Hostage (3 page)

Jodie is the beauty of the family. She is fussy about everything around her being beautiful, too. Three of my aunts had gone together to get her the bedspreads and curtains and everything that went with them for her ninth birthday. Unfortunately, I got to “enjoy” them, too. Ruffled pink and white
checks, with embroidered rosebuds. I felt as out of place in that room as a kumquat in a bouquet of roses.

Jodie, of course, looked perfect in that delicate setting. And she kept the room perfectly in order. Everything I did was wrong, from leaving my orange sweater lying where it clashed with the pink and white checks to piling books on the elegant white dresser or nightstand. And instead of a decent reading lamp, I had this cute little deal that wouldn't take more than a sixty-watt bulb, with a ruffled pink-and-white-checked shade.

So I was ecstatic about the prospect of privacy, bookcases that held books instead of Barbies and stuffed toys, and a cool blue-and-white room without ruffles.

We each had to pack our own things to move, and some of my stuff had been in boxes most of the summer. But there was still plenty to do when we finally got the word that we could start moving in the following weekend, the one just after school started.

My friend Nancy came over to help me. But before we started pulling things out of the closet, she had something to tell me. “Didn't you say the truck that hauled away the Andersons' stuff was plain white, kind of small?”

“Yes, why?” I looked up from the sweater in my hands, trying to decide whether it was worth keeping or if I should put it in the bag for the Salvation Army.

“Well, on the way over here I saw a truck that sort of looked like you'd described. Only it had a logo painted on the side and the back. A symbol of a couple of tall trees, pines or something. And it said, ‘Evergreen Industries,' and had a phone number. I wondered if it could be the same truck. I mean, they could have painted on the other stuff after they left here if they wanted to keep on using it.”

“Jeff gave the license number to the police,” I reminded her. “Seems like in the last couple of months they'd have spotted it if it were still around.”

“Ever hear of changing plates?” Nancy asked. “It's only over on Statler Street. You want to go take a look at it?”

It didn't seem likely that the same truck
would be in use in broad daylight for the same purpose, I thought, but what the heck. It wouldn't hurt to check it out. I decided the sweater was too tight for me, and it wasn't pink so Jodie wouldn't like it, so I dropped it in the giveaway bag. “Let's go,” I said.

Approaching the parked truck from the front, it did look pretty much like the one that had driven off with the Andersons' stuff. It gave me a creepy feeling. But when we got close enough to read the license number, it wasn't the one Jeff had memorized. “I'm sure it didn't have anything painted on the sides, either,” I told Nancy. “Otherwise, it could be it.”

Across the street a birthday party was in progress. There were a couple of dozen little kids with balloons, and they were being entertained by a clown doing acrobatics. They were eating ice cream and cake off paper plates, and as we watched, one little girl allowed her plate to tilt. The ice cream slid off and landed in the lap of a small boy sitting near her feet, and he let out a howl.

One of the mothers came with a washcloth and some more ice cream, and somebody else
stepped in what had been spilled on the grass, and for a few minutes we were distracted, seeing how it would all come out.

And then we walked alongside the white truck, and Nancy said, “It looks like it was just freshly painted, don't you think?”

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “And hastily, too. See where they didn't quite get that corner?” I glanced toward the house in front of which it was parked, but nobody seemed to be watching us. “I think I'll write down this license number and give it to Dad. Maybe the police can look it up. In case it's been changed, they could check on this one.”

We turned around and returned to my house, followed by shrieks of laughter from the birthday party. When we looked back from the corner, there was the clown doing cartwheels for the little kids.

“You ever have a party with a clown to entertain?” I asked, and Nancy shook her head.

“I only ever had two parties in my whole life,” she told me. “I had to beg for those, and Mom said it was too much work to do anything fancy.”

Nobody else was around when we got home
except for Jeff, who was practicing. He practices at least four hours a day, which means he almost never has to do any chores like the rest of us. He's as good as anyone I ever saw on TV. He was in the middle of the really fast and difficult piece he was going to play in the competition in October, so I knew he wouldn't want to be interrupted. We went on past the living room and upstairs.

