After that time in Janks Field, by the way, they were no longer pals. They stayed away from each other, and
They were so scared of Phoebe that they never even dared to give us dirty looks. Many times, in the first few months after the incident, I saw each of them cross streets or start walking in the opposite direction just to avoid us—Scotty with a pretty good limp.
One week after her target practice in Janks Field, Phoebe won the Fourth of July archery contest (junior division) with a final, amazing shot that would’ve done Robin Hood proud.
She made the shot, of course, with her lucky arrow.
And won the hand-tooled leather quiver.
Chapter Twenty-six
On both sides of the quiver, I could see the powder blue strings of Slim’s bikini top, her bandages and bare, tanned skin down to the waistband of Lee’s red shorts.
I was half lost in how Slim looked from behind, half dwelling on the summer she won the quiver and pretty much paying no attention at all to anything else as I followed her to the door of her bedroom.
One step into the hallway, she stopped.
“What?” Rusty asked.
As if he didn’t know.
Slim went, “Shhhh.” Then she walked straight across the hallway and into her mother’s bedroom. We went in after her, spread out, and stared at the mess we’d left behind. A puddle, prickly with broken glass, remained on top of the dresser. The carpet below the dresser now looked dry, but dangerous with shards from the demolished vase and perfume bottle. A few bright yellow rose petals lay among the remains as if they’d been blown there from somewhere else.
The flowers were gone.
For a moment, I thought that Rusty or I must’ve thrown them away.
Then I remembered that we hadn’t touched them.
A chill crawled up the back of my neck.
Rusty and I glanced at each other.
He, too, had noticed the roses were gone...
“We better get outa here,” he whispered.
Ignoring him, Slim stepped around the mess on the carpet and walked slowly through the room. We stayed with her. Since both her hands were busy with the bow and arrow, she stood by, ready to shoot, while I looked under the bed and Rusty opened the closet door. When she entered the master bathroom, I crept in behind her.
The bathroom held flowery scents.
No trace of the yellow roses, though.
And no trace of any intruders.
Turning around, Slim pointed her arrow away from me. Her eyes met mine. She gave me a quick, nervous smile. Then she came toward me and I backed out of the bathroom.
Rusty looked glad to see us.
For the next ten or fifteen minutes—or hour—we searched the house.
It was hard on the nerves.
In some ways, I felt major relief. Because of the
But the relief came with a large price.
Someone
Chewing the book seemed like the act of a madman.
Taking the roses seemed like something a woman might do.
As we crept through the house, upstairs and down, entering every room, opening every door, glancing under and behind furniture, checking everywhere large enough to conceal a per. son, I prayed that we would find no one.
I was a nervous wreck.
Not a moment went by that I didn’t expect someone to jump out at us.
Julian Stryker, maybe. Or Valeria (though I’d never seen her). Or some of their black-shirted crew.
Maybe armed with spears.
I tried to convince myself that this was impossible, that they had no way of knowing where Slim lived, but it certainly
By following us, for instance.
I gripped the knife tightly. My mouth was dry. My heart thudded. Sweat dripped down my face, fell off my ears
