But Plunkett knew that. He’d be watching for me. So maybe the safest thing would be to go the long way round. Turn right and keep going down the lanes until I reached the Ferris wheel, then sneak back around on the far side.
I tried to flatten myself against the booth beside me to keep as low a profile as possible while I peered out. I nearly fell into the booth. I realized that it was made of canvas—a canvas skirt around the bottom half, and canvas flaps that rolled down to close off the top. Could I squeeze under the canvas skirt?
It worked. Inside, I breathed a little more easily. Plunkett couldn’t spot me for the moment.
I tiptoed over to peer through a slit in the canvas on the gate side of the booth. I couldn’t see anything at first. Then I spotted movement. A flashlight flicked on, and I could see that Plunkett was peering into another canvas-sided booth a couple of doors down. Not just peering in, but poking into every corner of the booth with something. A stick. No, from the clang it made when it hit something metal, a crowbar.
“Nowhere to hide, little lady.” His voice was low—designed to reach me if I was still nearby, but not to carry beyond the deserted Midway.
The flashlight flicked off.
Okay, it wasn’t as if I’d planned to stay in the booth forever. I waited until his flashlight flicked on again, now one booth closer. Then I slipped out the other side of the booth I was in and under the canvas into the next booth.
I managed to traverse three booths this way, but as I was about to duck under the third one, my head met solid wood. Luckily I managed to stop myself with only a muffled thud. I slipped back into the shadow of the next to last booth and peered out.
Thank goodness for the slightly curving layout of the lanes. I could only see about three booths down. Unless Plunkett was doing only the most cursory searches of the booths he came to, I would have gained on him. Had I gained enough to slip across the lane?
No answer to that unless I tried. I took a deep breath and dashed. Could he hear my footsteps? They sounded like thunder to me. As did my breathing. I reached what I hoped was the safety of a booth on the other side of the lane and hid in the shadows.
“It’s no use, little lady.”
I had to stifle a gasp—he sounded so close. But when I peered out, I saw that he was still several booths away, starting to search another booth—the first booth I’d hidden in.
I waited till he began thrashing about with his crowbar then slipped toward the rear of the booth beside me. Another booth backed up to it. I kept on past that, and then across the second lane. I didn’t stop to get my bearings until I was in the farthest lane, between the last row of booths and the lesser rides that lay on the outskirts of the Midway. The rides didn’t offer as much cover, so I stuck to the inner, booth side of that lane.
I ducked under the canvas of a ringtoss booth and tried to come up with a plan. “Escape from Plunkett” had brought me this far, but it wasn’t really what you’d call a full-fledged plan. More like an aspiration. And I had a feeling “keep dodging around from booth to booth until dawn arrives or someone comes along to rescue me” wasn’t going to work too well. I could get tired. I could get unlucky. Or Plunkett could call in some of his less savory cousins to help him.
I decided to work my way to the Ferris wheel and see if I could do something to make Plunkett think I’d taken off beyond it toward the woods. Plant something, maybe, pretending I’d lost it. Although the only thing I could think of that I might plausibly lose was a shoe. Not a good idea.
I set out toward the Ferris wheel anyway. A pity you could only run it from the ground. I fantasized, for a moment, about having a remote control for the wheel, and whisking myself up to the top, where I could hide behind the iron walls of the passenger cars and laugh down at Plunkett.
Although come to think of it, the cars were probably made of wood, not bulletproof steel.
Then I realized there was something else I could use the Ferris wheel for. A distraction for Plunkett—and maybe a beacon to call for help. If the Ferris wheel started running in the middle of the night, someone would come to check on it, wouldn’t they?
First I had to get there. I kept going, slipping from shadow to shadow, flattening myself against the nearest booth if I heard a sound. Once, when I was passing through a gap in the lane, I flattened myself against the ground, and realized, too late, that I’d landed in a sticky puddle of something. Melted snow cone, I hoped.
I finally reached the Ferris wheel and took shelter behind the controls. I took a few deep breaths, then reached over to pull the switch that would set the wheel in motion.
Nothing happened.