Spirit Seeker (16 page)

I just nodded and kept stirring the sauce. Dad wasn’t still mad at me, and I was glad about that. In fact, he seemed to be in a particularly good mood.

“Holly,” he said, “as I told you before, there was absolutely no excuse for you entering the Garnetts’ house and accessing his computer.”

“Dad—”

He held up a hand for silence. “However,” he said, “I looked into the information on the printouts you gave me, and it seems that the FBI has been interested in Sam Garnett’s partner and his activities. To make a long story short, the warehouse is being used to store counterfeit materials—stuff like fake name-brand watches and hand-bags.”

I dropped the spoon and gasped. “Mr. Garnett was a criminal?”

“Let’s put it this way: He was allegedly involved in illegal activities.”

“Dad! You see what this means? He was hanging out with criminals. One of them killed him! Not Cody!” I began to walk back and forth as ideas popped into my head. “Mr. Garnett opened the door—that’s why there was no sign that someone had entered illegally. He knew the guy who had rung the bell, so he opened the door and let him in. But this guy hadn’t come to socialize, or to talk business. Mr. Garnett was cheating him, and he was angry. He’d come to kill him. Then Mrs. Garnett walked in and saw what had happened, and she was killed too!”

“Holly,” Dad said. “Sit down. Take it easy. It didn’t happen that way.”

“How do you know?”

“There’s a network behind the smuggling, with operations in other states as well, but there’s nothing
to indicate that Garnett wasn’t cooperating with the organization.”

“What about Mr. Garnett’s partner?”

“Unavailable at the moment,” Dad said. “He may have seen what was coming and left town in a hurry. They’ll find him.”

“He may not have left town,” I said. “And even if Mr. Garnett was cooperating with the organization of crooks, he still could have had trouble with his partner, couldn’t he?”

“It’s possible.”

“And his partner could be the murderer, just as I said.”

Dad sighed. “It’s possible, but not logical. You’re fishing, Holly. Sooner or later you’re going to have to face facts. You’re at a dead end. Everything we’ve turned up points to Cody.”

A
t the dinner table Mom raved about the Stroganoff.

“Like yours,” Dad managed to say as he stared into his plate. “You’re a good cook, too, Lynn.”

“Why, thank you,” Mom said. I could hear both surprise and pleasure in her voice.

I don’t know what the Stroganoff tasted like. I gulped down a couple of bites, but I could hardly eat.

Mom took her dishes to the sink, then sat down facing me. “Holly,” she said, “Monsieur Duprée telephoned me today. He’s worried about you. He thinks you should get counseling.”

“I don’t need counseling,” I answered. “All I’m
trying to do is help Cody, and everyone is making such a big deal out of it!”

“I understand you didn’t show up for any of your afternoon classes.”

Dad put down his fork. As they both waited for what I’d say, I felt like their eyes were drilling little holes in my forehead.

“Okay. I’ll tell you where I was. I went to see Cody’s lawyer. His name is Paul Ormond. I hoped we could talk about helping Cody, but he wasn’t interested. He isn’t doing a thing to try to prove that Cody is innocent. I bet he isn’t even a very good trial lawyer.”

Mom sighed. “Holly, you can’t think straight about the situation because you’ve become so obsessed with trying to uncover some unknown suspect.”

“I’m obsessed?” I choked on a laugh. Couldn’t anyone understand what I was trying to do?

Dad looked at Mom. “Sometimes you’ve used that term for me when I’m working hard on a case.”

At first, Mom looked flustered, but she quickly straightened up and said, “Yes, when you’re unable to think about anything else … when you’re behaving like Holly is now.”

“I can’t help it,” I told them. “I feel like I’m racing with a time bomb that won’t stop ticking. It scares me, because I know I’ve got to help Cody before the time runs out.”

“Holly,” Dad said softly. He took my hand and held it tightly. “Holly, I’m sorry, but time has already run out.”

W
ednesday. 8:30
A.M.
When I first got to school, Sara had been standing in front of my locker, waiting for me. During the day I tried to pay attention to what was going on in my classes. I know Monsieur Duprée meant well, but I didn’t want anyone else worrying about me and calling Mom. I even hung around with some of my friends and talked a lot of trivia. With Sara there to help me, it wasn’t too hard.

