The Gingerbread Boy (16 page)

The man’s back was to her as he rummaged through her things, pushing aside a pair of socks here, a slip there. He was a tall man, dressed in a blue-jean jacket. His hair was straight and sandy colored against the denim. Catherine knew that hair.

Then she heard the distinct crumpling of paper being unfolded. Cave Pig found Daniel’s letters! Catherine sprung across the bed and snatched her can of pepper spray off her nightstand.

“Put those letters down!” She bellowed.

Calvin turned toward her in surprise. Then he saw her weapon, and a cocky smile came over his face. His eyes glimmered with sinister excitement.

“I’d just hoped to find some money stashed away, not mushy letters from your rock-star lover,” he said. “But these look interesting.”

“Put them down or I’ll shoot!” Catherine warned.

Calvin’s eyes darkened into that hideous shark stare. From six feet away, Catherine could smell liquor cascading from the beast.

“Relax. I’ve only come to take you back home, where you belong.” Calvin growled.

“Just put the letters down!”

Calvin chuckled. He reached toward the dresser, opened his fingers, and let the beloved papers slip back into the drawer.

“What do you want with that wimpy singer,” he said quietly, turning back toward her, “when you could have someone like me? We were always meant to be. Why fight it?”

Catherine sickened at the words. Did Calvin actually believe she’d succumb to such gibberish, especially after breaking into her house and admitting he’d hoped to find money in her dresser?

“I’m not as gullible as I used to be” Catherine said. “I want you to leave my room, walk quietly down the stairs, get my cell phone, and call the police.”

Calvin’s eyes widened. He threw back his head and laughed.

“Call the police on
myself
?” he roared. “That’s a good one, Cathy”

In that instant he reached out to snatch Catherine’s arm, and she pressed the button.

Nothing happened.

She pushed it again, horrified, as Calvin’s grip bit into her arm, yanking her clumsily off the bed.

What had happened? Why wouldn’t the pepper spray work?

And suddenly, as Calvin knocked the can out of her hand and she watched it spin out of sight, it dawned on her. She had forgotten to push in the safety button first.

Too late.

Calvin twisted her arm, wrenching her backward. He plastered his hand over her mouth to prevent screaming.

“Where’s your lover boy now?” he snarled, liquor-drenched breath spewing foul, ugly words in her ear as she struggled in his grip.

Suddenly, he was forcing her out the door. “You’re going home, with me! Even if I have to tie you up or knock you out to get you there. You’ll see that leaving me was a mistake. You’ll understand.”

He screamed as Catherine worked a good-sized fold of the skin on his hand into her mouth and bit down, hard. His grip loosened. Catherine squirmed out of his arms, nearly toppling to the floor. Regaining her balance, she scrambled down the hallway toward the stairs. Calvin raced after her, grasping for a hold, cussing.

Catherine dodged his attempts and flew down the stairway three steps at a time. She pushed against the door at the bottom, wrenching the doorknob at the same time. The door came open and she hurtled into the hallway by the living room.

There, in the dim lighting, stood another wild-eyed figure.

Beth.

“Beth, run! Call the police!” Catherine screamed as Calvin burst out of the door behind her.

But Beth merely took one glance at the snarling madman pursuing Catherine, and her eyes rolled up into her head. The golden haired girl in a silvery nightgown crumpled to the floor like a rag.

With that hope of rescue gone, Catherine’s legs became rubbery as she dashed through the house, toppling lamps, end tables and anything else she could in her wake. The diversions stalled Calvin for seconds only; he leaped over the objects and was right behind her. She raced toward the front door, but had no time to stop and try to unlock it. With so few precious seconds to waste, and Calvin closing in behind, she scrambled into the kitchen, the only direction she could take.

Moron! A trap. Nowhere to go!

Catherine glanced around in desperation. No time to hide no time to open a drawer and snatch a knife. Then her eye caught on the narrow slit in the wall — the half-opened bathroom door. One of the few rooms she knew well. Catherine tore into it and slammed the door behind, turning the lock just as Calvin slammed into the wood. He began to pound and beat on the door the flimsy door she had gazed blankly at so many times from her bathtub retreats.

