Because his side was now winning.
Riddle didn’t want anyone to realize that there were mice in the Bells’ kitchen.
So he cleaned up after them.
He was certain that if the Bells knew, traps would be set and the killing would begin. He was counting on the little rodents smelling the two cats and deciding to move on without intervention.
But it had been days now, and the little droppings were still there each night under the kitchen sink. Without his new glasses, he never would have seen.
He couldn’t stop himself from feeling sorry for them. The few times he’d caught a glimpse of the tiny creatures, they were running. And they looked terrorized.
He knew the feeling.
And so he waited until the house was quiet and everyone was asleep before he went down to the kitchen.
There was something that happened when he was standing by the sink that brought him back to his old life. Maybe it was that the world was in shadow.
Was it the darkness?
As he cleaned up the little pellets with a paper towel, he suddenly felt his father. It was as if he were there.
Riddle knew that Clarence was in prison, but would the day come when the man would return?
Would he and his brother end up back in a truck?
Riddle could hear Jared’s thick breathing. He didn’t stir when Riddle came into the room, and neither did Felix. He wasn’t much of a watchdog once the sun went down.
There was a full moon out, and the bluish light coming in the window made Jared’s action figures seem larger.
Jared claimed he never played with the plastic superheroes anymore, but Riddle had seen him carrying them around and whispering as if they were real.
Jared knows how to work the television
And all of the electrical things in the house.
But he’s never had a brother
Only a sister
And that’s different.
I will look out for him
The way Sam watched out for me.
Jared needs me, but he doesn’t know that.
I need everyone in this house.
Even the mice under the sink need
Someone to be there for them.
Debbie Bell thought that Jared and Riddle should have summer jobs to make pocket money.
And that was why she was pleased when the next-door neighbors asked for help taking care of their house while they were gone for two weeks.
Normally, Emily would have taken this assignment, which consisted of bringing in their mail, watering the houseplants, and feeding the fish in the Binghams’ saltwater aquarium.
But Emily was working at the restaurant, and her life was too busy to add anything else. So Riddle and Jared got the job.
The two boys went over to the neighbors’ house the following afternoon.
They both listened, but it was Riddle who really paid attention when Bertie Bingham showed them the weird flakes that the big-eyed fish ate and how much to water the indoor rubber tree plant.
Walking back home across the yard, Riddle said that instead of splitting the money, Jared could keep what the Binghams were going to pay. Riddle couldn’t read the spidery handwriting on the to-do list, and he had a bad feeling about being responsible.
Jared wondered if it was some kind of trick.
But Riddle didn’t try to manipulate things. That was part of what made him so strange. He didn’t whine or complain or say something was unfair.
As far as Jared was concerned, it was unfair that Riddle didn’t say when life was unfair.
It made Riddle some kind of ninja or something.
17
The day had come to begin settling the score.
Clarence shoved the zip-lock bag with the second decomposed mouse into the most private part of his underwear.
He put a fresh piece of gum in his mouth. It was his last trade with Bandit. He’d handed over his toothbrush for a single stick.
He now waited patiently for the guard to escort him through security and was thrilled to see that it was once again Denny Piercey who was to take him to the medical appointment in Merced.
Clarence was even more polite and appreciative this time as they boarded the windowless van and headed out of the prison complex. He told Piercey that he was hopeful that these new tests would help find a solution to his nerve problems.
The guard, not much of a talker, admitted that he had a health problem himself. A frozen shoulder.
Clarence suggested that Piercey speak to the doctor about it in Merced. He was, after all, a nerve-and-joint expert.
Piercey shrugged, but inside he thought to himself that maybe he would just get a little free medical advice.
Yup, he might just do that.
It was getting close to the lunch hour when Clarence and Piercey took their seats in the doctor’s waiting room.
Clarence wore a pair of orange scrubs. The medical clothing company that provided uniforms to many of the workers in the building had recently added a new line of bright outfits.
And so Clarence had his first piece of good luck for the day.
He looked like a medical professional, not a convicted thief and child abductor. And because he was tall and lean and good-looking, people glanced with more suspicion at the chunky prison guard in his harsh uniform than at him.
“Book and cover” lesson, Clarence thought, let’s hear it one more time.
As Clarence and Piercey had traveled to Merced, Clarence made a point of saying that his stomach hurt.
And then once they had arrived, after they had checked in and were five minutes into the wait, Clarence turned apologetically to Piercey.
“I’m so sorry, man, but I gotta use the bathroom before we go in there.”
Piercey exhaled with irritation but got to his feet and went to the receptionist. “He needs to use the toilet. We’ll be right back.”
They both already knew the procedure for the restroom key, which was attached to a plastic coat hanger so you couldn’t possibly stick it in your pocket and forget.
Once they were walking, Clarence went to work manipulating his right hand in his pants pocket to get hold of the bag with the mouse.
