Sammy Keyes and the Runaway Elf

  On the way home I thought about Nora Hallenback burning up the phone lines, blacklisting the Crocodile, and it hit me that either Lilia Landvogt was going to be very sorry she’d ever tried to blackmail me …

  Or I was going to be dead by the end of the week.

  * * *

  I hadn’t even thought about Mrs. Graybill until I turned down our hallway. Then I remembered where she was and how I was supposed to deliver her robe. I stood at her door a minute with the key in my hand, but it felt weird. Like by having permission to be there I was breaking some ancient tradition. I decided to check in with Grams first.

  The minute I walked through the door, Grams jumped out of her chair and said, “Samantha! I’m so glad you’re home. I’ve got wonderful news!”

  Somehow I knew this had to do with the GasAway Lady. “Uh-oh.”

  She slapped the couch and said, “Sit, sit!”

  I sat.

  She held my hand. “Your mother’s coming home!”

  I felt like my stomach was climbing up a roller-coaster track. “For good?”

  “For Christmas.”

  There went my peanut butter and jelly, loop-de-loop. “Ho ho ho.”

  “Samantha …!”

  “Well, what am I supposed to say to her? ‘Hi, Mom. Long time no see. Gee, I’m glad you’ve got that gas problem under control’?”

  “Sweetheart, she’s your mother. When you see her, you two will work it out.”

  “And where’s she going to stay? Here? I can’t exactly see her sleeping on the floor.”

  Grams took off her glasses and started buffing them with the hem of her skirt. “We’ll make room.”

  I studied her a minute. “Oh, I get it. She gets the couch and I get the floor.”

  Grams popped the glasses back on her nose. “Never mind about that now. The important thing is, she’s coming home.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I can see the headlines now: GasAway Lady Returns to Santa Martina—Brings Lifetime Supply to Senior Highrise.”

  “Samantha, that’s enough. Show some respect!”

  I closed my eyes and whispered, “I don’t want to talk about her, okay?” I took a deep breath and said, “I thought you might want to know—I found Mrs. Graybill today.”

  “You found her? Where?”

  “In a nursing home.”

  “A nursing home! How on earth …? How did you find out?”

  “Elyssa’s mom works there.”

  “Elyssa? Oh, that’s the girl you’re walking home?”

  “Right.” So I told her all about the home and how I’d run into Daisy half-asleep in her bed. And when I started talking about how awful the place smelled and how everyone in there looked so gray, she pinched her eyes closed and shook her hands in the air to shut me up. Finally she whispered, “What on earth is she doing in a nursing home?”

  “I don’t really know. All Mrs. Keltner would say was that she’s not well. I don’t think she wanted to talk about it in front of her daughter.” I held up Mrs. Graybill’s key. “She asked me to bring her her robe.”

  “Daisy did?”

  So I told her all about what Mrs. Graybill had said and how it felt really strange, her asking me to help her out. I turned the key over in the palm of my hand. “Would you come with me?”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  I don’t know why, but we tiptoed down the hall. And the minute we were inside her apartment we looked at each other and kind of shivered. Grams whispered, “This is so eerie,” and it was. The apartment was laid out just like Grams’, but it didn’t feel a thing like it. Everything was faded. Old and faded. Like it had been left out in the sun too long, only you could tell—it had been left in the dark too long.

  In the living room there was one chair, one couch, and an old television. Next to the couch was a basket of wool with crochet hooks, and across the back of the couch was a five-inch stack of afghans. I pulled them back, one at a time. There were dozens of them, all beautifully made. All colorful. It felt like I’d uncovered a vein of gold in a coal mine.

  Grams whispered, “We shouldn’t snoop.”

  I mumbled, “I’m not snooping, Grams.”

  She pulled on my arm and said, “We should get that robe and get out of here.”

  So I went into the bathroom and sure enough, there was her dirty pink robe, hanging on the door. I took it off the hook, and when I came back out I did a double take. There was my grandmother in Mrs. Graybill’s bedroom, snooping.

  “Grams!”