Sara had the Jeep, so after school she drove me home. She started talking about this awful movie her family had rented and making up goofy dialogue for some of the scenes, so by the time we entered our house, I was laughing. But I had no sooner put down my books than the phone rang.

“Hi,” I said.

The only answer was silence.

I was about to hang up, thinking it was either one of those computerized sales pitches that hadn’t kicked in or the beginning of an obscene call, when Cody said, “Holly, it’s me.”

“Cody?” I repeated, and from the corner of my eyes I saw Sara stiffen to attention. “Where are you?” I asked.

“At Uncle Frank’s,” he said. “At least for now. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Frank went downtown to talk to Mr. Ormond. Some woman called the police and said she saw me around ten o’clock Friday night in a convenience store over on Kirby. But she’s wrong! I wasn’t there!”

Cody’s voice broke and he began to cry.

“Don’t cry. It’s going to be all right,” I kept saying, while at the same time I thought,
Where did this woman suddenly come from? And what makes her think she saw Cody? Lots of teenage guys are his height and coloring
.

Finally Cody stopped crying and said, “Holly, they’re going to arrest me. I know they will.”

“Not yet,” I insisted. “All the evidence so far is circumstantial. The police don’t have a murder weapon, and they don’t have an eyewitness who can place you at the scene.”

“I don’t know how much this woman told them. She could have made up anything.”

“The police get a lot of false identifications, even a lot of false confessions. They know how to sort through them.”

Cody was under control now, but I could hear the despair in his voice. “I can’t take the chance,” he said.

My fingers gripped the phone so hard they hurt. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to be arrested. I couldn’t take being in jail—especially for something I didn’t do.”

“Cody! What are you talking about.?”

“You and Uncle Frank are the only ones who believed in me.”

“We still believe in you.”

“I know I can trust you not to tell anyone that I called. You said you’d help me. Well, that’s the best way you can help right now.”

“Cody, why …?”

“I’ve got to go now, Holly,” he said. “I thought … well … that I owed it to you to say goodbye.”

“Cody, no!” I shrieked. “Wait! Don’t do anything you shouldn’t. Let me come and talk to you.”

“It won’t do any good.”

“Please,” I begged. “Please just do this as a favor to me.”

For a moment he was silent. Then he said, “You’ll have to come soon.”

“I will. I promise. Wait. Just wait. I’ll be at your uncle’s house within twenty … 
fifteen
minutes.”

As we hung up, I turned to Sara. “Cody’s in terrible shape. He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” I told her. “He said he owed it to me to say
goodbye. He may be running away or … or …”

“Suicide?” Sara gasped and said, “Call somebody! 911? Your dad?”

I grabbed her shoulders. “I can’t. Cody said he trusted me not to tell anyone. And he promised he wouldn’t do anything until I got to his uncle’s house and had a chance to talk to him. Take me there, Sara. Please?”

She hesitated. “You said he doesn’t know what he’s doing. What if he’s dangerous?”

“I’ll go in alone. You stay outside.”

“I can’t let you do that. I’ll—”

“Sara!” I shouted. “We haven’t got time to argue about it. Take me to Cody. Please!”

“C’mon,” Sara said. She picked up her purse and car keys and hurried toward the back door. I was right behind her.

S
ara made it to Frank Baker’s house in a little under fifteen minutes. We didn’t talk. Sara concentrated on her driving, while I just hung on and hoped and prayed that Cody hadn’t done anything desperate.

As we pulled up in front of the house, Sara gave a sigh or relief. She pointed to Cody’s car in the driveway and said, “Look! The trunk’s open. That means he’s running away.”

I leaped out of the car and ran up the driveway to the back door. It was ajar, so I pushed it open and dashed into the kitchen—its walls so cluttered with sieves and stirring spoons and
knives and pans, it was distracting. I wished I could tear them all down and throw them away. A suitcase was open on the kitchen table, and a rolled sleeping bag was on the floor beside it. “Cody!” I yelled. “It’s me—Holly. Where are you?”

Cody bounded into the room and stopped. He was pale, and his eyes were red and swollen. “Holly,” he said, “you shouldn’t have come. I told you—it won’t do any good.”

“You can’t run!” I said. “If you do, then everyone will be positive that you’re guilty.”

“They are already.” He stood in front of me, took my hands, and looked into my eyes. “Holly, I appreciate your standing by me more than you’ll ever know, so I want to be honest with you. There’s something I have to tell you.”

