Ruby Redfort Take Your Last Breath (12 page)

She walked off, then stopped and called out, “So remember, if anyone’s gonna get chomped tomorrow, it’s me!”

Ruby was slowly riding her bike home when she noticed the stranger standing on the corner of Bamboo and Rose. She had seen him a few times now without really taking notice, but this time she
was
taking notice: Twinford was a big place, but this guy seemed to be frequenting a lot of the same places Ruby did.

Is he tailing me?

She had first seen a weathered-looking guy soon after the dolphins took up residence in Twinford Harbor. Earlier this week she had spotted the same man on the corner of Amster, drinking a small cup of coffee. He wore a hat and sunglasses (even though the sun had already sunk low in the sky). He was tanned and lithe, but the hair that stuck out from under his cap was gray and he looked like he had seen many a scorching summer’s day, his skin leathery and worn. She had spotted him in the middle of town too, outside the library and then again down near the harbor.

Nothing to be suspicious about, you could say, but Ruby had picked him up on her internal radar, and once she had seen him a couple of times, she realized she was seeing him over and over. She had never observed him with anyone, nor had she heard him speak, not even to the waiter at the coffee shop. When he ordered, he pointed; when he thanked, he nodded; when he paid the check, he paid silently and left with a wave of the hand.

OK, so there was no law against drinking small cups of coffee in the Full-O-Beans coffee shop, but though Ruby had never caught him looking in her direction, she had this weird feeling that this man was watching her, like he knew who she was. If she was right about that, then what was he doing? And was she in danger?

Why would he be tailing me?
she thought.

For now, she couldn’t do anything more than add him to her list.

Once back on Cedarwood Drive, she scooted up the stairs to her room. She retrieved her yellow notebook and marked the “stranger” sightings on her city map. Having stared at the map for some time, Ruby put down her pen, folded the map, and returned it to the hiding place. She went down to the kitchen to find Mrs. Digby and food.

She found Mrs. Digby boiling pasta and scolding the radio.

The radio presenter was saying:

“We at Chime Melody apologize for the interference to our broadcasts during this past week. We are trying to correct the problem. Meanwhile, don’t go twisting that dial, we’ll miss you.”

“They shoulda sorted this issue before now,” said Mrs. Digby. “It’s more than an old person can stand, this squawking coming at you every time you step into your kitchen. No wonder my noodles are overcooked.” She twisted the tuner to Twinford Talk Radio.

“SO BETTY, I HEAR YKK 672 IS ABOUT TO PASS PRETTY CLOSE TO EARTH?”
“THAT’S RIGHT, KEN.”
“BETTY, IS IT POSSIBLE THAT THE ASTEROID COULD BE INTERFERING WITH CHIME MELODY 204 FM?”
“INTERESTING THEORY, KEN, BUT I DON’T THINK THE SCIENTISTS WOULD AGREE THAT THE TWO THINGS ARE RELATED.”

“Asteroid, my foot.” Mrs. Digby clunked the off switch with her ladle and went back to salvaging her noodles.

But Ruby’s mind was no longer on food; it was far too busy trying to decide if Ken might just be right. Maybe the asteroid did have a part to play in this whole mystery.

Or maybe it was just a cold bit of rock floating through space, and Ruby was no closer to working out what in tarnation was going on.

The captain of the
Golden Albatross
— a cowardly little man — might have surrendered immediately, but Ambassador Crew was no coward, and he would
not
give in so readily.

He had had enough of dancing to their tune. He stood up from where the Twinfordites were huddled and strode out to confront the head pirate. He drew himself up as tall as he could. He towered above these scoundrels, and it made him feel confident. He would get what he wanted — he always did.

“This will not stand — do you hear me? I insist that you release me and drop me back on terra firma. I have a job, and it’s an important one. Oh, and these people need to get home too.” He waved his hand, indicating the cowering cruise passengers. “Some of them have jobs, and most of them have commitments of sorts.”

The pirates merely laughed.

“Who is this bozo with the snapped arm?” jeered the pirate with the poor dental work. He was pointing at Ambassador Crew’s plaster cast — an injury sustained in a squash match.

“Now, just look here —”began Ambassador Crew.

The pirate snarled a menacing snarl that came from deep inside. “You are not the boss of this boat — I am. And if I say you need to keep your big mouth shut, you shut it — understood?”

Ambassador Crew glanced at the silver knife glimmering in the pirate’s hand, and he kept his mouth firmly shut.

“And if I say you jump up and down, then you jump up and down, got it?” said the pirate.

Ambassador Crew nodded.

“So jump up and down,” snarled the pirate.

Ambassador Crew jumped.

IT WAS 8 A.M. ON SATURDAY MORNING,
and Clancy Crew was doing as Coach Newhart had suggested: swimming as if his life depended on it. At this rate he was going to win the trophy for Twinford Junior High single-handedly. He was way out in front and almost at the buoy. He even thought he could hear Ruby’s shouts, urging him on, but of course he couldn’t, not with the earplugs in. What he
could
hear was the thumping of his heart and the voice in his head that said,
Why am I in the water? Am I out of my mind? I’m going to die!

A couple of times he thought he saw something; a couple of times he thought he felt something brush past him. He tried to focus on a rule Ruby had taught him many, many years ago when he was just a tiny kid at a Halloween party. It had been his turn to stick his hand in the Halloween barrel; the barrel always contained everyday items — like a hard-boiled egg with shell removed — but your imagination could easily lead you to believe that it was a misshapen eyeball you were holding. Sometimes, it is important to shut down the creative part of the brain, just tell yourself it’s OK and you will find that it is OK.
RULE 21: DON’T THINK BACK; DON’T THINK AHEAD; JUST THINK NOW.

