The Stranger Next Door (11 page)

“I wasn’t sneaking. I was trying to catch my cat.”

“I wish I had a choice, but I’m in it too deep to turn back now.”

“You’ll get caught,” Alex said, “even without me. My parents know I wouldn’t commit arson, and they know I was home with them when the first fire started. They’ll pursue this. You’ll be arrested.”

Mr. Woolsey pulled the bathroom door closed. Alex heard the doorknob jiggling and realized Mr. Woolsey was doing something to it from the other side so that the door wouldn’t open.

Alex heard Mr. Woolsey run toward the front door. He made himself stay quiet. As soon as Mr. Woolsey was gone, Alex would yell for help. He didn’t want to call out too soon, for fear Mr. Woolsey would come back and fire the gun through the bathroom door.

Alex knew that his parents or one of the other families in Valley View Estates would see the fire soon, if they hadn’t already, and that fire trucks would arrive.

He hoped that the firefighters would hear his shouts. If they didn’t . . . No. Alex wouldn’t let himself think about what would happen if they didn’t hear him.

Alex leaned against the door, straining to hear when Mr. Woolsey’s car drove off. Instead he heard the footsteps again, this time running toward the bathroom door.

For an instant, hope flared. Had guilt changed Mr. Woolsey’s mind? Was he going to untie Alex and let him go?

Wishful thinking turned to dread as the smell of gasoline
seeped under the door. Footsteps ran away; the front door slammed shut.

Because the other two fires had been started around the perimeters of the houses, Alex had assumed Mr. Woolsey would do that again, and that it would take some time for the flames to reach this bathroom. Instead Mr. Woolsey had poured gasoline inside the house, next to where Alex was confined.

He heard a muffled curse from outside the bathroom window, followed by the sound of something hitting the wall.

Alex sat on the edge of the bathtub, swung his legs up and over the side, then stood in the tub and peeked out the window.

Mr. Woolsey was pounding on the wall with his gasoline container, trying to shake out a few more drops. Mr. Woolsey had not intended to start a second fire tonight; maybe he had emptied the container at the gray house, and now there wasn’t enough gasoline left to set fire to the tan house.

He saw Mr. Woolsey strike a match, then toss it toward the base of the house. Alex couldn’t see if anything caught fire, but Mr. Woolsey gave a satisfied nod, then ran off.

Alex stood helplessly in the bathtub, listening for the sound of sirens.

Minutes later, fingers of flame gripped the bottom edge of the door, then crawled upward.

Water, Alex thought. I’m in a bathroom. If I can turn on the water, I can stay wet, and keep my clothes from catching fire. He sat down in the tub, facing away from the faucet.

He scooted backward until his hands touched the front of the tub. He groped for the faucet, found it, and turned it. Nothing happened. He yanked it as far as it would go; still nothing.

The main water valve to the house must not be open. Probably the water didn’t get turned on until people were ready to move in.

Thick smoke oozed under the door and rose, curling around Alex’s head. He looked at the small window over the tub. He could probably squeeze through it if he could get it open, but with his hands tied behind him, he couldn’t reach the latch, and there was nothing in the bathroom that he could stand on.

“Help!” Alex screamed. He hadn’t heard any fire trucks arrive, so he didn’t think anyone was near enough to hear him, but he shouted anyway. “Help! I’m trapped in here!”

P
ete flattened himself
on the tree limb. He watched as the man approached Alex. He saw Alex
get in the man’s car. He watched the taillights disappear down the street.

Pete clung to the branch and howled. In his terror at the sound of the gunshot, he had climbed higher than he had ever gone before. The branch beneath him, already bent downward from Pete’s weight, dipped lower when he tried to turn around.

Behind him, he heard Mr. and Mrs. Kendrill call Alex’s name again and again.

“Out here!” Pete shrieked. “Come out here and look. There’s another fire!”

But the people did not come. He would have to climb down by himself.

The branch was too narrow for him to turn around on, so Pete backed cautiously toward the tree trunk, his claws digging into the bark. He had gone only a few feet when he
saw headlights race toward the burning house. Pete lay motionless, his blue eyes wide.

Peering through the leaves, Pete saw the man take rope from the trunk. He saw Alex get out of the car, then run toward the tan house. The man followed him inside.

