The Odds of Getting Even (24 page)

Lavender straddled a kitchen chair as we settled on his worn sofa and chair. I glanced at his NASCAR clock. 1:15 p.m. Our time was melting away.

“I'm glad Starr's got a man watching you,” I said, nodding at the car outside.

“Me too,” he admitted. “And to answer your question—sure. I told people I was thinking about the old store for a garage.”

Lavender's fall-apart gorgeous, even in a torn T-shirt and tired jeans. “I told Sam and the Colonel and a twin or two,” he said, hopping up and padding to the kitchen. “Let me get you guys something to eat. It's way past noon.”

I strolled to the window and peeped across the street, at the twins' House of Hair. Four cars and a golf cart sat outside. “If you told the twins, you told the town,” I said.

“The old store will be a good garage,” Dale said as Lavender handed Pepsis and Nabs around.

Lavender sank onto his chair. “I wanted to talk to you about that, little brother. I was going to tell you later, but . . . I've been thinking. That blessed fire took most of my tools. I might try to find work in a garage that has its own tools. Someplace close—Greenville or Kinston, maybe. But not here. Not in Tupelo Landing.”

My world wobbled.

Dale shook his head. “No,” he said. “That would be what? Twenty miles? You'd have to drive back and forth . . .”

“Maybe not,” Lavender said, opening his Nabs. He watched Dale's face. “Maybe it would make sense for me to live somewhere else. For a while.”

Tupelo Landing without Lavender? The sky without blue would make better sense.

“You can't live somewhere else because this is where we live,” Dale explained.

Lavender leaned toward him. “Dale, no matter what I do in this town, I'll never be more than Macon's son. I want to be more than that.”

Dale's soft frown crinkled his brow. “You're already more than that,” he said. “You're my brother. You're Mama's son.”

And you're my date in just seven more years, I thought.

The room went so quiet, I could hear Dale breathe.

Dale tossed his Nabs on the sofa. “I see.
Desperados, mount up,” he said, his voice hard. He walked out, grabbed his bike, and flew across the yard.

“I better catch him,” Harm said, and dashed out the door.

The NASCAR clock on the wall ticked the time away. Lavender raked his fingers through his hair. “Mo, every tool I own burned in that fire. My ride out of here went up in smoke. If I don't get out now, I'll wind up as bitter and twisted as Macon one day. You understand that, don't you?”

I crossed the room,
right
and
kind
fighting inside me like bobcats.

I turned at the door. “I ain't making the same mistake with you that I made with Dale,” I said. I took a deep breath. “I think you're feeling sorry for yourself, and you want to run away. I got news for you. You're going to be Macon Johnson's son no matter how far you go. The Azalea Women don't decide who we are and what we think and do.
We
do.”

He jumped like I'd pinched him. “Feeling sorry for myself?”

“There's other tools in this town and other cars and Grandmother Miss Lacy will back you in a garage. She already said so.” I put my hands on my hips and took the biggest risk of my life so far. “If you leave Dale now, I got just one thing to say to you.”

I gazed into eyes so blue I could float away in them.

“I
won't
go out with you in just seven more years,” I said, my voice wobbling. “Go get yourself a big-haired twin, Lavender Shade Johnson. Because our wedding's off.”

I slammed the door and pedaled away in a blur of tears.

“Are you all right?” Harm asked as I skidded up beside him. Dale had gone pale as a ghost boy on a faded Schwinn.

I nodded—a total lie.

“Whoever locked us in the old store went toward the inn,” I said, trying to focus on the case. “Capers is still our best lead. I say we go there,” I said, and pushed off on my bike.

“No,” Dale said, clamping my handlebar tight. “To capture a Capers, think like a Capers. In her mind, where's the safest hiding place? A place that's already been searched. Where did she make us search?”

“The old fish camp,” Harm and I said at the same time.

“She's loop-brained,” Dale said, nodding. “We were straight-line thinking the day we lost the patrol car and she was already looping back to make a Plan B. She's smart, but she's never run over the Desperados before.”

Somehow it seemed like bad luck to let that one go.

