The Key

chapter thirty

I probably should have panicked, but I was getting a bit jaded. The entire fugitive-from-justice thing was losing what limited novelty value it had once had.

I sighed, pulled my sweater on over Frankie’s pajamas, and stuffed my bare feet into my shoes. It took a few concerted shoves to rouse Peter from his Iron City-induced coma, but once up he moved quickly. In our haste, he forgot about his cap. I didn’t, however. Under the cover of darkness, I slipped it discreetly into the folds of the sofa bed as we trundled it back up.

There was a glint of light on metal on the stairway, and I gasped. Perhaps I was more scared than I realized.

But it was only Frankie. “Follow me,” she whispered, seemingly unaware of the way in which the red and blue of the police flashers bounced off the jewelry studding her face. At least I had one question answered: apparently she did not remove the various rings and studs when she went to sleep.

There were heavy footsteps above us and the sound of Frank’s booming voice. “What car?” he was asking. “Oh, the one parked on the street? It’s not mine, but I sure wish it was.” Even from a distance his tone sounded forced; I might have finally found someone who lied even less well than I did.

I hoped that the car had attracted interest simply because of the make, model, and location and not because they’d somehow connected its plates to Luisa and then to me. But then I heard another voice and the phrase “murder suspect.” It looked like we were going to have to abandon Luisa’s car for the time being.

Frankie guided us quickly through an adjacent utility room where a clothesline caught Peter square in the throat.

“Ooof,” he wheezed, belatedly ducking his head.

The bolt on the cellar door groaned as Frankie undid it, and the squeal of the hinges sounded like an airhorn in the still night. A dog barked in the yard next door.

“Come on,” Frankie urged under her breath as we climbed a set of concrete stairs. And then she took off across the grass.

Frank hadn’t mentioned anything about Frankie being the star of her school track team, but maybe he had been too busy talking up her computer skills. I ran after her at a sprint, and Peter brought up the rear. We reached a chain-link fence, which Frankie scaled with practiced ease. Peter hoisted me up before clambering over it himself.

We were now in the yard of the home directly behind Frank’s. “This way,” whispered Frankie, hanging a sharp left.

Her pace didn’t slow as we scrambled after her, across one yard and then another, skirting the occasional above-ground pool and tarpaulin-covered grill and leaving a trail of barking and yipping dogs in our wake. I caught a brief glimpse of a white poodle throwing itself against a picture window in an agitated frenzy, frustrated by its inability to give chase as we ran past.

Each backyard gave way to a new one in a seemingly endless chain, and my breath was ragged by the time we vaulted a final hedge and hit sidewalk. Frankie drew up short, and I nearly collided with her.

“Where are we going?” Peter asked, skidding to a stop behind me. I was breathing too hard to talk. I’d forgotten just how much I hated suburbia.

“Get down!” said Frankie, yanking my arm. We dived back behind the hedge we’d just vaulted. A second later a police cruiser glided slowly by. Through the leaves, I could make out the faces of the men inside, carefully surveying the quiet street. I willed the car to pass.

Instead, the car drew to a full stop. The night was so quiet that I could hear the sound of a window being lowered. Suddenly, a bright spear of light pierced the ground in front of me.

I held my breath, and I could sense Peter and Frankie holding theirs, too, as the officer panned the flashlight beam over the hedge and assorted other flora lining the sidewalk.

Only a few seconds must have passed, but it felt like hours before the beam was shut off. I could hear the window being raised again, and the car’s tires rolling down the street.

We breathed a collective sigh of relief and picked ourselves up from the ground, brushing at the leaves and twigs clinging to our clothing.

Then there was a sudden click, and a blinding light.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a strange voice asked.

I was at a loss for words.

So I screamed instead.