“What time?” Sarah asked.
“I’ll pick you up at six-thirty, and we should be done in about an hour. It takes longer than that with a bike, but the car will speed things up.”
“Do you know where I live?” Sarah asked him.
“Of course. You’re on my route.”
“Then I’ll see you in the morning,” Sarah said. “I’ll be outside waiting.”
She straightened up easily, while Charlie lumbered to his feet and thrust one of the three history books into her hand. “Want to start with this one? It’s the thickest.”
“One is as good as another,” Sarah said. “Thanks. I’ll see you early tomorrow.”
She continued down the hall and out through the wide front door. She couldn’t help noting that the cement steps that led down to the flagpole area were wide enough that it was hard to imagine anybody stumbling off one. Still, accidents did happen, and Charlie seemed the type who might be prone to clumsiness.
Eric was waiting for her in the Charger. The afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window glinted off his hair and made him appear to be wearing a golden helmet.
“So there you are! I was starting to worry that I was being stood up.” He leaned across and opened the door on the passenger’s side so that she could slide in next to him.
“I stopped to give Charlie Gorman a hand with his locker,” Sarah explained. “He fell Saturday night and broke his wrist.”
“Yeah, I heard about that. Poor old Gorman, stuff like that is always happening to him.”
Eric started the engine, and Sarah glanced surreptitiously around, in the hope of spotting Kyra enviously watching them, but the lot had pretty well cleared out, and neither Kyra nor the group she ran with was in evidence.
“I have an idea I want to run past you,” Eric said as they pulled out into the street. “That performance on Saturday was a blockbuster. It blew people away. Everybody at school today was talking about it. The ones who didn’t get their fortunes told feel like they were cheated.”
“I got worn out,” Sarah said apologetically. “Besides, it was almost over.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. You were obviously terrific. But there were plenty of kids still in line when you closed up shop. The more they hear about how mysterious it was—how right on target you were about everything you told people—the worse they feel about not having gotten in to see you. I’ve even had people asking me if you’re a junior, which would mean you’d be around to do it again next year.”
“So, what are you getting at?” Sarah asked him.
“Private readings,” Eric said.
“A fortune-telling business? You can’t be serious!”
“I think it could be a profitable venture,” Eric said. “Not only would we get the kids who didn’t get a chance at it Saturday, I think we’d get a lot of repeats. The ones who did get their fortunes told have had time to think about it now and wish they had asked you more questions. They want another shot at it.”
“I can just imagine how that would go over with Mr. Prue!”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the school,” Eric told her. “We’d do it out of school hours at some other place. And we’d swear all our clients to secrecy. Mr. Prue will never get wind that we’re doing it.”
“You keep saying ‘we,’ ” said Sarah. “What part would you play?”
“I’d take care of the business end of things, do the promotion, take in the money, sort of act as your manager. That way you could keep yourself aloof from the nitty-gritty. The mysterious Madam Zoltanne shouldn’t have to deal with the grunge work.”
“And Kyra?” Sarah asked. “Is she going to be out in front hiding in a bush with the radio? Because if that’s what the plan is, forget it. It was bad enough having to work with her at the carnival.”
“Nothing like that,” Eric assured her. “We won’t need to use the radio. We’ll have appointments set up in advance so that I can get all the information from Kyra ahead of time. And since she’ll know who’s going to be there, she’ll be able to do in-depth research and dig up some really hot stuff.”
“Won’t people catch on to how we’re doing it?”
“Maybe so, maybe not,” Eric said. “That doesn’t really matter. Nobody takes this seriously. They’ll just be there for the fun of it. They’ll be paying for entertainment, like going to the movies.”
By now they had pulled up in front of the house on Windsor Street. Eric set the gearshift in park but left the engine idling. He turned sideways to look at Sarah, and she was struck all over again by the charismatic warmth of his personality and the mischievous twinkle in the depths of his hazel eyes.
“What do you say?” he asked. “Would you like to be partners?”
“I can’t believe that you’re actually suggesting this!”
“If you don’t need the money …”
“It’s not that I couldn’t use the money. It’s just that the concept’s so crazy!” And then, to her own astonishment, she heard herself say, “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t take too long, or we’ll lose the opportunity,” Eric said. “We need to strike while the iron is hot. People are all revved up from the carnival right now, but the excitement is going to die down if we don’t keep it building. You can’t go back to just being ‘that new girl from California.’ We’ve got to capitalize on the mystique you established.”
“I told you, I’ll think about it,” Sarah said. She opened the door and got out. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll be out in a minute with your radio.”
She hurried across the yard and into the house. As usual she heard sounds of activity from the kitchen, and this time the house was permeated by the smell of spaghetti sauce.
Without stopping to speak to her mother, she went on down the hall to her room. The tote bag containing the costume and radio was still on Kyra’s bed, where she had set it when she got home Saturday night. She extracted the walkie-talkie and the gaudy, sparkly costume. She didn’t know what to think about Eric’s proposal. The income from Charlie’s paper route would only be temporary, and it would be nice to pile up a backlog of cash. She was tempted also by the thought of an association with Eric that would lead to their spending enough time together to have a chance to really get to know each other. At the same time, the idea of a fortune-telling business was so unorthodox that it was almost impossible to imagine.
