see the hope in her own eyes.
“Let me try him again,” she said. “He might have just been on another call.”
Behind the woman with the gun, the trapdoor was opening slowly, silently. Mavis, oblivious, only shook her head. “Don’t bother,” she said. “Don’t bother to call.”
“Let me try,” said Mimi, her voice a little shrill.
“No,” said Mavis, her voice resigned. “I didn’t think this through very well.” Then she smiled, as if a new idea had come to her. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Maybe you should phone him. Yes. It isn’t what Marc should give to me that matters,” she said, her voice getting louder, more enthusiastic. “It’s what I should give to him.”
“Okay,” said Mimi. “So I phone him again?”
“Yes,” said Mavis, her eyes wide now, as if everything was suddenly becoming clear. “You phone him. And after you say hello, I talk to him, tell him where we are, the two of us. Tell him exactly where we are and that I’ve got a gun. And he starts talking about all the things he’s going to give me so that I don’t shoot you. And maybe I say, ‘I’ve heard that before, Marc Soto.’ I say that and then, with him right there on the other end of the line, I do it.”
“Do what?”
“It. You. Shoot you.”
The mattress erupted behind them as the trapdoor flew back on its chains, and in the same moment that Mavis spun around and Mimi drew the canister, Cramer emerged, head and shoulders, from the hidey-hole, his arm shooting out across the floor, grabbing Mavis by the ankles and pulling her off her feet.
She crashed to the ground, and her flailing arm knocked the canister right out of Mimi’s hand. Mavis writhed on the floor, kicking out at Cramer’s grasping hands.
“Run!” shouted Cramer.
Mimi pasted herself against the wall behind Mavis, inching toward the door, but Mavis, from where she lay, twisted around, so that the gun was aimed up at Mimi.
“Mimi!” Now Jay was at the bedroom door, and Mavis swung around to face him.
“Don’t do it!” screamed Cramer, clawing at his mother’s leg.
“You!” said Mavis, swinging her attention back to him. “You!”
Then the gun went off. The trapdoor shuddered with the impact of the shot, and Cramer, howling in pain, crumpled out of sight.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
There was a man standing on the bridge over the snye, squinting into the light of the Mini Cooper’s headlights, holding up his hands to shade his eyes. His shoulders were hunched, pelted by the rain. It wasn’t even six, but the storm clouds made it seem like twilight. Jay switched off the lights but not the ignition. The guy was his age but looked huge somehow, standing like that alone on the crumbling bridge, muscular, his head shaved, dressed only in a T-shirt and black jeans. Cramer.
He wiped his face with both hands, squinting from the rain. It was still coming down hard. He waved his arm urgently, then made his way toward the car. Instinctively, Jay locked the doors. What was going on? Where was Mimi? But now Cramer was at his window, his hands pressed against the glass, framing his face, and his face was filled with earnestness and fear. His mouth was moving. He was saying something. Jay turned off the engine. “Mimi!” he said, pointing toward the house. “Hurry!” Jay nodded and Cramer stepped back to let him out. Jay opened the door.
“It’s Mimi,” said Cramer. “She’s in trouble.”
“What did you do to her?”
Cramer looked exhausted. He shook his head. “Have you got a cell phone?” Jay nodded. “Call the cops. And you’d better call for an ambulance, too.”
“What the hell-”
“Just do it!” said Cramer, his voice urgent but not much above a whisper. Jay climbed back in the car, to make the call out of the rain. He punched in 911. Cramer was looking back toward the house, his fists coiled, his face filled with a gravity that frightened Jay. He made the connection, gave the directions.
“Tell them she’s got a gun!”
“What?”
Cramer swore and grabbed the phone from Jay. “There’s a crazy woman with a gun,” he said. “Hurry!” Then he handed the phone back to Jay.
“You get that?” said Jay. The dispatcher did.
“Do not attempt a rescue,” she said. He flipped the phone shut and jumped out of the vehicle, because Cramer was already hotfooting it back toward the bridge.
“They said not to try anything.”
Cramer turned and cried out in a harsh whisper, “Don’t slam the door!”
Jay caught the door in midflight and closed it quietly. Then he ran to catch up.
“They said not to try rescuing her,” he said.
“Shhh,” said Cramer. “Keep it down.”
“But-”
Cramer turned to him, his face stern. “I heard you. I just don’t know if we’ve got that option.”
They had to cross the plank portion of the bridge single file, but as soon as they were on the other side, Jay caught up with Cramer. “For God’s sake, tell me something!”
Cramer took Jay by the arm. “It’s so fucked up.”
“But-”
Cramer’s hold on his arm tightened painfully. “Just stay with me,” he said. “We can do this, right?” Then he was moving again, without waiting for an answer, moving in a crouch as if someone in the house might see them. There was a bag attached to his belt and banging against his hip. They moved swiftly up the wet lawn to the house and stopped, near the shed.
“What do we do?” whispered Jay.
Cramer was breathing hard. His face was filled with consternation, but his eyes were quick with possibility, and Jay stopped pressing him. Under the shed roof, the noise was deafening from the rain on the tin. “They’re in the bedroom,” he said. “I’m going to go in through the storm door-”
“You can’t,” said Jay. “I locked it.”
Cramer shook his head. “I know,” he said. “I can get in.” His eyes slid away from Jay’s, embarrassed, but Jay didn’t press it.
“So I’ll go in the back door,” said Jay. “The noise of the rain will cover any noise.” Cramer nodded, then looked down.
“Take off your shoes,” he said. “Get as close to the bedroom door as you can. I could see through a crack in the curtains; the bedroom door’s open. Be ready, okay?”
“For what?”
“I don’t know,” said Cramer. “I don’t the fuck know!” His eyes were filled with pain. He swallowed.
“So, be ready for anything,” said Jay. “Any opportunity.”
“Right,” said Cramer. His eyes widened. He nodded. “Yeah.”
So it was half a plan, but at least it was something. Then Cramer punched Jay on the arm-comrades-and disappeared around the shed.
It was like some nightmarish game. For all Jay knew, Cramer was nuts! But he didn’t look nuts. He looked scared shitless. And, anyway, it was Cramer who’d suggested calling the cops.
As soon as he opened the kitchen door, he heard voices: Mimi’s voice and the voice of another woman. There was an edge to her voice that confirmed the panic Jay had seen in Cramer’s eyes. He crept through the kitchen in his stocking feet, turned left, and slid along the wall toward the open bedroom door.
The woman’s voice grew louder, more strident, more threatening. They were talking about Marc, about a phone call. Jay hardly dared to breathe. He tried to place the figures in the room by the sound of their voices. Mimi
