Seconds Away

CHAPTER 42

Uncle Myron was quiet during the ride home. I expected a lot of questions and a long lecture, but because he sat with me throughout the interrogations, maybe he’d concluded that there was little more to ask.

I hadn’t slept now in more than twenty-four hours. Fatigue was setting in, making my bones feel heavy. Uncle Myron pulled the car to a stop and said, “You were trying to help a friend.”

It seemed more a statement than a question, so I didn’t say anything.

“I get it,” Myron continued. “The need to rescue people. I guess it’s genetic.”

I didn’t know if he meant it came from him or my father. Or both.

“You think you’re doing good. I get that too. But when you upset the balance…”

I waited. Then I said, “So you think, what, people should step back and just let things take their course?”

“No.”

“So what’s your point?”

“Maybe nothing,” Uncle Myron said. “Or maybe I need you to understand that what you’re trying to do isn’t easy. It isn’t black and white.” He shifted in his seat. “Pretend there are a bunch of figurines on a shaky shelf.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Figurines?”

“Just go with me, okay? If one of the figurines tips over and starts to fall, you should reach for it and try to catch it. But if you try too hard or dive after it too clumsily, you might knock down more figurines. You may save the first figurine but ultimately break more.”

He looked at me. I looked at him. Then I said, “I have a question, though.”

Myron grew serious. “Yes?”

“When you say figurines, do you mean like bobble-heads or those weird little Hummel kids that Grandma loves so much?”

He sighed. “I guess I was asking for that, wasn’t I?”

“Because I don’t think I’d want to save any of those,” I said. “They creep me out.”

Myron laughed. “All right, all right.”

“Don’t tell Grandma, okay?”

“Wise guy.”

We got out of the car and went inside. I started heading down to the basement when Myron asked me one last question. “Does all this have something to do with Bat Lady or your wanting to exhume your dad’s grave?”

It was a good question, and he had earned a truthful answer. “I don’t know.”

Down in the basement, I collapsed onto the bed. I had to block out Spoon. If I kept thinking about him lying in the hospital, I’d freeze up. Spoon had pushed through the pain and asked to see me for one reason. He didn’t want us to quit. He wanted us to find out who shot Rachel. Much as I wanted right now to just curl up in a ball and give up, I had to honor that request.

So what was the next step?

My cell phone rang. When I saw on the caller ID that it was Rachel, I sat up, hit the green answer button, and put the phone to my ear. Her voice was distraught and angry. “How could you do that to me?”

“Rachel?”

“There are cops all over my house.”

“Are they asking you questions about the gym bag?”

“They tried to, but my father won’t let them talk to me. Why did you do this, Mickey? Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?”

“We were trying to help. We were trying to-”

“You know what?” she snapped. “I don’t want to hear it. I just called because I wanted to know how Spoon was.”

I thought again about the look on Spoon’s mom’s face. Would I ever forget that? “I don’t know. He’s in critical condition.”

“That poor kid.”

“We were just trying to help find the shooters.”

“Who asked you to do that?”

But I’d had enough of being on the defensive. “You know the answer to that, Rachel.”

She did. The Abeona Shelter.

“We are all linked in this together. You could have trusted us. You could have told us about believing your mom and hiding that gym bag.”

“I was trying to protect you,” she said.

“And I was trying to protect you,” I said, remembering Myron’s dumb figurine metaphor. “Look where that got us.”

Silence.

“You went to Abeona for help, didn’t you?” I said.

“Yes. But Bat Lady told me to leave it alone,” Rachel replied. “Like I could. Like I could just forget what my father had done to my mother-locking her away in a loony bin for all those years. So I hid the gym bag in the locker. Just until I could convince them that this was important to me or, I don’t know, to buy some time. But I messed up, Mickey. I messed up and those two men came after my mother.”

“No,” I said.

“No what?”

“They didn’t kill your mother.”

“What are you talking about? Chief Taylor is here. He says the case against them is open and shut.”

Chief Taylor again.

“What else did he say?”

“He told us they had the murder weapon. He said the ballistics test will show a match.”

“Will show?” I said.

“Yes.”

“How does he know what a test will show?”

“Because it’s obvious?”

“They didn’t do it, Rachel. Spoon figured it out. Whoever killed your mother is still free.”

“That’s impossible.”

I started explaining all the things wrong with the official scenario. She listened in silence. When I was done, Rachel asked in a surprisingly calm voice, “Do you think my father shot us?”

“I don’t know. I mean, it could have been an accident.”

“I don’t see how. Someone shot at me from across the room, but my mother was shot with the gun pressed against her head. How could that be an accident?”

“Maybe,” I ventured slowly, remembering Ema’s theory, “your mother was shot on purpose, but you were hit accidentally.”

We fell into silence, but something was bothering me. Rachel was hit from across the room while her mother was shot in the head from very close. That made sense, of course. The shooter would have been right near Rachel’s mom…

So why was something niggling at the back of my brain?

“Mickey?”

“Yes?”

“I love my father.”

“I know.”

“He would never hurt me, but…”

“But what?”

“But he and Chief Taylor are good friends,” she said. “And they’ve both been acting so suspiciously.”

I gripped the phone a little tighter. Mr. Caldwell and Chief Taylor were friends-and somehow Taylor ends up being the first cop on the scene. That was some coincidence.

I was liking this less and less.

“I think we should talk to the police.”

“And tell them what?” Rachel said. “We’re just kids. We don’t have any proof at all. The first thing any cop will do is tell Chief Taylor.”

She had a point. “I still think it’s our best option.”

“No, it’s not,” Rachel said, her voice coming alive. It was like a switch had been flicked. “Mickey?”

“Yes?”

“Are you up for getting in more trouble?” she asked. “Because I have an idea.”