Sammy Keyes and the Runaway Elf (6 page)

I didn’t want to tell her that the last thing we needed was for Mrs. Graybill to come home. I mean, Mrs. Graybill would probably sign over her Social Security check to Mrs. Landvogt if it meant getting rid of me. And the more I thought about it, the more I knew that I really couldn’t tell Grams about anything. If I let on about us being the entrée on La Croc’s supper menu, she’d go into hyper-worry and self-destruct before the day was out.

And thinking about the mess Grams was in because I had to live with her, well, I kind of lost my appetite for that gigantic ham and cheese. So when she dug a can of chicken gumbo out of the cupboard and said, “Sound good?” I just nodded and got busy making toast.

And I was hanging over the toaster, watching the wires
glow, thinking about what Grams and I would do if Mrs. Landvogt
did
turn us in, when the phone rang.

Grams picked it up, and for the longest time she just stood there with her eyes expanding to fill up her owl glasses. Finally she said, “Lana, Lana, slow down! NBC? Okay! That’s wonderful. We’ll tune right in.” She got off the phone and cried, “She did it!”

Grams rushed into the living room to turn on the TV, but I froze. I mean, Lady Lana had dumped me at Grams’ because she didn’t feel like being a mom anymore. She felt like being a movie star. And in the beginning when she’d call and say she’d come back soon, I couldn’t wait. I missed her. But it didn’t take long to figure out that soon meant later and that she didn’t really care about being with me. She cared about being a movie star.

And I’d gotten used to living with Grams—used to the couch and hiding my clothes. Used to sneaking in and out. Even used to Mrs. Graybill. And all of a sudden it hit me that I’d rather have to sneak past ten Mrs. Graybills every night than leave Grams to go live with my mom. And watching Grams flip the channels on the TV, I realized that this was it. It didn’t matter what Mrs. Landvogt did to me. My mother had made it, and my time with Grams was up.

I stumbled into the living room, feeling like the air was too heavy to breathe. “Is she in a movie?”

“No, a commercial! She says there’s great money in commercials and seems to think it’s a real foot in the door.” She beamed at me. “Isn’t this exciting? Your mother’s going to be on TV!”

I sat down on the couch, trying to remember the last time I’d seen Grams so excited. “What’s it a commercial for?”

“She wouldn’t say. But she says it’s okay to laugh—that it’s supposed to be funny.”

I didn’t feel like laughing. I felt like crying. Grams sat next to me and patted my knee. “Are you all right?”

I forced up the corners of my mouth and nodded, and we sat there together, staring at the TV.

And then all of a sudden there she was, for the first time in over a year, my mother. She walked toward me on TV and smiled like only Lady Lana can smile. Then she stopped, and what came out of her mouth was, “Everybody gets gas.”

I held my breath and covered my face with my hands. And as I’m peeking through my fingers, she says, “But sometimes when gas pressure gets too much, I can feel like this …” and there goes her body, blowing up like a hot air balloon. “When that happens, I take GasAway, and feel better.” She holds up a box of GasAway, shrinks back to normal, then smiles at the camera and says, “Try it, when you feel like this …” and her body blows up like a zeppelin again, “… and you’ll feel better!” She shrinks back, and then all of a sudden she’s gone.

Grams and I just sat there, blinking at the television. Finally Grams says, “Well, I suppose it’s a start.”

I got up and turned off the TV. “My mother, the GasAway Lady.”

“Samantha, come on, now. She’s been working hard to get a part.”

“In a movie! In a sitcom! Even in a soap. But in a commercial for
GasAway?
”

The phone rang. Grams took a deep breath and said, “That’s probably her now. Let’s be positive, all right? She’s very excited about it and I don’t think we should discourage her. She understands the business better than we do, and who knows? Maybe she really can parlay this into a part in a movie or a TV show.”

Grams went into the kitchen to answer the phone, and I snuck out the door. There was no way I could congratulate the GasAway Lady—not with the upset stomach she’d just given me.

