Disappearance at Hangman's Bluff (18 page)

I climbed back up on the ladder and looked up through the opening we had scratched in the joint between the floorboards. It was wide enough now so that right above me I could make out several pairs of legs. All of them were facing inward, which meant that the prisoners were seated at the kitchen table, all facing one another.

One set of legs had pants and heavy shoes, and since I didn't recognize the shoes, I was pretty sure they belonged to Mr. LaBelle. Another pair of legs had high heels, and since I'd never seen Grandma Em in high heels, I knew they were Mrs. LaBelle's. Farther away, at the other end of the table, were another pair of men's shoes and pants, and that must have been Daddy. Beside him were legs with slacks and darker ankles that had to be Grandma Em.

Almost right above me, in the most perfect position, were the legs I was looking for: Nikes and a pair of blue jeans that stopped a few inches above a pair of pale ankles. It was Donna, and the way she was positioned, she was plenty close enough.

I climbed back down off the ladder, stepped over to the workbench, and checked the glue one last time. Then I used the fly line to pick up the skull and made sure the leader held tight. I took the lighter from my pocket and lit the candle. With that done I climbed back on the ladder, took the wire I had straightened out, and put it up through the hole in the floor.

I glanced in Bee's direction. “Ready?”

“Yes,” came back a choked whisper.

I closed one eye, aimed my wire upward, and jabbed hard.

Up above came an ear-shattering shriek, then “OhmyGod! OhmyGod! I've been stung! Owww, owww!” Next came a bunch of kicking and stomping and scraping as Donna's legs spazzed and jerked, and she tried to figure out what kind of horrible insect or spider had just stung the bejesus out of her.

In spite of how totally terror-stricken I felt at that moment, I couldn't help but smile as I jumped down off the ladder.

Eighteen

W
hat I did next wasn't
exactly silent, but the screaming in the kitchen right above me covered any noise I made. I folded up the ladder and hung it back on the pegboard. Over by the workbench, I looped the chain over my arm, careful not to let it clank, and picked up the fly rod, bringing the tip around until the skull was almost, but not quite, visible to someone standing at the bottom of the basement stairs. Then I waited.

My heart was pounding so hard, I could barely stand. Even with the racket upstairs and the wind howling outside, the thundering of my heart in my chest seemed to echo like jungle drums.

Donna was still screaming and crying and kicking. My little poke had clearly hurt and also scared the pants off of her.

“Calm down, kid,” Lenny snarled for the fifth or sixth time, but Donna just ignored him. Finally I heard him snap at Possum.

“Go down there and find out whatever bit her. Kill the freakin' thing.”

“What're you talkin' about?” Possum grumbled. “Nothin' bit her from down there.”

“Well, somethin' bit her, and she says it's down there. Go kill it, so she shuts up. She's drivin' me nuts with all the screaming.”

Heavy steps came toward the basement stairs. “Leaper!” Possum called.

He turned and went toward the dining room. “Leaper, get up, you lazy piece of garbage.”

I heard a soft thump, and then the dog whined. “What's wrong with you, dog?” Possum said.

Finally he came toward the basement steps again. The door at the top of the stairs opened, and a second later the overhead light came on. I squinted against the unaccustomed brightness and instinctively took a half step back. The skull bounced a little on the end of the line, but I steadied the rod and brought the skull back so it was just outside the spill of light coming through the doorway. I knew Possum couldn't see me, but logic didn't matter, because I was scared half out of my mind.

I counted the steps as he came down, hearing the two squeaky stairs. He reached the bottom, and his feet scuffed on the cement floor. I took a breath and held it and forced myself to wait.

“I hate rats,” he muttered under his breath. “Just leave 'em alone down here and they won't bother nobody. But no, stupid Lenny can't let 'em be.”

He took a couple of deep breaths, sounding almost as frightened as I was; then he came a step toward me. He stopped again, and I worried suddenly that he had spotted shadows thrown by the flickering candlelight showing through the skull's eyeholes. If that happened, he might panic and go back—or worse, call Lenny to come down.

I squeezed my eyes closed and beamed thoughts at him, telling him to take a couple more steps. He stood there forever. I didn't dare breathe. The air grew stale in my lungs and began to burn. I was desperate to exhale, but I couldn't risk that much noise.

