Tekla picked up the gun, checked what Joe assumed was the safety. She fished a soft, pistol-shaped gun case from a side pocket of the suitcase, slipped the gun and the extra clip into it, zipped it up, and slid it back into the slim pocket.
“Aren’t you going to . . . ?”
“I don’t want to be caught with the guns. Not until we’re out of California. Unsecured, loaded guns on us, and an underage kid in the same car?” She looked at Sam, scowling. “I don’t think so.”
“What about Arnold?”
“I called the school, he’s on his way. I said his daddy was hurt bad, had been assaulted like those others. He . . .” They heard the front door slam, and Arnold called out.
“In here,” Tekla answered as Joe drew deeper behind the drapery. Adult eyes, even Tekla’s, might miss him. But kids were so nosy, and Arnold made him nervous. And what did she mean, guns? Where were the rest? How many guns? What did they have, a whole arsenal?
“What are you doing?” Arnold said, stomping in.
“Get packed,” Tekla said.
He kicked at the corner of the bed. “Why are we leaving this time? What’s happened now?”
“Just get packed. Make it snappy.”
Arnold stomped out. Joe listened to him banging around in the other bedroom as if heaving his possessions into a suitcase. But Joe had to smile. They might think they were hauling out of there, but Harper’s patrol would have a tail on them, pronto. What made them imagine they could dodge the cops in that big white van?
When Sam retreated to the closet again, and Tekla followed him, reaching to sort through another load of clothes, Joe slid up into the suitcase. Feeling carefully along the sides and between the folded layers, he searched for other guns. He shocked himself, quickly drew his paw back, when he uncovered the cold stainless steel of a big, heavy revolver.
It was twice the size of the automatic, smooth and slick to the paw, not holstered, not encased in anything he could carry.
But the one he wanted was the automatic, the gun that could have killed Ben. Feeling into the narrow pocket where he’d seen her stash the padded gun case, he took it in his teeth. Praying the safety was indeed on and that there was no shell in the chamber, gingerly he hauled it out. Easing it to the floor, he half carried, half slid it across to the armoire, guiding the muzzle away from him, all the while keeping an eye on the closet and listening to Arnold banging around; he didn’t want to hear silence from the boy, see him slipping back into the bedroom.
With a careful paw he pushed the gun case under the armoire as far back as he could reach. If she missed this gun and went looking for it, maybe she wouldn’t look here.
The banging from the next room stopped. When Arnold’s footsteps started down the hall Joe slid fast under the armoire, flat on his belly beside the gun case, flat as a sardine mashed in a can.
At the bedroom door, Arnold paused. “You want the suitcases in the van?”
“Leave them by the front door,” Tekla said.
Arnold turned, his footsteps scuffing away down the hall. Joe heard him drop his suitcase by the door. Tekla swung over to the bed, stood a moment as if arranging clothes in the open suitcase, then a thump and click as she closed and latched it. The space beneath the armoire smelled of dust, dust clung to his whiskers, and, peering out, he could see dust under the bed and along the edge of the fallen blankets. He hoped to hell he wasn’t going to sneeze. Across the dusty floor he could clearly see drag marks where he’d moved the gun and that made his heart pound.
Tekla, busy hauling the suitcase out to the entry, barely noticed Sam grappling with his own, smaller suitcase and the wheelchair. He finally got the suitcase aboard, and the chair turned around in the tight space. Tekla was much more helpful in public. At the front of the house Joe heard a door open, but not the front door with its squeaky hinge. The other bedroom door wasopen. Only the garage had been closed.
Could they have another car? He’d never seen them in anything but the van. Could they have kept a car hidden, ready to travel? They meant to leave the van so it would look like they were still home? If they left in a different car, without a description, they’d be hell to find once they got out on the freeways. A cop would have to spot the Bleaks themselves, and because of Tekla’s little tricks with hairstyles, even that could be iffy.
26
Joe heard Tekla drag a suitcase across the entry, heard it clunk down a couple of steps into the garage and the door slam. He heard a click and then a thunk, as if the tailgate of a hatchback or SUV had been opened Skinning out from beneath the armoire, he slipped down the hall, leaving the gun hidden. Halfway down, he froze. The door to the garage opened and Arnold clumped in—but he turned away to the kitchen. Joe heard the refrigerator open. While the kid was occupied, Joe hit for the bench and under it.
Tekla’s purse stood on top. He longed to claw it open and drag out that narrow brown envelope. He pulled deeper into the shadows as Arnold came back munching, smelling of peanut butter. The boy, turning back into the garage, let the door slam behind him: one of those spring-hinged jobs as lethal as a spring-loaded rat trap. Before the door slammed shut Joe tried to see in, see what kind of car, but he got only a glimpse. The space was dim, the big garage door still closed. With Arnold blocking the view, he could see only a dull brown, dirt-encrusted rear fender and open tailgate where the car had been backed in, perhaps for faster loading. Now, with the inner door to the house shut again, he heard the faint sounds of suitcases thumping into the back and the mumble of their voices, could make out only a few scattered words. Behind him Sam was coming down the hall, sounded as if he were pushing his wheelchair, leaning on it in an uneven walk. The garage door opened again and Tekla came into the entry. “Leave the chair, Arnold will bring it. Arnold, help your father get in the car.”
Arnold appeared, shoving the last of his sandwich in his mouth. In that moment, as he clumsily handed his father down the two steps into the garage, Joe saw the SUV more clearly, but it didn’t help much. Faded brown in color and far from new, but he didn’t recognize the make, nor could he see a logo. Creeping out straining to see the license, he sucked back fast as Tekla turned.
Picking up her coat and purse from atop the bench above him, and Sam’s and Arnold’s jackets, she hauled them into the garage, letting the door slam closed. This time Joe heard the dead bolt turn. In a moment the car started, the garage door rumbled up, he heard them pull out and the door rattled down again.
He leaped at the knob, swinging and kicking—but the dead bolt held tight. They were gone, gone before he’d seen much of the car, and sure as hell they were headed for the freeway.
The van still stood in the narrow drive, the van the police would be watching. Paws sweating in his haste, he searched the house for a phone. He looked everywhere, every room, but found only empty jacks. They must have used only their cell phones. Half their belongings were still scattered about. In Arnold’s room, wrinkled clothes, school papers, empty drink cans strewn everywhere. By the front door, the three coats still hung abandoned. But they’d taken the front-door key.
They couldn’t have left it unlocked? Were they gone for good and didn’t care if someone came in? Maybe they had simply left what they didn’t want? Leaping, he swung on the knob until he’d turned it. Holding it, kicking hard against the molding, he fought until he was out of breath but he couldn’t force it open.
He wanted out of there, wanted to get to a phone. Turning, he surveyed the small crowded rooms.
He seldom saw a house he couldn’t break into or out of. Always he and Dulcie were able to jimmy a window or a lock somewhere. But as he made the rounds of the small cottage, leaping up to each sill, he found himself fighting uselessly. The metal bolt locks were driven down hard into the molding; all were so old they maybe wouldn’t slide at all. Didn’t these people ever open a window? The old house had settled, too, making everything even harder to operate. Maybe the bedroom slider would work better; he had seen a narrow patio beyond. Maybe in spite of the position of the bed, they might have used that opening on warm nights.