02 - Stay Out of the Basement (7 page)

“Well…” Dr. Brewer couldn’t hide his displeasure at Mr. Martinez’s
surprise appearance. He scowled and tried to block the path to the basement
steps.

At least, it seemed that way to Margaret, who watched silently beside her
brother.

Mr. Martinez stepped past Dr. Brewer and pulled open the basement door. “Hi,
guys.” Mr. Martinez gave the two kids a wave, hoisting his briefcase as if it
weighed two tons.

Their father looked surprised to see them there. “Did you kids finish your
lunch?”

“Yeah, it was pretty good,” Casey lied.

The answer seemed to please Dr. Brewer. Adjusting the brim of his Dodgers
cap, he followed Mr. Martinez into the basement, carefully closing and locking
the door behind him.

“Maybe he’ll give Dad his job back,” Casey said, walking back into the
kitchen. He pulled open the refrigerator to look for something for lunch.

“Don’t be stupid,” Margaret said, reaching over him to pull out a container
of egg salad. “If Dad really is growing plants that are part animal, he’ll be
famous. He won’t need a job.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Casey said thoughtfully. “Is that all there is? Just egg
salad?”

“I’ll make you a sandwich,” Margaret offered.

“I’m not really hungry,” Casey replied. “That green stuff made me sick. Why
do you think he wanted us to eat it?”

“I don’t know,” Margaret said. She put a hand on Casey’s slender shoulder.
“I’m really scared, Casey. I wish Mom were home.”

“Me, too,” he said quietly.

Margaret put the egg salad back into the refrigerator. She closed the door,
then leaned her hot forehead against it. “Casey—”

“What?”

“Do you think Dad is telling us the truth?”

“About what?”

“About
anything
?”

“I don’t know,” Casey said, shaking his head. Then his expression suddenly
changed. “There’s one way to find out,” he said, his eyes lighting up.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Margaret pushed herself away from the refrigerator.

“The first chance we get, the first time Dad is away,” Casey whispered,
“let’s go back down in the basement and see for ourselves what Dad is doing.”

They got their chance the next afternoon when their father emerged from the
basement, red metal toolchest in hand. “I promised Mr. Henry next door I’d help
him install a new sink in his bathroom,” he explained, adjusting his Dodgers cap
with his free hand.

“When are you coming back?” Casey asked, glancing at Margaret.

Not very subtle, Casey, Margaret thought, rolling her eyes.

“It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours,” Dr. Brewer said. He
disappeared out the kitchen door.

They watched him cut through the hedges in the backyard and head to Mr.
Henry’s back door. “It’s now or never,” Margaret said, glancing doubtfully at
Casey. “Think we can do this?” She tried the door. Locked, as usual.

“No problem,” Casey said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Go
get a paper clip. I’ll show you what my friend Kevin taught me last week.”

Margaret obediently found a paper clip on her desk and brought it to him.
Casey straightened the clip out, then poked it into the lock. In a few seconds,
he hummed a triumphant fanfare and pulled the door open.

“Now you’re an expert lock picker, huh? Your friend Kevin is a good guy to
know,” Margaret said, shaking her head.

Casey grinned and motioned for Margaret to go first.

“Okay. Let’s not think about it. Let’s just do it,” Margaret said, summoning
her courage and stepping onto the landing.

A few seconds later, they were in the basement.

Knowing a little of what to expect down here didn’t make it any less
frightening. They were hit immediately by a blast of steamy, hot air. The air,
Margaret realized, was so wet, so thick, that droplets immediately clung to her
skin.

Squinting against the sudden bright light, they stopped in the doorway to the
plant room. The plants seemed taller, thicker, more plentiful than the first
time they had ventured down here.

Long, sinewy tendrils drooped from thick yellow stalks. Broad green and
yellow leaves bobbed and trembled, shimmering under the white light. Leaves
slapped against each other, making a soft, wet sound. A fat tomato plopped to the ground.

Everything seemed to shimmer. The plants all seemed to quiver expectantly.
They weren’t standing still. They seemed to be reaching up, reaching out,
quaking with energy as they grew.

