Death's Door (6 page)
Authors: Betsy Byars
“And your red rain hat's gone too,” Meat said, pointing to a vacant spot on the shelf.
“My hat ...”
The truth dawned on Meat's mother slowly. An intake of breath was the only sign she understood. Without turning to face Chico Jones she said, “My brother is a kind and gentle soul. He has never hurt anyone in his life.”
Chico Jones did not comment.
“If for some reason Neiman took my hat and coat and went to the school, he did not do so to harm anyone. I firmly believe that. My brother is a gentle, gentle man.”
“Any man can become dangerous when threatened.” Chico Jones took out a pad and a pencil. “What kind of car does your brother driveâmake and model, please.”
“Oh, Neiman doesn't drive.”
Lieutenant Jones looked up at her, his pencil still poised over the paper.
“He can't. He's blind as a bat.”
12
BACKSEAT DRIVER
“I probably shouldn't have done that,” Uncle Neiman said. He mumbled the words as if he were talking to himself.
This was the first time Uncle Neiman had spoken since he and Herculeah had left the school. And Herculeah had not spoken since she had recovered from the hit on the head. She didn't intend to either.
It was as if Uncle Neiman's whole goal had been to get her inside this car. And with that accomplished, he was out of ideas.
Herculeah's head still hurt, and so did her throat. But she had put the pain out of her mind.
Her arms were folded over her chest in a pose of defiance. Her teeth were clamped together. She was tense with anger and rage. There were many things she wanted to say, intended to say, but she would outlast him, force him to speak first.
Herculeah had passed the long moments judging her chances. She could shove Uncle Neiman's seat forward, perhaps causing his head to strike the dashboard, but how would she get out of the car?
He was too big for her to squeeze around.
She could slip over and hit the horn, maybe even yell her head off at the same time.
There was nobody to hear her.
Herculeah had quietly rolled down her window so that she could call for help if anyone appeared. But that was a just-in-case thing. On a side street like this, she couldn't count on many pedestrians.
While Herculeah was sitting there with the cool afternoon air blowing on her face, doing nothing to cool her rage, Uncle Neiman spoke again. Since he was facing forward and speaking to himself, she didn't hear his exact words.
“Did you say something?” she asked, her voice cold. To gain control, she was imagining herself an important person with a driver.
He turned his head and said over his shoulder, “I shouldn't have done it.”
“Of course you shouldn't have done it! It's kidnapping,” Herculeah said. “You can go to prison for kidnapping.” She took pleasure in repeating the word.
“It wasn't kidnapping.” He made a gesture that included most of the car. “Kidnapping doesn't have anything to do with this.”
“Except that's what it is.”
He was silent for a moment, apparently too upset to speak. He slumped forward. Herculeah thought he was going to cry. She didn't have to harden her heart against his tears. Her heart was as hard as it got.
“You won't get away with it. My dad is a police detective and my mom's a private eye.” All the things she had wanted to say before now came out, giving her a sense of satisfaction.
She was in control! Backseat driver!
“I know,” he said. Uncle Neiman almost sounded morose now. “I talked to your mother yesterday morning.”
“Yesterday? So that was why she sent me to look for the red-headed manâ” Herculeah broke off.
“Your mother couldn't help me though,” Uncle Neiman went on as if she had not spoken. “But when I heard your name, well, my nephew Albert is always talking about Herculeah. Herculeah did this, Herculeah did that. He's bragged about all the mysteries you've solved until I know them as well as you do. And, well, you just seemed like my last hope.”
Herculeah glanced at the back of his head. Her eyes focused as intently as if she were looking directly into his brain.
She took in his short neck protruding from his sister's raincoat. She saw his wide earsâMeat's earsâunder the brim of his hat. He lifted one hand, and she saw his knobby wrists protruding from the cuffs.
“Help you with what?” Herculeah asked, curious in spite of herself.
“Someone's trying to kill me.”
“Well, that's obvious, and they almost did kill Meat! And Meat's my best friend!”
“I know, I know.”
“So who's doing it?”
Herculeah leaned forward. Gaze level, her gray eyes watched the back of his head. She didn't want to miss a word of this.
He shook his head. “That's just it. I don't know. And don't tell me I must know. That's what your mother said. I do not know.”
He gave a helpless shrug, and then threw back his head in such despair that the red hat dropped into the floor of the back seat. He covered his bare head with both hands.
“OhâOh.”
“Oh, I'll get it,” Herculeah said.
She reached down and retrieved the hat from the floor of the car. She hesitated a moment and then put the hat back on his head.
“Thank you.”
He adjusted the hat, pulling it lower over his face. Then he turned and peered at her from beneath the brim. “I need you to do something for me.”
“I'm not doing anything for youânot one single thing.”
“There's no one else.”
“I'm not going to help a criminal.”
“I'm not a criminal.”
“You're a kidnapper. That's criminal.”
“It's not kidnapping. I just need you to do something for me. I'm going to let you go. You know that. I drove to the school to get Meat, but he wasn't there. He'd gone to the library. And I can't go to the library. I don't even know which library. And look at me!”
He gave a gesture of despair at his clothing. “And I can't be out on the street. That man could be anywhere.”
Herculeah didn't speak for a moment. Neither did Uncle Neiman. The silence seemed to fill the car, along with the fear. Herculeah was surprised that her hair hadn't frizzled.
“I'm not saying I'm going to do it,” she said finally, “but what do you have in mind?”
“I need you to get some money.”
“Rob a bank?”
“No, my bookshop's not far from here, and I always keep money in the safe.”
“So you actually think I'm going to go into the store, open the safe, and bring you some money?”
“I'm hoping that's what you'll do. The shop's probably being watched, so I can't go in, but I'll give you the key. You can go in the back door. The safe's behind the fourth bookcase.”
