Page 14 of The Pretenders of Copper County
“I’ll call Mrs. Rose,” I said, with a confidence I didn’t feel. “My old neighbor. I think she has a sister in Massachusetts. She’ll help me.”
A querulous female voice from inside the man’s house called, “Kenny? Kenny! Who’s out there?”
“No one, Gran,” Kenny called back. He took one last drag off the cigarette in his hand and held it for a second before exhaling, then set it on the railing.
“It better not be those Davis boys,” she yelled. “I told you not to have them over when I’m watching my programs. Don’t make me come out there.”
Kenny rolled his bloodshot eyes and lowered his voice. “The woman loses her mind if she misses an episode ofJohn Ruffian.”
I brightened. “She’s watchingJohn Ruffian?” I moved toward the steps. “That’s so cool! Do you think she’d mind if I came inside and?—”
He moved to block me. “Trust me, bro, neither of us wants that,” he whispered. He darted a glance over his shoulder and handed me his phone. “Here. Have at it. But no cops.”
I made a crossing motion over my heart and quickly dialed Mrs. Rose’s number, thankful she’d made me memorize it back when I was fourteen. She answered on the first ring.
“Listen, scammer, I don’t care how muchyou say I owe the IRS, I am not sending you any more gift cards,” she yelled.
I pulled the phone away from my ringing ear and remembered why Mrs. Rose, lovely as she was, was perhaps not the best person to call.
“Mrs. Rose? It’s me, Chris. Chris Winowski. I need your help. I’ve been kidnapped?—”
“Chris? Oh, hello, honey!” she yelled even louder. “How are you? I was just talking to Mabel about you—you remember my growly Mabel-baby who tried to eat your sweater that one time? I was telling her you were up in Vermont?—”
“Mrs. Rose,” I interrupted in a whisper, glancing back at the flamingo house, where all seemed to be quiet… but for how much longer? “I’d love to hear about Mabel the Pomeranian, but right now, I’ve been kidnapped?—”
“Kidnapped?” She laughed lightly. “Oh, sweetheart! I told your uncle, I said, ‘Danny, that boy watches far too much television. All he does is fantasize about life instead of living it.’ But did he ever listen to me? Noooo?—”
I felt my face go red. She was talking so loudly I was sure Kenny could hear every word. “Mrs. Rose, this is no fantasy,” I whispered. “Please listen. I’m being held at a house in a town called—” I turned to Kenny expectantly.
“Springfield?” He made it sound like a question, which did not fill me with confidence.
“In Springfield, Massachusetts,” I repeated into the phone. “Please write this down. The address is—” I covered the phone. “What’s your address?” I whispered.
“612 Maple. Two blocks from the Stop and Shop,” he said obediently.
I relayed this information, too.
“Well, sweetheart, what do you want me to do about that?” she wondered. “I could call the police for you?—”
“No cops!” Kenny shouted into the phone.
“Doesn’t your sister Paula live in Massachusetts?” I asked desperately. “Maybe she could come get me?—”
But even as I spoke, Kenny’s eyes tracked over my shoulder and widened, and I knew it was too late.
I turned oh-so-slowly and found a very wet, almost naked, seriously irate Reed Sunday running toward me. Despite the small, pink towel clutched around his waist, he jumped over the flamingos like hurdling lawn ornaments was a part of his daily workout, all the while eyeing Kenny with killer intensity.
I sighed. “Never mind, Mrs. Rose,” I said, bleak and resigned. “I’ll figure something out. In case I don’t make it, tell Mabel I forgive her for eating my sweater.”
I shoved the phone into Kenny’s hand, then turned and held my arms out, shielding him. “Please don’t blame Kenny,” I cried as Reed approached. “He did nothing wrong. He’s only trying to help me, and it’s not his fault?—”
Reed careened to a stop directly in front of me and cupped my jaw in two large hands. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. I could practically see his pulse pounding in his throat. “Are you okay?” His eyes roamed up and down my body, from my glasses down to my borrowed (and now slightly grass-stained) sweatpants, and then he patted my back and torso like he was checking for invisible injuries. “What happened?” He pulled me closer so my cheek and the edge of my glasses got squashed against the damp, hard, hot wall of his chest as his eyes scanned the neighborhood. “Where are they?”
“Um?”What was happening here?Oh God, how did he smellso good?“Who?”
“Superdude fell,” Kenny volunteered helpfully, pointing to the remnants of the trellis. He tucked his blanket cape closer around him. “While he was climbing down.”
Reed pulled back, leaving me damp and chilly. His confused gaze shifted from me, to the house, and back again. “Wait. You… climbed out? Of your own volition?”