Long brown tendrils snaked along the dirt, wrapping themselves around other
plants, around each other. A bushy fern had grown to the ceiling, curved, and
started its way back down again.

“Wow!” Casey cried, impressed with this trembling, glistening jungle. “Are
all these plants really brand-new?”

“I guess so,” Margaret said softly. “They look prehistoric!”

They heard breathing sounds, loud sighing, a low moan coming from the
direction of the supply closet against the wall.

A tendril suddenly swung out from a long stalk. Margaret pulled Casey back.
“Look out. Don’t get too close,” she warned.

“I know,” he said sharply, moving away from her. “Don’t grab me like that.
You scared me.”

The tendril slid harmlessly to the dirt.

“Sorry,” she said, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. “It’s just…
well, you remember last time.”

“I’ll be careful,” he said.

Margaret shuddered.

She heard breathing. Steady, quiet breathing.

These plants are definitely not normal, she thought. She took a step back,
letting her eyes roam over the amazing jungle of slithering, sighing plants.

She was still staring at them when she heard Casey’s terrified scream.

“Help! It’s got me! It’s
got
me!”

Margaret uttered a shriek of terror and spun away from the plants to find her
brother.

“Help!” Casey cried.

Gripped with fear, Margaret took a few steps toward Casey, then saw the
small, gray creature scampering across the floor.

She started to laugh.

“Casey, it’s a squirrel!”

“What?” His voice was several octaves higher than normal. “It—it grabbed my
ankle and—”

“Look,” Margaret said, pointing. “It’s a squirrel. Look how scared it is. It
must have run right into you.”

“Oh.” Casey sighed. The color began to return to his ash-gray face. “I
thought it was a… plant.”

“Right. A furry gray plant,” Margaret said, shaking her head. Her heart was
still thudding in her chest. “You sure gave me a scare, Casey.”

The squirrel stopped several yards away, turned, stood up on its hind legs, and stared back at them, quivering all
over.

“How did a squirrel get down here?” Casey demanded, his voice still shaky.

Margaret shrugged. “Squirrels are always getting in,” she said. “And remember
that chipmunk we couldn’t get rid of?” Then she glanced over to the small
ground-level window at the top of the opposite wall. “That window—it’s open,”
she told Casey. “The squirrel must have climbed in over there.”

“Shoo!” Casey yelled at the squirrel. He started to chase it. The squirrel’s
tail shot right up in the air, and then it took off, running through the tangled
plants. “Get out! Get out!” Casey screamed.

The terrified squirrel, with Casey in close pursuit, circled the plants
twice. Then it headed to the far wall, leapt onto a carton, then onto a higher
carton, then bounded out the open window.

Casey stopped running and stared up at the window.

“Good work,” Margaret said. “Now, let’s get out of here. We don’t know what
anything is. We have no idea what to look for. So we can’t tell if Dad is
telling the truth or not.”

She started toward the stairs, but stopped when she heard the bumping sound.
“Casey—did you hear that?” She searched for her brother, but he was hidden by the thick leaves of the plants. “Casey?”

“Yeah. I heard it,” he answered, still out of her view. “It’s coming from the
supply closet.”

The loud thumping made Margaret shudder. It sounded to her exactly like
someone banging on the closet wall.

“Casey, let’s check it out,” she said.

No reply.

The banging got louder.

“Casey?”

Why wasn’t he answering her?

“Casey—where
are
you? You’re frightening me,” Margaret called,
moving closer to the shimmering plants. Another tomato plopped to the ground, so
near her foot, it made her jump.

Despite the intense heat, she suddenly felt cold all over.

“Casey?”

“Margaret—come here. I’ve found something,” he finally said. He sounded
uncertain, worried.

She hurried around the plants and saw him standing in front of the worktable
beside the supply closet. The banging from the closet had stopped.

“Casey, what’s the matter? You scared me,” Margaret scolded. She stopped and
leaned against the wooden worktable.

“Look,” her brother said, holding up a dark, folded-up bundle. “I found this.
On the floor. Shoved under this worktable.”

“Huh? What is it?” Margaret asked.

Casey unfolded it. It was a suit jacket. A blue suit jacket. A red-striped
necktie was folded inside it.

