The Trap (17 page)

“Actually, I made it up,” I said. I took a deep breath and asked, “Are you the thief, Luis?”

“What good would it do to answer no?” he asked. “Would you believe me?”

“I—I don’t know,” I said truthfully.

I expected him to be angry, but instead he smiled. “I heard Foster tell you and Ashley to be good girls and go home. Ashley went home. You didn’t.”

Before I realized what was happening, Luis gripped my arm, opened the door on the driver’s side of my car, and pushed me onto the seat. “Go home, Julie,” he said.

I was so rattled, it was hard for me to turn on the engine, but somehow I managed it. Automatically, I drove
to Glenda and Gabe’s carport and parked the car. The steps to the observatory loomed over me, and I held the bottom post for support as I gazed upward. The wide blank windows, their blinds shut now like closed eyes—when they were opened, what could they see?

It wasn’t until I reached my bedroom and flopped down on the bed that I allowed myself to think about Luis.

He knew Damien wasn’t the thief. But did he know who the thief was? Could Luis himself be the thief? He hadn’t said he was or wasn’t, and I was still confused. Would he have told me the truth if I hadn’t answered honestly and told him I didn’t know if I’d believe him? As I sat on the bed, hugging myself, I realized I was also just a little bit afraid of Luis. According to what Robin had told me about crimes in mystery novels, the thief should also be the murderer. Right? I didn’t know the answer.

Early Wednesday morning, it began to rain, water streaking in sheets down the windowpanes, closing us snugly inside the house, away from the rest of the world. Last night’s escapade seemed unreal. Ashley’s kitchen knife … Luis’s presence at the Crouches’ house … Both Ashley and Luis had claimed they were protecting me. Why did I find it so hard to believe either of them?

I was glad it was raining. I wanted to stay with Glenda and Gabe inside the safety of the Hollister walls, pulling them around us, letting no one else inside.

After breakfast, I e-mailed Robin. I didn’t know
whether or not I should thank her for calling the sheriff. She’d been trying to protect me. I wrote everything that had happened the night before, then shut down my computer without answering my own e-mail.

I spent the rest of the day playing card games with Gabe and Glenda and baking cookies. The storm passed, and a weak, pale sunlight glinted on the wet bushes and grasses. Unlike the storm, my nervous energy wouldn’t go away, so after dinner I decided to clean the kitchen. While I was working, the phone rang. It wasn’t my house. It wasn’t my telephone. But I didn’t think. I just reached for the phone, answering it.

“Julie? This is Mabel McBride,” the voice said.

“Oh!” I said, suddenly aware of what I was doing. “I’ll call Aunt Glenda.”

“Wait just a minute,” Mrs. McBride said. “First, let me ask, how are you feeling?”

“I—I’m fine,” I said in surprise.

“Then you probably had one of those twenty-four-hour bugs,” she rattled on. “I had told Harvey we’d be picking up both you and Glenda, so when she came out to get in the car and said you couldn’t come with us because you weren’t feeling well, we were sorry.”

“Thank you, but I’m fine now,” I said.

“That’s good news,” she said. “Tell your aunt that the stream’s up and raging. We’re cut off until all that water runs off again.”

“I’ll let you tell her,” I said. “Hold on. I’ll call her.”

Glenda picked up the phone in the living room, and I went back to the kitchen and hung up. I put the finishing touches on my cleaning job. Then I opened a can of
Coke and sat at the kitchen table, trying to sort out my thoughts … thoughts that were making me feel creepy.

In a few moments, Glenda walked in and took a look at the kitchen. “Oh, Julie, what a nice thing to do!” she said.

I smiled at her, drank down the last slurp of soda, and walked to the pantry door to put away the cleaning supplies. I saw the jar of silver polish and pulled it down from the shelf, nearly dropping it. It was heavy. It was solid. I gripped it tightly around the neck and held it out to her. “Aunt Glenda,” I said, “I forgot to tell you that Millie Lee brought this to you on Monday afternoon.”

