But it isn't Albert I'm worried about now - the Ponge spy is coming. All the time I was spying at the living room window, he was lurking in the dimness upstairs like some lethal fungus. Now he has his marching orders. Soon I will see him.
I don't think Mr. Ponge himself will be coming. He obviously has money, and a man with money doesn't take unnecessary risks. Also, if the spy gets caught, Ponge can deny being involved - play the same game as Albert is.
If my guess is right, the spy will walk past the raspberry bushes again. It's an indirect route that gives the best chance of avoiding notice from the Grech house.
I need to find out more about this intruder, whatever the risk. The steel pipe is my insurance. I don't want violence, but if it comes to a choice between hitting somebody and getting my own head knocked in, well ...
My nose starts to run and my eyes burn. Man, what is that stuff in the air? Some vapor is coming off the orchard, like a belch from a rotting corpse. The crickets and the whirring bugs quiet down as if the air is pressing the noise out of them. This rural atmosphere is plenty strange to me, even without all these psychos hanging around.
Where is that dog when I need him most? Albert has been giving him food lately, convinced by my lies that Poochie has some value as a watch dog. And my reward? The mutt has probably forgotten all about me and is off looking for a girl friend.
So I wait alone, crouched in the raspberry pickers for what seems like hours. My nose runs so badly that I have to use my shirt tail as a handkerchief; I've got nothing else. Gross!
I grip my weapon in sweaty hands. With each passing minute, the spy grows larger and more terrible in my mind, until he blots out the dim horizon. He is a great, fat, baldheaded sucker wearing a pin-striped vest over his obscene tattoos. In one fist he hefts a tire iron, in the other a white envelope ... Time drags past.
***
Then I hear footsteps on the road.
I crouch deeper into the raspberry plants. My heart slams in my chest, and I close my eyes to calm myself.
This is it, Billy. Don't blow it now!
The footsteps come closer. They are in the middle of the road, on the gravel edge, shuffling in the grass right by me. I force my eyes open.
12: Ambush
Heck, it's just a girl!
Relief washes over me like a cool shower. I relax my grip on the pipe. As my guard goes down, a long overdue sneeze explodes before I can stop it.
The girl spins toward me. Any instant she'll scream or run away. I leap from my hiding place, grab her and press a hand over her mouth.
"Quiet!" I say.
She struggles fiercely in my arms, like a big cat. She sinks her teeth into my hand. Incredible pain shoots right through me, and I choke back a cry of agony.
"Stop that!" I hiss into her ear.
I clamp my other hand over her mouth. She makes a last frantic effort to break free, then she suddenly goes limp. I fear that she has passed out.
"Keep quiet, please." I relax my hold. "I'm not going to hurt you."
She jerks free, and an elbow shoots up against my chin. I tumble backwards into the bushes. Something sharp jabs at my throat.
"Darn right you're not gonna hurt me, punk!" she snarls.
Her angry face lunges out of the darkness at me. With one hand she grips my hair, pinning my head down. Her other hand is at my throat. The knife it holds is quite small, but from my viewpoint it seems as big as a guillotine blade.
My chin feels cracked, but I must talk fast, while my head is still connected to the rest of me.
"Uh ... hi." I scarcely move my jaw so as to avoid being decapitated. "Could we start over? My name's Billy Conner. I'm glad to meet you."
The blade slowly retreats and I can breathe again. The girl releases my hair and stands up.
"Okay, Snot Nose," she says, "you can get up. But don't try anything."
She holds the little knife at the ready. This might sound nuts, but I can't help thinking that she looks rather cute - from what little I can see, anyway. I move to a sitting position and gently work my chin with my fingers. It still seems to be in one piece. Then I wobble up into a blinding flashlight beam, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.
"Turn that off, will you." I hold a hand up over my eyes.
"I recognize you," her voice mocks from out of the brightness. "You're the big secret agent."
"What?"
"Don't play dumb."
She switches off the flashlight. Blobs of brightness still squirm around inside my eyeballs.