Nancy was looking dreamy. “He plays like an angel, doesn't he?”

“Yeah, he's pretty good. But grumpy if we distract him.”

“I guess geniuses are entitled to have their eccentricities,” Nancy excused him.

“Geniuses are a pain to live with sometimes,” I retorted. “Here, I've nearly filled this box. Let's put all my shorts and jeans in that one, and I'll carry everything on hangers just the way they are, in the back of the van.”

  •  •  •  

When Dad came home, I gave him the slip with the license number on it. “I just thought it might be worth checking on,” I told him. “In case it's the same truck.”

He looked at it and nodded. “Good thinking. I'll pass it along to the police. Might not do much good, it's been so long, but it can't hurt. I've got some paperwork, so I'll be in the den. Would you be a good sport and get me something cold to drink, Kaci? Oh, hi, Nancy, how's everything at your house?”

“Dull,” Nancy said. “Same as always. Nobody in our family ever has an adventure.”

“Count your blessings,” he said, as we'd heard her say this so many times, and she had to laugh.

While we got Dad a tall iced tea, we each got ourself a can of pop, and I picked up a box of those fancy crackers we keep on hand for Grandma Beth when she comes over. “To tide us over until supper,” I said, handing the crackers to Nancy.

Dad was hanging up the phone when we delivered his tea. “Looks like your suspicions might have been worth something,” he said. “That license number belongs to a truck that was stolen two days ago on the other side of town, and it wasn't a white truck. I told them where you saw it, and they're checking it out.”

But by the time the police got there, the truck was gone. The birthday party was over, and nobody nearby had noticed who had driven the truck away.

Dad sighed after talking to the police a second time, just as we were having dinner. “Maybe Mom is right. Maybe it
is
time to get out of this neighborhood. I hate to see anyplace in this town not safe for families to live in, but I guess it's reality today. Crime is up everywhere.”

Mom didn't say, “I told you so.” She felt bad about it, too. We had lots of friends in the few blocks around our old house, and of course we knew someone else was moving into it with a family. “It almost makes me feel guilty,” she confessed as she was testing the spaghetti. “If it isn't safe for us, it isn't any safer for anyone else.”

“Do you think the people with the stolen truck are the same ones who robbed the Andersons, since it was the same kind of truck?” I asked at dinner.

Nobody knew, of course. The Andersons had been horrified about the loss of their TVs
and computer equipment, and even more upset about the poisoning of their dogs. They didn't blame Jeff, though, and they paid him the agreed-upon sum, which made him feel guilty. Not enough so that he didn't take the money, though. They hoped to get at least the antique silverware back. But so far nothing had turned up.

Jodie had just come home from dancing lessons and was still in her pretty pink outfit. Her blond curls jiggled when she moved her head. Even I had to admit she was charming to look at. I happened to know she had a tendency to pinch when nobody was looking, and to snitch whatever I'd hidden for my snacks, and to close my library books so I had to look for my place. “At least the insurance paid for all the things that were stolen, didn't it, Daddy?”

“Yes. But it's not like anybody's getting off free, you know. The reason insurance costs so much is that the insurance company has to pay out claims for losses. In the end, it means we all have to pay more for everything we insure. Wally, watch what you're doing, son.
You just dragged your sleeve through your gravy.”

Wally swiped at himself with a napkin. “Did I tell you our team is playing the Wildcats Friday night, Dad? Can you come watch?”

“I hope so, son. I'll try to see most of the game before my meeting, all right? But remember we're moving this weekend.”

Jodie didn't like the attention to be drawn away from her. “On Saturday I'm in the dance recital. Everybody's coming to that, aren't they?”

“Of course,” Mom said, “moving or not, we're coming.” She looked at Dad. He didn't announce another conflict, but asked her, “Whose idea was it for us to have four kids?”