Finally Possum took another step. Then he cursed under his breath and took another step, then a third. Three steps had been my signal. I pushed the rod forward a couple inches so the skull with the evil light showing through its eyeholes floated out and seemed to hang in the air, staring right at him. At the same time, I dropped the chain and then kicked it to make it clank, and I made a low moaning sound.

Possum did exactly what I hoped. He let out a scream that was a lot more girlie-sounding than I would have thought possible for such a big man. He also started to turn to run back up the basement stairs, but that was when Bee stepped out of the canning room and bashed him over the head with the Louisville Slugger.

The whole time I had been afraid she wouldn't hit him hard enough, but Bee must have been totally juiced, because she gave him a really good whack. The sound was sort of hollow and squishy, like dropping a watermelon on the floor. Possum hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, and his flashlight and pistol clattered away on the cement.

“Possum?” Lenny's voice came down the stairs. “What're you doin'?”

The sound stirred Bee and me into action. Right away we did what we had talked about. I blew out the candle, put the fly rod on the workbench, and hid the skull under a pile of rags. While I was doing that, Bee grabbed Possum's flashlight and gun and put them on the floor by the coal bin.

All that took about ten seconds; then we rushed to where Possum had collapsed. Each of us grabbed one of his ankles, and we started to drag him. Possum felt as heavy as a dead horse. We both pulled as hard as we could and got him moving. His head was cut from where Bee had hit him, and it left a smear of blood on the cement as we dragged him into the deep shadows over by his flashlight and gun. Tiptoeing as fast as we could, we hurried back to the canning room. No sooner were we inside than Lenny shouted again.

“Possum!” His voice was sharp. “What the heck's goin' on? Is somethin' wrong?”

We pulled the canning-room door most of the way closed, held our breath, and waited. Thirty more seconds went by, and then we heard Lenny again, his voice much closer.

“Possum, answer me, darn you! Stop screwin' around. Don't make me come down there! You ain't gonna like it if I do.”

Another half minute went by, maybe more, and then we heard Lenny's footsteps as he descended the basement stairs. The boards squeaked on the third and then the seventh step, and then we heard his feet scuff the cement.

In the next second he must have seen the bloody trail leading into the other room, because he stopped. “What the . . .” he said softly.

I heard Possum let out a moan from the other room.

“Possum?” Lenny hissed, his voice full of caution.

After another second he stepped into our view. He had his back to us and held a flashlight in his left hand and a pistol in his right hand. He began to shine his light around the room where the coal bin was and he stepped through the door, following the blood.

I knew he must have spotted Possum, because I heard him say, “What happened to you?” as he hurried across the floor.

Possum was moaning louder now and trying to talk. “Gemme outta here. Gemme outta here,” he mumbled. “There's ghosts.”

It was time to move. I pulled the canning-room door open and gave Bee a nudge. She sprang out and tiptoed up the stairs, remembering to step over the two steps that squeaked. I hurried out after her, quickly reaching the top of the stairs and following her toward the kitchen.

As we came around the corner I was hoping we could rescue the hostages right then. I couldn't hear Lenny behind us yet, so all we had to do was untie everyone, run outside, maybe jump in Grandma Em's car, and drive away. We would all go hide somewhere and wait for Judge Gator to show up with the police.

That idea lasted only until I got a good look at the prisoners. Grandma Em, Daddy, and the three LaBelles were each tied to a kitchen chair with thick rope that went around their arms, legs, and chests. I ran to the back of Daddy's chair, but the knots were pulled so tight, I couldn't budge them.

I needed a knife, and I cursed myself for leaving the X-acto on the workbench, but even with that I wouldn't have had enough time. I could already hear Lenny talking to Possum, his voice getting louder as they moved toward the basement stairs.

“Abbey,” Daddy whispered. “Go! Don't let them catch you!”

Grandma Em hissed at Bee, who was pawing through a kitchen drawer looking for a knife. “Do what Mr. Force says. Get out now!”

I looked at Daddy and felt tears spring to my eyes because he was right. We had come so close, but we weren't going to free anyone, especially not if we were caught. And now Lenny would be here any second.

“Go!” Daddy hissed.

There were tears running down Bee's cheeks.

“Bee, get!” Grandma Em whispered.

Bee nodded blindly and turned toward the back door, but I grabbed her arm. “Not that way,” I said. “We'll make too much noise.”

I shoved her toward the hallway. “Go out the downstairs bathroom window.”

