"Otis, you're the best and the smartest dog in the whole world," Parker said. Turning to me, he grinned. "Didn't I tell you he could track me down wherever I went?"
Another curse and more threats from Flynn erupted from the trap. "What should we do with him?" I asked Parker.
"Leave him here and get the cops," Parker said.
"What if he climbs out?" My heart sped up again as I imagined Flynn catching us before we reached the safety of town.
Parker led Otis to the edge of the trap. "Stay," he told the dog. "Don't let him out."
As we started to walk away, Otis whimpered. He watched us, his eyes pleading, but Parker shook his head. "Stay," he repeated firmly.
Obediently, Otis turned his attention to the hole. Crouching over Flynn, he growled horribly, and Parker said, "Good boy!"
It was hard to run with my hands tied, but I managed to stumble after Parker. We staggered through the woods to the road and started the long walk home.
Even though it was November first, the sun was still hot. I was hungry and thirsty and so tired my legs were shaking. Just when I was sure I couldn't take another step, I saw someone silhouetted at the top of the next hill. It was Jennifer running toward us.
"Thank God you're all right," she cried. "I saw Otis chasing the van, and I tried to follow him but I couldn't keep up."
"Are you okay?" Parker stared at Jennifer. Her face was dirty and streaked with tears, and her gangster suit was ripped in several places.
She looked down at herself and shrugged. "First I slid on some gravel and fell down," she said, "and then, when I was almost here, I saw the van coming really fast, and I jumped into the bushes to hide. Evans was driving like a maniac. I was sure you were dead."
I think Jennifer was about to hug Parker, but, before she could, he held out his hands. "Can you untie me?"
She pulled a Girl Scout knife out of her pocket and started sawing at the rope. "It's kind of dull," she apologized, but, in a couple of minutes, Parker's hands were free.
Then it was my turn. By the time Jennifer was finished, Parker was already at the top of the hill, running hard. Ignoring the stabbing pain in my side, I hurried after him.
17
WHEN WE WERE a block away from the police station, we saw Tiffany and Charity struggling to get the doll carriage up the steps and through the door. By the time we caught up with them, Charity was scowling at Sergeant Williams, and Tiffany was waving a Cabbage Patch Kid in his face.
"Parker said you'd give me a prize when I showed you my dolls!" Tiffany was saying.
"Where have you been all this time?" Jennifer yelled at her sister. "I told you to go straight to the police station!"
Tiffany looked at Charity. "She wanted to see the parade first," Tiffany whined, "and I was scared to come here all by myself, so I had to watch it, too."
Pushing Tiffany aside, Parker snatched the antique doll from the carriage and shoved it in front of Williams. "This doll," he gasped, still out of breath from running, "its head is full of cocaine!"
Tiffany and Charity stared at Parker. "How did that old thing get in my carriage?" Tiffany wanted to know.
"What's Parker doing in that dress?" Charity asked loudly. "He sure looks funny."
While Williams stared at him, probably wondering the same thing, Parker tried to explain about Pam and Evans and Flynn. "You've got to find my mother," he shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. "And arrest Flynn before he gets out of the trap and hurts my dog!"
"I saw the van on Endicott Road," Jennifer added. "It was going toward the Interstate."
"Look." Parker snatched the doll out of Williams's hands. Pulling the wig off, he dumped two little bags on the desk. "Cocaine!"
Williams shoved the bags toward our old friend Scruggs. "Have this checked," he said.
Then things started happening. Williams calmed us down somehow and got all the information we could give him about Flynn and what we thought was going on. Then he put out an all points bulletin for the van and sent a squad car to the quarry. Last of all, he sent somebody to Mom's and Mrs. Irwin's booths.
Before I even had a chance to decide what I was going to tell her, I saw Mom shove the door open and run toward me. Mrs. Irwin was right behind her. From the expression on Mom's face, I thought I was going to be killed after all. But I was wrong. Instead of yelling at me, she hugged me and started crying–which was very embarrassing. Especially when you've just been a hero and trapped a dangerous drug dealer, and all the police are standing around watching your mother treat you like a baby.
As Mrs. Irwin left with Jennifer and Tiffany, Mom hugged Parker and Charity, though what my sister had done to deserve it I don't know. After all, it was her fault that Tiffany had taken so long to get to the police station.
Just when we were ready to go home, the squad car came back from the quarry. Flynn was slumped in the backseat, but Otis was riding up front beside the driver. His mouth was open and he was grinning like a hero. While Parker threw his arms around him, Otis winked at me, I swear he did.
You can make a bet Flynn didn't wink at anybody. In fact, he didn't even look up as the police led him past us. Besides being handcuffed and covered with mud, he was missing one shoe and the other was coated with clay from the bottom of the trap.
At the sight of his enemy, Otis growled. Hearing that, Flynn walked a little faster toward the door that led to the cells.
***
When we got home, Mom fixed lunch for us, including a special treat for Otis, but Parker was too upset to eat. All he could think about was Pam. I was worried too, but I'm afraid that didn't stop me from devouring two tuna sandwiches and drinking three glasses of milk. We hadn't had anything to eat all day, and I didn't think my brain or my body could function much longer without some nourishment.
At last the phone rang, and Mom answered it. From what she was saying, Parker and I knew it was about Pam, and we listened hard, almost too scared to breathe.
When Mom hung up, she turned and put her arms around Parker. "George Evans wrecked the van," she said. "All he got were a few cuts and bruises, but Pam broke her leg. She's in surgery now, and you can see her tomorrow morning. I'll take you to the hospital."
She hurried us upstairs then, telling us we needed a bath and clean clothes and maybe a nap. You'd have thought we were five years old again, but the funny thing was, we did what she told us without a word of protest. In fact, my bed had never felt better in my whole life.
