Sticky Fingers (28 page)

“The police brought her to our house early this morning. Her dad’s in the hospital. She doesn’t have any other family, except us. It was either foster care or my dad. Dad couldn’t say no.”

I turned to the girl, who was elaborately drying her eyes. She looked bereft.

“She okay?” I asked Richie.

“She’s the devil,” he replied. “She’d be okay in the fires of hell.”

I took a closer look at her. For her flight from foster care, Sugar wore a white fake fur jacket over a very short pink skirt and black leggings, with very high heels. She looked a little like … a junior hooker.

Richie rolled his eyes for my benefit. “I know, right? Who picks her clothes?”

Sugar had been hogging all the warmth that wafted up from the heater on the floor, but she must have seen my expression in the fragment of mirror left on the wall, because when she finally turned on us, she had a satanic fire in her eyes. “I don’t know what the two of you are complaining about. You both look like homeless people. And this guy”—she hooked her thumb at Nooch—“should get arrested for smelling like rotten pepperoni.”

She went on in a voice dripping with venom. “I’m not here by choice, that’s for sure, but Bitchie seemed to think you were the person who could help.”

“Bitchie?” Richie said. “That’s what I get after pedaling you down here in the freezing cold?”

“We could have called a cab!”

“Neither one of us has any money!”

“You don’t even have a debit card? What a dweeb!”

I cut across their bickering. “Wait. Hold on. How did you know where to find me?”

“Bada Bling Architecture Salvage.” Richie pointed out the window at the logo emblazoned on the side of the Monster Truck. “I looked up your address. Look, things are totally out of control—”

“Things are horrible,” Sugar corrected.

“My dad is no help at all,” Richie said. “He locked himself in the bathroom this morning.”

“The only decent bathroom in the whole house,” Sugar added.

“Is he okay?” I wondered if the last parent standing might be on the verge of hurting himself.

“He’s just overwhelmed,” Richie said. “He’ll pull out of it. He always does.”

“Does he know where you are right now?”

“No.”

“You should call him. This minute.” I pulled out my cell phone.

Richie shook his head. “Right now, he’s talking to the police again. He’ll be busy with them for hours.”

“Can we get down to business?” Sugar asked. “We want to know if we can become emancipated minors.”

“What?” I remembered how Flynn’s friend the skating coach had said Sugar was nasty. I hadn’t quite believed her. But the obnoxiousness of this girl was finally starting to be real to me. “Emancipated minors?”

Patiently, Richie said, “It’s a legal term that means—”

“I know what it means.” I began to understand why Eckelstine was overwhelmed. “Why do you want to be emancipated? And why now? I mean, it’s a little soon, isn’t it? Your mother is barely—”

“That’s the thing,” Sugar broke in, businesslike. “We want to make sure we get our fair share of our mother’s estate. Before Eckelstine gets awarded everything of value, not to mention the power to boss me around.”

“Boss
us
around,” Richie said.

“Whatever.” Sugar had Clarice’s bulldozing thing down pat. She pulled a fancy cell phone from her pocket and began to thumb the keys at lightning speed. “I’ve done all the research on emancipation. I’ll show you. We certainly don’t want to get trapped in any Youth Services hell. Now, I don’t know you from a clerk at 7-Eleven, but Bitchie seems to think you have a brain and might be trusted. Although, anybody who’d wear such heinous boots as those should be shot.” She pointed at my feet and shuddered.

“My name is
Richie.
”

“Save your breath. You’ll need it to blow up your next date. That’s all you can handle, right? An inflatable girl?”

“Watch your mouth, crankypants,” I said while Richie tried to figure out what the insult meant. “He’s your brother now. And I’m the one you’re asking for help, remember?”

Nooch spoke up. “Roxy’s always helpful. Most of the time, she’s a very positive person, except for some cussing. But she helps lots of people—especially people who can’t go to the police.”

“Right,” Sugar said with sarcasm, still busy on her phone. “And we’re supposed to trust your judgment? I don’t think so, rhino man.”

Shock might be to blame for Sugar’s bizarre bad temper, but I was having a hard time not giving her a smackdown.

I turned to Richie. “I don’t know what you think I can do,” I said to him. “I’m supposed to temporarily adopt you or something? Is that even legal?”