She glanced across at the paperweight on her desk. The glass seemed cloudier than it had been when she had left for school that morning, as if it had lost its clarity during the course of the day.
With the radio still in her hands, she crossed to the desk and stared down into the murkiness of the globe. She knew, of course, that it had to be her imagination, but the shadows seemed to be shifting, as if there were actually motion in the depths of the ball. When she leaned in closer, she saw what appeared to be the figure of a woman bent into a contorted position as if in terrible pain.
That’s ridiculous, Sarah told herself firmly. It’s all my imagination. If I keep this craziness up, I’m going to be a nutcase.
Snatching the Gypsy costume out of the tote bag, she tossed it over her arm and set off down the hall with it and the radio. She was halfway out the front door when she heard a crash from the direction of the kitchen.
And then a long, shrill scream.
Chapter
SIX
HER FIRST IMPRESSION UPON racing into the kitchen was that the room was awash with blood. Thick and clotted, it spattered the white walls and cabinets, dripped down the side of the stove, and plastered the arms of her mother, who stood, bent double in agony, as the syrupy crimson liquid pooled at her feet.
An instant later Sarah took in the aluminum pot, which was on its side on the linoleum floor, and realized she was wrong. The “gore” that transformed the kitchen into what appeared to be a butcher shop was in reality spaghetti sauce, and Rosemary’s arms were not draining themselves of her life liqui
ds, they were sizzling in a molten substance that had adhered to her skin like rubber cement.
“Oh, God!” Sarah gasped. “Oh, Mommy!” The childhood name flew out of her mouth as if she had spoken it only yesterday, instead of half a dozen years earlier when, following the example of her friends, she had started calling her mother by her first name.
“What’s going on? Who screamed?” Eric seemed to appear out of nowhere and, as he took in the scene, crossed the kitchen in three long strides to grab Rosemary and spin her around so that she was facing the sink. As she moaned in pain, he turned on the tap and thrust her arms under the rush of cold water.
“Get ice,” he ordered Sarah as he adjusted the spigot so that the water gushed out full blast.
“Shouldn’t it be butter?” Sarah stammered, groping numbly for the refrigerator-door handle. “I think I read somewhere that if you put butter on burns—”
“I said ice!” Eric barked. “And get it fast! Her flesh is still cooking!”
Without further argument Sarah grabbed for the handle of the freezer, jerked it open, and yanked out the ice trays.
“Hurry!” Eric commanded. “First ice and then some dish towels to wrap it in!”
Moving as if set on automatic pilot, Sarah followed his instructions, smashing the trays against the counter to loosen the cubes and snatching the dish towels from their rack to the left of the sink. Quickly and efficiently Eric fashioned ice packs and applied them to Rosemary’s arms.
Choking back sobs of relief, Rosemary collapsed against the counter.
“That’s so much better!” she gasped. “It’s like getting a shot of painkiller! I’ve never had anything hurt so much in my life!”
In all the turmoil the sound of Ted’s car in the driveway had gone unnoticed. Sarah was startled to find him suddenly in the midst of them, white-faced with horror as he took in the scene of chaos.
“What happened?” he demanded. “Who’s been injured?”
“That’s not blood,” Eric told him. “It’s tomato sauce. Mrs. Zoltanne’s been scalded.”
“It’s my own stupid fault,” said Rosemary, fighting back tears. “I was taking the sauce off the stove, and I didn’t use pot holders. I lost my grip, and the pot slid out of my hands.”
“How bad—?”
“To me they look like second-degree burns,” said Eric. “I think you’d better get her to Urgent Care.”
“I’m going with you,” Sarah said as Ted placed a protective arm around Rosemary and began to steer her across the kitchen toward the entrance hall.
“There’s no need for that,” Ted said. “There’s nothing you can do. You’ll be much more useful if you stay here and clean up this mess.”
“But Rosemary’s hurt!” Sarah protested. “I want to be with her!”
“I’ll be all right, honey,” her mother assured her as she leaned against Ted’s arm and allowed him to guide her. “Please, don’t argue, just do what Ted says. And Eric, I don’t know where you came from, but I’m very glad you were here.”
Sarah followed them into the living room and stood at the window watching helplessly as Ted and her mother got into Ted’s car and he backed it out of the driveway and turned right to head south toward town. Long after the car was out of sight, she continued to stand there, gripping the windowsill and struggling for control.
“Are you okay?” Eric asked, coming to stand beside her.
“Not really,” Sarah said. “I’m not very good in emergencies.”
“You did fine,” Eric said.
“No, I didn’t. I panicked. Poor Rosemary—it was so terrible. …”
“It could have been a whole lot worse,” Eric said gently. “The truth is your mom got off lucky. What if all that boiling stuff had splashed up into her face?”
“How did you know what to do?”
“I’m an Eagle Scout,” Eric said. “That was my dad’s idea; he thought it would look good on my college application. Not that it’s any of my business, but does Mr. Thompson always come charging in here like that without knocking? I mean, the guy acted almost as if he lives here.”
“He does live here,” Sarah said, not bothering to lie.