At that moment Sara walked through the kitchen door, and Cody stiffened. “What are
you
doing here?” he asked her.

Sara’s chin lifted defensively. “I drove Holly here—even though I tried to talk her out of coming.”

Cody took a step back, away from me. “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Sara was there when you telephoned. She couldn’t help but hear some of what we were talking about. I didn’t have time to call a cab, so I asked Sara to drive me.”

Cody frowned at Sara. She glared back, giving a kick to the sleeping bag. “It’s cowardly to run away,” she said.

“So I’m a coward,” Cody growled, “and
quit kicking that sleeping bag. It belongs to my uncle.”

“Cody, please listen to me,” I said. “You can’t run away.”

“You were going to help me,” he said accusingly, “and what have you come up with? Nothing!”

“I tried. I’m still trying.”

“Trying’s not enough. If I stick around, they’re gong to arrest me.”

“Cody, they don’t even have the murder weapon. But if you—”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” Cody strode to the table, elbowed Sara out of the way, and slammed the lid on his suitcase.

I saw a pair of jeans lying on one of the chairs, so I picked them up and threw them at him. “If you’re going to do something so idiotic and stupid, at least do it right.”

Cody held the jeans a moment, and I could see him trying to calm down. I knew he was too frightened to think clearly, and I was ashamed at losing my temper.

Pointing to a rip in one leg, Cody said, “I meant to try to mend that, but now I don’t have time. Dumb dog.”

“Tiger?” I asked.

“Yeah, Tiger.”

Sara’s eyes narrowed. “Tiger,” she said. “Isn’t he the dog that belongs to the neighbors who lived behind Mr. Arlington’s house?”

“That’s right,” I told her. “If Tiger bites, they shouldn’t let him run loose.”

“They never let him run loose,” Cody said. He folded the jeans, added them to the other things in his suitcase, and snapped it shut again. “Dumb dog—they treat him like a baby. He’s never allowed outside their backyard.”

Sara spoke slowly. “In the early newspaper stories, your neighbor, Mr. Arlington, said he saw someone jump the back fence, and the people who own Tiger said he barked at someone in their backyard. Cody, when were you in your neighbors’ backyard with Tiger?”

I felt the way I had one summer picnic when the kid next door dumped a whole glass of ice cubes down my back. I was frozen. I couldn’t move. And the pain from the cold was unbearable. “Cody?” I whispered. There was nothing else to say.

Cody held on to the back of a chair, his head bent as he seemed to study his shoes. At last he straightened, turned, and looked at me. “Don’t think it, Holly,” he said and laughed bitterly. “It didn’t happen the night my parents were murdered. It happened a few days before that. Mrs. Rollins didn’t want to pay a plumber to fix a dripping pipe in the backyard, so she asked me to do it. Tiger got out and went after me before she could catch him.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have asked. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. It’s one more piece of the so-called evidence that’s piling up against me. Nobody will believe me. They’ll just believe what they want—that I’m guilty. Can’t you see, that’s
why I have to get out of here? I don’t have a chance.”

The phone rang, and we all jumped. Cody grabbed for it, and the caller must have had a lot to say, because it took awhile for Cody to answer. “I’ve got to get away from here, Uncle Frank.… I know we talked about it, but …” Cody threw a quick glance in Sara’s direction. “I can’t tell you.… It’s no use. I’ve made up my mind.… It won’t do any good to … I haven’t got time now.” Finally he said, “Thanks, Uncle Frank. Thanks for everything. Goodbye.”

As he hung up, I begged, “Listen to your uncle, Cody. Listen to me.”

“I haven’t got time to argue with you, Holly,” Cody said. “The police are on their way with a warrant to search this house. An anonymous caller gave them some kind of information that Frank said was probable cause.’ Uncle Frank called from Mr. Ormond’s car. They’re trying to get here before the police do.”

“It doesn’t matter if they search! You haven’t anything to hide!”

“Do you think that makes any difference?” Cody swept up his suitcase and the sleeping bag. “Uncle Frank said I’ll probably be arrested. I’m not going to jail, Holly! I can’t go to jail!”

He turned and ran out the back door.

I started after him, but Sara grabbed my arm. “We can’t let him go!” I shouted at her.