Thirteenth Child (3 page)

The boy followed her through before she could stop him. In the kitchen, he looked around. “This is nice—kind of cosy.”

The television thundered on in the living room.

“Cosy!” In spite of her fear, Kate looked at him incredulously. What kind of a home had he come from if he found this bare, linoleum-floored kitchen cosy? The paint was peeling from the walls and there was a huge damp spot on one corner of the ceiling.

“Yeah. Kitchen at home was so deep in dirty dishes all the time you couldn’t even see it. Tried to clean it up now and then, but with my mom and her boyfriends…. Never lasted too long.” He shrugged again. “Anyway. Where’s the worm gear?”

“I’ll get it.” Kate fumbled with the handle of a cupboard door, hands sweaty, then managed to pull it open. She knelt to rummage on the floor at the bottom, acutely conscious of him standing behind her. She pulled out two cans with Velcro tapes attached to them: one to be strapped on the left leg, to hold the worms, and one for the right leg, to hold the rosin to keep your fingers from getting too sticky. The worm can was slimy and smelled. She picked it up with the tips of her fingers. Where was the headband with the light on it? There it was, thrown down under all the rest of the stuff. She hoped the battery hadn’t run out. She tested it, still kneeling half inside the closet, and willed her heart to stop pounding. She backed out and handed all the gear to him.

“You going out tonight?” The words were forced—strained. The boy didn’t seem to notice.

“Sure. I’ll bring the worms in tomorrow, in
the morning, early. That okay?” But he made no move to go. He looked toward the living-room door thoughtfully.

Trying not to be obvious about it, Kate moved toward the drawer where the knives were kept. There was a good big butcher knife in there ….

Idiot, she told herself. As if you could really use it. This isn’t a Stephanie story, this is for real.

He finally turned to go. Kate let out a deep breath, then tensed again as he stopped and pivoted back toward her.

“By the way,” he said. “My name’s Mike. Mike Bridges.” He paused. “What’s yours?” he asked, when Kate didn’t speak.

“Kate Halston.”

“Nice name. You get in trouble about that food the other day?”

“No more than usual,” Kate answered. With an effort, she made her voice sound casual. “I leave for school about eight. Can you bring the worms before then?”

“Sure. No problem. See you.” He turned again and this time did leave.

Kate heard the outside door slam. Like a spring suddenly released, she raced through, locked it, and reversed the OPEN sign. Ten o’clock or not, this place was closed. She stood for a moment, willing her breathing to get back to normal and her heart to slow down, then she went back and gathered up her homework; there was no way she could concentrate on it
now. She’d get up early and finish it in the morning.

Would she have used the butcher knife? If he
was
the guy who had held up the drugstore, and if he
had
gone for her in the kitchen—would she have had the courage? Stephanie wouldn’t have hesitated for a moment. If he had made a grab for her and she had picked up the knife and plunged it into him, then what? Would he have fallen down and died right away, or would he have had time to strangle her first? In books people collapsed as soon as they were stabbed, but if she had missed everything vital and just wounded him …?

And if she did kill him—would the police believe it was in self-defense? That he’d threatened her before? They’d ask why she hadn’t reported it. She could see it now—in jail with prostitutes, with murderers. Other murderers, she reminded herself. She would be one of them. If no one believed her—how old would she be before they let her out? She could just see herself, gaunt and hollow-cheeked, thirty years old at least, emerging from the doors of a dark and forbidding prison.

The gates clanged shut behind her. There wasn’t a soul to greet her. Her parents had both died while she was locked up. No one else cared. A life ruined
…. A
future of despair….

She turned off the snack-bar lights, went through into the back, and climbed the stairs to
her room. The television yammered on. She dumped the usual pile of books on her bed off onto the floor and lay down, fully clothed, her mind running around like a hamster in an exercise wheel.

Mike turned up the next morning at a quarter to eight, bucket of worms in hand. Kate saw him through the screen door just before he knocked.

“Who the hell’s that, this early in the morning?” her father growled.

“It’s a boy I hired to pick worms for us, Dad,” Kate answered. “Johnny quit. Remember?”