“Do we have to explain every detail? Look.” She thrust her phone at me. “All the information’s right here on the screen. You can read, right?”

Before I could verify her Internet research, a big vehicle pulled up outside the office window. The driver tooted the horn cheerfully.

“Wait here,” I told the kids, and I went outside.

Mostly, I needed fresh air to cool my temper. Two minutes in the presence of Sugar Mitchell, and I felt like spanking her.

Out in the parking lot, I did a double take. A big black Escalade had arrived, exactly like the one Sage’s new boyfriend drove.

Except slipping out of the driver’s side was none other than Zack Cleary. He walked around the back of the truck with a wide, if uncertain, grin on his face. “Morning, Mrs. A. How do you like my new wheels?”

I pointed at the
SQUISHY
license plate. “This is Mr. Squishy’s Escalade. What did you do? Steal it?”

“Yep,” Zack said proudly. “Isn’t she a beaut?”

“I thought you were clear about the difference between an annoying prank and a real crime that might get you arrested, Zack, not to mention get you tossed off the police force before you even get hired.”

“I know, but I was in the moment.” His eyes were bright, and he was bouncing with energy. “Crazy, right? I saw this baby sitting outside your house, and I couldn’t stop myself. I knew Brian was inside with Sage and—well, it was an irresistible urge. Besides, Brian left the keys in the ignition, and anybody that much of an idiot deserves to get his truck moved, right?”

“You didn’t
move
his truck. You stole it.”

“What’s your point?”

“You stole it, and then you brought it here!”

At last, Zack’s good cheer began to waver. “I thought you could help me plan my next move.”

21

My day had shaped up into a full-blown shitstorm. I could see the faces of Nooch, Richie, and Sugar staring out through my office window. Sugar’s mouth was moving a mile a minute. They disappeared when they saw my glare.

“Give me the keys, tiger.” I put out my hand to Zack. “Then get inside before somebody arrests you.”

When we entered the office, Sugar was sitting at my computer. She broke off a diatribe she had been addressing to Richie. “This machine is totally outdated,” she said to me. “How am I supposed to function with a computer this old? I’m trying to find a lawyer, and this thing takes forever.”

Then she took one look at Zack and immediately assumed an angelic expression with shades of seduction.

“Hi,” she said, catching Zack off guard with some batting of eyelashes.

He stepped back as if she’d brandished a Taser.

“Okay, listen up,” I said to the group assembled around my space heater. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m leaving for an hour.” Over a chorus of objections, I raised my voice and continued. “All of you are going to stay here and behave yourselves while I take care of business. Zack, you can babysit.”

“I do not need a babysitter!” Sugar said hotly.

“Neither do I,” Richie said.

“I don’t mind,” Nooch said. “But what about lunch?”

Zack grabbed my sleeve as I headed for the door. “You’re punishing me, aren’t you? That’s not fair!”

“I’ve got to get rid of Mr. Squishy’s truck before the police figure out it’s missing. So you’re elected for child care, tiger.”

“But—”

I got a handful of his shirt and dragged him out the door. Outside, I turned on him. “Listen, Zack, I’m not leaving you here to spoon-feed the applesauce and supervise the afternoon nap. Those kids have lost their mother, and that girl’s father was almost murdered last night. Now, I haven’t figured out why yet, but there’s a fifty-fifty chance that one or both of them are in danger, too.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve got some police skills, right?”

“Uh—”

“You just finished the damn academy, didn’t you? So today your job is to protect those two kids until I get back. Nooch can help. Give him a direct order, and he’ll do what you say. Just make sure those kids are safe.”

“Okay.” Zack gulped. “Okay, I can do that.”

“If something happens to the little monsters, I’m going to blame you.”

I took Rooney with me. He dragged his bone into the Escalade and left a greasy swath on the white leather upholstery.

As I pulled out of the yard, my cell phone rang again.

I groaned and checked the ID, expecting more bad news.

But the display read
CARNEGIE LIBRARY
.

I answered the call and heard Sister Bob’s voice crying, “Roxy! Roxy! Come quick!”

I cursed and floored the Escalade.

We arrived in the parking lot of the library in a spray of gravel. I bailed out of the truck with Rooney hot on my heels. We ran through the employee entrance. Inside, I nearly stepped on the broken remains of a glass coffeepot and several cups.

