Duck the Halls(89)

Mother frowned as she looked down at the box.

“How can you tell, dear?”

“The tape that’s closed up the top doesn’t quite match the tape on the bottom,” I said. “It’s a little more opaque. And there’s a little area right by the tape where it looks as if someone peeled off some tape, and the top layer of the cardboard with it.”

Mother bent down to inspect the label more closely.

“You’re right, dear. I wonder why I didn’t spot that.”

“You have to hold the flashlight at just the right angle,” I said. “You’d probably have noticed it immediately if you’d turned on the lights to do this.” I walked over to the wall and flipped the light switches.

Nothing happened.

I walked out into the hall and flipped a switch out there. Still nothing.

“The lights aren’t working, dear,” Mother said. “I assume it’s something to do with the fire. Or with it being a crime scene.”

I thought for a moment, then shook my head.

“The lights were working fine right after the fire,” I said. “And I’m pretty sure they were on when I was here this afternoon, talking to the chief and Robyn and the fire chief.”

“Then perhaps there was some damage that didn’t come to light until now,” Mother said.

“If there is, that could be dangerous,” I was pulling out my cell phone. “It could be a fire hazard—we should call the fire department. And dammit, I need to cancel all the events we have scheduled here until we’re sure the building is safe and—”

“Drop the cell phone.”

Mother and I both whirled to find Riddick Hedges standing in the doorway to the furnace room. In his left hand he held a flashlight so large it dwarfed Mother’s little pocket light. In his right hand he held a gun.





Chapter 39


“Riddick!” Mother exclaimed. “Just the person we need. There appears to be something wrong with the power. Do you think you can do anything?”

Riddick looked at her for a few moments in disbelief. Actually, I did, too.

“Yes, the power is out because I cut the wires,” Riddick said finally. “Now you”—he focused his flashlight beam on me—“I said drop that phone.”

I leaned over, put the phone on one of the boxes, and then leaned back and tried to look as if the phone were unreachably far from me instead of a good lunge away.

“Not good enough,” he said. “Put it on the ground and kick it over to me.”

Reluctantly, I followed his orders. To my chagrin, he managed to bend over and pick it up while still keeping the gun, the flashlight, and his eyes aimed at us. I wouldn’t have thought him that agile. I noted that he put my phone in his right pants pocket.

“Riddick, dear,” Mother said. “There’s really no need for this.”

“Don’t ‘dear’ me, you bossy old cow,” Riddick said. “You and the witches of St. Clotilda’s have had a lot of fun laughing at me all these years, haven’t you? ‘Poor Riddick—he tries so hard, but he just doesn’t understand anything.’”

I had to admit, his imitation of Mother was spot-on.

“I have always tried to be respectful and supportive of you,” Mother said. “In fact—”

“Shut up,” he said. “There’s some duct tape over on top of those boxes. Get it, and start taping up your ankles.”

Mother and I looked at each other. She raised one eyebrow—the one on the side away from Riddick.

I realized she was asking me what to do. And looking—nervous. Maybe even scared. I wasn’t sure I could remember seeing Mother scared. Or having her ask me for help.

“Sometime this century, ladies,” Riddick barked.

Probably not the time for an existential crisis.

“Let’s look for the duct tape,” I said. And for anything that we could use as a weapon.

If only Mother wasn’t here, I thought, as I scanned the nearby floor and the tops of the boxes. I couldn’t help thinking that if I were alone, I’d have a much better chance of getting the drop on Riddick. Or if I tried and failed, at least I’d only be failing myself. Mother’s slender figure looked alarmingly frail at the moment. And why on earth would anyone over sixty wear boots with dainty little high heels at any time, much less with a foot of snow on the ground? Any escape plan that called for running fast was obviously not going to work.

Mother was playing her tiny flashlight over the top of the boxes. At one point the beam spilled over and illuminated the area around Riddick’s feet, just for a second. There was something by his right leg. It looked a lot like the bright red plastic gas can we kept in the garage. Evidently Riddick had come back to have another go at burning up the junk in the basement. The stuff that almost certainly had never belonged to Mrs. Thornefield. I’d bet Riddick had hauled all her valuable things away, and maybe even sold most of them already.