Polkacide (33 page)

In the quiet and stillness of the
moment, I felt suddenly lonely. With nothing to distract me, I
thought about Dad and Luke and the club--the people I'd lost, the
life I could never go back to.

How could I keep moving forward? How
could I face the challenges that were coming?

They were going to exhume my
father's body the next day. Polkapourri would start in two days,
but it would take a small miracle to make it happen. There was a
secret hidden in Dad's last recording, and I had to ferret it
out.

Even with Peg, Mom, Baba,
and the Furies involved in one way or another, it didn't seem
possible to handle all that. The weight on my shoulders seemed
heavier than any I'd ever felt there before.

Looking up at the glittering stars, I
wished I could go back to a simpler time. Just a few weeks ago,
everyone I loved was still in my life. The only murder victims in
my world were on TV crime shows. I worried about my failing
business, but at least I wasn't lonely. No one I cared about was in
mortal danger.

Sometimes, it felt like I'd
turned back the clock just by coming home to New Krakow. There were
so many familiar faces and places, so many situations that stirred
up old memories. But it still wasn't the same. Not with the
knowledge of everything that had happened and every battle I had
yet to fight still circling my mind like vultures.

The best I could hope for right now
was this cigarette, these stars, this stillness, this
silence.

Which, suddenly, was no longer still
or silent.

Footsteps
. I heard them scuffing from
somewhere nearby, coming closer.

I tipped my eyes down from
the view of the stars and looked around. I heard three more
footsteps, and I turned in their direction--to my right, toward the
front of the motel. I thought I glimpsed a figure there, peeking
around the corner, but then it was gone. It might have been my
imagination, fooled by the shadows from the overhang...

But those footsteps had been
absolutely real. And with the way things were going, I couldn't
afford not to take them seriously.

I flicked my cigarette across the
parking lot. Its glow leaped through the night and landed on the
pavement in a splash of orange embers.

I reached for the door
handle on the driver's side of my car, intending to retrieve my
purse and keys. But when I glanced at the front corner of the motel
building, my plans changed.

A tall, dark figure stood in
the shadows there, facing in my direction. The figure was shrouded
in a trench coat and baseball cap, silhouetted in the dim red glow
from the neon sign in front of the motel.

As I watched, he started walking
toward me along the row of rooms.

It wouldn't take him long to
reach me. Heart racing, I threw the car door open, ducked inside,
and reached for the key, which was still plugged into the ignition.
I turned it and stomped on the gas pedal.

Too hard.
The engine wouldn't start. I must've flooded
it.

I tried again with the same
result. Now there was only one other place I could go to get away
fast.

In a state of near-panic, I
grabbed the keys and jumped back out of the car. As I slammed the
door shut, I stole another glimpse of the mysterious
figure.

He started to run.

Even as I bolted toward the door of my
room, I knew it was going to be a close call. He was five doors
away, then four, by the time I got my room key near the keyhole. My
hands were shaking as the running footsteps approached.

Which was why I dropped the
keys.

I ducked down to grab them,
but by then it was hopeless. The figure was two doors away, closing
the gap.

I was about to end up like
Eddie Sr. I was sure of it.

Then, without warning, a streak of
white leaped out of the shadows and darted across his
path.

Surprised, the figure stumbled over
his own feet and went down, crashing into a flower planter in front
of the room next-door. As soon as he hit, he started thrashing,
fighting to get clear of the planter and back on his
feet.

I wasn't going to wait around for
that. Panting, I snatched up the keys, fumbled my way to the one
for my room, and jammed it home in the keyhole. One quick turn, and
the deadbolt cleared the jamb.

As my pursuer rolled away
from the planter, I yanked the knob hard to one side and threw open
the door.

Just as I was about the run inside, I
realized I didn't have the record anymore.

Frantically, I looked down at the
sidewalk, but didn't see it. Scanning back along my path, I spotted
the manila envelope on the black pavement near the front of my
car.

Without thinking, I sprinted the four
steps it took to reach the envelope. I scooped it up and dashed for
the door, praying I could make it.

Glancing right, I saw my
pursuer was on his knees. I had a second, maybe two, to beat him
inside.

Adrenaline surged through
me, fueling a burst of energy. I flung myself into the room and
slammed the door shut...

...but not before a familiar streak of
white flashed through.

The instant the door crashed into the
jamb, I locked the deadbolt, then the chain. Shaking and panting, I
staggered backward, waiting for my pursuer to make his next move. I
kept expecting him to kick in the door or shoot it full of
holes.

But he did neither.

I settled on the foot of the
bed and put the envelope down beside me, never taking my eyes off
the door. If he
did
come through, I had no idea what I'd do next.

I should have called the police right
away. He probably expected me to; maybe that was why he wasn't
breaking down the door or shooting up the place.

But instead of picking up the phone, I
sat and waited. And my savior, the white streak, jumped up on my
lap and kept me company.

Ghost the cat had come back to
me.

"You saved my life." I whispered the
words as I stroked his snow-white fur. "You're my hero."

Ghost settled in a ball on my lap and
purred softly. Like me, he kept his eyes trained on the
door.

"Thank you for coming back,
Ghost." I rubbed his head between his ears. "I love you so
much."

We sat there like that for hours,
watching and waiting. But no one broke down the door or even
knocked.

And eventually, we fell asleep, curled
up together on the bed.

