Whistling In The Dark Part 16

Because then I realized that if Reese hadn't pushed Wendy down the Spencers' cellar steps, then he probably wasn't the one who'd chased me down the alley that same night or grabbed at me in the Fazios' backyard. There couldn't be two loonies running around, could there? Naw. Troo had been wrong. Reese Latour wasn't the murderer and molester after all. I didn't want to wreck her afternoon. I didn't want to tell her she was mistaken. She already had too much else on her mind what with Mr. Dave being her new father. I'd wait to tell her when the timing was right.

After Troo and Mary Lane and me got onto the swings, Mary Lane said, "Did you hear about Father Jim and Mr. Gary Galecki?"

I wished we were all going up and down at the same time but we weren't. I was in the middle and Troo was on my right and Mary Lane was on my left and we were all pumping like crazy but at different times, so I had to wait until our swings crossed to say, "What about Father Jim and Mr. Gary?"

Mary Lane said, pa.s.sing by me, "They are light in the loafers together."

"What?" Troo yelled across from me. "What did you just say?"

Mary Lane was the biggest, fattest liar. She could only go so long without tellin' one, like she just had to do it or she would burst into flames, which probably woulda been okay with her. Next thing she'd say was that Mr. Gary kidnapped Father Jim and they were going to go make pot holders with Germans next to a big lake with slimy trout up in Rhinelander.

"Father Jim and Gary Galecki run off together to Rhine . . . I mean, California, to get married," Mary Lane yelled back to Troo. "I heard Ethel tellin' Mr. Fitzpatrick at the drugstore this morning." Mary Lane put on an Ethel voice and waggled a finger like Ethel did. " *I had my 'spi cions 'bout Mr. Gary bein' a little too dear to his mother, if you get my understandin'. Now everybody's gonna know. That boy is a royal queen.' " Mary Lane looked at me and made a funny face, like what the h.e.l.l is that supposed to mean? "Father Jim left a note in the sacristy saying he was sorry but he couldn't help himself and that he knew it was a mortal sin but he was in love and runnin' off with Gary Galecki to California."

Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Was that what Ethel'd meant when she said there'd been a little somethin' somethin' with Mr. Gary? I almost ran over to Mrs. Galecki's to ask her, to see if Mary Lane was lying. But then Mary Lane said, "And you know what else?"

She'd stopped swinging and so did me and Troo because Mary Lane was telling us some fantastic stuff and we wanted to pay very close attention.

"What else?" Troo asked.

"Big-shot Bobby is up to something," Mary Lane said.

Her hatred for Bobby had been going on for the last two summers. Bobby started it all one day when she was hanging upside down on the monkey bars and he said to her in a jokey kind of way, "Look at Mary Lane hangin' around her home away from home." And then he set a banana down on the ground and walked away scratching under his arms. Okay, I'm sorry to have to say this, but Mary Lane truly did look like a chimp with her skinny little body and long arms and spread-out nose, but Bobby shouldn't have told her that. He musta been outta sorts that day, too.

I asked, "What do you mean Bobby is up to something?" just to be polite, because after all Mary Lane was our best friend. I was pretty sure that this was gonna be another one of her whoppers.

Mary Lane said, "I was peepin' on him when he was in the shed yesterday and he was going through this Kroger bag."

"So?" Troo said.

"He was touchin' himself."

My head whipped toward Mary Lane. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Like Reese Latour is always doin'." Mary Lane put her hand down to the front of her shorts.

Troo was leaning way back in the swing, her hair almost draggin' on the ground. "What was in the bag?" I could tell Troo didn't believe her and was just humoring her.

Across the playground, Bobby must've felt me staring at him because he looked over at me.

Mary Lane said, "He was takin' stuff out of the bag and puttin' it on the wooden table in there and lookin' at it like it was something special."

"What was in the bag?" I asked her again.

Bobby had set the jump rope down and was walking toward us.

"You know the shed window is kinda dirty so it was hard to see real clear, but I'm sure there was a shoe."

"What kind of shoe?" I was getting a very bad feeling.

"A tennis shoe."

