The Death Catchers (17 page)

XOXO,

Mom

P.S. Remember to put medicine on your cut before you go to sleep so it doesn't scar!

I folded the note inside the book and placed the book next to the growing stack on my nightstand. Through my distress, I was touched that Mom went to all the trouble to dig up another book for me. But I couldn't bring myself to read it. All I could imagine was opening it and watching the words twist into someone else's death sentence.

 

The Nemesis I Didn't Know I Had

Have you ever been blindsided, Mrs. Tweedy? And I'm not just talking about something unexpected, like finding out you have an extra wisdom tooth. I'm talking about a true, punch-in-the-gut kind of surprise. I didn't know what it felt like until the Friday before our final project was due. It was a little more than a week after I'd had dinner at Drake's house and I hadn't spoken to him since. Every time I spotted him across campus, I'd feel I was on the verge of a panic attack. He always turned away from me as soon as our eyes met.

Though I still spied on him from a safe distance, I tried to avoid running into him. As I headed to third period math class, Jodi cut me off at the cafeteria. Normally I'd communicated with Jodi in some form by second period, but today I'd been in the clouds.

“We've got a situation,” she said, wearing her feather earrings and checkered high-top Vans. She flaunted the school's no-gum-chewing policy, smacking it loudly. “It looks like the cat's out of the bag.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I just overheard Kristy Draper blabbing to Rosie Yeo and Leigh Green in the girls' bathroom.” Jodi crossed her arms. She almost felt worse than I did about Drake discovering the DWOR. Especially since a lot of the notes were in her handwriting. Over the last week, she'd gone out of her way to try to cheer me up.

“You overheard them saying what?”

“You know that Kristy Draper has it bad for Drake, so she's running with the story as far as she can take it.” Jodi snapped her gum again.

“What does that mean? What story?” Just then, the tardy bell rang.

“We'll talk at lunch, 'kay?”

Jodi sprinted across the quad as if possessed. She already had four tardies and getting a fifth would mean a detention. I made my way to Geometry. Both Kristy Draper and Rosie Yeo were in that class.

I opened the door to Mr. Marr's classroom. Everyone was seated. I was the last to arrive. I ducked as I crossed the front of the room and slid into my desk near the wall opposite the door. Mr. Marr looked over his glasses at me, but said nothing. He went over his attendance sheet. Rosie Yeo, who sat one row to the right and four desks in front of me, had a blank piece of paper on her desk. She took out a Sharpie, uncapped it, and began writing in large capital letters. Then Rosie turned around and asked if the person behind her could pass the note to Kristy Draper. Kristy sat directly behind me. But as Rosie passed the piece of paper, she didn't fold it or hide the message. She just left it out there for everyone to see. As it made its way down one row, people started chuckling as soon as they read it. When it was immediately on my right, I was able to make out what it said, in large block letters:

LIZZY = DRAKE'S PSYCHO STALKER

I tried not to gasp out loud. I slowly pushed my watch as far as it would go down my wrist. The last thing in the world I needed was someone to discover Drake's name engraved on my hand. Then I reached and grabbed the note out of my neighbor's hand. I crumpled it up into a ball and shoved it into my backpack. I knew that every person in the class was staring at me. My face was burning. I'd never known before what it was like to literally feel I might die from embarrassment. My throat felt like it was closing up and I couldn't keep my feet still. Had Drake told someone about the DWOR? If he had, then there was little doubt that he truly despised me.

The worst part was that Kristy Draper loved every minute of it. Soon, Mr. Marr was handing out quizzes. I tried to concentrate, but I bombed that quiz like I've never bombed a quiz before.

Fourth period, I had European History. Though Kristy, Leigh, and Rosie weren't in the class, it was still painful. I got there early and I was pretty sure a cluster of girls were talking about me in the back of the classroom. By noon, the whole school would think I was some restraining-order-deserving stalker.

