We were now on the far side of the ride, away from Jennifer. With Jeremy pressed to my chest, his face in my shoulder, I ran to a food stand and, half hiding behind it, peered up over the counter. I wanted to help Jennifer, but I was very much afraid she was beyond help. I was afraid for our lives. I hoped the counter and the other equipment were enough to make us hard for the shooter to see.
I was pretty sure the attacker had been beyond Jennifer, toward the middle of the fairground, when the shooting started. There were booths next to the merry-go-round, and its mechanical center was solid. This meant we had been farther away from the attacker than she was. That, at least, was to our advantage.
I couldn't see much from here, so I peeked between the food stand and the fare booth. Jennifer was flat on the ground, maybe thirty yards away, all splayed out like a rag doll, none of the tension of life in her limbs. Although it was impossible to be sure at this distance, it looked as if part of her head was just gone. A man stood near her, rigid and screaming, which was stupid. The shooter could still be nearby and might shoot him, too. Besides that, he was doing Jennifer no good. But people do stupid things under stress. And, to be fair, the crowd couldn't have realized yet that there had been a shooting. For all they knew, Jennifer had fallen and hit her head. The sound of the shots had been masked by the noise of the festival, the horns and trumpets of the marching band, and the assailant wasn't in sight. Only the few people near Jennifer would even see her wound, although a couple of worried women were now hurrying toward her. They didn't yet realize what the problem was.
Two security men in gray OZ shirts ran up, one pulling a cell phone from his pocket. He was speaking loudly enough so that I could hear him. "Get that doctor over to the Flying Monkeys! Get paramedics!"
Jennifer had help. If she were still alive and in need of help, which I very much doubted.
My job was to save Jeremy.
3
WE'RE OFF TO SEE THE WIZARD
"Come on, Jeremy! We've gotta run."
Running would be a lot faster than me carrying him. The kid runs like a mink. Whenever we play keep-away in his backyard, he outruns me. And gloats about it shamelessly.
He followed, but not fast enough. "What's wrong, Aunt Cat?"
"There's a bad guy around here.
Please
come on!"
Jeremy picked up his speed, and we raced away from the merry-go-round, keeping it between us and the general area the shots had come from. We crossed the Yellow Brick Road into Winkie country, which was yellow. There were several refreshment stands here. We slipped behind one that claimed to sell "fried mangaboos." But the scent was of fried potatoes. Then, holding Jeremy's hand, I ducked between that stand and an equipment trailer.
"Let's stop here a second and let me take a look around."
I put Jeremy behind me and crouched down to peer under the trailer. It was one of those large squarish silver things that construction companies sometimes use as tool cribs. In this case, it had been brought in to store foods that didn't need refrigeration and supplies like paper napkins, straws, and cold-drink cups. We were now about a hundred yards away from Jennifer. Only a minute had passed since the second shot, although it seemed much longer. The crowd did not yet understand what was going on.
The strip of festival I saw from peering under the truck were some legs, grass, walkways, the bottoms of amusement rides, and the wheels of strollers and bicycles. Most people were still at the ceremonies. There were men's legs, men's shoes, some running shoes too big to likely belong to women. And children's little feet and legs. Also a few small women's shoes, of course.
Still, how could I tell which were threatening, or even whether somebody out there was really after us? Could the shooter have given up and gone away?
Looking between milling legs from a distance, I was also barely able to see two paramedics as they crouched down, working on Jennifer. The paramedics' unhurried body language made it sadly clear that she was dead.
I saw a pair of legs wearing dark pants, feet in ordinary men's black shoes. They drew near the EMTs— checking whether Jennifer was dead? —then did a sidestep, moving laterally around the downed woman. I could easily imagine the man's eyes scanning the crowd, searching for Jeremy and me. But I couldn't see any of him above the knees. While the other people were approaching Jennifer, curious to see what was wrong, these feet now backed away.
Moving in a slow arc, the feet were coming closer to where I hid. Then they vanished behind other figures.
More cops arrived. I heard sirens.
"Jeremy, let's get going."
"Where, Aunt Cat?"
I wish I knew
. "Out of here, hon. Follow me."
Countering the man's direction, we crept away past the fried mangaboos stand, past a rare book and memorabilia dealer. The rare book table was brightly lighted and I turned my head away and thrust Jeremy on my far side as we slipped past.
Once beyond the book dealer, I walked rapidly, holding Jeremy's hand. Our best bet was probably to circle around and ask the paramedics for help. None of the security people or police were close enough— now when I needed them— but we'd just have to take the chance and run to the EMTs. They'd protect us. I hesitated for a couple of seconds only because I didn't want Jeremy to see Jennifer's ruined head, but I was terrified he might be shot. I inched closer, ready to run over to the paramedics.
"Let's go talk with the—"
A shot buzzed past my shoulder, striking the forearm of one of the paramedics and going through to hit the side of a food stand just beyond him, making a wooden thump. The man jumped up holding his arm. I heard the sound of the actual shot a fraction of a second later. I ducked back. Whoever it was, he had got halfway behind us.
Suddenly the crowd realized there was an assailant out there with a gun. They had been milling in confusion before, now there was confusion on the hoof. The instant the first person started to run, they all ran. People shrieked and then men, women, and children stampeded witlessly in every direction. They didn't know where the shot had come from, only that somebody was shooting. The EMTs threw themselves flat on the ground. The security men a little distance away scattered apart. Two cops pointed to where they thought the shooter was. But they pointed in two different directions. They yelled, "Get away! Get away!" The crowd stampeded.