I shot out of that swing and knelt down in front of Mary Lane and said, "No kiddin'. You sure about that?"

She nodded. "Now shut your trap about it, he's comin' this way."

I shoulda run over to Mr. Dave's house right then and called him on his telephone at the police station and told him I knew who the murderer and molester was. But then again, I'd just about had it with everybody telling me that I had to get my imagination under control and maybe so did Mary Lane. Everybody calling her liar liar pants on fire. But I had to also face facts that Mary Lane could be telling one of her whopper weenie lies. There was just no way of knowing for sure.

I got back into my swing to think it through. Bobby'd stopped walking toward us and was getting a drink at the bubbler. I felt guilty about suspecting him. He was a good egg even if he was a little out of sorts today. He was usually such a terrific friend to all of us and always dressed clean and nice. Mary Lane had to be making it up.

"Are you really, really sure about this?" I asked her again. I'd started to doubt her even more because she had just told us that story about Father Jim and Mr. Gary, and that was such an out-and-out lie. Father Jim and Gary Galecki? Light in their loafers? But then I remembered Father Jim's fluffy white dress with the petticoats and high heels. And Mr. Gary's smooth skin and high voice. According to Willie O'Hara, that was how you could tell if someone was light in their loafers. Because his mother knew a lot of loafer-light people who seemed to be on the artistic side. Smooth skin, high voice, and then Willie made his wrist floppy and said, "And that's what they do with their hands. And oh yeah, they really like flowers." Flowers? Mr. Gary love flowers. So did Father Jim! He'd planted over ten purple s...o...b..ll bushes in the rectory backyard. Oh boy. I had to talk to Ethel.

"You're not making this one up, are you, about Bobby?" I asked Mary Lane again, keeping my eye on Bobby, who was up on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, bouncing along toward us with his electric energy.

"No," she said. "And I didn't make that up about Father Jim and Gary Galecki either. Go over to Ethel's and see."

So maybe Mary Lane was lying, and maybe she wasn't. Bobby was about a hundred feet away and taking giant steps toward us.

It was just too hard to believe that Bobby with hair that went in tight curls on his head like a soprano choirboy would have a Kroger bag with Sara Heinemann's tennis shoe in it. n.o.body would believe us. I wouldn't. And for sure Mr. Dave wouldn't. And I really wanted to get off on the right foot with him and not get him sad that he let Troo and me move in with him, or maybe he would change his mind and then what would we do? Mother would be so mad.

"What's buzzin', cuzzin? Anybody up for a game of tetherball?" Bobby asked when he got to us. "Or maybe you wanna head over to the monkey bars?" He smirked at Mary Lane.

Troo said, "Ah . . . thanks. But we were just talkin' about headin' over to the zoo."

Bobby was so handsome. So ooh la la, Troo said. He looked at the three of us one at a time in a strange kind of way, and then said, "Maybe when you get back?"

"That sounds great," I said.

"Okay," he said, backing up, "catch you later."

"Boy, I hate him," Mary Lane said once he was out of earshot. "He reminds me of a boa constrictor, all cold and slithery. Did you know that over in Africa boas grow so big that one of those things can swallow a child whole?"

I sighed and started doubting her all over again, about what she'd said about Bobby and Mr. Gary and Father Jim. "That's not true."

"Is too."

"Is not."

The three of us got up off the swings and started walking toward the end of the playground through the waves of shimmery heat that were like in that French Foreign Legion movie we saw over at the Uptown.

"Is too."

"Is not."

I spent the way over to the park feelin' like we shouldn't be doing this. Mr. Dave had warned us at breakfast about staying away from the zoo, but boy, I sure was missing Sampson and had a desperate, desperate need to see him. Troo kicked a rock all the way over so I could tell she was thinking. Mary Lane kept running off and peeping into people's yards, reporting back nothin' too exciting except for the peeing boy statue she saw over at the Raymonds'.

We stopped at a couple of the other cages on the way to Sampson's. The lion's fur was all falling out and he looked like he had ringworm or something. And the elephants didn't move at all and looked kinda fake. The hippos were underwater and I couldn't blame them because if it got much hotter, I could fry an egg on my face.