“Johnny quit? When? I don’t recall that.” For a moment Steve seemed confused. He looked, mouth slightly open and eyes vacant, first at her and then at Mike standing in the doorway. He hadn’t shaved or combed his hair, and his flannelette shirt, too heavy by far in this heat, was dirty and buttoned crookedly. Kate felt embarrassment
wash over her as she saw Mike looking at him.

“Got a bucketful,” Mike said. His voice was offhand, but his eyes were wary.

“How much you paying this kid?” The confusion was gone, the belligerence back.

Kate could see Mike begin to bristle.

“Now, Steve,” Angie began.

“Shut your mouth, Angie. This here is business between Kate and me. None of yours.”

Kate winced. “Same as what we paid Johnny, Dad.” She turned quickly to Mike. “Here, I’ll show you where to go,” she said, hustling him out the back door.

“Your dad always that grouchy in the mornings?” Mike asked as they made their way toward the back of the garage, where the empty worm tubs were stacked.

Anger flared. Kate felt her ears burn red. “That’s none of your business!” she snapped.

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound particularly apologetic.

“I suppose your dad is a model of politeness.” Kate’s words dripped sarcasm.

“Got no dad. Leastways none that I know of. Asked my mom once and she told me
that
was none of my business.” Mike’s voice was controlled, carefully casual.

Now Kate’s whole face flamed. She grabbed up several worm tubs. “Put a dozen worms in each.” The words came out sharp and bossy.

“Yes, ma’am!” Mike grinned, making a joke of it, but his eyes had gone hard and bright.

A shiver ran through Kate. She crossed her arms protectively over her chest and watched as he filled the tubs, making no move to help.

When he finished, they carried them back to the snack bar. Without thinking, Kate made for the cash register and clanged the drawer open. Her heart took a leap as she saw the drawer was stuffed with bills. Her father must have forgotten to empty it the night before, and yesterday had been busy. Mike’s eyes widened briefly when he saw them, then his face went blank.

“Kate?” Her father’s voice roared out from the kitchen. For once she was grateful for it.

“In a minute, Dad.” She started to count out Mike’s money.

“What’s with the junkpile next door?” Mike asked as he pocketed it. “Have a fire?”

Kate slammed the drawer shut hard enough to knock a stand of mints off the counter beside it onto the floor.

“You really do like to poke your nose in where it’s none of your business, don’t you?”

“Just making conversation,” Mike answered easily. “By the way, upside down is best.”

“What?”

“Upside down. The worm tubs. Stack them upside down. The worms always head for the bottom, so then when you turn them right side up again and open them for your customers to check, they’ll all be up at the top, lively and wriggling. Be better if you charged for a dozen and put
in thirteen too. Customers like that. Makes them think they’re getting something for nothing.”

Kate’s eyebrows quirked up. Another sarcastic comment was on the tip of her tongue, then she thought better of it. In spite of the casual tone of his voice, Mike’s eyes were still anything but friendly. She started turning the tubs over.

“When do you think you’ll need more?”

“Depends how fast we sell these. Fishing’s been pretty good lately—maybe in a couple of nights.”

“Kate! Get in here! I want to talk to you before you go off to school!”

Mike headed for the door. “Okay. See you then.”

Kate looked after him, ignoring her father for the moment. Steve was probably just going to bug her about the worms, anyway. The sun was blazing down, even this early. The snack bar was already stifling, and she could see the heat shimmering in waves off the tarmac outside. There didn’t seem to be a breath of wind. It was a long hike into town. Maybe Mike would get lucky and hitch a ride. She wondered where he was staying. She wondered where he’d got the money to pay her back last night.

Jed might have paid him in advance, she thought. He could have. Not like him, though. She rubbed at her arms, shivery again in spite of the heat. Maybe she was making a big mistake. Maybe she was being the world’s biggest fool.

The school bus honked and she jumped. At least she wouldn’t have to argue with her father
about the worm money. She made a dash for her books.

“Did you hear the radio this morning?” Barney asked, as soon as she had settled herself down into her seat. He seemed upset about something.

“Not really,” she answered. “Why?”

“There was more stuff about that guy who ripped off the drugstore. You didn’t hear it?”

“No.” Kate forced herself to sound bored, as if she couldn’t care less, but her heart started to pound. She braced herself for whatever Barney was about to say next, but he fell silent. She looked sideways at him. He was biting his lip and looking out the window.