She laughed. “Yours, I think. Listen up, kids. Every spare moment you have, pack up all your belongings so we'll be all ready to go. That means you, too, Jodie. I'm glad that Bethany is your best friend, but moving comes first, so plan to do your share. Okay?”

We hadn't made it before school started, so that first week I still got to walk to school with Nancy. It was kind of bittersweet, knowing we were doing it for the last times. We were both in middle school. In elementary we had been the oldest class, but now in sixth grade we were the babies, practically.

“The eighth graders are so arrogant!” I told Nancy. “As if they run the whole school!”

“Oh, well,” she said. “Wait until next year. When they move up to senior high,
they
'll be the infants.”

So much of my stuff was packed that it was hard to find anything to put on, and of course everybody else was wearing their best at the beginning of school. Most of them had something new during the first week, but Mom said we didn't
have time to shop until after we got settled into the new house, so I felt self-conscious in my old stuff that everybody had seen a million times.

It was a relief when Mom announced at dinner, “The bedrooms are finished. Tomorrow afternoon I'll take over a load of everything that's packed.”

“How many days' worth of underwear do I have to keep here?” I asked. “Are we going to actually be moved in by Saturday? In spite of Jodie's recital?” I was wondering if I could smuggle a paperback book in and read instead of watching all the twirling of pastel flowers and fairies on the stage. Jodie was going to be a tulip. Pink, of course.

“I think so. The recital's only about an hour. Jeff, I notice you still have a pile of music to pack up, so you'd better get at that. The piano mover is scheduled to be here Friday afternoon.”

“If the piano goes, so do I,” Jeff said. “Is there any reason why I can't stay over there Friday night?”

Nobody told me how much underwear to
save out. Instead, they were talking about all the interesting things everyone else had lined up to do, and how to work out the schedule. I picked at the rest of my dinner and wondered how come nothing thrilling ever happened to me. No Little League games, no dance recitals—though I'd have been petrified if I'd had to get up on the stage and perform, either dancing or playing the piano—no one of the opposite sex watching me with admiration. It seemed as if nobody wanted my input on anything. The only thing I had that was different was my once-a-week allergy shot, and I would just as soon not need that.

I wished something exciting would happen to me.

I should have remembered what Grandma Beth said. “Be careful what you pray for,” she told me once. “You might get it.”

I wasn't praying for anything special, of course. Just wishing, rather wistfully.

Mom and we kids made most of the arrangements for moving. Dad wasn't about to be stuck with packing and actually hauling
things across town to Lofty Cedars Estates. Those things were up to the rest of us.

  •  •  •  

Our house is always crazy in the mornings when everyone's getting ready to leave for the day. On Thursday morning Wally couldn't find his shoes. Jodie was banging on the bathroom door demanding that Jeff hurry up. Mom got an emergency call from a patient at the clinic where she worked. I heard her explaining, for the millionth time since she'd worked there, that she didn't have Mr. Wortman's chart, and he'd have to call her back after she got to work, and she'd tell Dr. Layton as soon as he came in.

She rolled her eyes as she stuck four more slices of bread in the double-sized toaster, and poured herself a cup of coffee. “I don't know why they think I can help them from here, when all the pertinent information is in their charts at the office. It's one of the things I love about a small town. Anybody can get your home phone number. Kaci, you're not going to wear that to school, are you?”

I glanced down at my old jeans and T-shirt. “Yeah, I intended to. We're going to be painting
posters today. I don't want to wreck anything good.”

Mom sighed. “All right. Wally, did you look behind that pile of book bags? Maybe your shoes are under there.”

“I did,” Wally said. “I only found one of them.”

“Then keep looking. You're running out of time.” She raised her voice. “Jodie, stop pounding on that door! And, Jeff, get out of there as soon as you can!”

Dad came in in time to harvest the toast and start buttering it, then opened the refrigerator. “Isn't there any orange juice?”

“Jeff drank the last of it. You'll have to mix up some more. I took a can out of the freezer.”