Owls Well That Ends Well Part 30

"Describe him, then."

"It was that creepy little man who was helping you run the yard sale," she said.

Creepy little man? The only men who'd been helping me, apart from Michael, were Dad and Rob, and while they both had their detractors, I couldn't imagine anyone calling either of them a creepy little man.

"What creepy little man?" Michael asked.

"That Lionel Barrymore person," she said.

"Barrymore Sprocket?" I asked.

"That's the one," she said.

"And you didn't even bother mentioning this!" I exclaimed. "If you had, they would never have arrested Giles! Tell me exactly what you saw."

"Meg," Michael began. I gestured for him to be quiet. We had Carol talking; why interrupt her?

"I didn't really see anything else," she said.

"Meg-we really need to go back to the house," Michael said.

"But-"

"Meg," Michael said. "Barrymore Sprocket was helping your father count the yard sale proceeds, remember?"

Chapter 40.

"Oh, great," I said. "We've probably left Dad alone with the murderer."

"I'll go get the car," Michael said, running toward where we'd hidden it.

"Give me your car keys," I said to Carol. I shoved my flashlight into my pocket and held out my right hand while pulling out my cell phone with the left.

"Use your own car," she said, hugging her purse to her body.

"We're using our own car," I said, as I dialed 911. "You're waiting here for the police, and I'm taking your car keys with me to make sure you do it."

Carol picked that moment, when I was distracted and the light from Michael's flashlight was disappearing into the distance, to turn off her own flashlight and make a run for it.

"Oh, no you don't!" I yelled, launching myself at her.

Apparently the 911 operator answered the call while I was airborne.

"A-a-i-i-e-e!!"

Carol screamed when I knocked her down, and kept screaming at intervals while I relieved her of her keys and hunted through the leaves and gravel of the parking lot for her flashlight and my cell phone. As a screamer, she was right up there with Fay Wray for volume and drama but, luckily for me, she tended to go all out on each scream and then have to rest and catch her breath for long seconds. In between her screams, I convinced Debbie Anne down at the police station that Carol was merely hysterical, and that the real danger was at the old Sprocket farm, which was what most locals still called our house.

"I'll send someone over as soon as possible," she said.

"Can't you get word to any of the officers who are still at the crime scene?" I asked.

"Oh, Meg, I'm sorry," Debbie Anne said. "When the chief gave the go-ahead for y'all to resume your yard sale, he took away some of the officers, and the rest all came back with Mr. Early when they arrested him. I think he sent everyone home for a good long rest. Even Sammy called in to say he was going home, now that all the sheep were back. But don't you worry; I've sent pages out to every single one."

Wonderful.

"Just tell them to hurry," I said. "Before there's another murder."

Carol was still screaming, though with increasingly longer rest periods, when Michael pulled up, spraying gravel all the way to the front door of the building. He didn't stop-just slowed down and threw the door open, and he hit the accelerator about a second after I landed in the pa.s.senger's seat, with my cell phone and both sets of confiscated keys still in hand.

"Are those Carol's keys?" he asked.

"And Gordon's, too," I said. "d.a.m.n! Dad's cell phone isn't answering. We really need a phone at the house. d.a.m.n the Sprockets, anyway."

"What about Rob? Or your mother?"

"Trying them," I said. In fact I was cycling through the entire family phone list, with no luck.

Just by way of a change, I dialed a few Sprockets whose numbers I had in my cell phone, and on the third try I reached a Sprocket instead of an answering machine.

"Do you know where Barrymore is?" I said, cutting off his complaints about being awakened.

"Barrymore?" the sleepy Sprocket said. "Still locked up in Deep Meadow where he belongs, I hope. Why?"

I hung up.

"Barrymore's a jailbird," I said. I recognized Deep Meadow as one of the Virginia State prisons.

I tried Chief Burke's direct line, only to find myself forwarded to the dispatch office. Debbie Anne gave me another perky rea.s.surance that she was sure one of the officers on patrol would be there any minute.

"Any minute," Michael repeated, when I relayed this to him. "We'll be there any minute ourselves."

"d.a.m.n," I said. "I should have talked to Sprocket. I'd almost forgotten that he'd even been in the barn."

"Don't blame yourself," Michael said, as he rounded a corner on two wheels.

"But I should have remembered it," I said. "And I know why I forgot. He came over and told me that he couldn't make Gordon leave the barn, so I should go and do it. And I had no reason to suspect him, because when he did it, I didn't even know Gordon was dead."

"And he probably did."

"He definitely knew, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, because he probably did it. And what's more, I bet he was trying to set me up to be the one who found the body."

"Didn't succeed, though," Michael said.

"He did succeed in making me think he was harmless."