After we climbed up into our tree across from Sampson's cage, I felt so relieved to see the King that I almost started to cry. He was laying on his back singing, but he turned toward me when I called his name and in his eyes I could tell that he'd missed me as much as I missed him, like anybody would miss a long-lost relative. And then he went back to sucking on his toes. That made me laugh, seeing Sampson like that, not a care in the world. It made everything that was worrying me-Bobby rubbin' himself in the shed and Mr. Gary and Father Jim being light in their loafers together and how Mr. Dave and Troo were getting along worse than the Bat tling Bickersons-just sorta fly out of my head.

Until Troo lit up a cigarette and blew out one of those French smoke rings and said, "Girls . . . I got me a plan."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.

It was warm that night. The heat wasn't giving up like it did sometimes after the streetlights went on. And the air around me smelled like just-cut gra.s.s and the macaroni and cheese Mr. Dave had made us for supper with a slice of Ethel's black-bottomed pie for dessert.

Mary Lane and Troo and me were sitting on top of the monkey bars closest to the shed, watching Bobby play checkers with Mimi Latour over on the benches, and going over Troo's genius plan one more time.

Everybody knew there was a padlock on the shed door, but it had a chain that was loose and you could pull it apart pretty far. Not real far, a kid couldn't sneak in between the chain and the door or anything. Not a regular kid. But a kid like Mary Lane, the skinniest kid in the whole world, she was pretty sure she could get in there, and once she did she was gonna get her hands on that Kroger bag and take it to the cops.

"You ready?" Mary Lane asked as she swung down off the monkey bars.

This was one of the reasons Troo and me loved Mary Lane, because she was always ready for anything. Like ringing doorbells and running away, or kicking car tires up at Fillard's Service Station and then laying down on the ground and moaning like she had got run over. And one time she even said she was a crippled child and went door to door collecting pennies that she used to buy herself licorice. She was a wild little monkey that Mary Lane! Especially when it came to peeping.

"I'm ready," I said. But I wasn't. I felt scared the same way I did after I climbed those steps to the high dive over at the swimming pool, walking slowly across that rough board over to the edge. Then I'd just stand there, bouncing in the breeze, waiting for my courage to come push me off. I can't tell you how many times I backed down those steps, my head hangin' low and embarra.s.sed.

But I wasn't gonna back down tonight. I could feel it. I wondered why that was. Maybe it had something to do with Mr. Dave being my father or Mother getting better or both those things getting put into one big bowl and mixed up together to make a batch of a different, braver Sally O'Malley. Was that how growing up worked?

Across the street, the big lights were on at the playground. The ones they put on when there was a softball game being played by the men in the neighborhood. Tonight it was the Feelin' Good Cookie Factory against the policemen. Mr. Dave was up there. He was playing third base. All the men were yelling baseball words at each other. C'mon, Gil, just a little hit. Pitch, you got about as much control as two rabbits on a first date. Hey, ump, if you're just gonna watch, buy a ticket. And a lot of hootin' and hollerin' from the benches. When the wind changed directions, I was sure that the cookie factory team would win. The smell of those chocolate chip cookies would give those factory men strength.

I jumped down from the bars and looked over at Mr. Dave in his baseball uniform with the red stripes and thought I'd just run over to third base real quick and tell him about Mary Lane seeing that Kroger grocery bag in the shed.

Troo did some of the mental telepathy on me and said snippy-like, "Forget it, I don't care if he is your daddy, he's not gonna believe you and he's gonna get mad that you bothered him while he's playing ball."

"Who's your daddy?" Mary Lane asked.

Troo said matter-of-factly, "Rasmussen is her daddy." Mary Lane nodded like Ethel did sometimes, all low and wise. "Yeah, I knew that."

"You did not, Mary Lane. That is your biggest lie ever," I said.

"Did too know that. For Chrissakes, Sally, who are you? Helen Keller? Look how much you two look alike."

