“So she can pay for piano school.” His chin trembled. “That’s the top-secret mission.”
My bones turned to jelly, and I collapsed to my knees in front of him. I looked into his brown eyes, glassy with tears. Grub had been trying to help Rose by stealing while I was supposed to be watching him.
And Blackjack . . .
His memory, his decline. He must not have known what he was saying.
How would I ever explain this to Mom?
Or Missy Stouffer.
Shit.
What was I going to do, march him back to Hilltop and turn him in? As if Missy Stouffer would say, “All right, that’s settled, everyone have a great day!”
“Don’t tell Blackjack I told you,” begged Grub, his cheeks wet with tears. “I don’t want him to get mad at me again. He said no one would get mad if we kept it a secret.”
“No one’s mad, Grub, but—”
Just then, Agatha bounded around the corner of the garage, followed by Dylan.
“What’s up, dudes—whoa! What happened here?” Dylan said as he noticed the aftermath of Grub’s backyard foraging.
“I’m sorry, man, I’ll explain later,” I said, though I wasn’t sure how.
“Maggie’s flowerpot! Oh man, she’s gonna be pissed!”
Grub turned pale. He took three strained breaths, then curled over. He heaved, but nothing came out. His breaths became ragged, and he fell to the ground, shaking.
“Hey, whoa, it isn’t that big a deal,” said Dylan.
I knelt at Grub’s side and put a hand on his shoulder. Agatha lay beside Grub and licked his face. “Hey, bud, we have to go take care of this, okay?” I said.
“I want to go home,” he said between shallow breaths.
I sighed. “Okay, okay,” I said. “I’ll get you home.”
And then I’ll take care of this myself.
I turned to Dylan. “Any chance I can borrow your car?”
“Sure, man. Of course.” He looked mildly alarmed.
“Thanks, I owe you one.”
Grub lay silent in the back seat as I drove us across town. I’d figure things out once I got him home.
As soon as we walked in the door, Grub collapsed on our couch and curled into a tiny ball. I wrapped him in a blanket and sat beside him. His color had returned, though he was still visibly shaken. I decided I’d sit with him until Mom got back, then I’d return the stolen items. Problem solved.
Grub was almost asleep when his eyes flew open. “Don’t tell Mom,” he said, his voice panicky.
“Grub, we have to tell Mom. Don’t worry, she won’t be mad at you.”
She’ll be mad at me, I thought.
“But she’ll be sad,” Grub said. “Promise you won’t tell her.”
“Grub—” I began, then stopped and rubbed my eyes. He was right. Mom would be sad. Her business was failing, and now both her kids had screwed up big-time. Mom would be heartbroken. I didn’t want to face that any more than Grub did.
“Promise me,” Grub begged. “Don’t tell anyone.”
I tried to find part of him beneath the blanket to put my hand on, but he was so small. I found a foot. “Don’t worry, I’ll fix everything.”
Grub soon fell asleep. I stared at the ceiling and considered the best way to return the stolen property. After an hour of deliberation, I felt like I had three options: (1) tell Missy Stouffer the truth and hope for the best; (2) sneak back to Hilltop in the middle of the night and leave everything in a box by the front door; or (3) have the stolen items shipped there anonymously, postmarked from Zanzibar.
Who was I kidding? The only real solution was to walk in there as soon as Mom got home and tell Missy the truth. She’d have to understand—Grub was only eight years old. If that meant both of us being banned from Hilltop, so be it.
It was the right thing to do.
I heard the locks turn, then Mom walked through the door. I put a finger to my lips and motioned to Grub, who slept soundly. Mom winked and headed for the kitchen. I’d tell her I needed to run somewhere quick and that I’d be right back.
Mom appeared a moment later holding my ringing phone. “It’s Dylan,” she said.
I took it and walked outside to the front steps for privacy. “Hello?”
“Hey, man, is everything all right? How’s the little guy?”
“Better, thanks. Weird shit at the nursing home. Long story. Sorry about the flowerpot.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. I told Maggie it was the squirrels. So what’s going on at Hilltop? Cops were there a little while ago.”
I yanked the phone away from my ear and stared at it. I could hear Dylan’s distant voice saying, “You there? Hello?” I felt my vision blacking out from the sides and had to sit down.
Missy already called the police.
“I’ll call you back,” I said, then hung up.
I sat there debating what to do next. Why didn’t I return everything when I had the chance? Now the police were involved. I looked at my bulging pockets and suddenly felt like a criminal. I scanned left and right down our street, paranoid, fully expecting to see blue-and-red flashing lights heading straight for me. I took a few deep breaths to slow my heart rate.
Rose.
I called her number. She answered on the first ring. “Zeus?”
“Rose. Are you okay?”
Silence. Then a sound. Crying. “What the hell is going on, Zeus?”
“What do you mean?” Silence. Rose sniffed. “What is it?” I asked.
“Where did you go? I had to talk to a detective earlier.”
I felt like I was losing my mind. “What?”
“My mom did too.”
“Why’d Missy call the cops?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. It’s too late now. A criminal record will look great on my college applications.”
“Wait, what? What happened? They arrested you?” I supported my forehead with my free hand.
“No.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “But they interviewed everyone. And Blackjack told the detective my mom and I stole everything.”
“What!? The detective didn’t believe him, did he? Rose, he has Alzheimer’s!”
“I know that! But none of the other missing property has been found yet. And you found his medals in my mom’s locker! How were we supposed to explain that?”
I felt the items digging into my legs as I spoke. I squeezed my eyes shut at the lie. Then I almost puked at the truth.
“Rose, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
“You’ll take care of it?”
“I will.”
Rose paused. “How? Missy suspended me and my mom without pay until this gets cleared up. My mom is a wreck. Not only about her job, but about Blackjack, too. He’s really sick. I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
“Oh God, Rose,” I said, standing up again abruptly. “I’m so sorry.”
“The detective said he wants to talk to you. Grub, too. When he asked where you were, someone told him they saw you two run out the front door.”
My hands and feet went cold, despite it being a hot August night. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, then grabbed my hair in a fist. Ripping it all out would have felt better than the guilt coursing through me.
There was only one thing to do.
“I’ll take care of everything, I promise,” I said.
I hung up and started walking.
I walked and I walked, rehearsing what I’d say.
I entered the police station and asked to speak with an officer.
THIRTY-THREE