Night of Fear (3 page)

Since they both retired last year, Mr. and Mrs. Crowley took frequent short trips and they always hired T.J. to care for their dogs and cats. It was a good job. T.J. enjoyed playing with the animals and it didn’t take long to walk across the back field, let the dogs out of their pen for a run in the pasture, and set out fresh water and food. He had gone twice a day all week but he had not gone that afternoon because the Crowleys were supposed to get home.

After assuring Mrs. Crowley that he would take care of the animals, T.J. got his sweatshirt and Grandma Ruth’s coat. She would have to go with him; she couldn’t be left alone, even for a short time. The last time Grandma Ruth was home alone, she turned all the stove burners to High and they were all glowing red when T.J.’s parents returned.

“It’s a miracle she didn’t burn herself,” Mrs. Stenson had said.

“Or set the house on fire,” Mr. Stenson added.

When questioned about it, Grandma Ruth said only, “It was time to cook Edward’s dinner.”

The phone rang again; this time it was Dane.

“Did you know
Top Gun
is on TV tonight?” Dane said.

“I’m planning to watch it but I have to go feed the Crowleys’ animals first.”

“Better hustle,” Dane said, and hung up.

That’s one thing T.J. liked about Dane. He never wasted time.

T.J. said, “Put your coat on, Grandma Ruth.”

“Are we going to church?”

“We’re going to see the baby kittens.”

A stray cat had produced a litter of kittens in the Crowleys’ old barn last month. T.J. had taken Grandma Ruth to see them once before and she had enjoyed the fuzzy babies.

Her crinkled face broke into a smile and she followed T.J. out the door.

It took him three times as long to cross the field when Grandma Ruth was with him as it did when he was alone. She stepped slowly through the long grass, carefully avoiding any stones. She kept pausing to look back, as if wondering where she was.

“Keep walking,” T.J. said. “We have to hurry tonight.”

“Where’s David? Shouldn’t we wait for David?”

“David isn’t here,” T.J. said crossly.

Grandma Ruth stopped. “Where is he?”

“Come on, Grandma Ruth,” T.J. pleaded. “You’re going to make me miss the opening of
Top Gun.
”

Grandma Ruth headed back home. “I have to get David,” she declared.

“Forget David,” T.J. said. “David is dead.”

Tears filled Grandma Ruth’s eyes. “David died?” she said. “What happened? Oh, my. This is terrible news.”

“It isn’t exactly news,” T.J. said. “It happened ten years ago.”

But Grandma Ruth wasn’t listening. She stood in the middle of the field with her arms folded, hugging herself. Grief was etched across her face.

When will I learn to keep my mouth shut? T.J. thought. He hadn’t meant to make her unhappy, only to make her hurry. At least she wouldn’t be sad for long. She’d soon forget what
he had said and ten minutes from now, she would be talking about David again, as if he were alive and walking beside her.

“Grandma Ruth,” T.J. said. He touched her arm to get her attention and repeated her name. When she looked at him, he said, “We’re on our way to feed the baby kittens. If we don’t go, the kittens will be hungry.” He held out his hand.

Grandma Ruth put her hand in his. It felt frail, like the body of a baby bird. She allowed him to lead her the rest of the way across the field and through the alders. When they reached the metal gate in the fence surrounding the Crowleys’ pasture, T.J. grasped the handle with both hands and shoved. He kept forgetting to bring along a can of oil; it took all of his strength to slide the bar across so the gate would open.

The two dogs, Pepper and Salt, ran in joyful circles when they saw T.J. They were always more interested in getting petted than in being fed and T.J. scratched their heads and talked to them before he let them out to run in the pasture.

Grandma Ruth wandered over to the barn.

“Don’t open the door until I get there,” T.J. said. “We don’t want the kittens to get loose.”

Grandma Ruth sat on a big rock, opened her purse, and began to count the play money.

When the dogs were back in their pen, T.J. got dog food from the covered container that was next to the Crowleys’ back door. He fed the dogs, filled their water bowl, and then joined Grandma Ruth.

When she saw him coming, she said, “Is that you, David?”

“No,” T.J. said, trying not to sound annoyed. “I’m not David. I’m T.J.”