The house was in sight now. And completely dark, except for a single light in the kitchen. Apart from my car, there were only two vehicles in the driveway. Both apparently belonged to some relative or other; I'd seen them around for the past several days. Under other circ.u.mstances, I'd have been thrilled to find the road outside our house empty except for the deep, muddy ruts along both sides, and the yard littered only with debris, and not with hundreds of people. But now, I swore as I wondered what had happened to the several dozen relatives who'd been underfoot every minute of the last week. Had they all gone out to eat pizza on Dad's tab? I hoped he was with them.

The only unusual note was the sheep lying in the middle of our driveway, placidly chewing its cud.

"d.a.m.n!" Michael said, as he braked and swerved onto the gra.s.s to avoid it. "I thought Sammy said he'd gotten them all back."

"Maybe he miscounted, or maybe Farmer Early did," I said. "We'll worry about her later."

"Just what we need," Michael muttered. "More sheep thrills."

I ignored him. I was racing up the steps to the front door by this time, with Michael on my heels. I pulled out my keys to get in, but Michael reached past me and shoved the door open.

The front door unlocked and hanging open-I didn't like the looks of this.

"h.e.l.lo?" I called. "Anyone home?"

I heard only echoes. I ran back to the kitchen. Empty.

"Shall I call Luigi's?" Michael asked.

I shook my head and pointed to the half-eaten sausage and mushroom pizza on the table. Evidently Dad had gotten his favorite pizza after all.

I walked back into the central hallway and listened. Apart from Michael's footsteps as he moved from the kitchen to the dining room and then the living room, I could hear nothing but the muted sounds of insects outdoors. Quiet. Too quiet; why weren't we hearing police sirens by now?

"Dad?" I called up the stairs.

I raced through the upstairs floors while Michael checked the bas.e.m.e.nt. We met again in the kitchen.

"Do you suppose he finished counting the money and went to Luigi's?" Michael suggested. "Maybe that's why the carryout pizza's not finished. I'll call and check."

"Maybe I should check the yard sale area," I said, peering out, though the entire yard was dark and still.

"h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Langslow!" Michael said. "No, not now-something's come up. Look, is Dr. Langslow there? d.a.m.n. Sorry. What about Barrymore Sprocket?"

Or was something moving in the yard, I wondered. I pulled the curtain aside to get a better look. I realized I'd left my flashlight in the car, and turned to get it. I'd need it for searching the yard.

"Your mother says your dad and Barrymore still haven't gotten there, and they a.s.sumed they were still here counting the money," Michael said, with his hand over the mouthpiece. "Shall I call the police and tell them-"

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Chapter 41.

Michael almost dropped his phone when a bloodcurdling shriek pierced the night. I bolted for the back door.

"That came from the barn!" I said.

"We should wait for the cops," Michael said, though I noticed that he was sprinting after me rather than following his own advice.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

"I'm not standing around waiting for the cops while Barrymore Sprocket commits another murder!" I said, just as I slammed into another sheep.

"Careful!" Michael said, a little late.

I planned to have a word with Sammy about his sheep counting abilities, next time I saw him. The sheep baaed reproachfully, scrambled back to its feet, and sauntered off. I had to catch my breath again before I could get up, and Michael beat me to the gate.

As we stumbled through the yard sale area toward the barn door, I berated myself for leaving the flashlight behind. There was still plenty of junk to stumble over. We plowed through the junk by brute force, and I was sure both my shins were bleeding by the time we made it to the barn.

We burst inside and by the faint light of a fallen flashlight on the ground we saw Dad, bound with clothesline and gagged with packing tape, lying in the middle of the open center area.

"Dr. Langslow," Michael said, dropping down beside him. "Are you okay?"

"Take his pulse," I said. "Better yet, keep your eyes peeled for Barrymore Sprocket, and I'll take his pulse."

"Right," Michael said. He stood up, and I could see him looking around for a weapon.

Dad's pulse was steady, and after a few moments, his eyelids fluttered.

"Dad," I said. "What happened?"

"Growf!"

We all jumped-well, Michael and I, at least-and turned to see Spike, stumbling clumsily out of his bed and stalking toward us, growling. Which wasn't unusual-Spike tended to be even grouchier when he woke up than the rest of the time. Not the first time I'd been glad to have a fence between us.

Dad made noises.

"Hang on a minute, Dad, I'll rip the gag off."

"Ow!" he exclaimed. And then his face grew serious. "No! Look out!" he pointed with his chin.

Michael and I whirled, and Michael raised the weapon he'd found-a broken bicycle tire pump. But Dad appeared to be pointing at Spike.

"Eeeeeee!"

The shriek again, but not as loud now. And coming from someplace outside the barn.

"It's only an owl," Michael said, lowering the bicycle pump slightly. "I think."