“So Cheater and Lucky aren’t in immediate danger.” Flinch held up two fingers in a vee. “And we’re okay for the moment.” He uncurled the other two fingers and extended his thumb. “Which just leaves—”
“Ohmygod!” Martin cut Flinch off. “He’s here!”
“Who?” I asked. “Bowdler?” My gut clenched at the thought.
“Not Bowdler,” Martin said. “Torchie.”
“What?” That didn’t make any sense. Torchie lived far northwest of the city, out in the sticks.
“Torchie’s in Philly,” Martin said
“Of course,” Flinch said. “You’re right.”
“What are you two talking about?” I felt like I’d just walked into the middle of a movie. Make that a foreign movie.
“The pattern,” Martin said. “We’re all here. Three of us in the hotel. Two in the hospital. But all in Philadelphia. Just like we all ended up in Edgeview. Torchie has to be here.”
That sounded too wild to me. “How can you explain something like that?”
“We don’t have to explain it,” Martin said. “Just accept that there’s a pattern. That’s what matters. With five of us already here, the hard thing to believe would be if Torchie wasn’t here. But I’d bet anything he is.” He pointed to the phone. “Give him a call.”
I’d lost the sheet I’d printed at the library, but that wasn’t a problem. I dialed information, got Torchie’s folks’ number-there was only one Grieg in Yertzville—and called his house. “Hello. Mrs. Grieg? Is Philip there?”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry. He’s out of town. The dear boy really needed to get away. He hasn’t been the same since that friend of his died. Andy Thalmaker? Was that his name?”
“Eddie Thalmayer,” I said, automatically.
She chatted for a couple minutes, telling me far more than I wanted to know about assorted members of the Grieg family—several of whom had recently been in the hospital or jail—but I also found out what I needed to know. After she was finished, I hung up and told the others, “Torchie’s at an accordion convention.”
“In Philly?” Flinch asked after he and Martin had stopped laughing.
“Yeah. At some Hillville Luxury Motel.”
Martin grabbed the phone book, flipped through it, then read out the address.
“That’s not too far from here,” I said.
“I’ll go get him,” Martin said.
“Take a cab. That’s kind of a seedy area.” I pulled some cash from my pocket and held out a couple twenties.
Martin headed out to get Torchie.
“Why’d you tell Torchie’s mom your name?” Flinch asked.
“I didn’t mean to.” I explained what had happened.
“Just be careful. You don’t know who’s listening to what.” He shook his head. “Man, I’m starting to sound crazy.”
“Nope, that’s not crazy at all. We have no idea what they might be able to do.” I imagined my words moving across the phone lines like a little cluster of yellow sparks. “They probably have all sorts of top secret stuff that most people have no clue about.”
“But there’s one thing they don’t have,” Flinch said.
“What’s that?”
“Us.”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
About forty minutes later, I heard “Oh Susannah” drifting down the hall, rising in volume from the faint yowl of an unhappy feline to the blaring wail of seventeen injured coyotes. The door opened and Torchie, half hidden behind a huge accordion, staggered in. The half I could see above the accordion looked just the same as I remembered—sweaty red hair, freckles, and the smile of someone who had just been handed a whole bag of Oreos and a gallon of ice-cold milk.
“Hi, guys.” He looked over at me. “Man I’m glad you’re not dead. How come they said you were?”
“Long story.” I gave him the basic details. When I was done, I asked, “What about you? How are you doing?”
“Real good.” He put the accordion down on the bed, then said, “Wow. You’ve got sheets and a blanket.”
“And television,” Martin said. He tossed the TV schedule from the newspaper to Torchie. “There’s some great stuff on tonight.”
“You’re controlling your power?” I asked.
“Totally. I’ve hardly burned up anything all summer, except for a tiny part of one cornfield. And our mailbox. But just twice. Oh, and a billboard. I’m real good, unless I get excited.”