Soon the man came out alone, without the rope. He got a gasoline can from his car. He ran inside the house, then returned and went to the rear of the building. Pete couldn’t see him then, but he knew what the gasoline was for.

Alex is in there! Pete thought. He hasn’t come out. That horrid man is starting another fire, and this time Alex is inside the house.

Hoping that the man would not see his white fur, Pete backed quickly toward the tree trunk. In his haste, he was not as cautious as he should have been, and his hind feet slipped off the narrow branch.

Pete dangled, his body swinging in the air as his front claws dug desperately into the branch.

He managed to hang on while he swung one hind foot and then the other far enough up to get a grip.

When all his paws were back on the branch, he stretched out as low as he could get and waited for his heart to quit racing. That had been close. Too close.

Pete peered downward, stunned by his narrow escape. The ground seemed so far away that it made him dizzy to look.

Humans were fond of saying that a cat always lands on
all four feet, and most of the time that was true, but if a cat fell by mistake from this height, the cat would be in bad shape, no matter how it landed.

Pete yearned to stay still, and wait for Mr. Kendrill to bring a ladder from the house, and climb up, and carry him to safety—but he couldn’t stay in the tree and wait to be rescued. He had to help Alex.

Pete concentrated on feeling his way along the branch, making sure each paw was in a stable spot before he put his weight on it. He finally reached the trunk of the tree, where he was able to turn around. He yelled for help, feeling more secure now that he was off that wiggly branch.

“Come this way!” he yowled. “Alex is in the burning house!”

Where were his people? Why didn’t they come looking for him and Alex?

His cries brought no response, and Pete knew he could not wait any longer to be rescued. Gripping the tree trunk with his paws, he lowered his head and started down the tree face first. Quickly, before he lost his courage, he half slid, half climbed down the tree trunk.

Six feet above the ground, he let go with his front paws and shoved off with his hind feet, leaping into the tall grass. Even before he landed, his legs were running toward home. Behind him, he heard the car drive off again.

Pete raced past the rest of the trees, moving faster than
he had ever run before. He leaped onto the back porch, already shouting for help.

“Come out!” Pete cried. “Alex needs help!”

The door opened immediately.

“Pete’s back,” Mrs. Kendrill said. She called out, “Alex? Alex, come home. Pete’s here!”

She held the door, but Pete turned and ran down the steps.

“Pete!” It was Mr. Kendrill this time. “Bad cat! Come back here.”

“Something isn’t right,” Mrs. Kendrill said. “It’s after eight o’clock. Alex wouldn’t just take off like this in the dark, without telling us.”

Pete crept back toward the porch, staying far enough away that he could escape a quick lunge toward him.

Alex’s parents looked at each other for a moment.

“Let’s catch Pete, since he’s here,” Mr. Kendrill said. “Then we’ll look for Alex. I’m sure he’s just walking around calling the cat, but I’ll feel easier when he’s home.”

Mrs. Kendrill grabbed a flashlight. “We’ll be back in a minute, Benjie,” she called.

“I’m coming, too,” Benjie replied as he ran after his parents. “Maybe the red-white-and-blue monster monkeys have kidnapped Alex. They wear costumes to make it look as if they’re patriotic citizens, but underneath they’re
wicked and they steal children and turn them into garbage cans. Or maybe the silver snakes from Saturn have come to Earth disguised as ribbons and Alex had one tied on a present, and when he untied it, it bit him and spit poison up his nose.”

For once, Mr. and Mrs. Kendrill paid no attention to Benjie’s chatter. Instead they followed Pete across the back lot and into the maple grove.

Firelight flickered beyond the trees.

“Look!” Mrs. Kendrill said. “There’s another fire! It’s one of the vacant houses.”

“I’ll go back and call the fire department,” Mr. Kendrill said. “You see if you can catch Pete.”

“Call the police, too!” Pete screeched. “Rescue Alex! He’s still inside one of the houses.”

“Good boy,” Mrs. Kendrill said. “Stay still, and let me pick you up.” She moved slowly toward the cat.