Glenda looked puzzled. “I wonder why,” she said. “Millie Lee never polishes the silverware.” Then she smiled and said, “Well, that was very thoughtful of her. I must remember to thank her and to ask if I can reimburse her.”

“Aunt Glenda,” I asked, “may I go up to the observatory for a few minutes?”

“Of course,” she answered.

I pulled the key from its hook on the board, realizing again with a sick feeling that the keys to the house were accessible to anyone. I took the flashlight from its drawer. “Stay with Uncle Gabe,” I said as I made sure the kitchen door was locked. “I’ll be right back.”

I stopped in the living room and knelt by Uncle Gabe’s chair. “Were you in the observatory the day Albert Crouch died?” I asked him.

His forehead puckered in a map of wrinkles. “What day was that?” he asked.

“It was on a Wednesday,” I said. I told him the date, too.

“I can’t remember what I was doing that long ago,” he grumbled.

“Think hard,” I said. “Do you remember training your telescope on the Crouches’ house?”

“I use it to look all over the area,” he said slowly, as if he was trying hard to place himself in the observatory at that time. “I like to study the hills in the distance. Have you noticed that each row of hills seems more purple, the farther away they are?”

I put a hand on Gabe’s arm. “Uncle Gabe, on that day do you remember seeing someone you recognized leaving the Crouches’ house? Do you remember a car parked there on the drive?”

Again his forehead puckered. “No,” he said. “Can’t say I do.” Defensively, he added, “And it’s not because I’m getting old. I remember all the important things.”

“Thanks,” I said. I kissed the top of his head and left the house, locking the front door behind me.

The setting sun was a smear of gold, reflecting in deep reds and oranges on the clouds above it as I ran up the stairs to the observatory and opened the door. I swung it shut behind me, then hurried to raise the blinds on all the windows. I bent to aim the telescope.

I stopped, frozen in place, as suddenly all the stray thoughts in my head began to come together and make sense. Even more than that, I realized without a doubt the identity of the thief and murderer.

“I was sure you’d be up here,” a voice said behind me.

I WHIRLED TOWARD THE DOOR, REMEMBERING NOW THAT IN
my eagerness to check things out I had forgotten to lock it.

“Myrtle Dobbs,” I said, my voice trembling in spite of my resolve to remain calm. “How did you get here? I heard the creek was too high for cars to cross.”

“No problem,” she said. “I used the department’s high-ridin’ big-wheel rescue vehicle.”

I dared to ask, “Did Deputy Foster come with you?”

“Nope. Came by myself. To see you.”

I didn’t like the challenging look in her eyes as she stared at me. “I didn’t expect you to come here,” I said, and took a step back.

“Prob’ly not,” she answered. “The people who’ve got enough money to buy these ranch estates aren’t likely to ask workin’ people like me into their homes.” She glanced around and whistled. “Look at all this stuff!” she murmured.

There was only one door, one way out, which she was blocking. Wary, not knowing what Myrtle had in mind, I moved so that the center table was between us.

“I never saw a girl stir up so much trouble as you,” Myrtle said, suddenly focusing all her attention on me. “You coulda got Damien into a lot of trouble. He’s not a thief, you know.”

“He
was.
”

“When he was a kid. That don’t count, and he didn’t steal from the people who live here on the ranch.”

“You’re right. He didn’t,” I said, which surprised her.

She didn’t ask what made me so sure or even if I
did
know the identity of the thief. She just raised her eyebrows, gave a long sigh of relief, and said, “Well, I’m glad you finally came to your senses.”

She glanced around the room again, then stepped through the doorway to the small landing at the top of the stairs. “That’s that, then,” she said. “Thought I’d have to argue you into my way of thinkin’.” She paused, staring at me intently. “Leave it up to Deputy Foster to find out who’s responsible for the thefts. You’re not much of a detective. You’ll have to admit that.”

I couldn’t resist saying, “Does that mean you’ll stop sending me e-mail or instant messages from PDQ?”

Myrtle gave a start. “How’d you figure out it was me?”