Grandma Ruth walked with him to the barn door and waited
for him to open it. With one hand, she picked at the peeling paint that curled from the door frame. “This doesn’t look like a church,” she said. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?”

“We’re here to feed the kittens, Grandma Ruth.”

He slid the wooden door open. The barn had not been used for horses since the Crowleys’ daughter grew up and moved away, and the interior had a stale odor of mildew.

The inside of the barn was dark and T.J. fumbled along the edge of the door, feeling for the light switch. As he flicked it on, he turned toward the bales of hay where the kittens slept.

A man leaped to his feet, blinking in the sudden light. Bits of hay clung to his dark hair.

T.J. knew instantly who it was.

The description fit perfectly: jeans, dark hair. Under his open jacket, T.J. saw that he wore a T-shirt. He looked younger than thirty, but T.J. wasn’t much of a judge of age.

T.J. grabbed Grandma Ruth’s hand.

The man crouched. One hand groped on the floor behind the bales of hay.

“We didn’t mean to wake you,” T.J. said. “We were going to feed the kittens but we can come back later.” He began backing toward the door, pulling Grandma Ruth with him.

“Are you the preacher?” Grandma Ruth said.

“We can’t stay, Grandma Ruth,” T.J. whispered. He took another step backward.

If he were alone, he would flick the lights off and run for it. He’d cut across the field and under the fence and get home and call the police. But he’d never make it with Grandma
Ruth. She was too slow. And he couldn’t leave her here with a murderer.

The man found what he was feeling for. He jammed it in the pocket of his jacket. When he stood up, he kept his hand in the pocket. The pocket bulged and T.J. was sure the man’s hand was closed around a gun, the same gun that had shot and killed the bank teller.

“Stay right there,” the man said.

“He doesn’t look like a preacher,” Grandma Ruth said. “He isn’t wearing a necktie.”

“Hush, Grandma Ruth.”

“What am I going to do with them?” the man said. “They’ll have the cops on my tail before I get six blocks.” He spoke as if there were someone else in the barn.

T.J. looked quickly around the barn but saw no one else.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” T.J. lied. “Like I said, we just came to feed the kittens. If you needed a warm place to sleep for a few hours, I don’t see anything wrong with using this barn. Why would we call the police?”

The man raised one eyebrow. “I can’t let you stop me now,” he said. “If you call the cops, I won’t be able to finish.” His hand moved inside his jacket pocket.

“My parents are waiting for us,” T.J. said. “We live right next door. If we aren’t back in a few minutes, they’ll come looking for us.”

The man frowned.

“We’re going to church,” Grandma Ruth said. “They didn’t want to come.”

“Then they won’t be expecting you back in a few minutes. Nice try, kid.”

“She’s mixed up,” T.J. said. He pointed to his jeans and sweatshirt. “Do I look like I’m going to church? We came to feed the kittens.”

“I want my revenge,” the man said, “and I won’t let you stop me.”

“Where’s the organ?” Grandma Ruth said. “I want to sit near the organ.”

“We won’t stop you,” T.J. said. “You can leave.” He didn’t even want to guess what sort of revenge the man meant.

A gray and white kitten darted out of a horse stall and ran to the bale of hay beside the man.

Grandma Ruth yanked her hand free from T.J.’s grasp and stepped toward the kitten. “Here, kitty, kitty,” she said.

Instantly, the man moved closer to Grandma Ruth and put his hand on her shoulder. Ignoring him, she sat on the hay and tried to pick up the kitten.

T.J. thought fast. According to the newscast, the bank teller died en route to the hospital. The man wouldn’t know that. He wouldn’t know if he was wanted for murder or not. If he knew he was already wanted for murder, what difference would it make if he killed somebody else? But if he thought the teller had lived, he might think twice about pulling the trigger again.

“The bank teller lived,” T.J. said. “She’s doing great. The bullet just nicked her.”

The man seemed not to hear. “I have to get out of here,” he said, brushing the hay from his clothing.

“Look,” T.J. said. “Why don’t you just leave and I’ll pretend you were never here in the first place. I don’t have any
reason to be mad at you and by the time we get home, Grandma Ruth will have forgotten all about you.”

The man shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s too risky. I can’t take a chance on you running to the cops. You’ll have to go with me.”

Go where? For how long?

The kitten eluded Grandma Ruth’s grasp and scampered away.

