The Dead Man in Indian Creek (12 page)

When Pam started to cry, I knew I should leave, but they'd forgotten all about me. I didn't want to embarrass them by trying to tiptoe out the door.

"But, why, Pam?" Parker asked. "Why did you do it?"

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Oh, Parker," she sniffed, "I was so stupid. George made it sound like such an easy way to get some extra money. There were things I needed for the house, for you, for me, so I started helping him with the dolls. Then, I don't know, I thought I loved him, I thought he'd marry me, take care of us, make life easier."

She turned to Parker and her voice rose a little. "You don't know how hard it's been all these years, trying to raise you all by myself. No extra money, hardly enough to pay the rent and buy the groceries. I know it was wrong, but I never thought anyone would be hurt."

Reaching up, she gently touched Parker's bruised cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "If I ever get out of jail, I'll be a better mother, honest I will."

"Jail?" Parker drew back and started at Pam, stunned. "They won't put you in jail, will they?"

"What do you think happens to people who sell drugs?" Pam turned her face away. "The police don't just pat you on the head and tell you not to do it again," she whispered.

Before Parker could say anything more, a nurse appeared with a cartful of little tubes. Stepping up to the bed, she put her hand on Parker's shoulder.

"That's enough for now," she said. "Your mother needs to rest."

Parker rose slowly to his feet, and the nurse smiled at him. "You can come back tomorrow," she added kindly.

Stealing one last look at Pam's pale face, I followed Parker out of the room. I could see how upset he was, and I wished I could think of something comforting to say. But what can you tell your best friend when his mother is going to jail? As far as I know, even Dear Abby hasn't got any advice about a subject like that.

***

That afternoon, Parker and I were sitting on my back steps. He had been unusually quiet ever since we left the hospital, and I wondered what he was thinking about.

After a long stretch of silence, Parker looked at me. Mom had trimmed his hair, and I could actually see his eyes.

"What do you think will happen to Pam?" He pulled Otis close and gave him a hug.

"Dad's going to talk to a lawyer," I said. "He thinks if Pam gives evidence against Evans and Flynn, the judge might go easy on her."

"Will they put her in jail?"

"I don't know," I said. "But whatever happens, my mom says you're staying with us. You and Otis both."

"Really?" Parker smiled for the first time all day. "I was afraid they'd put me in a foster home or something." He buried his face in Otis's fur and hugged him hard.

At that moment, Jennifer came around the corner of the house. Tiffany and Charity were right behind her but they were too involved in one of their games to pay us any attention.

As Jennifer sat down between Parker and me, I heard Tiffany yell, "Quick, run, Flynn's coming. He'll kill us, he'll kill us!"

Charity gave an ear-piercing scream, and she and Tiffany tore past us as if they were truly being chased.

"Help, Help!" they cried. "Save us, Otis, save us!"

Otis sat up straighter and watched them disappear behind the garage. Then he turned to Parker and said, "Whuf?"

"So now it's just a kids' game," Parker observed.

"Not to me." Jennifer shivered. "Not ever."

"Me either." I slid nearer to Jennifer, wishing she weren't sitting so close to Parker.

Otis got to his feet and gave himself a little shake. Then he ambled off toward the garage to check on Tiffany and Charity.

"Maybe he wants to be a hero again," Parker said.

The three of us looked at each other and smiled. I think we'd all had enough heroism for a while.

Behind us, I heard Mom in the kitchen getting dinner ready, and I knew Dad would be home soon. At five thirty on the dot, we'd sit down at the table, and Charity would complain about something on her plate, and Dad would threaten to send her to her room. After dessert, Parker and I would go up to my room and work on this month's book report.

For once in my life, I was perfectly content. The fragrance of an apple pie baking in the oven tickled my nose, and the November sunlight was still warm enough to feel good on my face. At that moment, I didn't care if anything exciting happened to me again for a long, long time.