Chapter 49

A streak of warm sunlight
woke me, slanting across my face from a gap in the curtains. I
rolled away from it, but the damage was done; my brain snapped to
full alertness.

When I sat up, my eyes flew
straight to the nightstand. According to the digital clock, it was
just past 8:30. After sitting for so long with Ghost, wide awake
till at least four in the morning, I'd slept in much later than
planned.

Speaking of Ghost, he wasn't
on the bed with me when I came around. Scanning the room, I saw no
trace of him...and then I checked his favorite hiding place.
Sliding off the bed, I got down on my hands and knees, lifted the
edge of the spread, and dropped my head to floor level. When I
looked under the bed, two bright green eyes stared back at me,
unblinking.

"Hello, sweetie." I couldn't help
smiling. "Time for breakfast."

He didn't come out until I'd poured a
bowlful of milk and put it down on the floor at the foot of the
bed. He slipped out when my back was turned; the next thing I knew,
he was lapping away at the milk.

"You're still my hero, you know." I
put away the carton of milk and leaned again the mini-fridge,
watching him drink. "You probably saved my life last
night."

Ghost didn't even look up,
but his ears were perked in my direction. He was
listening.

"From now on, my door is always open.
All the milk you can drink." I shrugged. "Till it runs out,
anyway."

He lapped up the rest of the milk,
then trotted over to the front door. He stood there, mewing, until
I joined him.

I paused with my hand on the
knob, reluctant to open the door after what had happened the night
before. Though it was broad daylight outside, and I couldn't see
any sign of my pursuer through the peephole, I still felt a jolt of
fear.

But then it passed, and I
turned the knob. "Will I see you tonight? Maybe I'll pick up some
catnip for your reward."

Ghost didn't even look up at
me. Typical hero, too humble to accept gratitude.

"I'll be waiting." With
that, I shut and locked the door and headed for the
shower.

*****

It felt good to get cleaned up, like I
was rinsing away the ordeal from the night before. Getting dressed,
however, felt like a miniature ordeal all its own.

I'd officially run out of clean
clothes. My supply from L.A. had been limited to begin with, and I
hadn't had a chance to do laundry all week. I hadn't had time to go
shopping as planned, either.

So for the second time in
three days, I pulled out the white button-down blouse. A little
ironing took out the worst wrinkles. Combined with the jeans I'd
been wearing all week, it looked presentable...but made me feel
grimy anyway, just on principle.

Gathering up my keys and the
manila envelope containing Dad's record, I unlocked the door again
and cautiously stepped outside. As far as I could see, the coast
was clear, but I wasn't about to be reckless after what had
happened to Eddie Sr. Someone could still pop out from behind a car
or around a corner and grab me if I wasn't careful.

Closing the door behind me,
I walked to my rent-a-car and looked it over. I expected some kind
of damage designed to keep me from getting away the night
before...but I found nothing. No slashed tires, smashed windows,
pried-open gas tank, nothing. My purse was still on the front seat
where I'd left it.

Opening the driver's side
door, I bent down and looked inside for less visible problems. I
popped the hood too, and scanned the engine, hoses, wiring, and
other parts. From what I could see, no obvious damage had been
inflicted.

Of course, I was still
taking a chance when I started her up and headed for work. The bad
guy might've snipped a brake line or sabotaged the car in any of a
hundred ways I couldn't identify at a glance.

But I decided to risk it. I
was already three hours late for work. Stopping at a garage would
eat up my morning and maybe put a dent in my afternoon when I
needed the time most, on the eve of Polkapourri. Anyway, I doubted
the night stalker had bothered to sabotage my ride; he struck me as
a more direct kind of guy.

Which isn't to say I didn't
drive
much
more
carefully just in case, at least for the first few
blocks.

Chapter 50

I drove to Polka Central
filled with dread at what lay ahead on that deceptively sunny
Thursday. Not only was someone out to get me, probably the same
person who'd killed Dad and Eddie Sr., but Polkapourri was one day
away, and a mountain of work remained to be done for it.

Not to mention, the
authorities were going to haul Dad out of his final resting
place.

It was the kind of day I
just didn't want to deal with. I wished I could blink my eyes and
appear at the end of it without living through the
craziness.

Because I couldn't imagine
anything good coming out of it. Happy endings just didn't seem to
be in the cards.

That was what I thought
until I turned the corner onto the street where Polka Central was
located.

I slowed down immediately,
because I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I'd been planning to
light up a cigarette, but the idea vanished like a puff of
smoke.

Vehicles were parked up and
down both sides of the street and even on the lawn around the
building. People of all ages were working everywhere, hurrying
around and in and out of Polka Central. There were dozens of them,
all busy painting signs, fixing booths, packing boxes, loading
trucks.

Getting ready for Polkapourri, in
other words.

A car pulled out, and I took its
space. As I got out and walked toward Polka Central, everyone I
passed waved and said hello. A few people even clapped.

Where had they all come
from? Who could've possibly convinced them to help with the polka
festival?

"It's about time you showed
up." My sister Ellie stood in the front doorway wearing a black
Polish Fly t-shirt and red shorts, sneering down at me. "Thought
you might sleep the whole
day
away. Were you out all night on a bender or
something?"

Was it possible? Had Ellie,
of all people, pulled together this group effort? "This is
incredible, Ellie. Where did all the
people
come from?"