"Suite yourself," Shannie climbed out of the powder fairy blue cab. "I'm going to bed." When she reached the front door she turned and thanked us for being in her court.
"The way I figure it, the old lady can be in one of two spots: Somewhere behind Fernwood or at Ursinus college," Count reasoned.
"Or in Lucas's funeral parlor," I added. I was tired and didn't want to deal with a wild stiff chase. I wanted to go to bed and forget the whole mess. I hoped Shannie was right.
I tossed and turned all night. Tired as I was, I couldn't sleep. I pictured the pleasant grandmother - wearing her stupid smile -lying somewhere in the junkyard, waiting to be Dukes next meal. I climbed out of bed and stared at the tombstones - their grayness illuminated in the moonlight. I made out the old truck resting peacefully next to the converted chapel. I climbed back into bed, tossed and turned some more, decided I was hungry, climbed out of bed and went downstairs and made a late night snack.
The old house creaked and groaned around me. The old joists and trusses limbered up for a new day. A large truck rumbled down Main St. shaking the house. I sat at the kitchen table and stared down a peanut butter and banana sandwich. An eerie calm fell over me, the events of last night seemed like a dissipating dream; the gist barely remembered, the details forgotten. About me the unnoticed appeared: the metronomic ticking of the clock. The inane pattern of the wallpaper, the texture the tablecloth, the knots in the phone cord. Even the brightening eastern sky gained my attention.
Above me, footsteps make their way across the floor. I tried to determine if the footfalls were my mother's or father's. The flush of the toilet startled me, my new found calm cascaded with piss down the pipes. Like the water replenishing the toilet tank, Mr. Lucas's threat washed over me. I bit into my sandwich. God, let Shannie be right!
I passed out when I reached school. I slept through most of homeroom, bolting when the morning announcements crackled over the PA. Disoriented, I looked around the room. It was 8:10. Our fate was sealed! Count informed me that his early morning search was futile. Steve Lucas's empty desk was another ominous sign - the undertaker probably had his son arrested first.
When the bell rang, I stumbled my way to first period. I looked over my shoulder, wondering which of my peers was an undercover cop. As the morning ground on, my paranoia increased. It takes time for a police report to be filed. It's not like the cops would arrest me at 8:20, not even Beyford's - who's most pressing issue of the morning is the choice between Boston Cream and French Crullers. I was certain they'd get me early afternoon, late morning at the earliest!