This was the time to get Jeremy out of sight. Under cover of people running every which way, we ought to be able to get ourselves lost.
There was a narrow alley formed by a food booth and the side of a power shed. Electric cables crisscrossed it.
"Come on!"
I ran, pulling Jeremy with me, into the darkened space. Beyond was a forest of boxes. "Come on. Come on." We tore along among them.
One of the Grant Park garage ventilation cribs was ahead of us. These are rectangular concrete air wells, like squat, square chimneys. Many of them have stone benches built around them to make them look less industrial. This one was angled, with benches only on the lower side. They all have metal grates on top, but on this one the grate had not been replaced properly. It was slightly askew. I gave the heavy grate a huge push and managed to gain another few inches of space.
"Let me go first." I had no idea if the air well was deep. I had to be sure there was footing, so that Jeremy wouldn't fall.
The air shaft was quite clean, and it led into a downward-slanting tunnel. Though the angle was fairly steep, it was not impossible to walk down, and the slope led to a flat area beyond the opening that faded away into darkness. Darkness and invisibility looked very inviting right now.
"Come on, Jeremy. Hurry!"
"I don't like this, Aunt Cat!" He had squirmed in and stood about eighteen inches inside the air shaft mouth, half crouched and peering down. His head was above the level of the outside cement frame. I just hoped the shooter wouldn't see him. He would give our position away if he stayed there.
"I don't like this either, but I like it better than up there. Come
on!
"
He edged a tiny bit farther in, slipping one foot forward, then bringing up the rear foot near it, then crept farther in.
"Come on," I said. "Trust me. It isn't hard. I can do it and I'm
old
."
He giggled. I was getting scared for him. I pictured his head exploding. To myself I whispered, "Damn it, Jeremy!" Imagining a shadow looming up behind him, gun in its hand, I grated out, "Jeremy, don't be a big poop!"
That did it. He came the rest of the way in.
Holding hands, we half-slid down the slope to the level area. Light carried into the darkness farther below, and didn't diminish much as we went in, or maybe my eyes were adjusting to the dark as we moved. The slope had been clean but there was a lot of trash down here on the level, washed in by rain. The lower area was a jumbled mass of soggy stuff. Most of it was paper and plastic debris. Unfortunately, some of it looked like the dried corpses, furry lumps, or skeletons of dead birds and dead rodents.
I led Jeremy to a cement buttress that had a wide collar coming up about two feet from the floor. We could sit on the edge, and I needed a breather.
"What are we going to do, Aunt Cat?"
"We're going to have an adventure and then go home at the end of it. But I have to think for a minute, honey. Okay?"
"Okay."
It wasn't so easy to think. I knew my brother. I knew he wouldn't shoot at his own child. Or— I thought I knew him. But Jennifer had said that after being interviewed Barry was waiting in the management office, which suggested nobody had been keeping an eye on him. It was horrible enough to suspect he might have stabbed Plumly. Still, I had to face that possibility; I had seen Plumly before he struggled with Barry and he had looked okay, though upset. After the struggle, he was bloody.
Wait. The knife had looked like it had fallen from Plumly's own hand. Maybe he had stabbed himself.
Oh, sure! What wishful thinking that was. If he stabbed himself, why was somebody shooting at Jennifer and Jeremy and me? Plumly must have pulled the knife out of the wound at some point and it fell from his hand when he collapsed.
What a hideous thought— that Barry might have stabbed him! To me there is something much uglier about sticking a blade into another person, up close and personal, than shooting him, even though the effect on the victim may be exactly the same.
Why shoot me or Jeremy?
The killer had to believe we had seen something that was dangerous to him. Jeremy, me, and Jennifer.
Which led me right back to Barry. Hell.
And why Plumly? Really, the most important fact about a murder is
who
was murdered, isn't it? What had he done, or what had he found out?
Plumly. Why would anybody kill the security chief?
Suddenly, the light from the tunnel opening dimmed. A figure was standing in the mouth of the shaft, where the glow from the festival entered. Someone was looking into the tunnel.
He couldn't possibly see us. Please not. We were in darkness; he was in light. But I could see the outline of a person.
At that instant, he made me think of the Tin Woodman.
I whispered, with my hand cupped to his ear, "Jeremy, we have to be very quiet." I stood up. "Follow me quietly. Take my hand."
"I'm scared, Aunt Cat."
"Jeremy, do you remember in
Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz
, Dorothy had gone to California, and there was a big earthquake and Dorothy, and Jim the cab-horse, and the boy Jeb, all fell down a hole in the earth? And they had lots of adventures? And then finally they came to Oz."
"Of
course
I remember!"
"Well, this is a lot like that."
"Some of their adventures were scary, Aunt Cat. The Mangaboos, the vegetable people, were going to plant them. And they were chased by invisible bears."
That's a lot like this.
"We're going to have to be brave for a while. And resourceful, Jeremy, because I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."
4
IF I ONLY HAD A BRAIN
Plumly. Why kill Plumly?
The last time I had seen Plumly before tonight was when I had dropped by the festival office in the Emerald City castle on Monday, three days ago. Actually, I had intentionally gone there, since the middle of Grant Park wasn't anywhere one would ordinarily "drop by." I was just curious to find out what was new, and didn't particularly expect to run into Plumly.
Plumly had been sitting at one of the two desks in the temporary little structure, filling out some kind of city permit. I said, "Hi, Tom."
"Cat! Nice to see you. Wanta do my job? I'm tellin' you, if I see one more stack of forms from the city, my joints are gonna seize up like the Tin Woodman."
