If Fried Chicken Could Fly (30 page)

“No, he was alone. In fact, he got a call from her on his phone—I still can’t get used to those contraptions—and told her he was going to have to miss some late-night rendezvous because he wasn’t feeling well.” A smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “I’m pleased if she didn’t know what Miles was up to. If anyone should get the treasure, it should be the descendants of someone I stole it from or my descendants. In a way I stole it for
them.
”

“Yes, you did,” I said. I didn’t bother to point out that it was the treasure that also killed at least one of his descendants. “I guess I’d better go let someone know about the shoes. It’s a start at least, right?”

“I have a favor, Isabelle, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay.”

“Will you go over to the theater with me and see if we can figure out how to get the trapdoor to open or figure out another way to get to the treasure? I suspect the police will destroy the floor and I’d like to find a way that doesn’t have to happen.”

“It’s really there?” I asked.

“I’m certain.” Jerome smiled.

“Sure,” I said. “But I need to talk to Jim first, let him
know. Hopefully the shoes and the mess down here will be enough to arrest Miles. Meet you over there in about a half hour?”

“I’ll see you there, Isabelle,” he said uncertainly.

“You might not last that long?”

Jerome shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now. You know and can handle it from here.”

I looked at my watch. I needed to talk to Jim, but I felt an obligation to Jerome. He needed to see this through to the end—whatever that might be.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes, I promise,” I said.

“Good. I’ll see you there,” he said more confidently.

I hurried back out into the crowd—the crowd that seemed to have bloomed just in the short time I was in the pool hall basement. Everyone’s focus was on the hanging platform, where Gram was introducing both the cook-off students and the judges. I’d been in the pool hall longer than I thought and she probably wondered where I’d gone. Miles stood behind Gram and next to Jenna. He looked harmless.

I didn’t see Jim or Cliff anywhere. I still didn’t have Cliff’s number and when I tried to call back the private numbers they’d called me on and the jail’s direct number I got no answer. And, I wasn’t totally sure who was undercover and who wasn’t. I searched for Teddy, only to see him on the hanging platform, too. He stood behind Gram, the students, and the judges. His arms were crossed in front of his chest and he looked proud. I debated whether I should call him or not. But what would I say—Miles is a killer, and do you, by chance, spot Jim in the crowd anywhere?

Miles wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. He had food to eat and judge. The first meals would be brought out
shortly and he’d be busy for a while. I also didn’t think he’d be shooting at anyone. He’d figured out where the treasure was. He was probably in a hurry to get to it but knew that keeping up a normal appearance was the best way to look innocent.

I turned and stepped to walk toward the jail to see if anyone was there but stopped as I reached the front of the Jasper.

With everyone’s attention on the cook-off activities, no one was lingering in the theater. The lobby, at least, would fill up once the eating and judging started, and then empty again when it was time to announce the winner.

I sprinted through the lobby and into the auditorium. Jerome was waiting for me on the stage.

“Isabelle, the door is on a wheel system. There used to be a crank somewhere on the wall, but I can’t find where.”

“Something over there?” I pointed at the side wall that was covered with switches, small and large.

“Miles tried them all, and I bet it wasn’t his first time. Nothing opened the door.”

Urgency tingled under my skin. I didn’t like that I hadn’t talked to Jim yet. I didn’t like that Miles was out with the crowd, even though I truly didn’t think he would harm anyone. And Jerome could disappear at any moment.

I hurried to the wall and began to try the switches, the levers, everything. Some of them did nothing, but others moved things like curtains or hanging backdrops, and one of them must have been attached to a sound system because when I flipped it the sound of a telephone ringing filled the auditorium.

After I flipped and pulled everything I could see, there
was only one switch left; it was the biggest one on the wall. I pulled down hard and suddenly it was totally and utterly dark—except for the glowing ghost. Cliff had used a breaker, but this switch did the same thing.

As I’d noticed before, Jerome transformed in the darkness. When his ghostly presence was lit, he wasn’t quite as real as he was when he was in the dark. In the dark, he was a fully formed man who, as Gram would say, cut a fine figure. He was strong and handsome. The mustache had even grown on me.

“Isabelle?” he asked.