“You can’t run forever, Cathy! You’re coming with me, you little wench! I’ll show you what I’m made of, I’ll show you so that you’ll
never
forget it!”

Tears blistered Catherine’s eyes as she glanced helplessly around the tiny enclosure, then back toward the door. The banging became thunderous. She saw the door loosening on its hinges, saw it splintering. A panic like she’d never known rose within her.

Was Cave Pig demented enough to try to kill her?
Ironically, she thought of Hazel, and all her warnings about men. Vipers. Tricksters. Never around when you needed them. Could the old woman have been right, after all? She glanced around once more, then her heart jumped as she spotted something she’d noted but hadn’t foreseen as an escape.

The basement door.

But the basement was a trap! It was enormous, musty, and dark. Completely closed off from the outside.

Completely closed off.

An idea struck her. She lunged toward the basement door, unlocked it, and pushed it open. But she didn’t go down. Instead, she crept silently toward the sink, ignored the furious beating on the outside door, actually
welcomed
the noise and opened the door to the tiny cabinet beneath the faucet.

For one of the few times in her life, Catherine thanked God she was tiny.

She bent down and crouched into the cabinet, pushing towels and cleansers out of the way. She pressed breathlessly inside, her knees shoved against her chest, her head cocked painfully behind the pipes. Satisfied that she was squeezed tightly enough inside to close the door, she reached out to close it.

It clicked shut just as Cave Pig burst through the door.

Catherine reached to clench her hand around a bottle of glass cleaner, and faced it toward the door. If Calvin sensed this bluff and peered inside, he was going to get an eyeful.

“You can’t hide from me!” he bellowed “I’ll find you. It’s only a matter of time!”

Catherine froze. Any second she expected the door to pop open and Calvin’s repulsive face to peer inside. She clenched the bottle tightly, her finger cemented against the trigger, glad that this bottle had no such thing as a safety button.

Silence. Her cramped muscles screamed in the agony. The wall jabbed into her back, the acrid smell of spilled cleanser invaded her nose, threatening to make her cough.

Stillness.

Where was he? Had he gone down into the basement yet? Why couldn’t she hear him?

Then she heard his voice muffled from the basement.

Excellent! Her plan worked! But relax… she warned herself, taking a few deep breaths before opening the door silently instead of barging out as she longed to do. Slowly, she unwound her cramped limbs enough to ease out onto the bathroom floor and lumber to her feet. She wobbled toward the basement door, and without glancing down silently pulled it shut and turned the lock.

Why let old Cave Pig realize he was trapped before he absolutely had to realize it?

Then she tiptoed quickly out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.

Seconds later she was unlocking the front door and opening it, listening to Calvin’s muffled raving as he searched for her in the basement. Apparently, he hadn’t found out he’d been locked in, yet. Satisfied she had a little time, Catherine allowed herself a long sigh of relief. She was just about to step into the open air when she noticed the crumpled form in the shimmering pajamas in the far hallway.

Catherine rolled her eyes.

Crap! Beth was still passed out!

What if Calvin, when he discovered he was trapped, got enraged enough to kick open the basement door? That was plausible. What if he saw Beth… and took his demented frustrations out on
her?

It was tempting to leave Beth where she was.

But Catherine couldn’t do it. She hurried over to Beth and bent over her, debating on what to do. At last Catherine struggled to pull the limp blonde down the hallway and into Beth’s own bedroom.

She could now hear Calvin beating on the basement door. She had to hurry!

Not too gently, Catherine yanked Beth across the floor to her bed, then bent down, and pushed and rolled her beneath it. She pushed Beth as far under as she could, even prodded a little further with her foot, until her roommate was out of sight.

Then she dashed out of the room.

Chapter Fourteen

The early morning sun glimmered behind the outline of the rooming house as Joanne marched across the yard toward the front door. Somewhere off in the still morning air a bird sang a lovely song, yet Joanne did not hear it. Her mind was too consumed in worry.

Catherine was such a mess it was frightening. She’d withdrawn into herself so much this weekend that all she’d done was lie in bed, getting up only to use the bathroom. She’d barely had a few hours to recover from Calvin’s attack before the phone call came the next morning. An acquaintance from Maryland had called to say something terrible had happened to Mrs. VanHoofstryver.