Right before they arrived at the men’s room door, just in time to make a difference, he got the zip-lock cracked open. The stench was immediate.
Piercey got a whiff and stood back. “I’ll wait out here.”
Clarence nodded. The look on his face said that he was deeply grateful. “Sorry, man. I’ll try to make it fast, but it’s not something I can control.”
Clarence disappeared into the bathroom, and the door swung shut. Piercey, still holding a celebrity gossip magazine from the reception area, leaned against the wall to wait.
Once behind the door, Clarence cupped his hand and spit out his chewing gum. He held the knob still and pushed the gum straight into the lock.
Done.
He next threw the decaying mouse in the trash can and placed the remaining bag right up against the threshold.
Clarence then silently, swiftly lifted the already loosened grate off the window. It was easier than he’d anticipated, and in a matter of seconds, the metal shield was resting on the floor.
Clarence propped the grate in front of the door. He then turned on the cold water in the sink, grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser, and stuffed them into his pants pocket.
Despite the fact that Clarence had an artificial leg, there was nothing clumsy about his movements. He swiftly made his way out the window and down the metal ladder of the fire escape.
When he reached the last rung, he jumped eight feet to the ground, landing so that his good leg took the compression of the fall.
There were people on the sidewalks and in the parking lot, but since he was dressed in what looked like medical clothing, moving in such a casual and confident way, no one saw him as suspicious.
Clarence made his way to a bike rack. With the exception of women’s purses
, he had probably stolen more bicycles than any other single item in his long history of sticky fingers.
Normally he had tools, which allowed him to snap a lock in one swift maneuver. But today was still a breeze.
The bike rack in the front of the medical complex had several dozen bikes waiting for him at odd angles. One was improperly locked to the steel stand.
And one was all it ever took.
Clarence smiled and said hello to a woman passing by, another violation of criminal behavior, where the unwritten code says, “Never make eye contact with anyone.”
With the paper towels from the bathroom in hand, he made it appear that he was wiping off the bike. What he really did was pop a tire from one bike and switch it out onto a second bike.
In under a minute, he was good to go.
He could have been part of a race team. Tire off and on. Lock dropped. Vehicle back on the track.
He did an invisible high five to the rest of his imaginary pit crew as he pedaled away.
18
Sam got a text from Emily. Apparently Destiny was now an employee at the restaurant.
He couldn’t believe it. The last thing he needed was for the impossibly hot girl to become friends with Emily.
But whether or not they were friends, he felt certain that Destiny was going to cause problems in his relationship with Emily.
Maybe she already had.
Nothing got past Emily. The issue wasn’t that she was perceptive. She was more than that. She didn’t just understand him; she could feel what he was feeling.
And that was scary.
It meant that Emily could look at him and know if he was off balance. And if she hadn’t already sensed it, she would soon figure it out.
Sam slipped his cell phone back into his pocket and made a new plan for the day.
This morning was the tour of the college library for incoming students in the fall. But today he couldn’t bear to pretend to be just an average college student.
He didn’t deserve someone like Emily. He didn’t deserve her good family and all their kindness. Why did they trust him when he didn’t even trust himself?
He was the son of a crook and a thief, and no amount of pretending was going to change that.
It wasn’t that Destiny Verbeck was trouble.
He was.
Destiny didn’t bother to let the lady who owned the Orange Tree know that she wasn’t coming in because she’d taken another job.
She didn’t even think about it until after lunch service, when she was sitting in the back helping Justin, the headwaiter, add up the tips.
What if Bitzie Evans, who ran the store, was friends with Leo, who owned the restaurant, and what if she started talking trash about her? Suddenly Destiny realized that she should have said something.
She smiled at Justin, who was trying to figure out why all the figures didn’t add up. “I’ll be right back.”
Justin barely looked in her direction.
Destiny headed for the alley door, and Justin called after her, “You shouldn’t smoke out there. Leo doesn’t allow it.”
“I’m just getting some air. I’ll be back in five.”
And before Justin could take his questioning any further, the door swung shut.
Destiny headed straight down the narrow service alley to the sidewalk.
Once on the street, she could see the open door to the gift shop. Bitzie Evans was inside, and she was standing with her hands on her hips and her chest all puffed out.
And then Destiny realized that Bitzie was talking to someone in the shadows. He was tall. Dark hair. His head angled in a different direction, and Destiny recognized him.
It was Sam.
What was he doing in there?
Destiny’s stomach did a small flip-flop. But she’d learned to meet her challenges head-on. And so she marched right into the gift shop.
When Destiny entered, Bitzie Evans looked over and said, “Well, well, well, look what the cat drug in. We were just talking about you.”
Sam turned to the door and saw Destiny, and for a second his face flashed something she took to be guilt.
“So you have a job at the restaurant?” Bitzie continued. “That’s what your friend Sam here was just telling me.”