“Can you see me?”

“Of course,” he said, not realizing that the only source of light was him. “You can see me, can’t you?”

“Yes. You look so real.”

For the briefest instant we looked at each other and forgot about the treasure, the murder, Cliff, red-spotted shoes, the cook-off. For that spark of time, we both envisioned what might be. If only.

Jerome broke the spell. “I’m not real, Isabelle. I’m not. At least not real like you are real.”

“Of course not.” I flipped the lights on.

We both blinked with the glare. The moment was over.

“I remember!” Jerome said as he peered at the wall next to the large switch. “It’s in the wall.”

“What’s in the wall?”

“Right next to you.” Jerome walked toward me. “Right there.” He pointed.

There was a hole in the wall. Inside the hole was a knob of some sort.

“There was a hand crank. Belinda kept it in the back. She didn’t want people opening and closing the trapdoor. It was dangerous and it worried her.”

A tire iron would do the trick, I thought. There were no cars parked close to the theater, though. The street had been closed.

But there was one vehicle—the van. I was certain we had a tire iron in the back of it. At least I hoped.

“Wait here,” I said.

I ran through the auditorium and back out into the crowd. The judges were beginning to eat their food. It seemed as if everything was on schedule. The onlookers would be interested in the eating for a few minutes, but soon some of them would disperse and certainly go into the theater. I had to hurry. I dodged and darted and sidestepped.

Fortunately, the van was unlocked. I threw open the back doors and started rummaging. I threw a couple pans, some aprons, and a spatula out of the van and onto the ground. The tire iron was right where it should be: stored in a clip next to the tire. I yanked it out and, ignoring the mess I’d made, hurried back to the theater.

I didn’t take the time to look up at the hanging platform as I ran with the tire iron. I focused on where I needed to go. But someone was looking down at me, wondering what I was doing with a tire iron, where I was going in such a hurry, and why I disappeared into the Jasper.

I was out of breath by the time I slipped the iron into the hole.

“It fits,” I said, surprised.

“Turn it and let’s see what happens,” Jerome said.

I started slowly. Everything in the Jasper was old. The knob inside the hole might break at the slightest nudge.

But it didn’t break. In fact, it felt strong and secure so I turned harder. The mechanisms screamed as I maneuvered. Age and time had almost frozen everything in place. But only almost.

Suddenly, the
J
started to move down, as if a mouth was slowly opening.

“I can’t believe it’s working,” I said.

“It’s working just fine.” Jerome stepped to the door and peered down. “Just a little more. Good. We need another light of some sort.”

I cranked until the tire iron wouldn’t move. I grabbed my cell phone from my pocket and went to my belly on the perimeter of the hole. I pushed a button and held the phone down into the dark space.

I was right about the spiderwebs and the jigsaw puzzle of wood planks. There was no sign of termite damage, but the wood was over a hundred years old. I wondered if it would crumble at the slightest touch. It wasn’t basementlike moist, though. Instead, dusty, dry air hit my nose.

“Right there, in that corner—the corner that looks like it has an extra bump. That’s where the treasure is, Isabelle. We did it! Good work.”

“I’ll be…” I said.

“You’ll be what?” a voice from the auditorium said.

I looked up quickly, startled enough to drop my phone into the abyss below, and saw Miles moving toward us—though I presumed he saw only me—down the auditorium aisle. He pointed a gun directly at me.

“Run, Isabelle,” Jerome said.

I glanced at the auditorium doors.

“They’re locked. And I’ve locked the front doors, too,” Miles said. “The only way to get out is around me.”

Miles jumped up to the stage and peered into the hole. “I would have broken through the wall tonight, but thank you for saving me the work.”

“Get behind me, Isabelle,” Jerome said.

I looked at him. Ghosts couldn’t stop bullets. He understood my hesitation.

“I’ll try to make him see me,” Jerome said. “If he does, he’ll be distracted and you can run.” Jerome moved himself in front of me more than I moved behind him.

“What happened?” I spoke around Jerome’s shoulder—the shoulder that Miles still couldn’t see. “Why, Miles?”