And the only person who even had a remote possibility of snapping Catherine out of her depression was missing.

Joanne now stood before the house where Joey lived. Maybe he could help. Maybe he could go talk to Catherine and give some insight as to what was going on with Daniel, even if Catherine said Joey didn’t know where Daniel was.

Joanne refused to believe that. Joey had to know
something
. He had better. Joanne’s best friend’s future was at stake and Joanne would pry the truth from Joey even if it meant knocking him down and sitting on him.

Joanne held her breath and rapped briskly on the front door, then folded her arms against the chill. She stared upward at the old mansion. Her eyes rested on the top floor where tall, narrow windows lined what Catherine said was a ballroom. The thought struck her that if Daniel somehow disappeared for good, just as Catherine’s brother seemed to have done, then Catherine should never set foot in that ballroom again. The memories would destroy her.

Joey had to know where Daniel was!

Charged with anger, Joanne knocked harder on the door. The thudding echoed across the neighborhood.

Finally, a vertical wedge formed in the doorway as it creaked open. The dim outline of a face transformed into a young man with heavy lidded eyes.

“What do you want?” he asked drowsily.

Joanne straightened. “I need to talk with Joey.”

The young man’s eyes narrowed. “Joey who? There are three Joe’s in this place.”

Joanne hesitated. “I don’t remember. He works with Daniel LaMont and The Front. Is he here?”

The fellow cracked the door open a little farther. “Who knows? He’s in and out all the time. Go away.”

Joanne’s eyes flashed. She turned sideways and slammed her ‘wide world of sports’ against the door, knocking it open, causing the kid to stagger backward in shock. She stepped inside, her hands on her hips.

“Tell me where he is,” she demanded, “or next time it’ll be
you
.”

Eyes wide, he pointed through an arched doorway across an enormous room. “See that stairway? Go up two flights. Turn left down a crooked hall. Joey’s room is at the very end. The only room on the end.”

“Thank you,” Joanne said. She brushed past him and strode toward the stairs; the ghosts of the people, smoke and noise Catherine once described now swirling in her mind. She reached the stairway and scurried up, pinching her nose against the thick, musty scents of the old manor. It was hard to imagine this place as ever being the romantic setting Catherine had raved about months ago.

Finally she reached the designated floor, turned left and headed down the hallway. Not a soul was in sight. Good. Let them sleep off drunken binges as she crept past their doorways. After turning and twisting around a series of corners Joanne felt certain were designed to drive people of the late eighteen hundreds insane, she reached the end of the hallway where an enormous oak door loomed before her. She sucked in her breath, then pounded on the door.

No response.

“You’ve got to be home.” Joanne whispered.

She pounded again… and again. The notion to scream “Fire” filled her mind, but she didn’t want to send a dozen half-naked men scrambling out their doors.

Hmmm… maybe she
should
yell ”Fire!”

At last, the door creaked open. A big fellow, no, a
huge
fellow, filled the entrance. Light brown hair spilled into sleepy eyes as he fastened a gray robe around his gangly frame.

He gazed at her impassively. “Yes?”

Joanne’s mind went blank. Joey
was
rather cute in a dopey sort of way, as Catherine had said. She recalled planning to come here and ask Joey about Daniel when Catherine had first met him. Although Joanne never made the visit because Catherine met Daniel shortly thereafter, the sense of
déjà vu
washing over her was disorienting.

Joey continued to gaze at her oddly. “May I help you?”

At last Joanne found her voice. “My name is Joanne. I’m one of Catherine Sealey’s roommates. I need to talk to you about her… and Daniel. It’s important.”

Joey’s sleepy eyes became alert. “Eastie? Is she okay?”

“Absolutely not!”

Joey stood back in silence, then finally gestured her into the dimly lit room. His room was enormous, and, surprisingly, lovely. Joanne’s eyes wandered past an entrance that led into a room with a huge bed, then still into another room filled with computers and blinking, electronic devices. The room she was presently standing in was decorated with an overstuffed sofa, matching chair, lamp, and gleaming coffee table. Her feet sank into carpet that had to be an inch thick.