Horus and the Curse of Everlasting Regret (9 page)

“All the way up there?” Tunie said.

Perch squeaked an affirmative.

Peter tilted his head back.

“Maybe there's another entrance?” he said.

Tunie wiped a drip of sweat off her cheek with the back of her hand. “The building is locked from the inside.”

They were eyeing a rickety ladder that ran up the side of an abandoned cinder-block building. Apparently, Perch had found the light blue ribbon headband somewhere on the roof. As luck would have it, this former factory stood a block and a half down from the three-story brick police station. The building was in bad repair. Even by the weak light of the moon, Peter could see the cinder blocks were crumbling, and the ladder rungs were patchy with rust. It didn't look sturdy.

Peter had been feeling uneasy ever since they left the museum. This neighborhood beyond the police station had a neglected appearance. They'd passed a couple of abandoned buildings like this one, shops that had closed down when customers had no money to spend. Through the open doorways of vacant stores, he'd seen homeless folks huddled in the shadows. He knew loads of people were out of work; the poor economy had displaced whole families. Still, it was spooky to hear voices murmuring in the dark. Every now and then, a police car would drive by them, siren wailing. Peter couldn't shake the sense they were being watched, and the idea that Perch was leading them to where he'd found the headband—to the place Dorothy's kidnapper might have dragged her—only made the night creepier.

“I'll go first,” Tunie offered, and started climbing up the ladder before Peter could object, testing each rung with her foot before putting her weight on it. He saw her silhouetted form move quickly up the ladder and disappear over the roof ledge. Peter squinted. The evening was so warm and muggy, it seemed the thick atmosphere was dimming the stars.

“Made it!” Tunie called down in a stage whisper.

Peter followed, the rusty metal flaking beneath his damp fingers. He was breathing hard by the time he reached the roof. Tunie gave him a relieved smile when he appeared.

“Phew!” Peter said, wiping his hands on his pants. “I wasn't sure that was going to hold.”

Suddenly Perch, who had been looping overhead, let out an urgent squeak. It was followed by a loud crack.

Peter quickly looked down. As he watched, the lower half of the ladder fell away from the wall with a groan of twisting metal. It dangled for a moment and then crashed to the ground.

Was it Peter's imagination, or was there something moving in the shadows below?

Tunie rushed over. “What was that?”

They both looked down at the street. The electric streetlamps illuminated portions of the road, but outside their circles of light, everything was murky. Peter blinked. Whatever it was had vanished.

“The ladder broke.”

Tunie looked anxious. “Did you see someone?”

“I'm not sure. Maybe not. I guess we'll have to find another way down,” Peter said. He pulled WindUp from his knapsack, slid aside a small door on the robot's stomach, and flipped a switch. The metal was slippery beneath his sweaty fingers. Light shone out from WindUp's middle.

“Swell!” said Tunie, sounding impressed. “Now we can see!”

“I wanted WindUp to be a useful companion,” Peter said. “He's helped me out of some jams with the twins, that's for sure.”

Peter lifted the robot and used him to scan the rooftop. It was flat, with cylindrical smokestacks here and there. On the far side there was what looked like a shed with a door and a sign that read
EXIT TO STAIRWELL
.

Tunie said, “Perch, will you show us where you found the headband? And then let's get over to the station, fast. This place is scary. I'll feel a lot better with some police around.”

Perch sailed over to the small roofed structure and landed on a railing that ran along one side of it. He piped. Tunie and Peter followed.

“This is where you found the headband?” Tunie asked when they reached the bat. She looked at the shed's peeling paint, the empty rooftop, and shrugged. “There's nothing here.”

Peter studied the railing near Perch's tiny claws.

“Wait, look,” he said. “Some of the rust has been scraped away along the top and side of this railing, see?” He pointed.

“Oh my goodness!” Tunie clapped a hand over her mouth, and tears sprang to her blue eyes.

“What?” Peter asked, alarmed.

Tunie pointed. On the wall beneath the railing, scratched into the peeling paint, were the words

HELP ME—D.J.

Tunie's voice was shaking. “D.J….”

Peter and Tunie exchanged a look and said in unison,
“Dorothy James.”

This whole adventure was suddenly too real for Tunie's taste.

“This is enough, right? I mean, for us to go to the police and get the reward,” Tunie said.

“Definitely,” Peter agreed. He sounded as edgy as she felt.

“Okay.” Tunie swallowed. “Let's go now. There are always a few officers working the night shift.”

Peter stood behind Tunie as she tugged at the locked door. She froze.

“What if Dorothy James is down there, in this building?” Tunie said. “Or what if her kidnapper is? What if both kidnappers are in there?”

Peter let out a breath. “I don't know what else we can do. It's the only way down.”

“The door is locked.” Tunie rattled the knob uselessly.

Peter looked closely at the lock. “I can pick this kind.”

He opened a hatch on WindUp and took out what looked like a small metal stick.

