“Yeah, not now.”
“When my life is through…” he sang.
“Shut up, for God’s sake,” I told him.
He chuckled, then rolled his head back on his shoulders and bellowed, “…and the
angels ask me to reeeecaaaaaaaall…”
I slapped my hand over his chapped mouth. “Shut. Up .”
He began to laugh. His whole body shook with gusts of giggles. His eyes ran. Snot blew
out his nostrils on my hand.
It wasn’t easy, but I got him up the stairs, one lurching step at a time. I half-dragged
him through the kitchen, hauled him out the back door, expecting every moment to hear
shouts of discovery behind us. We stumbled drunkenly along the cobblestone walk until I
spied the half-shed where the trash bins were kept.
I unlatched the gate, lowered Savant behind the battered bins. He stretched out and
prepared to go to sleep.
I got out from behind the bins, eased shut the gate, and started back across the yard.
There was no hint of sirens in the chilly night’s breeze. Maybe Guy couldn’t get hold of Jake.
Maybe Jake figured this was one way of eliminating a potential leak in his private life.
Or maybe Guy hadn’t called.
I ran past the black and silent pool and the spectral white marble slab.
Rounding the corner, I came face-to-face with Harry Potter.
No, it just looked like Potter in the gloom. It had to be Wilmer aka Peter Verlane.
Verlane was as startled as I was. “Hey!” he cried out after a second. I took advantage
and shoved him into the pool.
He went in yelling and splashing, making waves and racket enough for a Sea World
main attraction. Lights flared on around the pool courtyard.
“Hey!” shrieked Betty from somewhere behind me.
I ran for the front, past the bewildered-looking caterers with their trays of stuffed
shrimp and crab puffs.
Peter Verlane squelched after me.
As I reached the tree-lined driveway, headlights slid along the banks of rosebushes, and
a car rolled silently through the tall gates. A black Mercedes. For a moment, I froze in that
spotlight.
The driver braked for half a second, then accelerated.
I jumped to the side. I landed lightly in the grass and picked myself up, ready to run.
The car turned sharply, braked, and reversed, heading back my way.
Peter Verlane materialized out of the darkness, sprinting past me. He reached the gates,
swinging them closed. They clanged shut before I could reach them.
“Are you nuts?” I panted. “The caterers are right over there.”
He glared at me defiantly.
The Mercedes purred up behind us. I turned, and Oliver Garibaldi got out of the car.
He wore a red-lined cape. Maybe he thought it was Halloween. Maybe he’d planned on
doing magic tricks. He stared at me with eyes like black holes in his face.
“I am disappointed,” he said.
“Don’t be,” I said.
Betty Sansone came puffing up. She leaned against the tail of the Mercedes. “Savant’s
gone,” she said.
Garibaldi turned to me. I shrugged. He pointed at me, abracadabra style. “You will die.”
“So will you. That’s life.” I turned to the gatekeeper. “Get out of the way.”
Peter looked to Garibaldi. Garibaldi seemed momentarily nonplussed, as though he
couldn’t understand why I hadn’t died to order. The other car door opened. Ava got out.
“Grab him!” she commanded.
Peter and Betty moved forward, then stopped as the familiar sound of sirens in the
night came wafting on the breeze. Betty turned and pelted back toward the house.
Garibaldi stretched out both hands as though he planned on levitating me. “Spirits of
the Abyss, Lords of Hell, cast your darkness on his shell. Break him, burn him, in the night,
destroy my enemy with thy might –”
“Open the gate, Peter,” Guy’s voice said from the other side of the iron bars, and Peter
spun to face him.
That prosaic request seemed to throw Garibaldi momentarily off his stride. He swung
around, the cape gently unfurling in his wake.
“For Christ’s sake, stop him!” exclaimed Ava. And when no one moved, “Pull
yourselves together .”
For Christ’s sake? I bit back a shaky laugh. “Come on, it’s over,” I said. “The cops will
be here in less than a minute.” I walked toward the gate. Motionless, Peter blocked my way,
one hand gripping the metal bars.
“Peter,” Guy said urgently, “Don’t make it worse. Let him out.”
“No,” cried Ava. “Listen to me!”
“Lady, get real,” I said. “Or do you think you can kill me, Guy, Savant, and the
caterers – and the cops won’t notice?”
Peter moved aside, swinging open the gate, and squeezing out past Guy. He
disappeared into the night, his footsteps fading as he ran.
Garibaldi said to me, “Death and despair is your future now.”
“Blue denims and prison food are yours,” I said and slammed the gate behind me.
“Are you okay?” Guy asked. He put his hands to my face as though examining me for
signs of bewitchment.
“Yes. Thanks to you.”
“I’m sure you’d have come up with a Plan B.” He seemed to recall himself, letting me
go.
The blue sedan screeched up the drive, swerved around the Mercedes, and began to
honk furiously for us to open the gate. Ignoring this, I said to Guy, “Savant is stashed in the
shed with the trash bins. Have the cops use luminol when they examine the sculpture by the
swimming pool. I think it’s an altar.”
His eyes looked stricken. Then he said, “What do you mean? Where will you be?”
I said, “Will you do me a favor? Keep my name out of it, if you can?”
“What are you talking about? They all know you were here.” He gestured to the
frantically honking Betty, and Garibaldi and Ava who were arguing furiously across the top
of the Mercedes.
“I don’t think they’re going to have much to say to the cops. The last thing any of them
want is another witness to testify against them.”
Guy’s eyes were colorless in the moonlight. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. And for reasons that I can’t go into, I’m pretty sure the cops won’t push you to
offer my name up. There’s plenty here to convict them all without me.”
“But…if I take credit for finding Savant….”
“You might be able to redeem yourself in the eyes of the faculty and parents who