I wasn't far off. I waited for Jodi by the planter. On the one hand, this was the worst day I'd ever had at school. On the other hand, though, I had bigger problems than three catty girls out to make my life miserable (such as if and how Vivienne le Mort was involved with Drake's impending death). Of course, Jodi didn't know all that. She had her headphones on and was listening to music, even though that was forbidden, too. She sort of danced toward the planter. When she got to me, she hopped up on the cement bricks.

“So, it's not as bad as I thought, Lizster,” Jodi said casually. She took a big bite out of her banana sandwich. “The story going around is that you invited yourself over to Drake's house, saying you needed help on your homework, and then forced yourself on him.”

“
Forced
myself on him?” I put both hands over my face, wanting to hide.

“Yeah, it's not great. But at least there wasn't any mention of the DWOR.”

“At least.”

“Don't worry about it too much, okay? Because Drake has about four hundred girls with crushes on him, so this was bound to happen. You don't tangle with a POI and expect to remain untouched.”

“PO what?”

“Person of interest.” As she spoke, Jodi began putting a Bugle on each one of her fingers so that it looked as if she had claws. “Like imagine if all those trashy magazines at the grocery store checkout line had a Crabapple High School version, 'kay? Now say there was news about Drake Westfall making out with someone behind Auto Shop. Well, that would make the front cover because he's a POI. But you or me? We could be making out with Nathan Randall back there and we wouldn't be cover worthy.”

“That's gross,” I said.

“Oh, calm down, it's just a hypo.” Jodi sucked a Bugle off her hand. “I haven't gotten to my point yet.” She hopped off the planter and began pacing in front of me.

“You haven't?”

“Of course I haven't. Let's recap, shall we? You go over to Drake's house, right?” Jodi reached into her bag once more. This time, she pulled out a piece of gum and popped it into her mouth. “Somehow a rumor gets started that you invited yourself over there.”

“But no one knew about that,” I objected.

“Well, maybe Drake casually mentioned it to someone … I don't know. The point is, word spreads, of course, and Leigh Green, being the gossipmonger that she is, goes up to Drake during break and asks him if you really
did
invite yourself over. Drake doesn't say anything. So Leigh Green, unwilling to stop until she gets the scoop, asks Drake if you two are dating. Now, what does he do in response? Drake just shrugs his shoulders and walks away.”

Maybe you could just stop a dialogue whenever you wanted. “Drake didn't say
no
?” I asked, growing animated.

“Yup, Drake didn't say no. Confirmed by three different people. Anyways, my point is, as soon as Drake did that, you, Lizzy Mortimer, officially became a POI by association … a POIBA, I guess.” Jodi finished by thrusting her finger at me until she touched my forehead. She smiled.

A lot of people think Jodi is a kook. Her need to abbreviate everything is strange—she's constantly coming up with terms like POI and COT (circle of trust, and it's worth noting, Mrs. Tweedy, that I am officially in hers and she is in mine)—but no one understands high school politics better than she does. It's why she can so easily rise above it. I guess she marches to the beat of a different drummer. Actually, she probably doesn't hear drums at all, but punk guitar riffs instead.

“But what if I don't want to be a poiba?” I demanded.

“Too late. It's not up to you.” I spotted Drake out of the corner of my eye. He was eating with Garrett Edmonds and the rest of the water polo team.

“Look, this'll all blow over in a few days when people realize you're not together.” Jodi halted her pacing and looked at me squarely. “I'm just sorry that our stalk-him-till-he-loves-you plan backfired so badly.”

“It wasn't your fault, it was mine,” I said.

“It almost worked.” Jodi looked at me sympathetically.

I thought about Drake in the pool house wistfully. “Yeah, almost.”

When the bell rang, Jodi dashed off almost immediately. She'd gotten her fifth tardy that morning, and already had one detention looming in her future.

I was gathering up Jodi's trash and my own when I saw a shadow in front of me. Someone was right behind me. I pivoted on the balls of my feet.