“Really?” Tunie blinked.

“Sure,” Peter said, sliding the piece of metal into the lock and moving it around. “It's a skeleton key lock. Not the most secure design.”

Tunie had to admit, Peter certainly was handy.

“Got it!” Peter said, sounding pleased. With a click, the door swung open. Hot air, even warmer than the steamy summer evening, wafted out. A staircase descended into darkness. He held out WindUp. They could see only a few steps, to where the stairs turned.

Perch flew in and vanished. Peter and Tunie waited uneasily for the bat's return.

In less than a minute, Perch flapped out from the doorway. He made some high-pitched noises, and Tunie's shoulders relaxed slightly.

“I think it's safe,” she said.

She reached for Peter's hand. He tucked WindUp under one arm, with his light shining down. Both of their hands were clammy with sweat. Each of them held on to a railing and stepped down into the blackness. Tunie wished she were almost anywhere else—mopping in the museum or lying on her mattress, listening to her father's horrible cough.

“Geez, I can't see anything but our feet,” Peter said. His voice sounded loud in the empty space.

“Me neither,” Tunie said, keeping a firm grip on the railing and Peter's hand. The air was dank and smelled of mildew. They made their way slowly, one step at a time. It seemed to take ages.

“Tunie, you lost your mom, too, right?” Peter said in the gloom.

“Yes, a little more than two years ago.”

“Do you still miss her?”

“All the time.”

“Me too. My dad never talks about her, though. He even put all her records up in the closet. She used to play music all the time. Now it's always quiet.” His voice sounded forlorn.

Tunie squeezed his hand. “He hasn't forgotten her, trust me. He doesn't want to upset you.”

“I guess.”

“If you want to talk about her, talk about her. I bet he'll follow your lead.”

Perch squeaked, and finally Tunie's foot found the concrete floor. Peter swept WindUp back and forth, and Tunie waved one hand before her, searching out obstacles. Ahead, a small square of glass glowed dimly.

“There's the door,” Tunie whispered. She couldn't explain why she was whispering.

At last, they pushed open the door to the moonlit outdoors, which seemed much brighter after the black interior of the building. A police car came screaming down the street, lights flashing. Tunie and Peter broke into a run.

The front door to the police station was open, and they raced up the front steps. Perch flew up and vanished near the gutter. Only when they were inside did they stop, panting. Tunie was grateful for the brightly lit lobby, and the great, familiar uniformed officer who greeted them with concern.

“Tunie? What's the matter, kids?”

“Officer Hill!” Tunie said with relief. She knew him. He was friendly with her father—they'd fought together in France during the war. The solidly built officer had children of his own—two girls. They'd come to dinner once, back when her mother was alive. Tunie felt she'd never been so glad to see anyone in her life.

Tunie and Peter spoke breathlessly over one another, explaining that they thought they knew who Dorothy James's kidnapper was, and that they had evidence to hand over to the police.

The big policeman nodded.

“Okay, kids, okay,” said Officer Hill. “You both seem a little spooked. I'm going to take you to Detective Dedrick Shade. He's here tonight, and he's been working pretty hard to crack that case. You can tell him about it, and I'll get you something to drink. Then we'll give your parents a ring, all right?”

With gentle hands, he guided them down the hallway.

Tunie was glad to be safe inside, but still feeling fretful. Her father wasn't reachable, and she didn't want the police to worry him by showing up at their door. Also, she never liked leaving Perch out alone. Of course he could handle himself, but he was prey to all kinds of things, including cats and owls.

As if he could sense her anxiety, Peter gave her hand a squeeze.

“It's going to be all right now,” he said.

“I hope they find Dorothy,” Tunie said softly.

Officer Hill patted her on the back. “I'm sure Detective Shade will find her. Just think—if you're right about what you know, Mr. James will give you that reward money, too.”

Officer Hill led them to an airless paneled office with two hard chairs in front of a desk. A filing cabinet stood in a corner with a great, overgrown tangle of a plant on top of it. Behind the unadorned desk, facing the chairs, sat a bald man with a lean jaw. His close-set eyes and sharp nose and chin made it seem like all his features were being pulled toward a point just beyond his face. The brass nameplate on the desk indicated that he was Detective Dedrick Shade.

“Detective Shade, this is Tunie Webster, and this here is Peter…what's your surname, son?”

“Bartholomew,” Peter said. Tunie realized they hadn't known each other's last names. It seemed odd; they'd shared a lot in the short time they'd spent together.

Officer Hill repeated, “Peter Bartholomew. They have some information for you on your Dorothy James case. Sounds like you might crack it tonight.”

Detective Shade looked them over curiously with his pale blue eyes, which were so near to each other they almost crossed. “You two are out awfully late. This must be important. Please, sit down. I'm interested in your story.”

Officer Hill encouraged Tunie and Peter to sit. Then he asked Peter for his parents' phone number. Tunie had to admit that she and her father had no phone. Detective Shade listened intently.