"I saw you spying on Uncle Gregory and Aunt Sally tonight - and last night, too. I was looking out the window right above you, but you didn't even notice."
"You mean ... you're related to those people?" I say.
"No need to rub it in," she snaps.
Is nothing impossible in this lunatic corner of the world? I would have never imagined that anything human could be related to the Ponge, or to the Grech.
"You gonna stand there all night with your mouth open?" she says. "You look like a fish out of water."
"What's your name?" I ask.
"Cyndy."
"Ponge?"
"Certainly not!" She takes a threatening step towards me. "No more questions, now, understand?"
"Okay, sorry," I say.
We stand in the dim moonlight, eyeing each other like two prize fighters. I don't want any more violence, even if she didn't have that knife. What I need is an ally, not another enemy. Which one is she?
"I'm supposed to check out those trees," she says. "You gonna try to stop me?"
"Be my guest," I say.
She glances over her shoulder at the orchard, then back at me. Her bold stance becomes uncertain. She's tough, all right, but also plenty scared of those trees - just like I am. In a snap, I decide to help her.
Maybe I want to make up for the humiliating defeat I've just suffered. Or maybe I want to impress a girl who is probably way out of my league. Anyway, I owe her. She could have turned me in to the Ponge, but chose not to.
"You don't need to go near those trees again," I say. "There's nothing more to find out."
She stands uncertainly, hefting her tiny blade.
"You were in the grove a few nights ago, weren't you?" I say. "The one who screamed?"
"You're the one who screamed, Billy," she says.
"Whatever."
I instantly feel about as heroic as a stranded jellyfish. She tosses me a shred of dignity, though.
"I was much too scared to make a sound," she says. "Those trees are perverted."
"Yeah, tell me about it."
"But I have to show Uncle Gregory something." Her voice has become very small. "Maybe some leaves or a piece of bark. He'll get really mad if I don't."
The rugged, knife wielding heroine is changing into a frightened little girl. I begin to feel strong and protective, despite my aching chin.
"Bring your uncle some oranges," I say. "That should satisfy him."
"Well, yeah, he'd like that best," Cyndy says. "But I don't know if I can ..."
"Wait here," I say.
I pick up the metal pipe and dash toward the grove. I am almost there before realizing what an idiot I am. I'm breaking the strictest, most murderous rule of Albert Grech. Who knows what he'll do if he finds out I've stolen his precious oranges?
How do girls manage that? They make you do stupid things, all the while letting you think it's your own big idea? One minute I'm down, ready to get my throat slit, the next minute I'm playing the macho hero.
The air is thick by the trees. I feel like I'm wading through some foul swamp as I cover the last few yards. In what seems like slow motion, I leap up and stab at an orange bunch. By an incredible stroke of luck, the pipe hits exactly the right spot. Three oranges thud down, still attached to a long twig. I could swear that the tree grunted when my pipe struck it.
I pick up the oranges and then immediately drop them. They are warm like animal f
lesh - squishy and pulsing. A violent shudder rocks through me.
"Let's try this again," I mutter.
I heft the bundle by the branch fragment this time. It feels creepy, too, but not nearly as bad as the oranges themselves. I return to Cyndy.
"Don't touch these things," I say. "They're pretty weird."
"Thanks, Billy ... I think."
She holds the dangling blobs as far away from herself as possible, as if they are alien creatures from the far side of the universe. I study her in the moonbeams and try to decide my next move. She doesn't seem to be evil, or even a particular threat, despite her blade and rough talk. She must be as trapped as I am and is in desperate need of friendship. I decide to trust her.
"I'm being held captive," I say. "The Grech have foster care and they're paying off some old judge to keep it."
I pause, afraid that I've said too much.
Don't be an idiot, Billy! my interior voice warns.
What has trusting anybody ever gotten me? Nothing. I decide to plunge ahead, anyhow.
"I'm trying to escape," I say.
"Why don't you just run off?" Cyndy asks. "That shouldn't be too hard for a super sleuth like you."
