Puddlejumpers (24 page)
He skulked along the side of the house to a corner room. Gripping the ledge, he pulled himself even with the open window. The interior was dark, but he thought he could see posters of horses on the wall.
This must be the room.
“Joey,” he whispered. “You there? Joey!”
A light came on in the hall and the bedroom door opened. He noticed that Joey's bed was still made before he dropped to the ground and pressed against the house, out of sight. Just above him, Betty looked outside before shutting the window and locking it. The room went dark again.
Ernie swallowed hard. If Joey wasn't home that meant she was still at the Holsapples.
What would they do if they caught her? Torture? Or even worse.
His mind fixated on the blood trail, the bloody cleaver, and the bubbling pot on the stove. He felt like his chest was caught in an invisible vise that kept squeezing him tighter and tighter.
The stars glittered above like ethereal jewels as Ernie hustled up the backside of Black Rock. Sassy was still tied to the pine. He nuzzled the pony's nose and fed her some sugar cubes from his pocket, then crawled to the edge of the cliff.
There were lights on downstairs, and he thought he saw Holsapple draw the curtains in an upstairs room. He'd wait until everyone was asleep, then sneak back into the manse and rescue Joey. He checked his new watch. It was a quarter after one. His eyelids were heavy and he was glad to be able to rest, even for a few minutes.
In the eerie light just before dawn, Ernie woke cold and shivering and mad at himself for falling asleep. Knowing he couldn't break into the house in broad daylight, he backed away from the cliff. He clambered onto Sassy and retreated back down Black Rock, overwhelmed with a feeling that something bad had happened. He whispered encouragement to Sassy, thankful that she knew the way and could negotiate the precarious trail.
I
N THE CHICKEN COOP
, a hen stared hypnotized at the pocket watch oscillating on its chain. Ernie gently snatched beneath her fanny, then added the egg to his basket, then dangled the timepiece before the next hen. Collecting eggs was much easier with his new watch. In fact, it would've been fun if it weren't for Joey.
What am I going to do?
If he told Russ, he was sure to get blamed for breaking into the Holsapples' and they'd ship him back to Chicago, probably before lunch. But the longer he waited, the worse it might get for her. Whatever it was, he had to do something, and soon.
He entered the barn in a rush, set the basket of eggs in the hay, then grabbed a milking stool and bucket off wall pegs. He was anxious about finishing his chores so he could get back to his room and feed his little creature. He squatted on the stool beneath the big black-and-white cow and tried to remember Russ' instructions. As hard as he worked, he couldn't coax even a squirt of milk from the cow's udder.
“Look, Beulah,” he said. “This isn't just for me, you know.”
The cow turned her head and looked at Ernie.
“It's for this little person,” he said while holding his hand eleven inches off the ground. “About so big, and milk is the only thing she wants in the whole world.”
Beulah mooed and Ernie milked several squirts into his pail. He rubbed the cow's flank. “That a way, girlie,” he said gratefully.
Ernie was hustling across the yard with milk and eggs when Russ, standing over a hole near the side of the house, waved him over. “Want to see what I'm doing?”
Ernie reluctantly joined him and looked down a narrow shaft.
“This is how we measure the water in a well.” He hoisted a line of insulated wire hand over hand until a depth gauge came to the surface. He looked at the dripping meter. Ernie could see the worry on his face, but Russ' voice remained cheerful. “Know any rain dances?”
“Not really.”
“Me neither, but I'm ready to learn. I'd try just about anything to get us some rain.”
“You know, Russ, I should probably put this stuff in the fridge.”
“Sure, you go ahead.”
Forcing a smile, Ernie hurried into the house. He put away the milk and eggs, then picked up the kitchen phone and dialed Joey's number while prepping a breakfast tray.
Please be home, please.
When Betty answered, he hung up. His stomach churned as he grabbed the tray and hurried down the hall.
He closed the crib room door with his foot, then set the tray on the bureau and opened the top drawer. His creature stirred awake in the shoebox. They shared a smile. Ernie gave her a shot glass brimming with frothy milk. She drank it. Smiling proudly, he gave her a strawberry. “They're pretty sweet. I had some on my cereal.”
While she munched the berry, Ernie ripped off his sneaker and sock, then balanced on one foot so that he could show his spiral birthmark. “It's like yours,” he said.
She nodded knowingly as Ernie hopped about on one foot. “Why? What is it?” he asked.
She spoke in a language Ernie couldn't understand, except he did hear the word
root
two times. “Oh, oh, I get it,” he said excitedly. He unhooked the mobile from the crib and pointed to the carving that looked like her. “This is you. Is your name Root?”
She shook her head, then pointed to herself. “Runnel,” she said in a voice that sounded almost musical, then pointed to a different carving. “Root.”