Miles laughed. “I moved here to find the treasure, Betts. I read about the legend years ago, and it became a part of me. It was destined to be mine. When the pool hall was put up for sale, I knew it was my way to be a part of the town. I had no idea that the treasure was buried right next to me this whole time. That is, until I caught Everett reading Belinda’s obituary as he had a sandwich at my front counter one night. He started giggling like a schoolgirl and talking to himself. He had no idea I’d been searching for the treasure, too. I saw the obituary that night, but I also got it off his desk the day after I killed him. I came in through the roof. If the police saw it, they must not have thought it was important. I had no idea Everett had figured out the tie between Jerome Cowbender and Belinda. But it was my destiny to find the treasure, not Everett’s.”

“What about Jenna?”

“What about her?”

“She’s a descendant of Jerome’s.”

“What?” Miles almost whinnied when he laughed. “You’re making that up.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I had no idea. No idea at all. See, more destiny. It’s why I was attracted to her—I was destined to find this treasure. Not Everett and certainly not you or your Gram.”

“Did you put the coins in the tombstone? Did you put the paper in there, too?” I said.

Miles laughed again. “I put the coins there. And I had to point them out to you, not to the people I intended to see them! I put them there for Everett and Missouri to find. I thought it might throw them off, or just mess with their minds. I don’t know anything about any paper.”

“Well, it looks like you found the treasure fair and square. You won. It’s all yours,” I said.

“Right. I don’t think so.” Miles lifted the gun.

“Why did you shoot at me and Jake?” I asked, hoping to stall long enough for Jerome to become visible.

“I knew Everett’s death would somehow lead to some archive somewhere that could give it all away. Your friend is a little too acquainted with Broken Rope’s history. I figured it’d be easy to get rid of you both. Scratched the hell out of my arm, too. I slipped up there,” he said, nodding upward. “If I hadn’t fallen and started bleeding, I would have kept shooting until I got you both.”

“How’s it going, Jerome?” I muttered.

“Not so good,” he said.

“What did you say about Jerome?” Miles asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“I’m too weak. If I can manage to make him see me, I’ll probably disappear shortly thereafter,” Jerome said. “Give Miz my love.”

The entire scene was ludicrous. I wanted to say good-bye but the setup was wrong. I wondered if maybe Jerome was just a figment of my, Gram’s, and maybe Teddy’s imagination. Was he really here, or was he something we collectively made up because we were citizens of Broken Rope, a place where almost nothing was like the rest of the world? Did my grandmother, brother, and I share some genetic mistake that made us have a collective hallucination?

“Good-bye, Jerome,” I said.

“Good-bye, Jerome? Don’t you mean ‘Good-bye, Miles’?” And then he aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.

A sear of hot pain rode over the side of my neck and I went down.

“Isabelle!” Jerome went down with me.

“Damn,” Miles said. “I need to try that again.”

I was conscious and the pain was hot but not bad enough to keep me from moving or trying to figure out what to do next.

“You’re okay, Isabelle. It didn’t do much,” Jerome said as he looked at my neck. I was looking over his shoulder at the man walking closer to me to get a better shot.

“It seems you’re as bad at hitting your targets as Jerome was,” I said.

“Oh, that’s hysterical,” Miles said.

Suddenly, I rolled once and then kicked out my legs to knock Miles over. Unbelievably, it worked and he went down,
too, the gun sliding to the other side of the stage. If I ran to get the gun, Miles could get up and beat me to it. So I pulled myself up and ran to the wall instead.

“Get ready, Jerome,” I said as I pulled the big switch.

The theater was thrown back into darkness, and Jerome was glowing and three-dimensional again. He looked strong and powerful.

“He can’t see me. He can’t see you. I’m betting you can knock the crap out of him now. Well, maybe I’m not betting. I’m hoping. You look like you can,” I said.

Miles used the same lighting technique I had a long few moments ago. He pushed a button on his cell phone and lit a path to the gun. The light was weak and not enough to extinguish Jerome’s vitality.

Jerome didn’t hesitate but took two long strides to Miles. As Miles was about to grasp the gun, Jerome put his hands on his shoulders and shoved. Miles flew through the air a brief moment and then landed on his back. Jerome seemed surprised by his new abilities, but he adjusted quickly.