  She jumped and then said, “Look at this.”

  It was a black-and-white photograph of two girls in floppy hats with their arms around each other, laughing. Grams pointed to the taller girl and whispered, “That’s Daisy.”

  I held a corner of the frame and said, “No way!” I mean, the girl was about seventeen with long shiny hair and narrow ankles. Now, I’ve seen Mrs. Graybill’s ankles. A million times. There’s no way the ankles in that picture belonged to her.

  Grams whispered, “She was beautiful, wasn’t she.”

  I looked at the laughing eyes in the picture and said, “That can’t be her!”

  “Oh, it is. I’m sure of it. Look at the teeth. Look at the cheekbones. That’s Daisy.” She pointed to the other girl in the picture. “And I would bet this is her sister.”

  I stared at the photograph for a long time, and it struck me how the name Daisy fit the girl in the photograph. Like springtime. Like sunshine. It just fit her. And as I handed it back to Grams, I wondered how the Daisy in the picture had turned into the crabby old woman that I knew.

  All of a sudden I wanted out of there. I whispered, “C’mon, Grams. Let’s go.”

  It wasn’t until I was locking up the apartment that I noticed Grams still had the photograph. She handed it to me and said, “I think maybe Daisy would like to have this, too.”

  I was still wrapped up in thinking about Mrs. Graybill when we got back to our apartment and heard the phone ringing. Grams hurried to answer it, then called, “Samantha? It’s for you.”

  I put down Mrs. Graybill’s stuff and headed into the kitchen. “Is it Marissa?”

  Grams frowned and shook her head. “It’s Mrs. Landvogt.” She covered the receiver and whispered, “What ever happened about her dog?”

  My knees were shaking before I even took the phone. “I’ll tell you later,” I said.

  I put the phone up to my ear like it might hurt me. After all, I had whacked a stick at a hornet’s nest when I’d been at Mrs. Hallenback’s. There wasn’t much chance I could avoid getting stung.

  TEN

  I didn’t have to say hello. She knew I was there. “You’ve got until Friday,” she snapped.

  “Friday?” I whispered. “That’s not enough time!”

  “Friday’s a luxury! Those goons called and demanded the money tomorrow, but I managed to put them off until Friday. I want to know everything—who you’ve talked to, what you’ve found out—everything.”

  I looked over my shoulder at Grams. “Uh … that’s not possible right now.”

  She was quiet for a second and then said, “Ah … you haven’t told your grandmother about our little arrangement.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then come over so we can talk.”

  “I could probably do that tomorrow after school.”

  “You’ll do it now!”

  I looked at Grams, watching me. I said, “I’ll see you around four o’clock tomorrow,” and hung up.

  Before Grams could grill me, I crossed my fingers and said, “She wants me to help distribute flyers about her dog.”

  “It never came back?”

  I shook my head.

  Grams took some snapper out of the refrigerator and said, “That’s a shame. I hope she gets it back.”

  I took down the rice and a measuring cup, thinking that that was the understatement of the century.

  * * *

  I didn’t sleep very well that night. My brain was too b
usy trying to move through quicksand. I thought about Lance Gigoni and Paula Nook and stupid ol’ Hero trying to pee on me. I thought about Mrs. Hallenback and her tiger lilies, and I wondered how many people she’d already called and told about the Crocodile. Then I thought about Mr. Petersen. How he’d yelled at everyone at the parade and how he’d probably yelled just the same at the illegals working in his print shop. And lying there in the dark, thinking about cranky ol’ Mr. Petersen, I wondered if there was a picture on his dresser of him looking young and happy. And somewhere between thinking about Mr. Petersen and the Crocodile and Mrs. Graybill at seventeen, I realized that I had to figure out why they had turned out the way they had.

  There was no way I ever wanted to look back at a picture of myself at seventeen and not recognize me.

  * * *

  I wasn’t thinking about Rudy Folksmeir or dirt or even Heather Acosta when the alarm went off. I was thinking about sleep. I felt like I had spent the night trying to run, but in my dreams I couldn’t even lift my legs. I dragged through breakfast and getting ready for school, and it wasn’t until Grams was shoving me out the door that I remembered Mrs. Graybill’s robe.