Pete longed to sit quietly while Mrs. Kendrill approached him; he wanted to allow her to carry him home where it was safe. He wanted to hunker over his crunchies for a bedtime snack and then stretch out on the carpet and wash his whiskers. Even more, he wanted to lie on Alex’s bed and get a cat massage.

But he couldn’t go home. Not yet. Not when Alex was inside a burning house. Somehow he had to let the people know where Alex was.

He sat as still as a stuffed toy cat while Mrs. Kendrill came closer.

“Good boy,” she murmured. “Good Pete. No wonder you’re skittery, with houses burning down all around us. I’m going to take you home and give you some kitty num-num.”

Pete’s tail twitched. Kitty num-num was his favorite treat in the whole world. It came in a small can and tasted of tuna and whitefish. Usually Pete got kitty num-num only on Christmas or when Alex decided it was time to celebrate Pete’s birthday. (No one, not even Pete himself, knew what date he had been born, so Alex had chosen an approximate date, and then sometime during that week each year, whenever it was convenient, he made a fuss over Pete, singing “Happy Birthday” and feeding him treats.)

Pete waited until Mrs. Kendrill bent over to grab him, then he bolted toward the house where Alex was held captive.

“Hold still, Pete!” Mrs. Kendrill said. “There will be loud sirens and trucks and people here soon, and they’ll scare the fur off you. Now come back here and let me take you home.”

Pete backed toward the tan house. From inside it, he heard Alex’s voice: “Help! Somebody please help me!”

Pete looked to see if Mrs. Kendrill had heard, but she continued to scowl at Pete as she approached. Humans
don’t hear as well as cats do—more proof of the superiority of cats. He would have to go closer to the burning building.

He felt the heat from the flames; he heard the crackling sound of wood splintering. Thick smoke billowed around him, making it hard to breathe and even harder to see where he was going. Pete’s heart thudded as if he were being chased by a Doberman, but he moved closer to the fire.

A siren rose and fell in the distance, getting louder. Mrs. Kendrill stopped pursuing Pete; she ran toward the intersection of Alder Court and Valley View Drive. “This way!” she cried, waving her arms as she came to the corner. “This way!”

The fire engine slowed just enough to turn the corner, then raced to the end of the street. Shouts filled the night air as the three firefighters, wearing bright yellow slickers, leaped down.

Trembling with fear, Pete watched them approach. He hated loud noises and quick movements. At any other time of his life, he would have streaked for home at even a hint of such commotion.

This night, he stayed where he was. Dwarfed by the tower of flame behind him and the huge equipment before him, Pete arched his back, stood all his fur on end, and opened his mouth wide.

“Over here!” he screeched. “Come to this house first. Alex is inside!”

His cries were drowned out by the shouting firefighters and water gushing from the hoses.

“Pete! Here, Petey, Petey.”

Pete blinked and squinted into the smoke toward Benjie’s voice. He saw Benjie running toward him.

“Hey, kid! Get away from there!” One of the firefighters had spotted Benjie, too.

“I have to get our cat,” Benjie yelled.

“No! It isn’t safe!”

Benjie kept going.

Pete backed farther away from him.

R
ocky walked around
the exterior of his new house, but it was too dark to see anything. He
wished he had a flashlight so he could shine it in the windows. He glanced at his watch: 8:15. Where was Mrs. Woolsey?

“She must have forgotten,” Blake said. “Let’s go back to the motel; I’ll call her and set a time for tomorrow morning.”

As Blake and Rocky started toward their car, a car drove up and a man jumped out and hurried toward them. “I’m Thurgood Woolsey,” he said. “Sorry you had to wait.” He sounded out of breath, as if he had been running. “My wife was detained, and I didn’t know about this appointment. She just called me.”

He kept looking over his shoulder, as if someone were following him.

“Did the arson squad learn anything?” Blake asked.

“What?” Mr. Woolsey looked as if he didn’t know what Blake was talking about. “Oh. Oh, that. I haven’t talked to them. I haven’t been home.”

“I didn’t hear from them today either,” Blake said.

“Can we go inside?” Rocky asked. “I want to see my room.”

Mr. Woolsey fumbled in his pockets. “Oh. I don’t have the key to this house. Can you wait while I drive to my office to get it? It’s only a few blocks away.”