“Hey, Lizzy.”

Garrett Edmonds, the former captain of the water polo team, stood in front of me. I straightened up and looked at him. Over his shoulder, I could tell that most of the water polo team was watching us from the benches. A few of them were snickering. Drake was no longer with them.

“Hello,” I said. I hadn't exchanged a single word with Garrett Edmonds in my entire life. He is a senior and I am a freshman and the fact that he was standing right in front of me worried me more than anything else.

“How's it going?”

“Fine,” I said, throwing my leftover half sandwich into my backpack.

“Lizzy Mortimer … I have a little proposition for you,” he continued, smiling.

I couldn't get my mouth to form any words. Was Garrett Edmonds actually talking to me? Worse, was he flirting with me?

“I hear you're pretty good at math. I also hear that you have a thing for water polo players.” Garrett put his hands in his letterman's jacket. I considered just running away from him, but I was paralyzed. With the whole team watching, that might only make things worse. Before I could decide what to do, Garrett began speaking again.

“So … if you come and do my math homework for me, I'll let you have dinner at my house,” he said, his voice booming. I could tell he was doing it for the benefit of the half-dozen boys gathered twenty feet away at the picnic tables. They began pointing in my direction.

“What do you say?” He didn't bother to stifle his laughter any longer. His body convulsed with one full-body laugh after another.

Sadly, I couldn't think of anything to say. “No, thanks,” was all I managed to get out before I turned around and walked away. For the second time that day, my face burned with both anger and embarrassment.

Maybe you remember that Friday, Mrs. Tweedy. I was late to your class. See, I couldn't hang on any longer. I started crying as I crossed the quad. Now that I was a POIBA, I knew that if someone saw me shed one tear, it would be all over school by the time the dismissal bell rang. I wasn't just crying over Garrett Edmonds's cruelty. All of it was too much. So I made a pit stop in the girls' bathroom and waited until the tear-tidal-wave had passed.

I think you called on me that class, Mrs. Tweedy, and I had no idea what was going on. I'm pretty sure you mercifully moved on to someone else, but I want you to know that my poor performance wasn't because I was bored by what you were saying. I just couldn't keep my thoughts on track. Instead, I was thinking about what made someone like Garrett Edmonds do something so spiteful. My thoughts turned to Drake as they often seemed to recently. Was he the one who told everyone I'd invited myself over to his house? If he didn't, then who did?

I was driving myself nuts, constantly checking to make sure that my watch covered my wrist. I remembered all the horrible things I'd said to Bizzy. There was a chance that we wouldn't manage to save Drake at all. I knew I'd feel guilty for the rest of my life.

Halfway through sixth period, I got a slip telling me to go to the office. Once I was there, a secretary told me that I should call my mother from the office.

“Mom?”

“Lizzy! Are you calling from school?”

“Yeah. Everything all right?”

“I'm going to be late picking you up today. So just wait and I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“Why?”

“I need to wait for your father to get to the hospital. I don't want to leave your grandmother alone here.”

“Bizzy's in the hospital again?” I asked, shocked. “What happened?”

“I'm not sure yet … but it's going to be okay.” I wanted to believe her. But I knew Mom would have said that no matter what had happened.

 

Point of View

According to you, Mrs. Tweedy, the point of view is basically a filter. Every detail goes through it and changes slightly depending on whose view it is. Obviously, everything I've told you is from my point of view. Some people might not want to know what everyone's thinking and doing, but I've actually always wanted to be an all-knowing, omniscient narrator. In fact, I get frustrated by how little I know about what other people are thinking, feeling, and doing. One thing's for sure. If I were an omniscient narrator, I would've known that Bizzy was helpless on the sidewalk.

I could have rescued her.

The terrible things I'd said to Bizzy during our last conversation weighed on my conscience. Since then, Bizzy had tried to talk to me, but I'd ignored her and walked away. I wanted her to know the agony I was in.