“You mean
run up against
the Desperados,” I said. “And you're right. Let's ride.”

Twenty minutes later, we rumbled through the forest, past the old marl pit, to the fish camp at the edge of the river. We held our breath as the shack door swung open.

“Ba-ba-bing,” Dale said as we stared at the loot from the break-ins. “They moved everything from the store to here. Sad for them, good for us.”

We checked the stash: the collection plate, Attila's bike, a sack of jewelry, Mr. Macon's shoes. “If they didn't need these shoes to fake footprints, they'd have thrown them out,” Dale said.

I wrapped the collection plate in my jacket as the coyotes howled in the distance. “Starr can pick up the rest.”

“Right,” Dale said. “We're meeting Thes a quarter past a while ago at the church,” he added. “We better hurry.”

I was out of breath as I read the clock in the church office. “We got just twenty-four hours left,” I said as I dialed the phone. I left a message on Miss Retzyl's answering machine: “The loot's at the old fish camp shack. Please ask Starr to pick it up—pronto.”

Thes strolled in. “Hey,” he said, smiling. “How's that last puppy?”

Miss Lana says people like pets like themselves. “The
puppy is unreasonably optimistic and has a round head,” I said. “Sorry we're late. Miss Lana says you have a clue for us.”

“An excellent one,” he told us, leading us to a bathroom at the back of the church. “Daddy pays me to tidy up. Last night I found
this
in that vase.” He grabbed a ceramic Garden of Eden vase on a table by a small window, and emptied out a red-brown button.

“The thief came in here,” Harm said, examining the window. He squinted at a thread dangling from the button. “I bet this matches our windowsill thread.”

“It's off a hunting jacket,” Thes said. “I
could
have given it to Starr.”

Come on, Dale, I thought. Give him a puppy.

“Thanks, Thes,” Dale said, and headed for the front door.

Thes hurried to catch up. “About that puppy . . .”

We stepped into the twilight and froze.

A coyote slipped like a ghost-dog from the cemetery—thin, hungry, razor-eyed. It shadowed the edge of the churchyard as another slipped from the tombstones, and another from the brush at the edge of the field. Another, and another.

“They're hunting,” Dale whispered.

In the center of the churchyard, a twitch of orange.

Spitz!

Spitz looked at us, his orange fur puffed, his eyes electric with fear.

The coyotes howled like creatures possessed.

“No!” Thes screamed, and hurled himself from the porch. He dashed for Spitz, his legs pumping as the coyotes charged. “Spitz!” Thes shrieked, grabbing the cat and snatching him to his chest. The coyotes skidded to a halt, eyes glinting.

Before I could think, I'd leaped off the porch with Harm and Dale and run to Thes, shouting and waving my arms as we ran. “Get out of here! We ain't scared! Get!”

We surrounded Thes, facing the coyotes. “Get!”

The lead coyote stared at us thin and ragged as winter's wind.

He took a slow step back and faded into the graveyard. The others followed, melting among tombstones, slipping into the brush and trees along the river.

We turned to Thes. He gasped for breath, his green eyes round as Spitz's.

“That was brave, what you did,” Dale told him.

“Right,” Thes said, his voice shaking. “I don't know what came over me.”

Lavender's Leaving

By the time the Supper Rush rolled around, I'd gone bone tired and Lavender's news had swept the town. “Lavender's leaving?” an Azalea Woman said. “The nerve! Who will take care of our cars?”

Sometimes I say I'd like to give the Azalea Women a piece of my mind. The Colonel says they wouldn't know what to do with it.

I polished off my collard bisque. “Lavender's being recruited by All-Star Repair Teams in Greenville and Kinston,” I said. “You can push a car that far if you work together.”

“Mo,” Little Agnes called from her place with Hannah. “Thanks for the books.”

Miss Lana waltzed over. “I lent her your oldies, sugar.
Cinderella, Alice in Wonderland, The Little Prince
.”

“Happy reading, Little Agnes,” I said as Sal bustled in.

“Mo,” Sal said, her eyes sparkling, “we need to talk.” The Azalea Women's ears perked up. “We'd better take this to your flat,” she whispered.