***
The next morning, Mom and I had a long argument. I thought she should take me to the hospital with Parker, and she thought I should go to school. If Parker himself hadn't begged Mom to let me come, I'm positive I would have found myself trudging down the street to Letitia B. Arbuckle Junior High School.
"Are you sure you want me to go in with you?" I asked Parker as we walked down the long gray hospital corridor. "Don't you want to be alone with Pam for a while?"
Parker shook his head. He was still very pale, and the bruise on his cheek had puffed up, making his eye almost disappear.
"Do you think she hates me?" he whispered.
"Why would she hate you?"
"It's my fault she's here, isn't it?" Parker slumped against the wall, his head down. "If I hadn't wanted to get something on Evans, none of this would've happened."
I had to lean toward him to hear what he was saying. "Are you kidding?" I asked. "You saw what kind of a man Flynn was. Sooner or later, Evans would've made a mistake, and he and Pam would have ended up like the dead man in Indian Creek. You probably saved her life, Parker."
He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it straight back from his face. Of course, it tumbled down in his eyes again.
"Come on," I said, even though I was kind of scared to see Pam myself. "Let's go in."
When Parker didn't move, I took his arm and steered him past the policeman sitting in a folding chair beside the door.
Pam was lying in a bed with sides like a crib,
and an IV was attached to her arm. Her leg was in a cast up to her hip and her head was bandaged. She was so still, I was scared she was dead.
The rubber soles on Parker's shoes made a loud squeaking sound on the tile floor, and Pam opened her eyes. To my relief, she smiled. "Parker," she whispered, "thank God, you're all right. They told me you were safe, but I was afraid to believe them."
While I stood there watching, Parker dropped to his knees beside the bed. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I never wanted you to get hurt."
"It's all my fault," Pam said. With her free hand, she reached out and brushed Parker's hair out of his eyes. "How can you ever forgive me? If it hadn't been for Otis, we'd all be dead."
When Pam started to cry, I knew I should leave, but they'd forgotten all about me. I didn't want to embarrass them by trying to tiptoe out the door.
"But, why, Pam?" Parker asked. "Why did you do it?"
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Oh, Parker," she sniffed, "I was so stupid. George made it sound like such an easy way to get some extra money. There were things I needed for the house, for you, for me, so I started helping him with the dolls. Then, I don't know, I thought I loved him, I thought he'd marry me, take care of us, make life easier."
She turned to Parker and her voice rose a little. "You don't know how hard it's been all these years, trying to raise you all by myself. No extra money, hardly enough to pay the rent and buy the groceries. I know it was wrong, but I never thought anyone would be hurt."
Reaching up, she gently touched Parker's bruised cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "If I ever get out of jail, I'll be a better mother, honest I will."
"Jail?" Parker drew back and started at Pam, stunned. "They won't put you in jail, will they?"
"What do you think happens to people who sell drugs?" Pam turned her face away. "The police don't just pat you on the head and tell you not to do it again," she whispered.
Before Parker could say anything more, a nurse appeared with a cartful of little tubes. Stepping up to the bed, she put her hand on Parker's shoulder.
"That's enough for now," she said. "Your mother needs to rest."
Parker rose slowly to his feet, and the nurse smiled at him. "You can come back tomorrow," she added kindly.
Stealing one last look at Pam's pale face, I followed Parker out of the room. I could see how upset he was, and I wished I could think of something comforting to say. But what can you tell your best friend when his mother is going to jail? As far as I know, even Dear Abby hasn't got any advice about a subject like that.
***
That afternoon, Parker and I were sitting on my back steps. He had been unusually quiet ever since we left the hospital, and I wondered what he was thinking about.
After a long stretch of silence, Parker looked at me. Mom had trimmed his hair, and I could actually see his eyes.
"What do you think will happen to Pam?" He pulled Otis close and gave him a hug.
"Dad's going to talk to a lawyer," I said. "He thinks if Pam gives evidence against Evans and Flynn, the judge might go easy on her."
"Will they put her in jail?"
"I don't know," I said. "But whatever happens, my mom says you're staying with us. You and Otis both."
"Really?" Parker smiled for the first time all day. "I was afraid they'd put me in a foster home or something." He buried his face in Otis's fur and hugged him hard.
At that moment, Jennifer came around the corner of the house. Tiffany and Charity were right behind her but they were too involved in one of their games to pay us any attention.
As Jennifer sat down between Parker and me, I heard Tiffany yell, "Quick, run, Flynn's coming. He'll kill us, he'll kill us!"
Charity gave an ear-piercing scream, and she and Tiffany tore past us as if they were truly being chased.
"Help, Help!" they cried. "Save us, Otis, save us!"
Otis sat up straighter and watched them disappear behind the garage. Then he turned to Parker and said, "Whuf?"
"So now it's just a kids' game," Parker observed.
"Not to me." Jennifer shivered. "Not ever."
"Me either." I slid nearer to Jennifer, wishing she weren't sitting so close to Parker.
Otis got to his feet and gave himself a little shake. Then he ambled off toward the garage to check on Tiffany and Charity.
"Maybe he wants to be a hero again," Parker said.
The three of us looked at each other and smiled. I think we'd all had enough heroism for a while.
Behind us, I heard Mom in the kitchen getting dinner ready, and I knew Dad would be home soon. At five thirty on the dot, we'd sit down at the table, and Charity would complain about something on her plate, and Dad would threaten to send her to her room. After dessert, Parker and I would go up to my room and work on this month's book report.
For once in my life, I was perfectly content. The fragrance of an apple pie baking in the oven tickled my nose, and the November sunlight was still warm enough to feel good on my face. At that moment, I didn't care if anything exciting happened to me again for a long, long time.
Mary Downing Hahn, The Dead Man in Indian Creek
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