Sammy Keyes and the Curse of Moustache Mary (25 page)

After my bath, when Hudson was helping patch me up, he said, “At a very minimum, you're going to get a tetanus shot tomorrow,” and since I was too tired to argue with him, I just said, “Yeah-yeah-yeah,” and crashed on his couch.

I probably would've slept until noon, but at around eight in the morning there's this little
tap-tap-tap
on the front door, and when Hudson answers it, I know who's there. I can hear him asking for me. And right away I panic because I don't know how in the world Officer Borsch could have known I was there.

I get dressed as fast as I can and rake my fingers through my hair, and then stuff my things out of sight—just like I do at home. And I can hear Officer Borsch saying, “Well, I noticed the bike on the porch and…”

I step up to the front door, beside Hudson. “Officer Borsch! How's it going?”

He doesn't have to answer. I can see how it's going. He's a complete mess, and the bags under his eyes are huge. Even for the Borsch-man. So before he can answer, I say, “Good grief. What happened?”

Hudson interrupts. “Would you like to come in? I can brew you some coffee or…”

“No, no. Thank you, sir. There are just a few things I'd like to tell Samantha.” He eyes the porch, and Hudson picks up on the fact that Officer Borsch would probably be more comfortable talking to me alone. So Hudson says, “Well, sure. You two have a seat out here. I've got an appointment to go jogging in about fifteen minutes anyway, so just make yourselves at home.”

I wanted to grab Hudson and say, “Hey, wait a minute! What's with this jogging bit?” but the door's already closing on us.

So we sit down on the porch, and it feels kind of strange, having Officer Borsch planted in Hudson's chair. I mean, there's no way he would ever listen to me the way Hudson does, but still, there he was, sitting in Hudson's chair like he belonged.

He takes a deep breath and says, “It's been a long night, Sammy. But the investigators have dismantled the clan lab, and even though they've still got to test the property for toxic waste, it's pretty much cleaned up.”

“Did Dallas run that extension cord from the toolshed? I was trying to figure that out after we left.”

“That's right. He just ran a trench and buried it.” He shakes his head and says, “Clan labs aren't usually too sophisticated, but Coleman's was real makeshift.”

“Why's it called a clan lab? I mean, it was just him, right? Not a whole clan.”

He tries not to smile. “Clan as in clandestine. But you're right. Mr. Coleman's operation was small. Generally there are at least a few people involved.”

“So did you get anything out of Dallas?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did he talk?”

“Like a clam.” He smiles again. “But you were on the spot with that Briggs boy. I didn't have the chance to get details from you last night, but I'd sure like to know how you pieced that one together.”

So I tell him about the Elephant Truck and the transmission fluid and the gas cap. And then about what I'd seen and heard at the party and what I'd learned from Brandon and Casey. And I don't know if it was the porch or the chair or what, but for once Officer Borsch didn't interrupt me or roll his eyes. He just listened.

When I was all done, I asked, “Do you think Dallas put the gas can in the cellar so people wouldn't know that it was arson and start investigating?”

“More than that. He used it to blackmail Ben Briggs. He caught Briggs leaving the scene and confronted him in that oak tunnel where you found the lid to the gas can. They had a scuffle, but when Coleman realized what Briggs had done, he ran off to try and save the cabin. Later he told Briggs that if he caused him any more trouble, he'd turn him in. Briggs was petrified because Coleman made it sound like he'd destroyed a priceless historic monument—not just an old shack.

“By the way, you were right about them being best friends, and that Coleman selling meth to the youngest boy was what lit Briggs' fuse. Briggs says he followed Coleman for a week, finally made the connection that he was cooking in the shack, and decided to destroy the operation.”

“What's going to happen to Ben?”

Officer Borsch sighs. “Miss Lucinda doesn't want to press charges.”

“You're
kidding
.”

He shakes his head. “She sees no sense in it.” He eyes me and says, “That woman reminds me a lot of you.”

“Me? Lucinda?” I think about that a minute and say, “Well, thanks.”

“Not that I want to see you walking a pig anytime soon…”

“Oh! So what happened to Penny?”

He laughs. “What a life. Anyone else would've turned her into bacon. Not Lucinda Huntley.”

“What happened? How'd you get her out?”

“With a tow truck. They put a sling on the hoist and pulled her out oinking and squealing.”

I laughed at the thought. “What about her leg?”

“Lucinda's convinced her vet to set it. I've never heard of such a thing, but there you have it. She's going to take the pig for walks in a
wagon
until the leg's better.” He shakes his head and says, “Don't ask me how she's going to pull the thing—I don't know.”

I laugh, too, and say, “If I know Lucinda, she'll find a way.”

He stands up and says, “Well, I'm glad I noticed the bike. I was on my way in, and I thought—well, I thought you might want to know.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head at the bike. “It's a shame. That one was a classic.”

I stand next to him with my hands on my hips and nod. “Yeah. Hudson's
real
glad he lent it to me.”

Officer Borsch rubs the stubble on his chin. “We don't have anything
vintage
like this…but how about a mountain bike? Could your friend handle one of those?”

“Hudson?” I laugh and say, “Oh, he can handle anything.” Then I turn to him and ask, “But what are you saying?”

He hikes up his gunbelt and says, “I can't promise any thing yet, but it seems the least the department could do.” He smiles at me. “Line of duty and all that.”

Now I probably can't explain this right, but let's just say that at that moment I felt like Officer Borsch had pinned a
DEPUTY
star on me. And bike or no bike, I felt like I'd just grown two inches. I smiled at him and said, “That's a nice thought, anyway.”

He goes down the porch steps and says, “Let me see if I can make it happen.”

He gets in his car and zooms off, and then Hudson comes zipping out of the house in sweats and tennies, saying, “Go inside and get some more shut-eye. I'll be back in a bit,” and disappears down the street.

So there I am, on the morning of the second day of a brand-new year, on Hudson's porch, alone with my thoughts. And I play it all through my brain again like a
movie. And when I finish the rerun, I think about the path I walk with my friends. About how lucky I am to have Marissa and Dot and Holly.

Then I think about Dallas and Ben. About Karl and Brandon, Heather and Tenille. About Taylor and Snake and Casey. And it's funny—in my mind, I can see the forks in their roads, their cliffs and their valleys, but when it comes to
my
path, I see nothing.

And in a way, that bothers me. I mean, I have no idea what I want to do. Where I want to go. What I want to be. I've always just lived day to day, school year to summer.

But sitting there on Hudson's porch with the sun shining over the neighbors' rooftops, I remember Officer Borsch comparing me to Lucinda. And it hits me that Lucinda is as much like Mary Rose Huntley as anyone could be, and that nothing,
nothing,
had stopped Mary. She wasn't a curse. She was just determined. Determined to stay on her own path regardless of how hard others tried to throw her off.

And suddenly I'm flushed with this strong, very powerful sense that no matter where I decide to go, no matter what I decide to be, if I can stay on my own path and not let floods or droughts or wild redheads stop me, I am going to make it.

Even if I have to put on a moustache somewhere along the way.