Her snide comment reassures me. Anyone this sarcastic is unlikely to be an informer.
"They chained this electronic tether thing to my ankle," I say, "and I can only go a short distance. I don't know how to disconnect it, yet."
"Really?" She actually sounds a little bit concerned.
"That's why I was spying. I told Mr. Grech that I could find out about your aunt and uncle. He's very suspicious of them."
"Yeah," she says, "and what else?"
"Well, I thought I might discover something that could help my escape plan," I say.
Across the darkness, Cyndy turns my words over in her mind. I can't tell yet if she is a friend, but at least she doesn't seem to be an enemy. She's shrewd and very cool, all right. She's got me to tell her everything, but hasn't spilled much about herself.
She touches my arm, and a surprising tingle runs up it.
"I have to get back now," she says. "Can you meet me here tomorrow night, an hour past dark?"
"Sure, I guess so."
"Good."
Then she's gone, as stealthy as she'd come, and I am alone again in the darkness. Had any of this really happened?
I stroke my sore chin - yeah, it had.
13: Garden Chit Chat
The next morning is gardening day, so I'm up early working the vegetable patch. I'd managed to grab a cup of coffee on my way out of the house. Marnie's fresh-brewed pot smelled halfway decent, so I walked into the kitchen and politely poured myself a cup right under her glowering stare.
The pleasant coffee taste is still in my mouth as I dig my hands into the crumbly soil and yank out weeds. I'm feeling almost halfway decent myself. Why doesn't some giant hand reach down from the sky and pull me out of this gruesome place?
A cold shadow falls over the garden - Albert Grech. Every muscle in my body tenses and my breath catches short. I look up and force myself to smile.
"Good morning, sir," I say.
Albert grunts.
From my worm's eye view, Albert looks like a fat, towering, screwed-up Buddha statue with the sun winking over his shoulder. He holds a coffee mug, and his flabby gut hangs over his belt. Such a nice belly, too. I want to give it a little pat - with a chain saw.
"Did you find out anything last night?" Albert says.
He doesn't seem particularly angry. He must not have discovered the missing oranges, or if he did, he doesn't appear to suspect me.
"Yes, sir, I found out a couple of things," I say.
I brush the dirt off my hands and stand up, catching a whiff from his coffee mug as I rise. The stench is horrible, as if something dead is in that mug. Understanding hits me like a lightning flash.
Something foul has been added to what was once good coffee. He wants it that way. Likewise the food. They don't eat such rotten stuff simply because they're too cheap to buy anything better. Why would they do that?
"Speak up boy!" Albert says.
"Yes sir." I force my mind back on track. "Judge Gulp visited the Ponge last night."
Albert doesn't seem surprised. He'd asked Gulp to investigate them, after all.
"So, what happened?" he says.
"Mr. Ponge paid him off to keep the county inspectors from checking the house," I say.
Albert nearly chokes on his coffee. "Really?"
"Yes, sir."
He roars with laughter the way a shark would laugh, if it could, right before it bites into some poor guy bleeding in the water.
"That's great!" Albert's glowing face lights up the morning. "That's just great!"
Finally his laughter dies out. I'm so glad that he's enjoying himself. Now it's time to drop the bombshell.
"Mr. Ponge made an appointment to see the Judge this afternoon in town," I say.
Albert flushes purple. "What about?"
"I don't know, sir. Judge Gulp just said they were going to talk about 'some other matter.'"
A volcano burns deep inside Mr. Grech, ready to blow any second. I step back, outside of cane swinging range.
"I might be able to find out more tonight," I say.
"Yes, yes, do that!"
Albert raises the mug to his mouth with a trembling hand. Fear is creeping into his rage. Good!
"I want to know what they are up to with the Judge," he says. "Got that?"
"Yes, sir. I'll find out for you. You can count on me."
"That better be right!"
He stalks off toward the house, all hunched and limping like some creature from a cheap horror movie. Hey, thanks for the time off, pal!