So Clancy tried to do just that. Things went fine until he got to the marker, turned, and began to swim back to shore. This was the worst part, the part he dreaded. Now he couldn’t see what was in the open water behind him; now he would never know if some large fish with big sharp teeth was following him, waiting for exactly the right moment to open its jaws and bite down on a leg, or worse, his whole body. He imagined the blood gushing up out of his mouth, the feeding frenzy that would ensue.

Clancy closed his eyes and swam.

He swam so hard and so blindly that he only realized that he had reached the beach when he felt the rough sand graze his stomach and the strong hand of Coach Newhart pulling him to his feet.

“Nice swim, Crew. I knew you had technique, but I had no idea you were fast.” The coach draped a towel around his shoulders and slapped him on the back. “Grab a hot drink, son, and get warmed up.”

Clancy staggered toward the support team, all of them smiling and cheering congratulations, but Clancy was only aware of the sensation of sand underfoot; feet, all two of them, back on terra firma. He was alive.

When the swimathon was over and all the participants were out of the water and back on the beach, pulling on their tracksuits, Clancy went to find Ruby. She was sitting on the beach, her head resting on her knees, her eyes focused on the horizon. She looked up, smiling. “See Clance, I told you you could do it!”

“Can we just get out of here?” he pleaded.

Once they were safely installed in their favorite booth at the Double Donut, Ruby picked up the conversation. “Mind over matter is all it took you — of course, guts too,” she added. “I don’t deny that.”

“Well, never again,” said Clancy, clutching a mug of hot chocolate. He was still shivering even though it was eighty degrees outside.

“Don’t let Coach Newhart hear you saying that,” said Ruby. “He thinks he just discovered the swim talent of the century. My guess is he’s got big plans for you, my friend.”

“Can we please talk about something else?” pleaded Clancy. He was beginning to turn green. It was fair to say that Clancy Crew looked all washed out, which wasn’t surprising since he had just faced his biggest fear and lived to tell the tale. Ruby thought about
her
darkest terror, the total fear of being buried alive. Would she have fared so well if forced to confront her own nightmare? She decided to cut Clancy a little slack and changed the subject.

“So I’m guessing Spectrum might issue me with some new spy gadgets — you know, dive-related ones.”

“Speaking of which . . .” Clancy pulled something out of his pocket. “I found this on the beach. You musta dropped it.” It was the rescue watch.

“Thanks, Clance! I didn’t even realize I’d lost it. It’s the clasp — the darned thing keeps coming loose. Hey, but that little problem with the retractable grab cable should be all hunky-dory, now so I can rappel out of anywhere.”

“Wish you’d grabbed me out of the ocean an hour ago,” muttered Clancy.

“Nah, you didn’t need me — you swam your way out of that just fine.”

“It was the button,” said Clancy.

“Well, you’re the one who did the swimming,” said Ruby.

“It was the button,” repeated Clancy.

They were both silent for about twenty seconds, and then Clancy said, “So that was pretty nice of LB to let you keep it. The watch I mean.”

“Yeah,” said Ruby. “The ‘great’ Bradley Baker’s rescue watch, who would have thunk it.” She said this with more than the smallest hint of sarcasm.

“You said it’s pretty special to her?”

“Seems so,” said Ruby. “BB and LB were kinda close.”

“So is it true that they were sweethearts?” asked Clancy.

“Sweethearts!” Ruby spluttered. “No one says sweethearts, Clance — not unless they’re at least ancient, like two hundred.”

Clancy looked indignant. “Mouse used the word
sweetheart
just yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll bet she used it in a cool way, you know, being ironic or something.”

“You saying I’m not cool?” said Clancy.

“Clance, I’m not saying that — I just meant you were using the word
sweetheart
in an old lady type of way.”

“I’m using it in its technical form,” argued Clancy. “It’s technically correct.”

“Yeah, if you’re listening to Chime Radio or something. . . . Speaking of which, did you happen to tune in lately?” said Ruby.

Clancy looked at her like she had lost at least one or two brain cells. “What? Are you crazy? Do I look like I’m a senior citizen?”

“It happens to play some great numbers,” said Ruby. “For anyone with an eclectic taste in music — I rate it.”

“Yeah, I agree actually, but not in the afternoon. The afternoon show is super lame — cheesy beyond cheese puffs.”

“OK, I’ll give you that, but I wasn’t asking if you had
listened,
I asked you if you had happened to tune in; they’re two different things.”

“How’d ya mean?” asked Clancy.

“OK, so a few days running this weird thing has been happening where Chime broadcasts tunes that aren’t tunes.”

“What? I don’t get it,” said Clancy, scrunching his face up like he had just eaten a bad snail or something.

This always got on Ruby’s nerves: trying to explain something when someone was looking at you like this was off-putting. “Quit making the face, would ya?” said Ruby.

“Sorry,” said Clancy. “I don’t do it on purpose; it’s just how my face goes.”

Ruby continued. “I mean the music is untuneful, as in very un-Chime-like, sorta avant-garde —
like
music, but super modern,” she said.

“Has anybody been complaining about it?” said Clancy.

“They apologized on the show, and Talk Radio said it might be due to asteroid interference.”

“So maybe that’s it,” said Clancy. “Maybe it’s just some old asteroid.”