The bathroom was just around the corner, a few steps down from the kitchen. Before we left, Bee turned.

“Donna,” she whispered, “tell them you need to go to the bathroom.”

Donna just blinked, too scared to even respond. There were stumbling sounds coming from the basement, which meant Lenny and Possum were starting to climb the stairs. We couldn't wait. I grabbed Bee's arm.

“Donna!” Bee whispered again. “Tell them you have to go to the bathroom! Understand?”

She stared at us, her eyes glazed and dull. More footsteps thumped on the stairs. Finally she nodded.

Once we were in the bathroom, I closed the door silently while Bee moved to the toilet, stood up on the seat, and grabbed the window. As she raised the sash, the sound of the storm rose sharply with the wind whistling through the joint where the two shutters came together. Together we undid the fastener and opened the shutters.

“Out quick,” I whispered.

Bee was bigger than me, and the opening was small. Once she got her shoulders through, I picked up her feet to keep her from kicking and making noise and I shoved her the rest of the way. She thumped onto the ground below. This was followed by a groan and a muffled curse, but a second later she was on her feet waving me out.

Behind me in the hallway, very close, Possum let out a loud groan. “I'm tellin' ya,” he said, his voice quavering with fear. “They was ghosts.”

“Knock it off,” Lenny said. “There ain't no such thing as ghosts. You musta knocked your head on somethin'.”

I fought down a fresh wave of panic as someone grabbed the doorknob on the other side and started to give it a turn. The door was unlocked.

I climbed onto the toilet seat and stuck my head out the window, but I was too slow. The knob creaked. Lenny was going to grab me or shoot me before I got halfway out. Bee was reaching for my arms, ready to help pull me through, but it didn't matter because I wasn't going to make it.

Behind me the door squeaked as it started to open.

“Hey, Lenny,” Daddy shouted, his voice very loud. “This young lady needs to go to the bathroom right now. Better let her go first, or you're going to have a big mess to clean up.”

Daddy's shout gave me focus. He was thinking, even if I couldn't. It made me calm down and work my way forward. As I wriggled my hips through the window, the wind grabbed my hair and tore at my clothing. Raindrops smacked into me, soaking me at once. I welcomed the violence of the weather, knowing it meant freedom, even though any second hands could grab my ankles and pull me back inside.

Bee reached for my wrists and pulled me through the rest of the way, and we both splashed to the wet ground in a big lump. As soon as I hit I jumped back up, ignoring the pain.

“Quick,” I whispered. “Get me on up your shoulders.”

Bee squatted down, let me on, then struggled to her feet. From there I was able to reach up, grab the window sash, and slide it closed. I just had to hope so much rain hadn't splashed inside that it would give us away.

Bee let me down, and for a second we stood there collecting our wits. Part of me hoped we might have seen the flashing lights of police cars by now, but there was no sign of help. The storm continued to rage all around us, cutting us off from the world.

If the cavalry ever got here, Bee and I could quit what we were doing and let the police do the rescuing. But wishing wasn't going to save anybody. Daddy always said that when you're in a terrible storm, you have to assume that you and whoever you are with are the
only people in the world
, because for at least a few hours you may be that alone. At those times you have to think calmly and clearly and only worry about things you can actually do something about. That meant I couldn't worry about when the police would come.

I looked around and took a deep breath. While the rain was still very heavy, the wind was definitely dropping. Maybe the eye of the storm was approaching. It would mean the winds would become nearly dead calm and the sun might even come out for a brief time, but then the back side of the storm would hit us. While the winds would not be as strong as with the front edge, they would still be plenty bad.

Even as I was thinking these things, a faint sound came from inside the house. Donna LaBelle was looking out at us.

I got on Bee's shoulders again, and she staggered over to the window, and I helped Donna raise the sash. Once it was up, I whispered, “Stick out your head and arms, and we'll pull you the rest of the way. Just be quiet.”

She was standing on the toilet seat, but she looked so scared that I thought she might break into sobs. She just needed to keep quiet long enough to squirm out of the window without getting caught.

“I don't know if I can,” she said in a too loud whisper.

I held my finger to my lips. “Stop it! You have to! Hurry up!”

She looked down at the ground and shook her head.

“Donna!” I said, in a voice sharp enough to make her eyes widen in surprise. “Don't you want to save your parents?”