In the car, Mom explained that Sheriff Schmidt found Bizzy unconscious, with her wheelchair tipped over, on the corner of Kramer and Dolores. Mom thought Bizzy had “wandered off” because she was losing her marbles. When Mom and I got to the hospital, Bizzy and Dad were in the middle of an argument.

“It's not up to you,” Dad said, standing with his hands on his hips at the foot of Bizzy's bed.

“Whaddaya mean it's not up to me! A' course it's up to me!”

Bizzy had a fat bottom lip, her leg was elevated in traction, and the left side of her face was cut. Her whole left arm was wrapped in gauze, as was the area above her forehead. There were no tubes in her arms, though. She was awake and clearly very lucid. And livid.

“Phillip wants me to get a kitty-cat-scan so he can get some doctor to certify my brain's demented!” Bizzy said angrily to Mom before spotting me trailing behind. “Sweet Pea! If you ain't all wool and a yard wide, then nothin' is!” Her tone was affectionate. “Tell your mama and pa that I want out of here, pronto. They can't seem to understand what I'm sayin'.”

“The doctor hasn't cleared you yet,” Dad said, running his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

“That doctor ain't worth a hill a' beans!” Bizzy said.

There was a knock on the open door. Sheriff Schmidt poked his head in, not waiting for our response. He took off his hat and walked to the corner of the room. He was wearing large black leather storm trooper boots that came up to his knees.

“Hello, folks,” he began, nodding at both Mom and Dad. “I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd stop by to check on Mrs. Mortimer.” Sheriff Schmidt looked at Bizzy. Bizzy turned her face away, toward the wall so that it was impossible for the sheriff to make eye contact with her.

“Thank you so much for all your help today, Sheriff,” Dad said, his face beaming with appreciation. Apparently, he didn't dislike the sheriff quite as much as he used to.

“It's no problem, sir. I'm just glad I found her,” Sheriff Schmidt said, nodding his head in Bizzy's direction. Bizzy's face was expressionless.

“So are we,” Dad said with a sigh.

“You know what? I was wondering if I might have a word with Lizzy.” The sheriff looked at me and then at Mom and Dad. “Just a few follow-up questions.”

“Of course,” Mom said, looking concerned. I stole a glance at Bizzy. The corner of her mouth crept up and she gave me a reassuring wink.

The sheriff led me into the sterile hospital hallway with Mom following close behind. A few men and women in scrubs scurried up and down the hall.

He didn't waste any time getting to the point.

“Elizabeth, I think your grandmother's up to something, and I was wondering if you knew what that is.” Sheriff Schmidt played with the brim of his hat, almost nervously. His hair was thinning on top and he looked much older with his hat off.

“I don't know what you mean,” I said, unable to focus on him. Mom looked at me anxiously.

“That day that I stopped you and Bizzy by the cannery … what did she say you two were doing there?”

“Now wait just a second!” Mom interjected. “When were you and Bizzy near the cannery?”

“We went for a walk, that's all.”

“I stopped them, Mrs. Mortimer, because Elizabeth had tied Beatrice's wheelchair to her bike with rope. I thought there were some safety issues.”

“You tied Bizzy's
wheelchair
to your bike?” Mom shot arrows of disapproving looks my way.

“It was an awful long walk from Beside the Point when your grandmother was convalescing, wasn't it?” The sheriff's tone was somewhat patronizing. “If I tell you some classified information,” Sheriff Schmidt said, lowering his voice, “can I trust you both not to share it with anyone?”

I struggled to subdue the skepticism that was fighting to surface on my face. I recalled one of Bizzy's oft-repeated pearls:
If somethin' don't add up, you most likely don't got all the numbers
.

“Of course you can,” Mom said, before I had a chance to answer.