“Oh, okayâthat's Root. And you're Runnel?”
She nodded.
“Great! I mean, it's fantastic!” gushed Ernie.
There's more of them.
He returned the mobile to the crib, then twirled it so the figures spun in a circle like a carnival ride. He pointed to himself. “My name is Ernie Banks. Er-nie Banks.”
Runnel shook her head. In the kitchen, the telephone rang.
Ernie laughed. “Yes! Er-nie Banks!” He picked his Ernie Banks card off the nightstand and pointed to the boldfaced print. “See? Erâ¦nieâ¦Banks.”
Runnel jabbered insistently. This time he heard the name
Shawn
several times.
“No, that's him,” Ernie explained, pointing to the wall photo above the crib. “That's Shawn. I'm Ernie.”
Adamantly shaking her head, Runnel pointed to the photo and then to Ernie and said “Shawn” both times.
“Me? No, you don't understand. Shawn used to live here. I'm just visiting.”
Runnel reached out and touched the Acorn hidden beneath his shirt. “Shawn Frazier.”
“Shawn Frazier?” muttered Ernie in astonishment.
There was a quick knock at the door. Ernie slid the drawer closed a second before Russ entered the room.
“Ernie?”
“Yeah?”
Russ stood on the threshold, visibly upset. Ernie stared as if seeing him for the first time, wondering if this man could possibly, by some miracle, be his father.
“Betty's on the phone. She says Sassy came in by herself this morning. She called her folks and Gram said you two weren't over there at all yesterday. Just what is going on? Where's Joey?”
T
HE SHERIFF'S CRUISER
led the Frazier pickup down Highway 99 at a fast clip. In the cab, Ernie rode wedged between a grim-faced Russ and a distraught Betty Woodruff. She was so mad she wouldn't even look at him. Before leaving the house, Ernie had tried to explain what happened. He told Russ how he and Joey went into the Holsapples' looking for clues about Shawn Frazier, and how they got separated, and why he thought the Holsapples were up to no good, and why he was sure Joey was still somewhere inside that creepy house. He left out the part about the little creature he'd rescued and what she'd told him.
As the cars turned up the Holsapple driveway, Ernie could feel Russ' eyes on him, but he stared straight ahead. In the courtyard, they parked beside the sheriff's cruiser. Ernie stepped tentatively from the pickup. Holsapple's oil riggers were loitering by the garage, staring with crossed arms and mean faces.
“Morning, boys,” greeted the sheriff. “You all workin' hard or hardly workin'?”
Nobody answered. One Eye, jangling the ring of keys on his belt, spit a big wad of tobacco. Ernie, feeling like the whole gang was staring at him, stood rooted to the ground. Russ took his arm and nudged him along.
The adults escorted Ernie under the thorny vines of the walkway's canopy, then between the winged Chimeras at the end of the portico. Sheriff Dashin rapped the front door's iron knocker. They waited in silence for what seemed like forever. Russ squeezed his shoulder. “It's all right, Ernie. Just tell the truth.”
Finally the door opened and Dicky Cobb greeted them with a phony smile. “Good morning, sheriff, Russ, Betty.”
“And a good morning to you, Dicky,” answered the sheriff cheerfully. “Lordy, what happened to that leg?”
Ernie's gaze fixed on the foreman's right leg encased in a plaster cast.
“Got her jammed out in the rigs,” Cobb said with a smile. “Ain't hardly scratched.”
“Not to worry, time is the healer, yes, sir,” said the sheriff.
“Come on in,” he said. “Mr. Holsapple will be right down.”
The visitors shuffled inside the vestibule. Ernie was the only one to see Cobb's welcoming smile change to a threatening leer. The foreman ushered them into the main hallway, where a swooping staircase led to the second floor. Harvey Holsapple was coming down the stairs with an obedient black wolfhound on either side. “Good morning, all,” he said with a good-natured smile.
“Morning, Harv,” said Dashin as he proudly presented Holsapple's keys in their gold-embossed leather case. “Got the keys. Kid stole 'em out of your glove box the other day.”
The old man accepted the keys and slipped them into his pocket. “What a shame we should have to meet under such difficult circumstances. Can I get anyone anything?”
“No, thanks,” said the sheriff. “We don't want to take up too much of your time.”
“Angus just put on a fresh pot,” offered Harvey.
“Appreciate it, cream and sugar then. I like it sweet.”
“Anyone else?”
Russ and Betty muttered “No, thanks” as the group moved down the hall. Ernie noted the rooms still looked strange, though they weren't nearly as scary in the light of day. There was no sign of the hog carcass or the black slime, and the blood trail had been washed away.