door and opened it. “All clear.”
Spence emerged, his carroty hair full of soot, his shoes caked with dirt. “Off,” she whispered, pointing at the shoes. They couldn’t have any tell-tale dirt on the floor. He stopped short when he saw Boomer. The man snorted like a Mack truck trying to start up—but breaking down with a sszzzzz-zz. She beckoned Spence forward, then held up a hand when they came to the desk.
The note
She didn’t want to think. She crouched there, chest heaving, the fear up in her throat. She couldn’t shout if she wanted to. The rain beat furiously against the windows, like it wanted in.
Boomer came back into the room with a tall glass of milk and the sedative. Hurray! He was going to take it himself. He plunked the glass on the side table, started to sit, thought better of it, and trudged over to the bathroom. He didn’t close the door but his back was to her. She waited. The toilet flushed. Water was running in the bathroom sink. She tiptoed back behind the kitchen door, her heart pounding like the rain that was cascading down, slashing the window glass.
“Interloper!” Boomer shouted. Had he seen her? Was he shouting at her? She was shivering, right down to her toenails. Would she have time to escape? There was a drum roll of thunder and her feet froze to the floor. What if he followed her into the cellar and caught her and Spence there? Would he bury them in that hole?
“You little upstart!” he hollered. “I’ll find you. I’ll show you. You’ll be sorry! You’ll get your comeuppance!”
Lightning flashed again and again and she curled her body into a ball.
21
PIZZA AND A PUZZLING NOTE
“You rat,” Boomer shouted back in the living room. “I’ll prove you’re not all you claim to be. You wait, you just.,.” The words petered out at the end. Was he accusing her and Spence? Because they weren’t real detectives but just kids?
The cellar door opened and Spence peered out. She waved him back. “Not now,” she mouthed. Boomer came to the kitchen door and glanced about. She held her breath. If he didn’t sit back down she might collapse on the floor and then he’d find her...
“Bashy,” he said. “It was you.” He shook a finger at the cat that had jumped down from the top of the refrigerator. He stuck a frozen pizza into the microwave; she could smell sausage and cheese—she was suddenly, ravenously, hungry.
Back in the living room with the pizza, he put the sleep tonic into the glass of milk. Whew! Then he picked up the glass—and put it down again—without drinking. He coughed, his face went shades of purple, he sounded like he might choke. She considered banging on his back the way she did when her mother got into a coughing fit, but decided against it.
Slowly the coughing eased. He picked up the glass in shaky fingers and drank. Drank and drank, drank all the way down to the bottom. He licked the edge of the glass. And then ate the slice of pizza and wiped his sticky fingers on a paper napkin. It was hard to watch, she was so hungry. Outside the storm was moving off, the rain was quieting—she’d lost her background noise.
She hoped he’d go into the bedroom, but if he fell asleep in his chair, it was all right. They could tiptoe past him to the study and read the note he’d tossed on his desk. She waited. And waited. Until she heard the harsh sound of his snoring. He’d fallen sideways in his chair; his head was lolling on the cushy arm. He looked like an old man—had he aged, suddenly, like a character in a fairy tale?
No, he was simply sound asleep, the muscles in his face relaxed into soft wrinkles.
Even so, they’d have to work fast. Sometimes her mom took a sleeping pill and still couldn’t sleep she was so keyed up. Poor mom! She wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight either, if she knew what her daughter was doing.
Zoe tiptoed to the cellar door and opened it. “All clear.”
Spence emerged, his carroty hair full of soot, his shoes caked with dirt. “Off,” she whispered, pointing at the shoes. They couldn’t have any tell-tale dirt on the floor. He stopped short when he saw Boomer. The man snorted like a Mack truck trying to start up—but breaking down with a sszzzzz-zz. She beckoned Spence forward, then held up a hand when they came to the desk.
The note
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