I looked over at the softball field. Mary Lane was right. Mr. Dave was crouched over at third, smacking his hand into his glove. He'd told me and Troo that we could come over and watch the game but not to leave the playground under any circ.u.mstances. Eddie Callahan was playing for the cookie factory because his dad used to work up there before he got all caught up in that cookie press, so Nell was sitting in the bleachers, waving at Eddie every two minutes. I wished Mother could be here to see Mr. Dave. He looked so handsome with his honey-colored skin, his hair almost as white as mine now with just the right amount of muscles, the kind that didn't look like he wanted to punch you, but that he'd be handy if you needed him to lift furniture. It would make Mother feel a lot healthier just looking at him. I bet they ended up getting married and then they would go on a honeymoon to someplace they both would really like, maybe someplace glamorous like Miami Beach, Florida, and when they came back they- Mary Lane shoved me and said, "Quit your dreamin' . . . it's time to do a peepin'." She laughed like one of those chimps that lived out on the Monkey Island. "She's a poet but doesn't know it but her feet show it. They're long fellows. He he he." She didn't seem scared at all. In fact, I hadn't seen Mary Lane this happy since she accidentally lit that huge fire up on North Avenue last summer.

"Troo," I said, "make sure Bobby stays on that bench, and if he doesn't, yell something like, *Oh hi, Bobby, wanna play tetherball' very loud, okay?"

Troo was staring at Bobby real concentrated with her tongue between her lips. "I got him in my sights." She had her Davy Crockett c.o.o.nskin cap on, and her wiggly red hair that had lightened in the summer sun to a not quite ripe strawberry color was halfway down her back. "What about Barb?"

I said, "She's not workin' tonight. I asked."

I turned to Mary Lane to say let's go but she was already heading toward the shed. I looked over at Mr. Dave one more time and I thought how proud of me he was gonna be if Bobby turned out to be the murderer and molester, and if he wasn't . . . no harm, no foul.

Mary Lane disappeared around the corner of the school. I looked back once more at Bobby, who was now leaning over the checkerboard toward Mimi Latour. He had his hands laying on top of hers.

"Sally," Troo whispered loudly to get my attention.

I looked over at her. She gave me double thumbs-up.

I did the same back to her and then I slipped around the corner. My poor heart. It wasn't so much beating in my chest as panting like it had Old Yeller rabies. It was pretty dark back there because there weren't any lights except for a small one over the door of the shed and that one was flickering. While I let my eyes adjust to the dark, I set my face against the brick of the school, hoping it'd be cool. But it wasn't. It was warm and rough and smelled like sidewalk.

"Mary Lane?" I called out.

She whispered loudly over to my left, from behind a tree, "C'mon, we don't have a lotta time. It's the eighth inning." She ran toward the shed door and waved me over.

There was a light on inside and a streak of it came through the shed and laid there like a piece of broken gla.s.s on the gra.s.s. Mary Lane pointed at the door. The plan was for me to pull it open as far as I could because I was so strong from all my gardening. I got my hands around the edge and yanked. Mary Lane was standing sideways to the door. She slipped most of her body through, but then stopped and said, "More, you gotta pull it open more, Sally. I can't get my head in." I closed my eyes so I could concentrate and tried to pull even harder, with every ounce of strength I had, telling myself if I could do this, I would be named Queen of the Playground. I tugged and grunted and it musta worked, because when I opened my eyes Mary Lane said, "I knew this skinni ness would come in handy one day," as she disappeared inside the shed.

No other human being on Earth could've done it.

And then I listened for Troo, but I didn't hear anything at all, no warning, no talking. Nothing. I watched Mary Lane through the slit in the shed door as she walked past the big metal container they kept the red b.a.l.l.s in and past a bunch of bats and gloves. She hurried over to the long wooden worktable where they probably fixed stuff that broke on the playground and where she said she saw Bobby open up that Kroger bag. She looked in a cupboard and behind these shovels. She pulled the top off a green metal box that had some paint cans in it. Mary Lane turned toward me and hunched her shoulders up to her ears and then let them down. She couldn't find the bag. Maybe Bobby had figured out she'd peeped on him and had gotten rid of it. Or maybe Mary Lane had been telling one of her big fat whoppers.

I stuck my arm through the slit in the door and pointed over to a corner she hadn't checked. "Over there."