“I thought Kyra told me he has an apartment over on Barn Street.”
“That’s just to keep up appearances,” Sarah said bitterly. “I can count on one hand the number of nights he’s spent there. That man is a total hypocrite and he’s also a control freak. He calls the tunes, and my mother and I are supposed to dance to them.”
“Tell me about ‘control freaks,’ ” Eric said shortly.
“You’ve had experience?”
“Like all of my life,” Eric said. “My dad and Mr. Thompson came out of the same mold, except that Kyra’s dad went to teachers’ college and mine went to law school.” He paused and then said, “You know, maybe you shouldn’t get involved in the fortune-telling. It could be risky for you.”
“What do you mean?” Sarah asked him.
“If Mr. Thompson found out about it, there would be hell to pay, especially after Mr. Prue’s reaction to your carnival booth. As scared as you already are of Mr. Thompson—”
“I’m not scared of him,” Sarah interrupted defensively. “What makes you think I’m scared of him?”
“You sounded like you were. I mean, didn’t you say that you and your mom do everything he tells you?”
“I’m not a bit afraid of him, I just detest him,” Sarah said. “Just because Rosemary has decided to let Ted Thompson take charge of her life doesn’t mean he’s going to control mine. I can make my own decisions about how I earn spending money.”
“Does that mean you’ll do it?” Eric asked her.
“Yes, I’ll do it,” Sarah said. “So, tell me the details. How will we work it?”
“Well, first there’s the question of finding a location,” Eric said. “Where does your mom keep her mop? We can talk things over while I help you clean up the kitchen.”
Kyra Thompson answered her cell phone on the first ring.
The voice was the one she had been hoping to hear.
“So, how did it go?” she asked eagerly.
“It couldn’t have gone better,” Eric told her. “Are you where you can talk?”
“I’m in the kitchen. Mom’s in the living room watching TV, and Brian’s at a friend’s house. So, tell me. What happened?”
“At first I thought she was going to say no,” Eric said. Then, while I was sitting out front waiting for her to come out with my radio, her mom had an accident in the kitchen. I came to the rescue like one of those medics on television. From then on I had her eating out of my hand.”
“What happened to Rosemary? Not that I care, I’m just curious.”
“She took a bath in a pot of boiling spaghetti sauce.”
“How bad is it?” Kyra asked. “Is she going to need skin grafts?”
“I don’t know, but it’s certain that she would have if I hadn’t been there. Sarah freaked out, and the Zoltanne woman was just standing there cooking in the stuff. I rinsed her off and packed her with ice. Then your dad arrived and whisked her off to Urgent Care. I helped Sarah clean up the kitchen—what a job that was!—and by the time we were done, she was acting as if I was Sir Lancelot and champing at the bit to get our little business going.”
“I’m surprised,” Kyra said. “I really didn’t think you could talk her into it.”
“ ‘O ye of little faith,’ to quote from last week’s sermon by our esteemed Reverend Morris. My barrister father has bestowed upon me a double-tipped tongue.”
“You’d think I’d have learned that by this time,” Kyra said. “Still, you never cease to amaze me. When will we hold the first session?”
“As soon as possible,” Eric said. “We don’t want to lose the momentum. And guess where we’re going to have it? In your father’s apartment!”
“You’re what!” Kyra exclaimed. “Now, wait a minute, Eric! That’s going too far! If Dad ever found out—”
“He’s not going to find out,” Eric said. “According to Sarah, he spends all his time at their place. She likes the idea of putting one over on your father. She’s going to sneak the apartment key off his key chain and have it duplicated. Then she’ll put the original back. He’ll never even miss it.”
“But what if he happens to go over to the apartment while you’re there? He doesn’t go there often, but you can never tell.”
“There’ll be no chance of that if he’s spending the evening with you,” Eric said. “You get to pick and choose when you want to be with him, so pick the nights we’re going to be using the apartment.”
“It makes me nervous,” Kyra said.
“It shouldn’t,” Eric told her. “Even if we do get caught, you won’t get the blame for it. Nobody even knows you were part of the fortune-telling scheme at the carnival, and they’re certainly not going to guess you’re involved with this.”
“Why is this so important to you?” Kyra asked him. “It’s not like you need the money. Your dad gives you anything you want.”
“Not this,” Eric said. “Only you can give me this.”
“If you get caught—”
“I’ll talk my way out of it like I always do. That’s half of the fun. Come on, Carrot Top, be a sweetheart. I need you for the info.”
“All right,” Kyra said with a sigh. “But please, be careful. Make sure everything in the apartment is put back just like it was. Don’t start taking risks just to test Dad and see if you get caught.”
“Would I do that?”
“Yes, you might. What I’m telling you is Don’t. No matter what you say, if Sarah gets caught, she’s not going to take it alone. She’ll make the most of a bad thing by dragging me down with her.”
She ended the call and went into the living room, where her mother was seated in her father’s recliner. The wineglass in her hand was filled to the brim, although Kyra recalled it as having been almost empty at the end of dinner. Obviously it had been refilled from the decanter on the coffee table.
“Was that your father?” Sheila Thompson asked immediately.