*  *  *

I wound up at Hudson’s. Not to talk, just to sit on his porch and try to forget. Trouble is, you can’t really space out when you’re with Hudson. To him, spacing out is like using a Swiss army knife to dig holes.

Hudson took one look at me and said, “Ooooo. You’ve had a rough one.”

“I’m not talking about it.”

He pulled on an eyebrow.

“I’m not.”

“Well, have some tea, then, and tell me what you’ve decided to do about Heather.”

“Heather! I haven’t even had a chance to
think
about Heather. What I’m going to do about her is nothing.”

“Nothing?”

I threw my head back and groaned. “What can I do? What’s it matter, anyway? If she’s got nothing better to do than throw cats at floats, that’s her problem.”

Hudson dusted off a boot. “Wow, you must be in a stew.”

“You can say that again.”

“I mean a
real
stew. For you not to care about Heather?”

The truth is, I did care. But I hadn’t had time to think about her, and compared to the other monsters in my life, well, she seemed like the runt of the litter. I sighed and said, “What can I do about it, anyway?”

Hudson smiled into the distance. “Oh, I don’t know …”

I studied him. “What are you thinking?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing that you’d be interested in, anyway.”

“Hudson!”

“So …?”

“So all right, I’m interested! I just don’t have any time.”

He laughed. “This wouldn’t take any time.”

I sat up. “So, let’s hear it.”

He smoothed down an eyebrow and eyed me. “Ever hear of ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’?”

I groaned. “By Edgar Allan Poe?”

“That’s the one.”

“Heather hasn’t got a conscience.”

“Sure she does,” he said with a chuckle. “You’ve just got to help dig it up.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

He smiled. “Be her conscience for her. Remind her with everything you do that you know what she’s done. A guilty soul cannot keep its own secret.”

“She hasn’t got a soul, either. Besides, she probably doesn’t even care if I know or not.”

Hudson chuckled. “She would if she thought you were plotting revenge.”

“Revenge? Hudson, you don’t understand … I don’t have
time
to plot revenge.”

He gave me that smile again. “The revenge will take care of itself. All you have to do is set the stage.”

“Hudson!”

“Okay. Tell me this—what’s your demeanor when you’re around Heather? Are you friendly? Are you hostile?”

“I usually just avoid her.”

“You’re not confrontational?”

“No.”

“Sociable?”

“No. I just try to steer clear of her.”

He smiled. “What if your behavior toward Heather changed radically? What if you were, for example, really nice to her?”

I thought about this a minute. “She’d probably wonder what I was up to.”

“Now let’s play with the opposite scenario. What if you acted like you were plotting to get her? Really get her.”

I laughed and said, “That would definitely make her nervous, but c’mon, Hudson—she’s not going to admit she catapulted cats just because I make her a little nervous.”

“Remember ‘The Tell-Tale Heart.’ ”

“That’s only a story.”

He went back to tugging on an eyebrow. “It’s your job to make it reality.”

I took a deep breath and looked out at the sky. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thatta girl!” He filled up my tea and said, “So how’d it go with Elyssa today?”

I sat up. “Oh! I forgot!”

He
tsk
ed at me and said, “Some best friend.”

“Hudson, give me a break. I’ve had a horrible day.”

He grinned into the distance. “Still don’t want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Then why don’t you go over to Elyssa’s?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Never, Sammy! But I think she might be waiting for you.”

I studied him. “Why do you think that?”

He shrugged. “I saw her on my way to church. She was kind of perched on a windowsill, looking outside.”

“So?”

“So she was still there when I came home.”

I got up. “You’re kidding.”

“Nooo.”

“I’d better go.”

I ran down the steps and he called, “Think about ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’!”

*  *  *

Elyssa wasn’t sitting on the windowsill. She was leaning on it with her elbows, holding her face in her hands. She jumped up as I came up their walkway, and even though I couldn’t hear her, I could tell she was calling, “Mom, she’s here, she’s here!”

