You Can Run (18 page)

“I didn't like my stepfather, either,” Nick said. “And some days, he scared me good. On those days, I bet I looked just like Trisha did today. Maybe we should check on her.”

“Come on, Nick. It's over. She's home. She's with her mother, who needs her.”

“Maybe,” Nick said. He didn't sound convinced.

I was tired of thinking about Trisha Carnegie. I hadn't wanted to get involved in the first place, but I'd been sucked in because I thought it was my fault she had run away. Now it was my fault—sort of—that she was home again when she didn't want to be. Still, I told myself, her mother needed her—now more than ever.

“I have a day pass for tomorrow. You know, so I can spend some time with my aunt.”

“Oh?”

“So meet me, okay?”

“I can't. I'm grounded. I'm supposed to clean out the garage. The only time I'm allowed out is to go and see my father in the hospital.”

“When?”

“What?”

“When are you going to see your dad?”

“Why?”

“I'll meet you.”

“But—”

“I want to see you, Robyn. Okay?”

I said okay. I told him which hospital my father was in and when I thought I could get there. After he hung up, I put my make-up-with-Mom plan into action.

M
y mother was standing at the kitchen counter drinking a cup of coffee and looking professional in a tailored suit when I got up the next morning.

“I've got to run,” she said.

“Me too,” I said.

She arched an eyebrow. “The garage,” she said.

“Done.”

“Done?”

“Last night.” It had taken me until nearly two in the morning, but I'd finished the job.

My mother carried her coffee mug down the three steps at the back of the kitchen to the door that led to the garage. She opened it. Then she looked back up at me.

“Okay,” she said. “You're ungrounded.”

“Have a nice day, Mom.”

 

. . .

I went to the hospital first. Vern was there, sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. He got up when I entered the room and steered me back into the hall.

“He's still sleeping,” he said. “He woke up for a few minutes last night.”

“Did he say what happened?”

“Some guys jumped him. That's all he knows. The cops don't have anything yet.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “He's probably going to sleep most of the day. I was planning to stick around.” He glanced up and down the hallway. “Is your mother here with you?”

I shook my head. “Vern? Did Dad say anything to you about Trisha?”

“The Hanover girl? You mean, recently? No. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

I tiptoed back into the room and kissed my father on the cheek. I told Vern I'd be back.

 

. . .

Nick wasn't at the park near the hospital when I got there. He wasn't there nearly a half hour later, either. I was beginning to think that he had stood me up when I finally spotted him. He had Beej by one hand. She was straining in the opposite direction, as if she didn't want to be anywhere near him. Then she looked past him to me and our eyes met. Correction: She didn't want to be anywhere near me.

She pulled harder in the opposite direction until Nick stopped, turned to face her, and caught hold of her other hand too. He said something to her. She shook her head. He said something else. She shook her head more vehemently. Nick stood perfectly still. He said something else and then let go of both her hands.

Beej stayed where she was. She and Nick looked at each other for a few moments longer and then Nick nodded in my direction. Beej looked at me again, still not smiling, still giving the impression that I was the last person on the planet she wanted to see, let alone talk to. But she straightened her shoulders, adjusted the battered backpack she was wearing, and together they walked toward me.

“Sorry I'm late,” Nick said. Beej didn't say anything. Nick nudged her toward a picnic table. She sat down and glared at me, as if it were my fault she was here.

“Go on,” Nick said. “Tell Robyn what you told me.”

Beej looked sullenly at me.

“I don't get it,” she said. “Why do you even care? The way Trisha tells it, you always treated her bad.”

Always? Except for the history assignment, I'd never treated her any way at all. I'd barely had anything to do with her. I thought she was weird. . .Oh. Maybe that's what she meant.

“Back at that abandoned building, you said you and Trisha weren't friends,” I said. “So why were you helping her?”

Beej's eyes shifted away from mine. “She was scared. She needed a place to hide. She promised to pay me. She said her mother is rich. She showed me a picture of her house. It's big.” She looked at me. “It's for real, right?”

“Yeah, it's for real,” I said. “But what do you mean, she needed a place to hide? From who? What was she scared of?”

“From her stepfather,” Beej said, as if this were obvious. “She's afraid of him.”

“Afraid of him?” I glanced at Nick. “But he told my father that she always runs away after arguments with her mother. He thinks that's why she took off this time, because her mother is sick and Trisha can't deal with it.”

“Well, he's lying,” Beej said, sounding delighted to be correcting me. “She said he was a horrible person. And she's worried about her mother. She has this piece of crystal that she was always meditating with. She said her mother was sick and she was afraid she wouldn't get better. Then she'd be stuck with Carl. Carl's the reason she took off. And she didn't just run away the way some kids do. She took off without any planning.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, she left home empty-handed,” Beej said. “No clothes, no cash, nothing. When I met up with her, all she had was the clothes she was wearing. She showed me her credit card, but she was afraid to use it. She said if she did, Carl could get an idea of where she was. I offered to use it for her— you know, get some money for her—but she said no, the banks have cameras everywhere and all that would happen is Carl would know who was helping her. But she promised that as soon as her mother got better, she'd pay me.”