  I hurried back inside and stuffed it with the picture in a paper sack. Grams said, “Why don’t you let me take it over?” which made sense, but something about it didn’t feel right. So I said, “No, Grams. I told her I would.” Then, as I’m charging down the hall again, I remember Rudy. “Oh no!”

  “What is it?”

  “Rudy Folksmeir! I’m his KK, and I’m supposed to bring him something. I completely forgot!”

  “A present?”

  I started digging through cupboards. “Just some kind of snack or something.”

  “How about a few shortbreads?”

  I gave it a nanosecond. Pecan shortbreads are dry and crumbly—the closest thing to dirt we had in the house. I threw a few in a Baggie, kissed Grams good-bye, and flew out the door.

  When I got to homeroom, I snuck them on Rudy’s desk and then noticed that someone had put a beautiful Christmas tree cupcake on Heather’s. Now, I don’t know why, but my feet walked me right past my own desk, and before you know it, there I was, sitting at Heather’s.

  When Holly walked through the door, I motioned her over. She sat down in the desk next to me and whispered, “Why are you sitting in Heather’s seat?”

  I grinned. “I’m just warming it up for her.”

  Then Marissa walked in, so I waved her over, too. She said through her teeth, “What have you got—a death wish?”

  Then Heather walked in. I stood up slowly and stared at her.

  “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

  I just kept staring her down.

  “Get away from my desk!” She looked at me, then at the cupcake, then threw the cupcake in the trash. Just like that. Thunk.

  I glared at her some more, then opened my desk.

  She pushed it back down. “You don’t think I’m stupid enough to let you poison me, do you?”

  I leaned forward and made a tick-tocking sound with my tongue, then I gave her that evil little smile and whispered, “It’s almost time …!”

  The tardy bell rang. And Heather must’ve thought it was a bomb going off, because she about spiked the ceiling, then threw her hand on her heart like she was trying to keep it from popping out of her chest. She gave me a really dirty look and turned her back on me, but all through homeroom her eyes kept darting in my direction.

  I didn’t notice until I was getting my books out of my desk that I got a present, too. An ornament. It was a white angel dangling from a red ribbon, and at first I didn’t realize that it was made out of uncooked noodles. A piece of manicotti for the body, a piece of bow-tie pasta for the wings, and macaroni for the arms. The face was painted with a felt-tip marker and looked like it was caroling.

  I peeked around the classroom to see if anyone was giving away that they were my KK. I figured I could eliminate boys right off. I mean, no boy would be caught dead leaving pretty painted pasta in someone’s desk.

  Brandy Cavaletto was looking in my direction, and she looked away, all right, but she might have been checking out Derrick Stern next to me. It was hard to say.

  Tawnee Francisco smiled at me, but she didn’t look caught or anything. And besides, Tawnee smiles at everyone. Cassie Kuo was looking at me through her bangs, but Cassie’s kind of shy and always looks at people that way. Even when she answers questions, she does it right through her bangs.

  Then there was Monique Halbig, staring straight at me. And the minute I caught her eye, she gave me a fluttery little smile and looked away. So I figured, okay. It was probably Monique. I took one last look at the pasta angel, put it in a safe corner of my desk, and closed the lid. Then I went back to staring at Heather.

  After homeroom I followed her again. All day. And any chance they got, Marissa and Holly did it too, giving her steady, angry stares. And whenever she’d see me, I’d make that tick-tocking sound—like the crocodile in Peter Pan stalking Captain Hook. Then I started doing it before she spotted me, which worked even better. She’d hear me ticking, then grab on to Tenille or Monet like they were buoys in the ocean, and dive into a classroom.

  At lunchtime we caught Dot up on what had happened that morning, and we all agreed that we should keep harassing Heather. So we went into the cafeteria to make her nervous from across the room, but she wasn’t there. We checked the patio tables, but she wasn’t there, either. Finally we split up. Holly and Dot went to look behind the bleachers, and Marissa and I went to check the locker room.