“I'll call Peter's parents and bring you all some lemonade,” Officer Hill said, and closed the door behind him.

Detective Shade leaned toward them.

In a noncommittal tone, he said, “Well, then. Let's hear it.”

Tunie took a breath. “We met someone at the museum who overheard Dorothy being kidnapped but didn't see it,” she began.

Detective Shade drummed his fingers. “And who is this person? Why isn't he or she here?”

Peter said, “Um, he's afraid to come forward. But it doesn't matter. We found this.”

He reached over and pulled the light blue ribbon headband off of Tunie's head. He was handing it across the desk to Detective Shade when Officer Hill opened the door. A look of irritation flashed across Detective Shade's face.

Spying the headband, Officer Hill whistled. His shaggy gray eyebrows lifted.

“That's the headband, Dedrick! Oh-ho, you've got him now!” Officer Hill said. Then he turned to the kids with a smile. “I'm afraid we're out of lemonade. How about iced tea?”

The kids accepted, and Officer Hill left again.

Tunie and Peter told Detective Shade where Perch found the headband. They described at length the wall with the initials and the words
Help me
scratched into the paint, and told the detective about the nasal-voiced man who had come out of the Billowing Sails Shipping building.

Detective Shade's brows lowered, as if he was contemplating a problem.

“You don't have a name for this man, or anything to go on except that your anonymous witness—which will never fly in court, by the way—said it was ‘someone with a nasal voice.' That could be anyone with a cold, really,” Detective Shade said, rubbing one hand along the top of his bare head.

“But that clue about the rooftop—and the message in the paint—that's quite good information. The headband, too,” he said, taking the light blue ribbon headband off his desk and placing it carefully in a drawer. “I'm going to look into this personally. Now, I need to ask you for a favor,” he said. “I want you to keep this information to yourself. Tell no one—not even your own parents.”

Peter frowned. His face was still bright pink from their sprint to the station, and Tunie could see the hair above his ears was damp with perspiration. “Why can't we tell our parents? Won't they wonder why the police are calling them in the middle of the night? We can tell them not to talk about it.”

Detective Shade was shaking his head forcefully. “Even one more person knowing is one person too many. Right now, the element of surprise is on my side, but if anyone finds out—why, the evidence could be destroyed! I need to sneak up on this man, see if he'll lead me to the people he's working with. Young Dorothy's life may hang in the balance. I'm counting on you to preserve her safety. You must maintain complete silence. You can tell your parents you were here because…you were helping an elderly person who had been robbed. Will you do that for me?”

Peter had fallen quiet during Shade's explanation and didn't respond. Tunie answered for both of them.

“Yes, we won't tell anyone what we've found. But…you will let Mr. James know? That we helped solve the case? Because—”

Detective Shade nodded vigorously. “The reward money, of course. You have my word, it will be yours if this information leads to something—and I'm sure Officer Hill will back me up on that. All right?”

There was a knock on the door, and Officer Hill himself appeared, this time with two cups of iced tea and a man with tousled gray hair who looked like an older version of Peter, but with glasses.

Officer Hill said, “Detective Shade, this is Professor Bartholomew, Peter's father. I've taken down his contact information.”

“Dad!” Peter cried. He ran to his father and they embraced. “I can't believe how fast you got here! Can we go home?”

“Sure, son,” Peter's dad said. He looked over at Tunie. Tunie thought he must have sensed the sudden wave of despair she felt at the prospect of being left alone here.

“Can we give you a ride home, dear?” he said to Tunie.

“Oh, yes, thanks! I live right near here. It'll only take a minute.”

“Actually, I'd like to talk with the girl some more,” Detective Shade said impatiently, but Tunie was already on her feet. She turned to Officer Hill.

“Officer Hill, thanks for the tea,” Tunie said. She accepted the cup and took a large swallow. It was terrible, but she was so thirsty she drank it down. “I'm sorry to rush off. I'll come back tomorrow, but I need to get back to my dad. He's going to be very worried.”

And even though it was a short walk through the woods, she didn't want to go home by herself in the dark, not tonight.

Officer Hill nodded. “Of course, my dear. I'd be worried sick if my girls were out this late.”

Officer Hill led them to the lobby. Detective Shade stood and went with them. Tunie noticed he walked with a strange, limping gait, though he attempted to hide it. She tried not to stare, but Tunie observed that one of his shoes seemed to fit strangely, sticking out at an awkward angle from his ankle.

Suddenly Peter said, “My knapsack! I left it in Detective Shade's office!” He darted down the hall, calling, “I'll be right back!”

It took Peter a surprisingly long time to return. Tunie started to wonder what on earth he was doing, and the adults were beginning to look around with concern. He finally reappeared, breathless and apologizing, saying he'd gotten turned around. Peter, Tunie, and Professor Bartholomew stepped out into the sultry night. Peter's dad led them to a car parked in front of the station.