“What kind of shop is this?”
“A bookstore.”
Herculeah felt a lessening of her tension. A bookstore. There couldn't be any danger in a bookstore. It was her favorite kind of store in the worldânext to Hidden Treasures, the antique store.
And maybe, her thoughts raced, in the bookstore, there would be a telephone! She could call her mother! Tell her what had happened! Say, Come get me!
Uncle Neiman interrupted her thoughts. “Maybe you've heard of my bookstore. Maybe Meat's mentioned it.”
“He mentioned it. It's mysteries mostly, isn't it?” She looked at the back of his head, waiting.
“It's only mystery books.”
“I like mysteries. What's the name of your shop?”
Uncle Neiman sighed.
“Death's Door,” he said.
13
LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS
“Death's Door,” she repeated.
It made her remember that old phrase “at death's door.” People used to use it when someone was about to die.
Herculeah's hair began to frizzle. She was suddenly cold.
She glanced at her window. She thought about rolling it up, but there was still a chance she might yell for help. Also, she knew the chill was not from the outside air.
“That's an awful name for a shop.”
He glanced around in surprise. “Customers like it. They chose it. I had a contest. It was between Murder for Sale, Little Shop of Horrors, or Death's Door.”
“The customers didn't have much to choose from, did they?”
“Everybody who bought a book got to cast a vote. Two booksâtwo votes. Death's Door won by a landslide.”
There was a silence.
Uncle Neiman cleared his throat. “Will you at least let me drive you past?” he asked in a pleading way.
There didn't seem to be any harm in that, Herculeah thought. And besides, it would get them off this deserted street and around people.
“I'm not saying I'll help,” she said cautiously.
“I know. I know.”
“I'm just saying I'm willing to drive past.”
“Thank you. That's all I ask.”
He peered over his shoulder. “Now?”
“Yes, let's get this over with,” she said. It wasn't as much fun to be in control as she had thought. Besides, now that she wasn't as afraid anymore, she was beginning to feel hungry. “I want to get home. My mother's bound to be worried. By now my father's in on it too. He's probably got the whole police force looking for me.”
Uncle Neiman glanced nervously over his shoulder at the thought of the whole police force after him.
“And when I do get homeâif I ever doâI won't be able to study because you made me drop all my books. They're at school! Maybe I could just run back in the school and get them.”
Uncle Neiman didn't bother to answer. He shifted clumsily over into the driver's seat. Apparently he wasn't used to women's raincoats. When he was settled at last, he reached into his raincoat pocket. He pulled out a key and fumbled trying to find the ignition.
“Is this your car?” Herculeah asked suspiciously.
Uncle Neiman didn't answer. He accidentally hit the wrong control and water sprayed onto the windshield.
“Because you sure aren't familiar with it. Maybe I ought to drive. At least I know the difference between the windshield wiper and the ignition.”
Uncle Neiman didn't answer. There was more fumbling at the controls.
She leaned back in her seat and glanced up at the ceiling. “And you say you're not a criminal.” She listed his offenses, counting them off on her fingers. “Kidnapping ! Car theft!” She wished she had enough offenses for the other three fingers. “What do you think a criminal is?”
Herculeah could see his face reflected in the rear-view mirrors. Beneath the brim of his sister's rain hat, his unshaven face was grim.
“A murderer,” he said.
This time the car started.
14
STANDING OUT IN A CROWD
Meat stood at the front window. He had been there ever since Lieutenant Jones had left. He wanted to go over and wait with Mrs. Jones, but he was aware that he, the nephew of the kidnapper, would be the last person the family would want to see.
He sensed that his mother had come into the roomâhe smelled cooking grease. He thought she probably sprayed herself with it, the way other women spray themselves with cologne to make themselves appealing.
He said, “Herculeah hasn't come home yet.”
“Well, it's early.”
“It's not,” he said. He looked at his watch. “It's six oâclock.”
“That late?”
“Yes.” He paused. His voice grew even harder. “Your brother kidnapped her.”
“We don't know that for sure,” his mother said, but she didn't sound convinced.
“I do.”
“Neiman's no kidnapper. He was always the best one of the children. Mama said he was the only one that didn't give her any trouble. âWhy can't you be more like Neiman?' she was always asking us.”
“It's just as well you couldn't.”
“There wasn't a mean bone in his body.”
Meat's voice was cold. “I just hope they're still alive.”
“Don't say such things. Of course they're alive. Come on in the kitchen, Albert. I fixed pork chopsâthe way you like them.”
There was no way Meat didn't like pork chops except still attached to the pig, but for once he wasn't hungry.
“Can you imagine how this makes me feel?” he asked coldly. “To have Herculeah kidnapped by my uncle?”
Meat's mother stood in silence for a moment. She dried her hands anxiously on her apron.
To divert him, she said, “Oh, Albert, when you came in, you were very excited about something.”
“Finding out Uncle Neiman had kidnapped my best friendâmy only friend, might I addâput the whole thing out of my mind.”
“What was it?”
“Well, it was nothing that would help us find Herculeah.”
“Tell me.” She was still drying her hands. “I'm as worried about Herculeah and Neiman as you areâmaybe even more so.”
Meat sighed. “I found a picture of Uncle Neiman in the newspaper.”
“Morning or afternoon paper?”
“Afternoon.”
“I can't believe it. We take that. I missed a picture of my own brother.”
“Mom, he was in a crowd of people. I would have missed him too except he stood out because of his hat. That hat!” He shook his head. “I'll never forget that hat in a million years.”
“I won't either. I started to throw it in the trash can and then I thought, why, what if the trash collector took a liking to itâyou didâand wore it around town and ...” She couldn't finish.
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