“This is an odd church,” she said. “There aren’t any pews.” She spread her skirt neatly about her knees, folded her hands in her lap, and began to sing. “Holy, holy, holy.”

“What’s with her?” said the man.

“She has a brain disease. She gets confused and can’t remember things. She thinks she’s in church.”

“Lord God Almighty,” sang Grandma Ruth.

“My truck’s just behind the barn. You and the nutty saint get in. You’re coming with me.”

“You can’t take her! Half the time, she doesn’t know where she is or even who I am. If you leave her here, she won’t tell anyone about you. I swear it. She won’t remember.”

The man hesitated.

“If she’s with us,” T.J. said, “she’ll attract attention.”

“OK. OK, we’ll leave her. Let’s go.”

“I have to lock up the dogs first.” The lie rolled easily off his tongue. “Otherwise they’ll follow us. They’ll run after your truck.”

“What dogs?”

“The dogs that guard this property. I let them out of their pen just before I came in the barn and I have to put them
back in.” If he could just get out the barn door, he could race home, call the police, and race back. Maybe then he could stall the man a little longer, and the police would find them while they were still here at the Crowleys. Even if he had to leave with the man in his truck, the police would know exactly what area to search. They would put up road blocks.

“There are guard dogs out there?”

“I have to lock them back in their pen.”

“Well, make it fast. I’ll stay with the saint while you do it.”

One of the kittens batted at Grandma Ruth’s shoelace. She laughed and wiggled her foot.

T.J. turned toward the barn door. How long would it take him to sprint home, call the police, and run back? Six minutes? Seven? Could he be gone that long without making the man suspicious? He would have to run faster than he ever had before. It was the only way to get help.

As if he could read T.J.’s mind, the man said, “Don’t try anything funny. If you aren’t back here in three minutes, this old saint’s going to need last rites.”

T.J. gulped. There was no way he could make it across the field to his own house and back in only three minutes. He didn’t have a key to the Crowleys’ house or he would call from there.

“Put those dogs in and come right back. Nothing else.”

T.J. nodded. As he eased out the barn door, the man still stood directly behind Grandma Ruth. The hand in the jacket pocket was next to the gray curls that showed beneath her straw hat.

Grandma Ruth smiled as a kitten jumped into her lap.

T.J. closed the door behind him and bolted toward the dog
pen. Salt and Pepper met him at the gate, leaping and wagging. T.J. opened the pen and put them in the pasture. They galloped happily away.

If his parents saw the dogs there instead of in their pen, they would know something was wrong. They would come to investigate. So would the Crowleys, when they got home.

T.J. knelt in the dirt beside the doghouse. With his finger he scratched, HELP BANK ROBBER TRUCK.

He couldn’t take time to do more. He had used at least two minutes already.

He wondered how long it would take his parents to look for him at the Crowleys’ house. They still thought Mr. and Mrs. Crowley were coming home today. They had no reason to think that T.J. would come over to feed the animals.

If only he had left a note, telling his parents where he and Grandma Ruth were. He and his parents always left each other notes, if they went somewhere. But he had thought he would return long before his parents got home from Open House. There had been no reason to write a note.

T.J. ran back to the barn. Grandma Ruth waved when she saw him. “Hello, David,” she said. “Did you come to see the kittens?”

“Let’s go,” said the man.

“Where’s the preacher going?” asked Grandma Ruth. “Aren’t we going to sing the hymns?”

“The preacher and I will be back soon,” T.J. said. “Stay right where you are, Grandma Ruth. You’re . . . you’re in charge of the hymns today and I want you to stay right there and sing until we get back. Don’t leave, no matter how long we’re gone.”

“Move it,” said the man, as he shoved T.J. toward the door.

T.J. stumbled out the door. If Grandma Ruth stayed in the barn, she would be safe. Eventually, she would be found and taken home. If she wandered off, anything could happen to her. One of the remaining wooded areas in Pine Ridge County started on the other side of the Crowleys’ driveway and Grandma Ruth could easily get lost in the woods. She could fall and break a bone and not be found for hours.

If she went the opposite direction, away from the woods, toward Ridge Road, there were other dangers. Cars drove too fast all over the Pine Ridge area and Grandma Ruth no longer remembered things like stopping to look before you cross a street.