Destiny looked from Bitzie to Sam.
“And Sam says that he’s found me a replacement, which I appreciate.”
Destiny still didn’t say anything, which was unusual for her.
Bitzie filled the dead-air space. “He said they were shorthanded over at Ferdinand’s and you jumped at the opportunity, which I guess I understand. I wish that you’d called, but considering another girl’s been found to replace you, I can’t be that mad—right?”
Destiny smiled. It wasn’t her sexy smile; it was her chipper, toothier “I’m on your side” smile.
Sam didn’t take his eyes off the owner, but he moved several steps toward the door. “I gotta go. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Evans.”
“It’s Bitzie. Call me Bitzie. It’s a nickname. Bite-size.”
And then, even though Bitzie Evans was thirty-five years old and had a muffin-top waist that spilled over her pants, she added, “And there’s no Mr. Evans at this point.”
The shopkeeper laughed, and Destiny felt her shoulders literally sink an inch with relief. The high-strung woman was obviously all about Sam now. Destiny could have been invisible.
So Destiny turned to Sam and said, “Let’s go.”
Once Sam was outside, he started moving fast. Destiny scurried after him. “Hey, can I talk to you?”
He didn’t answer.
“So you want Emmie to quit the restaurant? Because I’m working there? And so you went to see if she could have my old job?”
He kept walking. Destiny took off at a run and got ahead of him, turning around to face Sam on the sidewalk. Her voice was low. “I know you have a problem with me.”
Sam had to stop or he’d run right into her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Destiny’s lips twisted at the edges into a sly smile. “Yeah, you do.”
Suddenly she put her small hands on his chest and pressed her body flat against him. “Just so you know, I’ve been thinking about you, too.”
Then she abruptly took off toward the restaurant.
Sam forced himself to start walking again. One foot in front of the other. And he did his best to disappear inside himself, to become invisible to the world.
But at the corner, he couldn’t help but look back over his shoulder.
And Destiny was there in the distance. Her face said one thing: I’ll be ready when you are. I’ll be there.
19
Clarence rode down the busy street on the stolen bike. Just six blocks away, on the left, he saw a prize: a farmers market. A smile cracked his too pale face.
We have a winner in aisle three.
Pushing the bicycle through the light crowd made up of women with strollers, elderly couples, and casual shoppers, Clarence came out on the other end of the street with a plastic bag, which held a woman’s wallet. Over his arm was someone’s old green sweatshirt.
He also had two persimmons and the small lockbox from a careless and overwhelmed vendor.
Clarence pulled the sweatshirt over his head, and after taking the money, he dropped the lockbox into a trash can.
He smiled at a pretty teenage girl with red hair and told her, “Have a nice day.” She blushed slightly and said, “You too.”
As he got back on the bike he saw a flock of birds overhead. They were dancing in the sky.
He felt their joy. He felt their freedom. And if he had a gun, he’d have loved to wipe them right off the horizon. But he’d save the impulse for when it mattered.
Clarence had been out for twelve minutes when, inside the Merced Medical Center, Denny Piercey finally got tired of the long wait.
Denny knocked on the door. “Hurry it up in there!”
But there was no answer.
After several moments the guard turned the doorknob and, discovering that it was locked, tried the key.
But he had trouble. The key met some resistance. It no longer moved in the lock. Something was blocking the cylinder.
Denny was now alarmed. “Open the door. Right now!”
But from inside there was only the sound of running water.
Denny returned to the doctor’s office and asked for another key. It took more than five minutes for the receptionist to find one.
The prison guard, now very agitated, radioed for help, requesting that the Merced city police set up a perimeter check around the building as a precaution for a “possible situation.”
Four patrol cars responded, and eight minutes later, two officers, with Piercey at their side, knocked down the bathroom door.
By this point, Piercey wasn’t surprised at the empty room and the open window.
But he still kicked the trash can in frustration. It hit the wall and ricocheted back.
The putrefied mouse rolled out onto the tile floor and landed at the prison guard’s feet.
A mile away Clarence entered a drugstore and with money from the purloined wallet and lockbox purchased a kit of Clairol Knockout Blonde hair color.
He also got a bottle of vodka, navy-blue sweatpants, and a pair of sunglasses. At a gas station half a mile farther, Clarence spent twenty minutes in a locked bathroom dyeing his black hair into what turned out to be a coppery version of Knockout Blonde.
He drank two inches of vodka from the bottle, removed his government-issue work pants, and pulled on the navy sweats. He finished by slipping on his new sunglasses.
Clarence appeared to be nothing like the man who had gone into the medical center only an hour before.
And for the first time since his operation, his phantom foot gave him some peace.
Maybe, he thought, the pain was all in his head.
Layers of wailing sirens, like a shrill chorus singing in a round, could be heard in the distance.
Clarence knew that they were looking for him.
But his secret was to continue to hide in plain sight.