“I've received two different anonymous tips reporting that people have seen Bizzy around the cannery. Dr. Stuhl said she was muttering something about it when she was partially conscious after the fall—”

“What are you implying, Sheriff?” Mom asked. Her defenses were on alert.

“Mrs. Mortimer, I'm not implying anything. I'm only trying to prevent something more serious from happening to Beatrice. I believe that she knows exactly
who
is staying at the cannery and exactly
why
I found blueprints of the town storm drains and the basement of Miss Mora's place in a tent inside the building!”

I clamped my lips shut. The conversation between Damon and his thuggish friend Randy Maroy replayed in a loop inside my head. I also thought of the dark hole I'd observed within the cannery. Because the sheriff had raised his voice, a few nurses in the hallway turned around to look at us.

“You honestly think a seventy-year-old woman is a part of some plan that involves sewer blueprints? We appreciate your finding Bizzy, but this conversation is over,” Mom said.

“Okay, then. Thank you for talking to me,” the sheriff said in a phony friendly tone, even though it was obvious that he was seething. He slipped a card out of his pocket and held it out to me. “Feel free to call me night or day.” I grabbed it from him and looked at it.

S
COTT
S
CHMIDT

Sheriff

C
RABAPPLE
, C
ALIFORNIA

His phone number was at the very bottom, all in bold.

The sheriff retreated down the hallway. I watched him until he exited through the sliding-glass doors.

“Your father was right about that man,” Mom said, her face hardened. She looked at me. “You don't have any idea what he might have been talking about, do you?” she demanded.

“No,” I said, lying through my teeth.

“I don't care if she tells you it's okay; no more trips with Bizzy tied to your bike, all right?” Mom commanded before turning to walk back into Bizzy's hospital room.

Dr. Stuhl had joined Dad by Bizzy's bedside.

“Mrs. Mortimer, I'm afraid you'd be putting yourself at risk if you do anything of the sort. Your elevated blood pressure, in combination with the MRI we did when you arrived, suggests that a stroke is a possibility without any intervention.”

“Can't you just give me some medicine and send me packin', then?” I was surprised by Bizzy's casualness.

“You need to be started on an IV immediately and monitored around the clock for at least the next forty-eight hours,” Dr. Stuhl admonished sternly.

“Been monitorin' myself for years. I don't see need for any help on that front, thank you very much.” Bizzy crossed her arms defiantly.

Bizzy hated hospitals, that's for sure. But I had a feeling her aversion at that moment concerned Drake's predicted day of departure, now just a little over three days away.

I was still standing in the doorway. I had to figure out how to be alone with Bizzy. Away from Mom and Dad.

“Dad?” I said. “Can you come out here real quick?”

“What's up?” Dad asked, stepping into the hallway with me.

“I think if you give me a few minutes alone with Bizzy, I can convince her to stay in the hospital,” I blurted. Dad tilted his head to the side and studied me again.

“Well …”

“Bizzy doesn't listen to anyone, I know … but she just might listen to me. I'd like to give it a try,” I added.

“It's not a secret she likes you best of all,” Dad said, tousling my hair like he used to when I was little. “All right. But if you can't do it, I'll understand.” Dad walked back into Bizzy's room and announced that I wanted a word alone with her. Mom eyed me suspiciously, but followed Dad out of the room.

As soon as the door was shut, Bizzy's eyes widened and she tried to sit up straight.

“How'd you get the buzzards to stop circling?”

“I told them I wanted to talk to you alone.”

“I owe ya one. Seems like Phillip is set on drivin' me crazy,” Bizzy said, exhaling loudly.

“Bizzy …,” I started, feeling a lump in my throat. “I'm really sorry about the things I said to you after that night at Drake's house. When Mom told me you were hurt and I thought something terrible had happened I …”

“Oh, Sweet Pea, shush up now,” she said, her voice rich with sympathy. “It's okay, ya hear? This is a lot for anyone to handle. I should've talked with you first before I called over to Drake's house.”

