‘Please hurry. You know I’m not good with strong emotions. I’m working on that with my therapist, but right now I’m just not.’
‘On my way. There in twenty.’
‘Should I go across the street and get them Cokes?’
‘I don’t know.’ The light at the bottom of the hill turns yellow. Hodges puts on speed and scoots through it. ‘Use your judgment.’
‘But I have so little,’ Holly mourns, and before he can reply, she tells him again to hurry and hangs up.
14
While Bill Hodges was explaining the facts of life to the dazed Oliver Madden and Drew Halliday was settling in to his eggs Benedict, Pete Saubers was in the nurse’s office at Northfield High, pleading a migraine headache and asking to be dismissed from afternoon classes. The nurse wrote the slip with no hesitation, because Pete is one of the good ones: Honor Roll, lots of school activities (although no sports), near-perfect attendance. Also, he looked like someone suffering a migraine. His face was far too pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. She asked if he needed a ride home.
‘No,’ Pete said, ‘I’ll take the bus.’
She offered him Advil – it’s all she’s allowed to dispense for headaches – but he shook his head, telling her he had special pills for migraines. He forgot to bring one that day, but said he’d take one as soon as he got home. He felt okay about this story, because he really did have a headache. Just not the physical kind. His headache was Andrew Halliday, and one of his mother’s Zomig tablets (she’s the migraine sufferer in the family) wouldn’t cure it.
Pete knew he had to take care of that himself.
15
He has no intention of taking the bus. The next one won’t be along for half an hour, and he can be on Sycamore Street in fifteen minutes if he runs, and he will, because this Thursday afternoon is all he has. His mother and father are at work and won’t be home until at least four. Tina won’t be home at all. She says she has been invited to spend a couple of nights with her old friend Barbara Robinson on Teaberry Lane, but Pete thinks she might actually have invited herself. If so, it probably means his sister hasn’t given up her hopes of attending Chapel Ridge. Pete thinks he might still be able to help her with that, but only if this afternoon goes perfectly. That’s a very big if, but he has to do something. If he doesn’t, he’ll go crazy.
He’s lost weight since foolishly making the acquaintance of Andrew Halliday, the acne of his early teens is enjoying a return engagement, and of course there are those dark circles under his eyes. He’s been sleeping badly, and what sleep he’s managed has been haunted by bad dreams. After awakening from these – often curled in a fetal position, pajamas damp with sweat – Pete has lain awake, trying to think his way out of the trap he’s in.
He genuinely forgot the class officers’ retreat, and when Mrs Gibson, the chaperone, reminded him of it yesterday, it shocked his brain into a higher gear. That was after period five French, and before he got to his calculus class, only two doors down, he had the rough outline of a plan in his head. It partly depends on an old red wagon, and even more on a certain set of keys.
Once out of sight of the school, Pete calls Andrew Halliday Rare Editions, a number he wishes he did not have on speed dial. He gets the answering machine, which at least saves him another arkie-barkie. The message he leaves is a long one, and the machine cuts him off as he’s finishing, but that’s okay.
If he can get those notebooks out of the house, the police will find nothing, search warrant or no search warrant. He’s confident his parents will keep quiet about the mystery money, as they have all along. As Pete slips his cell back into the pocket of his chinos, a phrase from freshman Latin pops into his head. It’s a scary one in any language, but it fits this situation perfectly.
Alea iacta est.
The die is cast.
16
Before going into his house, Pete ducks into the garage to make sure Tina’s old Kettler wagon is still there. A lot of their stuff went in the yard sale they had before moving from their old house, but Teens had made such a fuss about the Kettler, with its old-fashioned wooden sides, that their mother relented. At first Pete doesn’t see it and gets worried. Then he spots it in the corner, and lets out a sigh of relief. He remembers Teens trundling back and forth across the lawn with all her stuffed toys packed into it (Mrs Beasley holding pride of place, of course), telling them that they were going on a nik-nik in the woods, with devil-ham samwitches and ginger-snap tooties for children who could behave. Those had been good days, before the lunatic driving the stolen Mercedes had changed everything.
No more nik-niks after that.