I don't care about the chore work, though. It's actually better to keep busy and out of the way. For the first time I begin to feel as if I have some power.
Amazing how Albert bought everything I said. It must be my honest face. Besides, I wasn't even lying - just mentioning certain facts and passing over others. I've always had to be around low-life types, and I'm good at reading them. Albert must think he's real smart - that he's got me completely under control.
In my opinion, he's just a dumb bag of crap and a coward. I'll have control over him sooner or later.
I return to my work with a little smile on my face. The great Albert Grech is shaking in his boots. One way or another, things are racing to a finish.
14: Rendezvous
I am at the raspberry patch an hour after sunset. Cyndy is late, of course. Here's another tactic girls use to put you in your place - force you to wait for them. Mom always did that to her various boyfriends, she said it was a sure-fire way to keep them in line.
But I'm in a life or death jam. This is no social occasion! Where the heck is she?
The air wafting from the orange trees is not as bad as it was last night. There's more of a moon, too. The Grech house hulks underneath it black and dead, like a slum mausoleum.
I eat some raspberries, but they only make my stomach ache worse. I light a cigarette instead. The breeze is getting cooler and stronger; it does nothing to calm my nerves.
Dinner had been especially horrible. As always, Marnie didn't eat with us. She must cook decent meals on the side for herself, although she's quite happy to serve garbage to me. Good old Marnie.
Cyndy finally appears from her side of the road. My excitement at meeting her again vanishes when I see what she's carrying - two shovels. A chilly tingle runs up my spine.
"You shouldn't smoke," she says by way of greeting.
"Nice to see you again, too," I say.
She sets the tools down and brushes off her clothes daintily, as if anybody could see her out here.
"What's in those oranges, Billy?" she asks.
"Beats me. I'm a raspberry guy."
She stops brushing herself and gives me what is probably an irritated look. Not enough light to tell, though.
"Uncle Greg
ory and Aunt Sally each ate one," she says. "It turned them meaner than they already were. I thought they were going to kill each other over the third one."
"Maybe that's not such a bad idea," I say.
"They're real angry and jumpy," she says, "and sort of drained, too. They went straight to bed without even watching TV."
At last, I have the answer to the Grech's condition. They are addicted to the oranges. Of course! Why didn't I figure that out sooner? Well, give me a break, okay? I only entered the detective business a few days ago.
I take a final drag on my cigarette and toss it away.
"Do they look old and burned out, too?" I ask.
"Yeah, sort of. But they want more oranges just the same. Uncle Gregory says I'd better bring some, or else."
"That could be a problem," I say.
A vision of Albert in a psychotic rage pops into my mind: his face all purple, foam sputtering out of his mouth as he slashes his cane at me demanding to know where his precious oranges have disappeared.
"If you can't help me, Billy, I'll go get them myself."
"Hold on. I didn't say I couldn't help you." I'm starting to play the macho fool again. "I just want some questions answered first, that's all."
"Fire away, then." She places a hand on one hip. "I've got all night to stand out here."
"Okay, then tell me who Gregory and Sally Ponge are," I say. "Why are they out here, and how come you're with them?"
All of a sudden, the night turns deathly quiet. It seems as if a much older person is standing before me in the moonlight. Cyndy looks all stooped over to about half her former size.
"All right," she says in a shaky voice, "if you must know ... Eight months ago, Mom and Dad went down in a plane crash. They were on their way to their second honeymoon and never got there ..."
A sob chokes off her voice.
I'm stunned and deeply ashamed. That's me at my best, all right - Mr. Sensitivity - always sticking the brutal questions where they can hurt most.
"I-I'm sorry, Cyndy. I didn't mean to ..."
I want to take her in my arms, but that doesn't seem proper somehow. I don't know what to do, so I just stand there like an idiot until she can talk again. My own eyes get pretty misty. Compared to this disaster, my own problems seem like a nonstop joy ride.
"They didn't leave a will." Her trembling little voice is breaking my heart. "There were no written instructions as to who should be my guardian. So Uncle Gregory got custody."