“It wasn’t hard,” I said. “You overheard all that I said about Robin and California and the rest of the things you wrote about. I had told people about my best friend, but no one else around here knew Robin’s name—just you and Deputy Foster. When he told us how you could do anything on a computer, I decided you were expert enough to know how to hide your identity.”

She thought a moment, then said, “Okay. No more messages, and you mind your own business and leave Damien alone. Truce.” She disappeared from sight as she clumped down the stairs.

There were things I still had to prove to myself. The sky was darkening quickly, so I trained the telescope on the Crouches’ house. I could see the front door and the drive clearly. If a car had been parked there, it would have been easy to read the license plate. Or if someone had come out of the front door, recognition would not have been a problem.

Gabe couldn’t remember who or what he’d seen, but I knew who it had been. The person who had keys to everyone’s houses and who seemed to help all and know everyone’s business. I hated to believe it, but it had to be Ashley’s grandmother. Millie Lee had mentioned the glint of sun on Gabe’s telescope. I could picture the scene. She had caught the flash of light, looked up, and was sure that Gabe had seen her coming out of the Crouches’ house. She knew he could testify to this. He hadn’t spoken up right away, but he might, once he remembered, once he thought about what he had seen.

Millie Lee must have brooded about it. Each day she had become more nervous about what Gabe might say or do. So it was Millie Lee who had rigged a line across the top step to trip Gabe as he left his observatory, making sure—so she thought—that he wouldn’t remember what he’d seen, put the facts together, and talk to Deputy Foster.

Millie Lee had been in the McBrides’ house when Glenda had called and asked for a ride. Mrs. McBride
had told her husband they’d be taking both of us. Millie Lee knew that Gabe would be home alone again.

She had an alibi because she was working for the Hodges. At least, that was what the Hodges thought.

Millie Lee had access to all the houses from which something had been taken, and she usually knew who was home and who wasn’t. Could she be the one who had been stealing things? Had Mr. Crouch caught her? Had Millie Lee pushed Albert Crouch off his balcony because he’d tried to stop her? She was certainly strong enough. Robin had advised me that all the elements in the mystery had to be connected.

Robin said the murderer had a motive. I was sure that Millie Lee’s original motive had been to steal for money. Then she’d had to resort to murder to keep from getting arrested.

As I straightened and took a step back, I stumbled. The room was so dark, I took a few careful steps and reached for the light switch near the door.

“Don’t turn on the light,” a low voice ordered.

I was startled. My heart nearly stopping, I froze as I recognized the voice. “Millie Lee?” I whispered.

“You got that right,” she said, and let out a long, weary sigh.

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I didn’t intend for you to hear me. I’m not stupid.” She chuckled. “You made it easy, Julie. You left the door open.”

“You’re the thief,” I said, “aren’t you?”

“Thief. That’s a nasty word,” Millie Lee replied. “That’s what Ashley called me too. This afternoon I
dropped my handbag and she found your aunt’s pearl ear clips and necklace. I told her to keep her trap shut because they’re mine. Why shouldn’t I have pearls?”

“They aren’t yours. They’re Glenda’s,” I whispered. “When did you take them?”

“Yesterday, but it don’t matter.”

My eyes were growing used to the darkness, and I could make her out, a tall, broad, lumpy figure standing only an arm’s length away from me.

Her voice deepened as she added, “Ashley remembered seeing Glenda wearing those pearls. She put two and two together and had some crazy idea I should turn myself in. I wasn’t about to. I thought she was busy scrubbin’ out Mrs. Smith’s bathtub, and she sneaked off and telephoned Deputy Sheriff Foster.”

“The Dime Box,” I said. “It was you outside that night, wasn’t it?”

“So what if it was?”

My heart gave a frightened jump, and I took a step toward the door. “Where is Ashley now?” I managed to ask.

“I don’t know,” Millie Lee said. “She took off runnin’ when I tried to stop her.”

I could barely form the words. “Where are Aunt Glenda and Uncle Gabe?”

Her voice held a touch of surprise. “Why, downstairs in their house. Where else would they be?”