At the station, I park in front and hurry inside. I recognize the sergeant at the desk, but don’t remember his name.
He gives me a smile. “What can I do for you, little lady?” I shoot him a smile, too. It’s forced, but I don’t think he can tell. Then he blinks and gets that look. “Oh. Hey. You’re Rachel’s daughter, aren’t you?” he says.
And there it is, the “I-remember-what-happened-to-you look-away” look.
I sigh. He can’t help it.
I offer my hand. “Yes. Hi. I’m Erin.”
“Mike,” he says, giving my hand a shake.
“Thanks, Mike. Listen, I’m in kind of a hurry. Is my uncle Victor here?”
“The FBI guy?”
“Yeah. He said he was coming over to check on something.” I shift from one foot to the other, trying not to panic over how much time this is wasting.
Mike shakes his head. “I haven’t seen him, but I just came on half an hour ago.”
“Could he be using the computer in a back room or something?”
“I doubt it. It’s pretty quiet here tonight, but I’ll check.” He picks up the phone and dials an extension, says a few words, then looks at me and shakes his head no.
“Okay. Thanks.” I whirl and race down the hallway to the door.
Mike calls after me, “Hey. Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I say, twisting my hand over my head in an effort at a crazy backward wave. There’s no time to explain. I shoot out through the door, allowing it to bang behind me.
I’m really not fine, though. Not fine at all.
The only place I can think to go is to Spam’s house. Was it just this afternoon that she said those words to me? When Journey and Victor bail on you, you’ll come crawling back to us.
With a sigh, I start the car. She won’t refuse to help me. Not straight to my face.
*
I race up Spam’s stairs to her back door and tap lightly. Mr. Ramos peeks out from behind the curtain. When he sees that it’s me, he opens the door. He’s in the kitchen in his bathrobe eating ice cream.
“Hi, Mr. Ramos, sorry to come by so late.”
“No problem, Erin. She’s in the computer room. Pow-pow, pow-pow.” He pretends like he’s firing a gun with his finger. “She drives me crazy with those games.”
“Thanks.” I enter Spam’s computer room, which looks a lot like command central in the Batcave. Her desk is a wide semicircle with a spot carved in the middle for her to snug up in her desk chair. She has an array of three flat-screen monitors on the desk, two keyboards, and a laptop. And they’re all running views of some colorful, altered universe.
“Die!” Spam mutters as her fingers tap her keyboard.
“Spam?”
“Ahh-hahahaha,” she crows softly. “Got you. And you.”
“Spam?”
She ignores me.
I cross the darkened room and place my hand on her shoulder. She explodes out of the chair and rips off the headphones.
“Erin. You scared the crap out of me.”
I press my hands against my chest because I swear it’s the only thing keeping my heart inside. “Sorry.” I gulp air, trying to catch my breath. “I called your name, but…”
She tosses her headphones on the desk. “What’s up? You look freaked.”
I lean against her chair because my knees are shaking so hard I can hardly stand. “I need your help.”
“Okay,” she says, patting the chair. “Sit down. We’ll talk.”
“No time. We have to go.”
She stands up. “Where are we going?”
I flail my arms. “I’m not sure. I just know we have to go.”
She grabs my hand, pulling me toward a chair. “Explain. Start from the beginning.”
I pull her up. “I’ll tell you in the car.”
She stumbles out the door behind me. The house is dark as we slip through the kitchen. We pause at the back door while she pulls on her red Wellington boots, tucking in the bottom of her red flannel pajama pants with the giant moose heads. She also puts on a heavy coat. Her hand hovers over a garish, hot pink Hello Kitty knitted cap with earflaps and pom-pom kitty ears. I shake my head and she leaves it behind.
I twitch, watching her dig through her purse for her wallet, which she drops into the pocket of her jacket. Then, she drops one cell phone into her pocket and the other one into her boot.
“Let’s go.”
Once we’re in the car, I squeal away from the curb and let the words tumble out. “Principal Roberts killed Miss Peters. I don’t know why, but I have proof.”
“That’s crazy.” She frowns. “So, we’re going to the police?”
“First, we have to rescue Journey. Then we can bring in the police.” I turn the car toward the school.
“What do you mean, rescue Journey?” Spam asks.
“We have to get him away from Principal Roberts before he kills him.”
“Wait, what?” Spam’s voice quivers. “How are we going to do that?”
“How do you think? I’ll distract him and you help Journey escape.”
“Wait. Whoa, whoa. I’m a better distracter,” she says. “You said you had proof. Why can’t we just go to the police?”
“You don’t get it. There isn’t time to explain this whole mess to someone else. Plus, we don’t have a motive. Without that they’ll never believe us.”