The door flew open before I had a chance to knock.
Mrs. Keltner stood behind Elyssa, drying her hands on a towel. “You have just made a little girl’s day.”

Elyssa grabbed my hand. “You’ll never guess what!”

I laughed. “What?”

“You get to take me to the park!”

“I do?”

Elyssa’s mom laughed and said, “Only if you have time, and only if you want to.”

I looked at Elyssa, beaming like the sun, and all of a sudden I forgot about my mother and Mrs. Landvogt and her stupid dog. I grinned at her and said, “Sure.”

Elyssa jumped up and down, squealing, “Let’s go!”

The Elf Mom said, “Wait a minute, sweetheart, we had a deal. You go in there and finish your lunch, and then you can go.” She looked at me. “Can I offer you some macaroni and cheese?”

God could have asked to have a word with me right then and I would’ve said, Excuse me, I gotta go have some macaroni and cheese first. I nodded, and the next thing you know I was shoveling away.

Elyssa finished before I did. She said through a mouthful, “I’m ready!”

Her mom laughed. “Go wash up.” The minute Elyssa was out of the room, she pulled up a chair and said, “Sammy, I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you came over. I haven’t seen her this happy since, well … in ages.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Now I’ve been thinking—and I don’t want Elyssa to know the details, all right?—but I’m willing to give you baby-sitting money for spending time with her.”

I shook my head and gulped down some milk. “I don’t mind taking her to the park.”

“Hear me out, Samantha. I’m at my wits’ end. I’ve tried and tried to find out what’s going on with her, but she won’t talk about it, she won’t cry about it—even when I know she’s upset, she never cries.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve made arrangements for Elyssa to have a psychological evaluation, but the woman who’s been recommended to me isn’t available until after Christmas. I don’t worry about Elyssa when she’s at school, and I don’t worry about her once we’re home, but there’s an hour between the time her school lets out and the time I get off at the home. She’s supposed to walk straight over to the nursing home to meet me after school, but sometimes she gets … distracted.” She looked down the hall to make sure Elyssa wasn’t coming back. “What school do you attend?”

“William Rose.”

She looked relieved. “You’re right around the corner from her. She goes to Landview. Would you pick her up and walk her over to the nursing home after school? It’s right there on Sycamore, a block off Main.”

“Behind the supermarket?”

She nodded. “It would just be until Christmas break.”

My stomach was feeling pretty happy, and it must have affected the rest of me, because out of my mouth pops, “Sure.”

She lets out a huge sigh. “Thank heavens.”

Elyssa comes charging up the hallway, calling, “I’m ready!” so I thanked Mrs. Keltner for lunch, and before you know it I’m on my way to the park with the Elf.

And the funny thing is, I had fun. A lot of fun. I chased her down the tube slide and trapped her in the jungle gym. We twirled on the bars until we were both so dizzy we didn’t know which way was up, and I even rode a swing on my stomach. I didn’t think about the GasAway Lady or “The Tell-Tale Heart,” or even the Crocodile—I just had fun.

But somewhere on the walk home it all came flooding back. And by the time I had dropped the Elf off, I knew that I had to pay the Crocodile another visit.

And this time, I would be the one asking the questions.

There was a bright red Jeep parked in the circular drive. And I would’ve thought it was Tina’s, only the license plate said SKI BOY. There were sunglasses on the dash, some flags and a fancy-looking megaphone on the backseat, and on the floor were a sack of oranges and a couple of blankets.

I was still kind of studying the Jeep, trying to figure out who Ski Boy might be, when Tina answered the door. “Well, if it isn’t Little Miss Gumshoe. Didja find her?”

I stepped inside, and the door closed with a
bo-beep
behind me. I asked, “What is that sound?”

She looked puzzled. “What sound?”

“You know … that
bo-beep
sound.”

She laughed and said, “Oh, that. That’s our rip-roaring security system. Anytime you open a window or door,
be-boop
, there goes the alarm. And when you shut it,
bo-beep!
There it goes again.”