In the stairwell, I ripped open the glass fire door and grabbed out the fire extinguisher. Rooney leaped up the steps ahead of me, his nose leading him straight for the trouble. Like a speeding bullet, he went through the double doors at the top of the stairs and disappeared.

I ran up the stairs behind him and reached the top in time to see through to the library’s big lobby. The skylight sent a glare of sunlight down on a pudgy kid in a baggy sweatshirt stained with orange dye. He held a shaky handgun on three terrified librarians cowering behind the circulation desk.

Rooney charged the kid, who swung the gun on the dog, but not in time. The librarians screamed. Rooney leaped into the air, and the kid shrieked at the sight of a green dog headed straight for his throat. The gun went off. A chunk of the ceiling exploded overhead. Everybody started screaming—maybe even me. I saw the gun go flying.

Rooney’s jaws closed around the kid’s forearm, and his momentum whirled the kid around so that I could see his face at last. He looked ludicrously terrified.

I kicked the gun soccer-style, and it skidded under a table.

Another gunshot—this time higher pitched. The kid yelped and clutched his butt. I swung around to see Sister Bob flat on her belly, pointing a BB gun at the library robber.

By that time, Rooney was shaking the kid by his arm. I knew the dog was so far gone into attack mode that he could no longer hear me shouting at him. So I pulled the pin on the fire extinguisher.

The extinguisher had more kick than I expected. Before I got control of it, I had sprayed the circulation desk and everybody around it with soapy white foam. Then I grabbed the nozzle hard and trained the stream on Rooney and the kid.

Rooney released the boy’s arm and backed off, his face full of foam.

“Get down on the floor,” I ordered the kid.

But he was scared, plastered with orange dye and foam, plus he was bleeding and probably in pain. He grabbed his own arm and bolted for the stairs.

“Let him go!” someone cried, and I recognized Sister Bob’s voice. She scrambled up from the floor.

The huddled group of librarians sorted themselves out into a cluster of middle-aged ladies who were frightened and outraged, but otherwise unharmed. One of them headed for the telephone and called 911.

“Tell the police to look for an orange kid,” Sister Bob suggested.

“Who’s all soapy-looking,” added another librarian.

While the rest of the librarians advised the police, Sister Bob rushed over and hugged me. “Oh, Roxana, I can’t thank you enough for coming! He’s never brought a gun before. We were so frightened!”

“It’s okay. Everybody’s fine. Unless you shot someone with a BB.”

“I think I hit that kid in the tushie.”

“If it’s only a BB gun, he’ll just be walking funny for a while. It’s his arm I’m more worried about. Good thing he was wearing that thick shirt, or Rooney might be chewing on a wrist bone.”

Sister Bob hugged Rooney. “What a dear, sweet dog!”

“Uh, look, Sister Bob, I have to be going.”

“But why? You should stay and talk to the police. You can identify the boy.”

There was no way to explain that I didn’t want the cops to see the vehicle I’d driven over. By now, surely they were looking for a stolen Escalade with a
SQUISHY
plate.

“You can identify him just as well as I can. Besides, nobody’s going to miss seeing a kid who’s orange and butt-shot. I don’t want Rooney to get unfairly impounded. He’s had all his shots, but—”

“I understand,” said Sister Bob.

I edged for the stairs. “Sister Bob, did Sage go to school today?”

“Yes,” said Bob. “Her boyfriend came to take her.”

“Did you see her leave the house?”

“Well, no, but she said she was going. She promised to lock all the doors.”

If I had any motherly instincts at all, they were telling me that Sage was home alone with her new boyfriend. “Okay, Sister Bob, I’ll see you later, right?”

“Thank you, Roxana. Thank you, thank you.”

All the librarians had to hug me after that, but I finally tore myself away.

Rooney and I pulled out of the parking lot just as two police cruisers showed up. One officer craned his neck around to see who was driving the Escalade, but I think I managed to escape before he saw my face. The license plate, though, was clear.

I drove up to Loretta’s house to see if Sage was skipping school again. I parked the Escalade in the back alley and used my key to get into the house.

But nobody was home.

Next I drove over to Sage’s school.

It had been my school, too, years ago, but now it was very different.