  The side door to the locker room was wide open, so we tiptoed in, and right away I knew they were there. I could smell the cigarette smoke. We sneaked past two sections of showers, then ducked into an alcove of lockers. There was a full-length mirror across the corridor, and we could see the reflection of Heather huddled up in a corner with Temile and Monet, passing a cigarette around. Heather was saying, “She knows. I tell you, she knows!”

  “So what?” Monet squeaked back. “What can she do about it?”

  Tenille laughed at Monet and said, “You don’t know Sammy very well, do you?”

  Heather dragged on the cigarette, then passed it to Monet. “She’s working on something. Something big.”

  Monet took the cigarette. “Oh, what’s she gonna do—put acid in your gel?”

  I looked at Marissa like, Oooo, that’s a good one! and she about busted up.

  “I’m talking something big. Really big.” Heather took the cigarette back from Tenille and whispered, “I think she’s planning to kill me.”

  They both blinked at her. “Kill you?” Monet added, “Like with a knife or something?”

  “I don’t know! How am I supposed to know? She’s acting so weird!”

  Tenille snickered. “Yeah, even for Sammy.”

  Monet shook her head. “Kill you? Isn’t that kinda like … drastic?”

  “Well, you tell me what she’s up to, then!” Heather snuffed out the butt. “She’s way over the edge, and I’ll tell you what—I’m staying away from her. Miles away from her. Don’t wait for me between classes—don’t even look for me at lunch. I’m going to eat in the library or in Mr. Caan’s office … somewhere she’d never think to look for me. I’m not going to go anywhere I usually go—I’m going to do the opposite.”

  Tenille said, “She’s still gonna find you.”

  I thought Heather was going to strangle her. “I just want to make it to Christmas, okay? After Friday I won’t have to worry about her for three whole weeks. By then she should’ve forgotten about it.”

  They started moving in our direction, so we scrambled to the back of the alcove and held real still as they walked past us. When they’d ducked out the door, Marissa said, “She sure is feeling guilty about something.”

  I nodded. “And if it’s not the cats, I don’t know what it is.”

  Marissa said, “Okay, so how are we going to get her to crack?”

  I
could feel an idea start to tingle in the back of my brain. “Do you still have a Polaroid camera?”

  Marissa rubbed her hands together. “Oooo! You’ve got a plan! Tell me!”

  So I gave her a rough sketch of what I was thinking and then said, “Let’s go find Holly and Dot. This is going to take all of us!”

  We ducked out of the locker room, met up with Holly and Dot, and by the time the end-of-lunch bell was ringing, we had a plan that—with a little help from Officer Borsch—would make anyone rip up floorboards.

  Even Heather.

  * * *

  After school I made myself forget about Heather and concentrate on what I was going to tell Mrs. Landvogt. I picked up Elyssa, and when I got to the home I was chickening out about seeing Mrs. Graybill again. It was too weird. But Mrs. Keltner wouldn’t deliver the things for me. She said, “You’ve got to go in and see her. Just for a minute.”

  “But I—”

  “Please, Sammy. She’s been asking for you. She won’t eat. She’s pretty despondent. I think it’ll help.”

  So I went in. And Mrs. Graybill took one look at me and let out a long sigh. “Samantha …” she said, like I was her long-lost friend.

  I laid her robe across the foot of her bed and whispered, “Hi, Mrs. Graybill.”

  She wiped the drool from her cheek, then motioned to the chair next to her bed. “Sit, sit!”

  I didn’t want to sit. I wanted to give her her stuff and get away from there. Away from the lilacs and chlorine. Away from the gray.

  She noticed there was still something else in the bag. “What have you got there?”

  “Oh, I hope you don’t mind.… Grams thought you might like to have this.”

  She took the picture, and for a minute there I thought the Mrs. Graybill I knew was going to jump right out of bed and smash the thing over my head. Instead, she buried her face in her hands and started crying.