“You were just trying to do all you could to save his life and I shouldn't have questioned you. Besides, if you hadn't made me stay for dinner, I wouldn't have found out all the things I did.”

Bizzy's eyes lit up. “What sorta things?”

First, I explained what Sheriff Schmidt had told me about finding blueprints in the tent at the cannery of the storm drain system underneath Miss Mora's and of her basement. I then repeated what Drake and I'd overheard Damon and Randy Maroy discussing in the pool house. When I reached the part about the black car and Damon recognizing me from the morning Jodi almost died, I stopped. The fact that it had been Randy's car made me rethink the entire sequence. He was casing Miss Mora's Market that morning. My appearance had caused him to speed away.

Did people only believe in coincidences because, otherwise, fate's grip on all of us would be too horrible to admit?

Bizzy was right there with me, almost instantly. “Dad gum! That's it! Damon Westfall and his miscreant friend are plannin' on robbin' Miss Mora and usin' the storm drains to get in! They were casin' the joint that mornin' of your first specter!” Bizzy's creased forehead became more wrinkled as she grew excited.

“Which means the accident really
was
my fault, wasn't it?” I asked. “By running to Miss Mora's that morning, I caused Randy Maroy to speed away and almost hit Jodi.”

“You may have hurried things up a bit, Sweet Pea, but it was Jodi's time no matter what you did. In the end, you also caused her to be saved.”

“I honestly don't think I can do this, Bizzy,” I said, dejected.

“Oh … a' course you can, Sweet Pea! Every Hand a' Fate worth her salt doubts herself now and again and wonders if she's doin' the right thing,” Bizzy insisted. “I still do.”

“You do?”

“Every so often, absolutely.” Bizzy inhaled and then let out a long sigh. “The most dangerous people in this world are the ones who are always so certain, straight outta the gate. A thoughtful person is gonna be unsure from time to time. Why, it's a sign of intelligence.”

“If that's true, then I must be a genius.”

Bizzy laughed.

“How do you get over your doubts?”

“Each time, I think of the alternative: stand there like a bump on a log and do nothin' at all? Call havin' death-specters a gift, Sweet Pea, or call it a curse, but it's somethin' and in my mind, we got it for a reason. It doesn't make sense to me that we should just ignore it when we can help a person. We're just fixin' somethin' that got fouled up along the way.”

As I listened to Bizzy talk in her unusual but logical way, relief that she was okay washed over me.

“How did you fall?” I asked.

“I lost control of the chair on my way back from the cannery. Thought I'd check things out while you were at school.”

“You rolled yourself all the way to the cannery?”

“Actually, I went to Cedar Tree Park right above the cannery first. I guess I didn't leave enough gas in the tank for the ride home. The doctor's convinced I've got Old-Timer's.” Bizzy grinned.

“They only want to observe you for a day or so.”

“Honest to goodness, I don't know what all the fuss is about. I got a few scrapes and scratches. Never would have happened if I were ridin' Dixie.” Bizzy paused. My thoughts returned to Randy Maroy and his threats.

“Don't we need to tell Sheriff Schmidt that we think Damon Westfall is the one who's been staying at the cannery?” I asked. “I'm afraid Damon is going to go through with the robbery and hurt Drake to keep him quiet.”

Bizzy began shaking her head violently, gauze bandage and all. “That dad-burned sheriff don't have enough sense to come in out of the rain! Tell him and we might as well broadcast to Damon and his criminal crony that you ratted 'em out.”

“But we've got to stop them from robbing Miss Mora!”

“Oh, we will, Sweet Pea. They said they aren't plannin' on robbin' for another two weeks. If we're gonna tell the sheriff, we gotta assemble a shut 'n' open case for him. We got no proof right now. If those dang fools are gonna go after Drake, they'll go after you, too. I ain't leavin' that to chance.”

“The cannery fire is supposed to happen on Tuesday,” I lamented. “What if the two are connected?”