The Crossroads

Zack wasn’t in the tree house. Neither was Davy or Zipper.

Judy saw a paint-splattered aluminum ladder lying in a small clearing. On its side was stenciled O’Claire’s Plumbing.

She was right! She might also be too late.

Sheriff Hargrove was at the house three minutes after Judy dialed 911.

“They were sleeping in the tree house,” Judy told him. “They’re in trouble. The plumber, Billy O’Claire. He’s Miracle Mary’s grandson.” She pointed at the ladder.

“But why would—”

“George’s father killed Tommy and Alice O’Claire.”

“The plumber’s parents?”

“Exactly.”

“What’s that smell?” Hargrove sniffed the peppery air.

“Kerosene.” Judy saw Zack’s lantern shattered on the ground. “They must have dropped it.” Judy scanned the backyard, saw some bent branches. Footprints. “They ran that way. The dog went after them.” She pointed at paw prints in the mud and then a grooved indentation left by a big boot. “So did the plumber.” Judy saw more dog tracks. “This way,” she said.

“Wait a second. It might be best if—”

“This way!”

The sheriff followed Judy down a trail the boys had ripped through the underbrush. When they reached the highway, they saw the plumber’s pickup parked on the shoulder.

“Stay back. Behind that tree there. Now. Go.”

He approached the vehicle. “Mr. O’Claire? Mr. O’Claire?”

There was no response.

“He’s not here!”

Judy squinted, looked up and down Route 13.

“See that tall grass near the graveyard?” she said. “It’s been trampled down!”

“Yeah.” Hargrove started jogging. Judy ran after him. She was faster.

“Zack?” Judy yelled between breaths. “Zack!”

A dog barked.

“Zipper?” she called out.

The dog barked louder. Judy and the sheriff crested cemetery hill. She saw Zack standing behind the railings.

“Zack!”

Hargrove ran around the fence, found the gate. Judy worked her arms through the bars so she could hug Zack.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

“Where’s Davy? Is Davy okay?”

“Davy went home,” Zack said. “The farm bell rang. He had chores to do.”

Sheriff Hargrove worked his way through the graveyard and stood next to Zack and Zipper. “Are you okay, son?”

“Yeah. It was the plumber. He wanted to kill us, so we ran away.”

The sheriff scanned the horizon. “Where’d he go?”

“I don’t know. We hid behind a tombstone all night long.”

“Good for you!” said Judy.

She silently vowed that she’d never let Zack out of her sight again, not until he was eighteen—no, twenty-one!