The Colonel smiled. “Go ahead, Soldier. You need some rest.”

“Is Dale here?” Sal asked, her voice hopeful.

“We'll call him,” I said. “Come on.”

By the time Harm and Dale arrived, Sal had the evidence stretched out in long neat chains along the length of my bed. Our letters now sported sticky notes and paper clips.

“I could use a laser pointer if you have a spare, Mo.”

A laser pointer? Do people own those?

“Mine's temporarily unavailable due to the fact that I don't have one,” I said.

“That's okay, Mo.” She took a sip of water. “These 2-6 style messages are from Capers,” she said, pointing to the first row of notes. “You can see her working out the words. These are her rough drafts. I believe she mailed the final versions. I worked out the messages—here, on the pink sticky notes.”

“Very nice,” Dale murmured, and Sal blushed.

“The second row holds letters from Shell—the Lemon Juice Code.” She gazed into Dale's eyes. “According to my research, World War II spies used book codes. Any book works if both people have the
exact
same book. Like Mo and Capers have the same dictionary, which is why we could crack these. I put Shell's messages on the blue sticky notes. I'll read you the most important ones.”

I am in. I will wait on you.

Babe

Doubt clears your debt to me. The odds of getting even are in our favor.

Shell

Flick is too stupid, need better help.

Babe

No one to send, improvise.

Shell

Everything done but murder. Bank shot no good, pattern broken. Advise.

Babe

Lavender's heart rules everyone. Try him again. Fire? Shell

I gasped. “Fire! That's an order to set the garage fire.”

Sal's eyes filled with tears. “I'm afraid so.”

“But why? Who's Shell?” Dale asked, his voice shaking.

“The
why's
in the message,” Harm said. “Lavender's heart rules everyone—all of you. Because you love him so much. Hurting him would hurt every single one of
you. But what did you ever do to Shell and Capers?” he asked, staring at me.

Sal plucked a last paper from her file—the parking lot letter from Capers's first day in town. “I think this holds your answer.”

She placed the paper, with its orange sticky note, on my bed.

Find those who put me in this cage. Create the doubt that sets your sister free. Revenge is icing on the cake. Shell

“Sets your
sister
free?” I gasped, grabbing the note. “Shell is Capers's
sister?
”

“Deputy Marla Everette is the only girl we've put in a cage,” Dale said. “We put her in jail. And
marl
is ancient shell, like in the marl pit on the way to the fish camp. Remember?” he asked Harm. “I taught you that.”

“Shell. Marl. Marla,” Sal said, slipping her hand into Dale's. “Oh Dale, you're a genius, only disguised as . . . you.”

He squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Salamander. You're smart too.”

Harm studied the notes. “You're both terrifyingly bright. But is this proof? We may need more than this to tie Capers to Marla.”

“DNA proves kinship,” I said, heading for my reject trash from Capers's room and dumping it on my desk.

“Ick,” Sal muttered as I pawed through the garbage.

“Here.” Harm plucked strands of red hair from the litter. He held it up to the light. “Red hair with . . . black roots. Perfect.”

Sal took a new envelope from her satchel and held it open. “The prison will have Marla's DNA on file. Skeeter and I can
try
to rush an analysis through.” She bit her lip as she glanced at my clock: eight p.m. “It will be costly, Desperados, if it's even possible.”

“Done,” Dale said. He slipped up beside me and whispered: “We don't want to look cheap.”

I sighed. If we didn't solve this case soon, Sal would own the agency.

Dear Upstream Mother,

I clued the Colonel and Miss Lana in tonight after Sal left.

“Capers will be back tomorrow,” the Colonel said. “I'll keep an eye on her.”

The Big Reveal is tomorrow at 5. You're invited.

I'd hoped to get us out of school, but Miss Retzyl says if we're truant again, we're academic toast.

With sleep tonight and school tomorrow, we have lots of details to tie up and not much time.

Fingers crossed on the DNA evidence.

Mo

PS: Lavender's leaving Tupelo Landing. A lost heart is a very hard thing to find.