Mary Lane walked over and picked something up in her hand. It was just a rusted old swing chain. She turned back again and made a face at me like, now what? I pointed at the red b.a.l.l.s container. I just had a feeling. A picture of Bobby always bouncing one of those red b.a.l.l.s came into my mind. "Dig into the ball barrel. Way down."

A cheer went up from the baseball game. Two . . . four . . . six . . . eight . . . who do we appreciate! The game was over. The playground was closing. Bobby'd be here any minute to switch the big lights off. I called through the door, "Hurry up." Mary Lane stuck her skinny arms down into the ball barrel as far as she could and was rooting around, and then finally she brought her arm back up. In her hand was a Kroger bag, folded at the top. She grinned and started walking back to me. She was almost home free when I heard the whistling.

I could feel his breath on my neck. How'd he get past Troo?

"Lookin' for me, Sally?" Bobby asked real friendly. He placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me around to face him. "Cuz I've been looking for you." I looked down and he didn't have those white tennis shoes on anymore. He had on black shoes, those spongy kind. And pink-and-green argyles. Mary Lane had not been telling one of her fibs.

Bobby Brophy was the murderer and molester.

He had the keys for the shed padlock in his hand. If I didn't warn her, Mary Lane was gonna get caught by Bobby. So I imagined, just imagined that Bobby was the guy I'd always thought he was. My friend. My chess teacher. "Oh, Bobby," I said real loud, and laughed. "You scared me. I was just thinking I could get into the shed and get some lanyards for myself. I wanna make one for my mother because she's coming home from the hospital and I saw you were busy playing checkers with Mimi and . . . hey, how about a quick game of chess?"

Bobby ignored me and looked all around. "Where's your pal Mary Lane? I saw the two of you come over here. Where'd she go off to?" He peered into the shed and the light came across his face and lit him up like he was an angel. I held my breath and prayed Dear Mary Mother of G.o.d, help your namesake. It seemed like a long time until he pulled his head back away from the crack and asked again, "Where is she, Sally?"

"She's not here. She had to go home. She . . ."

Bobby grinned and took another step closer to me. "Gosh, that's too bad. I had something real special planned for her and now she's gonna miss out on all the fun."

"Bobby, I really gotta get going. Troo is waiting for me." I started to walk off. He grabbed me by my wrist. "Well, actually, Sally, she's not. Troo seems to have fallen off the monkey bars and is taking a little nap."

"Troo," I moaned, and tried to break free. He pulled me closer.

There was a little gap between Bobby's front teeth that I had never noticed before. He picked up my braid and ran the end of it across his lips. "I just love blondes. And those green eyes of yours. Delicious." He was making a funny noise in his throat, like the Kenfields' cat did when I rubbed her tummy. "We are going to have a very special night. I've been planning it all summer long. Are you ready?"

I tried to scream then, but all that came out was, "Ahhh." Just like in my dream when the Creature from the Black Lagoon caught me. Just a gagging sound that n.o.body could hear but me. And Bobby.

"So that's a yes?" he purred. He was running his fingers down my blouse toward my shorts. His breathing sounded like it did after we played tetherball. And then he wrapped his arms around me and I recognized the feeling coming off his body from that night in the Fazios' backyard when he'd come after me with the pillowcase on his face. The feeling that I thought was fear coming off him. It wasn't fear . . . I knew that then. Bobby felt excited. The way you do when you wanted something for a very long time and you finally got it.

He pulled me into his chest and held me and his warm breath on my neck smelled milky like a baby's. If you were in one of the houses across the street and you were watching us, you would think to yourself, what a nice counselor that Bobby Brophy was to care so much about those kids. He put his lips in my ear and his flickering tongue licked the insides and all I could think about was what Mary Lane said about boa constrictors that ate kids whole.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her climb out from under the gray shadow of that worktable, and then as quiet as a mouse she pushed open the dirty window that was just above it. Did she have the Kroger bag with her? If she didn't, and she ran over to find Mr. Dave and tell him that Bobby Brophy was the murderer and molester, he wouldn't believe lying Mary Lane.