What’s with him? Kate thought. Just then Melanie Davis poked her head around from the seat behind them.

“He’s left-handed! He held the knife in his left hand—that’s what they said.”

Barney flushed a dark red and suddenly made a great show of looking through his backpack for a book. Kate grinned. She’d long suspected him of having a crush on Melanie—looked as if she was right. And then she stiffened. In her mind she saw Mike dumping worms into tubs. With his left hand.

Two nights later Kate sat at the counter, notepad in front of her, immersed in a new story. One of a collection of stories, this was to be. Mr. Evans
probably wouldn’t approve—they were definitely not based on anything resembling her own life—but she couldn’t care less. He was never going to see them. When the door opened, she didn’t pay any attention. Angie was there; she could handle it. “Hi.”

She looked up and her heart made a dive for somewhere around her kneecaps. Mike was standing right over her.

“Hi,” she managed. She looked for her mother, but Angie was busy sweeping. She looked tired and was probably in a hurry to get finished and back to her TV.

“What are you doing?” Mike’s voice was friendly, his eyes had lost their coldness. He seemed relaxed, looked better. As if he’d been eating and sleeping more lately. He twisted his head around to see her notebook.

“Tales by a Thirteenth Child,”
he read.
“By Kate Halston.
You? A thirteenth child?”

Kate snatched the book away. “Yes,” she answered shortly. “Sort of.”

“You are no such thing!” Angie’s indignant voice broke in. “You’re an only child and you know it. Whatever’s gotten into you, Kate?”

Kate felt as if she were on fire from the inside. “I said sort of, Mom,” she muttered. “You know…. Grandma was a thirteenth child….”

“So what’s that got to do with you, I’d like to know?”

“Grandma used to tell stories all the time,
remember? And remember, she said it was because she was a thirteenth child?”

She turned to Mike. “Thirteenth children are gifted that way, she said. Or cursed. Depending on which way you look at it, she said. It’s just something they have to do. I was really close to her and I’m like that, I feel just that way. I even look like her—everybody says so ….” The rush of words died and her voice petered out.

What in the world am I saying, she thought. And to this guy, of all people. He’s going to kill himself laughing at me. To her surprise his face stayed serious.

“Like … like her spirit’s in you, you mean?”

Kate stared at him, mute with astonishment.

Angie leaned her broom on the counter and sagged down onto one of the stools with a sigh.

“Hogwash,” she said. “Just hogwash and you know it, Kate Halston. Good excuse to get out of work.”

Kate bridled. With the amount of TV Angie watched, and one excuse after another, Kate worked far more than she did.

“My feet are killing me,” Angie moaned. “I’m going into the back. Close up, Kate.” She pushed open the swing door. “Thirteenth child, my Aunt Fanny’s foot,” she grumbled. “What next?”

“Can I read it?” Mike asked, reaching for the notebook.

“No way!” Kate stuffed it out of sight onto a shelf under the counter.

“Don’t see the point of writing stories you won’t let anybody read,” Mike replied. “Never mind,” he went on quickly, seeing the look on Kate’s face. “I just came by to ask if you wanted more worms. Do you?”

“Yes. We sold out today.”

“Okay, I’ll drop them by tomorrow morning. I’ll have to leave them off early, though. Jed needs me to run one of the boats over to the hotel before breakfast. I’ll just leave them in the tubs out back.”

“All right,” Kate answered.

“They’re like to dry out if they don’t get into the refrigerator right away,” he went on. “Will you water them before you put them in?”

“Sure,” Kate said, but she was keeping her voice steady with an effort. When he had reached for her notebook, he had reached with his left hand. For a moment she had forgotten about the robbery; that brought it back like a blow.

The worms were waiting for her when she went out the next morning. The peat moss was dry, so she lined the tubs up in a row, hooked up the hose, and turned the spray on. Absent-mindedly, she started to water them.

Stephanie tensed. This was her first trial and she had to win it. Fame and fortune were hers if she did, but even more important—life! Let this maniac loose onto the streets again and she knew she would be his next victim. His eyes blazed with a hatred so intense they seemed to etch a path of
fire across the courtroom, all the way to her. She flinched, but then straightened and stiffened her shoulders. She swept back her riotous mane of blond curls with one hand and turned away from him, toward the jury, with one contemptuous movement.