“It’s Mr. Martinez’s,” Casey said, squeezing the collar of the wrinkled
jacket between his hands. “It’s his jacket and tie.”

Margaret’s mouth dropped open into a wide O of surprise. “You mean he left it
here?”

“If he left it, why was it bundled up and shoved back under the table?” Casey
asked.

Margaret stared at the jacket. She ran her hand over the silky striped tie.

“Did you see Mr. Martinez leave the house yesterday afternoon?” Casey asked.

“No,” Margaret answered. “But he
must
have left. I mean, his car was
gone.”

“He didn’t drive, remember? He told Dad he got a lift.”

Margaret raised her eyes from the wrinkled jacket to her brother’s worried
face. “Casey—what are you saying? That Mr. Martinez didn’t leave? That he was
eaten by a plant or something? That’s ridiculous!”

“Then why were his coat and tie hidden like that?” Casey demanded.

Margaret didn’t have a chance to respond.

They both gasped as they heard loud footsteps on the stairs.

Someone was hurrying down to the basement.

“Hide!” Margaret whispered.

“Where?” Casey asked, his eyes wide with panic.

Margaret leapt up onto the carton, then pulled herself through the small,
open window. A tight squeeze, but she struggled out onto the grass. Then she
turned around to help Casey.

That squirrel turned out to be a friend, she thought, tugging her brother’s
arms as he scrambled out of the basement. It showed us the only escape route.

The afternoon air felt quite cool compared to the steamy basement. Breathing
hard, they both squatted down to peer into the window. “Who is it?” Casey
whispered.

Margaret didn’t have to answer. They both saw their father step into the
white light, his eyes searching the plant room.

“Why did Dad come back?” Casey asked.

“Sshhh!” Margaret held a finger to her lips. Then she climbed to her feet and
pulled Casey toward the back door. “Come on. Hurry.”

The back door was unlocked. They stepped into the kitchen just as their father emerged from the basement, a concerned
expression on his face. “Hey—
there
you are!” he exclaimed.

“Hi, Dad,” Margaret said, trying to sound casual. “Why’d you come back?”

“Had to get more tools,” he answered, studying their faces. He eyed them
suspiciously. “Where
were
you two?”

“Out in the backyard,” Margaret said quickly. “We came in when we heard the
back door slam.”

Dr. Brewer scowled and shook his head. “You never used to lie to me before,”
he said. “I know you went down into the basement again. You left the door wide
open.”

“We just wanted to look,” Casey said quickly, glancing at Margaret, his
expression fearful.

“We found Mr. Martinez’s jacket and tie,” Margaret said. “What happened to
him, Dad?”

“Huh?” The question seemed to catch Dr. Brewer by surprise.

“Why did he leave his jacket and tie down there?” Margaret asked.

“I’m raising two snoops,” her father griped. “Martinez got hot, okay? I have
to keep the basement at a very high, tropical temperature with lots of humidity.
Martinez became uncomfortable. He removed his jacket and tie and put them down
on the worktable. Then he forgot them when he left.”

Dr. Brewer chuckled. “I think he was in a state of shock from everything I
showed him down there. It’s no wonder he forgot his things. But I called
Martinez this morning. I’m going to drive over and return his stuff when I
finish at Mr. Henry’s.”

Margaret saw a smile break out on Casey’s face. She felt relieved, too. It
was good to know that Mr. Martinez was okay.

How awful to suspect my own father of doing something terrible to someone,
she thought.

But she couldn’t help herself. The fear returned every time she saw him.

“I’d better get going,” Dr. Brewer said. Carrying the tools he had picked up,
he started toward the back door. But he stopped at the end of the hall and
turned around. “Don’t go back in the basement, okay? It really could be
dangerous. You could be very sorry.”

Margaret listened to the screen door slam behind him.

Was that a warning—or a threat? she wondered.

Margaret spent Saturday morning biking up in the golden hills with Diane. The
sun burned through the morning smog, and the skies turned blue. A strong breeze
kept them from getting too hot. The narrow road was lined with red and yellow
wildflowers, and Margaret felt as if she were traveling somewhere far, far away.