“Her mother may not get better,” I said.

Beej slapped her thigh. “Great! How am I supposed to get my camera back?”

That's when I said something stupid. “You have a camera?”

“Of course I have a camera,” Beej said, indignant. “How do you think I took those pictures I had when I met you?” She looked at Nick and said, “That's it. I'm out of here.”

“Robyn didn't mean that the way it sounded,” he said. “She hasn't been around much, you know?”

“No kidding,” Beej said. She turned to me. “You think because I don't live at home, I'm some loser who doesn't have anything?” she said. “Matter of fact, I have two cameras—a vintage still and a video.”

“Beej takes great pictures,” Nick said. “There was a project at the youth center last year—a street art program. Beej's pictures were part of it. She even sold a couple.”

I looked at her, at her fierce eyes, her wild hair, and her pierced eyebrow and decided maybe there was more to her than I had thought.

“Beej has been working on a film project,” Nick said.

She twirled a memory card between her fingers. “This,” she said, “is gonna be great—if I ever finish it. Which is a gigantic
if
now, thanks to you.” She glowered at me again. “Trisha has my digital video cam. You have any idea how many flyers I had to deliver, how many flowers I had to pack, to pay for that camera?”

I glanced at Nick. His expression said, “Don't ask.”

“I should never have listened to Kenny,” Beej said.

“Kenny Merchant?”

“He said, ‘If you help her, she'll definitely pay you.' I'm not even going to get my camera back. She borrowed it—without asking. She had it in her bag when Carl grabbed her.”

“I also talked to Kenny,” Nick said.

“You did?” I said. “When?”

“Last night.” He looked at Beej. “Kenny told me that Trisha's scared but that she wouldn't tell him why. She said the less he knew, the safer he'd be.”

Beej looked mildly surprised. “She told me the same thing,” she said. “Right after she called home.”

“What?”

“She told me the same thing. . .”

“Trisha called home?” I said. Mr. Hanover had told my father and me that, unlike all the other times she had run away, Trisha hadn't called.

“Sure, she called,” Beej said. “To talk to her mother. But Carl answered. He told her he'd come and get her if she wanted, but he wouldn't put her through to her mother.”

“When did she phone home?” I said.

“The day Kenny brought her to my place.Thursday.” The day after Trisha had run. “I was there when she made the call, watching her back. She said all she wanted to do was talk to her mother. Every time she called after that, the call went straight through to voice mail. Trisha left messages, but I bet you anything Carl erased those calls before Trisha's mother could hear them. That's why Trisha wanted the letter. She wanted to know if her mom was okay.”

“What do you mean, you were watching her back?”

“You know, making sure no one grabbed her. She was afraid to go out during the day,” Beej said. “She acted like she was terrified of Carl. On the phone, she promised she wouldn't say anything if he left her mother alone.”

Maybe Nick was right. Trisha wasn't just being stubborn and spiteful. She was afraid—really afraid.

“I believed her and didn't believe her, you know?” Beej said. “She's a little psycho. And the whole credit card thing? I thought that was a scam. I thought she didn't want to use it and she didn't want me to use it because she never planned to pay me. That whole thing about Carl being able to find her if she used it. . .”

“She was right about that,” I said.

Beej snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“The banks can tell when a card was used and where. They have cameras on all their cash machines, so they can see who used it. The cops or someone with good contacts would have seen it was you. Then they'd have started looking for you too. It would have doubled their chances of finding Trisha.”

Beej eyed me suspiciously. “And you know this because—”

“My father used to be a cop.”

Beej gave Nick a sharp look. Nick shrugged apologetically.

“Did she say anything else to you about her stepfather or why she was afraid?” I said.

“She said if she was found, she'd probably be killed.”

“What?” I said.

Beej looked almost apologetic. “I'm just telling you what she said. Like I told you, I didn't believe her. Half the kids on the street, they're spinning stories about why they're there. Most of it isn't true.”

“Yeah,” Nick said grimly. “Most of it's worse than they say. Did she tell you anything else?”

Beej shook her head. A split-second later, she half-nodded. “She said something about dead horses. She said she never liked her stepfather, but she never thought he'd let someone get away with killing animals. Killing horses.”

My heart slammed to a stop. I felt weak in the knees as I looked at Nick. I said, “Maybe you're right. Maybe we should check on Trisha.”

N
ick jogged back to where Beej and I were standing, on the corner of the street where Trisha lived.

“Well?” I said.

Nick shook his head. “There's a car pulled up at the side of the house.You can't see it from the street, though. I had to sneak up and peek through some bushes. And the people next door have a couple of Rottweilers that could use some basic training. They would have ripped me apart if they could have got at me.”

“Maybe that's what they've been trained for,” Beej said. “Wow, look at the size of these houses!” She gazed around in awe.