Chapter 8: A Tale of Two Buildings

Viewed in person, the building looked ten times as creepy as it had in its black-and-white photo in the Journal-Tribune.  The long, four-story brick structure loomed over a nearly abandoned street, traces of its former grandeur contrasting eerily with the cracked pavement below.  Carved into the building three stories above the door were the words “Larkin Hotel,” affixed so permanently that it hadn’t been worth the trouble to remove them when the building closed.  The two windows underneath both had arcs on top, unlike all the others, which were perfectly rectangular.  Heraldic crests still hung between these two windows and their second-floor counterparts, but these no longer had enough paint for anyone to guess their original designs.  All they did now was make these windows look like they were two stories tall.  The set on the right were shuttered; the set on the left had no shutters.  Above the front door was a fancy awning, held in place by rusty chains which looked like they might snap at any moment.

It was a long building, possibly about the same width across as three 7-11s.  Age was apparent in the first floor windows, two of which had wooden stars embedded in the top corners of their frames.  Originally, the frames had all been painted white, but brown wood was starting to show through the chips.  The paint around the door was chipped as well, and two holes by the door (as well as two farther up) showed where lights had been removed.  The hotel stood on a corner, and a sign showed the building had been used as an antique store.  However, this was long enough ago that the word “Antiques” was only barely discernible, much less if you couldn’t guess what it had once said.

The other side of the building fronted on a brick alley; a faded sign warned visitors not to park there because it was a loading zone.  No one cared these days.  A rusty fire escape led from the fourth floor to the second, daring the foolhardy to see if its screws still held.  Vandals preferred to consign their business to the first level, where someone had spraypainted “107,” something that looked like an asterisk, and the word “Bud.”  His message had been lost on the general public, perhaps on everyone besides him.

Auburn surveyed all this from across the street, shielding her eyes with her left hand so the rain didn’t get in them.  She was just about to cross and investigate, when, to her horror, she felt something cold and furry against her leg.

She looked down in astonishment, only to see that it was a little Pomeranian that had quietly snuck up on her while she looked at the building.  Its owner, a portly individual who looked to be in his late sixties, with traces of white hair showing from under his fedora, yanked the dog back as soon as Auburn noticed it.

“Fido, behave,” the man said, looking sternly at his pooch.  His gaze shifted to Auburn, and a smile crossed his face.  “Sorry,” he said.  “It was the wife’s idea.”

Auburn laughed.  “My mom would never get me one of those,” she said.  “She’s allergic.”

“So am I,” laughed the man, “but my wife’s a dog person, and…what can you do?”  He put his hand to his eyes and looked across the street at the building.  “Kind of depressing, ain’t it?”

“Especially on a rainy day,” Auburn said, wondering how long the man was going to stick around.

“They say sometimes, late at night, you can see faces in the windows,” said the man.  “All nonsense, of course, but a building like that will play tricks on your imagination.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Auburn, still looking across the street.

The man jerked the leash.  “Come along, Fido!”  The little dog moved away from the fire hydrant it had been investigating, and the two continued their walk.

Auburn remained where she was, watching them go.  When they rounded a corner, she started across the street.  On the other side, she looked up and down to make sure no one was watching, then turned her attention to getting in.

This part wasn’t actually too hard.  Though the building had been abandoned for a while, not all the windows were boarded up.  In fact, on the front, only the fourth floor ones were.  One of the third floor ones was even open, but there were easier ways to get in than that.  A wheelchair ramp sloped down to the left of the door; at the end of this were four small windows leading to the basement.  The second from the left was broken, and the hole in it was just large enough for Auburn to squeeze through.

Auburn checked once more to make sure no one was coming; then, putting down her umbrella, she turned around and prepared to crawl through the window.  With her left foot, she calmly kicked all the remaining glass out of the pane, not wanting to have to explain a cut later.  Then, she pushed herself through until only her hands still stuck out of the building.  Hanging by one, she grabbed the umbrella with the other, then let herself fall to the ground.

The basement was a little deeper than she’d expected, and the fall was a bit jarring.  A twinge shot through Auburn’s left ankle, but it wasn’t a bad one, and a little strolling got rid of it.  Reaching into her raincoat pocket, Auburn pulled out a flashlight.  She flicked it on and shone it around the room.

Instantly, she saw that the rumor about the toys was correct.  Boxes and boxes were stacked all over the room, containing almost any type of plaything you could think of.  There were remote control planes, trainsets, play kitchens, Frisbees, Nerf guns, swimming oodles, board games, balls.  It was like Toys R Us without pricetags.  If kids wanted it, it was stored here.

Auburn herself got a sense of radiant delight as she looked around the room.  She wandered over to a giant box marked EZ Bake and opened the lid.  There, inside, was not one, not two, but no less than sixteen easy bake ovens, complete with dishes and sample recipes!  Auburn had always wanted one of these, but her mother had never let her get one, afraid she’d start a fire.  This wasn’t a logical fear, or EZ Bake would have never been allowed to sell them, but a mother’s fears aren’t always logical, and sometimes, nothing you say can change their minds.

Tempting as it was to open up a box and set something up, Auburn pried herself away and started for the ancient staircase.  The basement wasn’t finished, and the wooden railing shook alarmingly as Auburn put her hand on it.  She jerked it away and wandered up the stairs, pausing for one last look back at the toys.

This was unnecessary, as it turned out, for the first floor was just as full of toys as the last.  The old check-in counter was mostly unaltered; in fact, the old hotel registry book still sat on it, closed and with a bookmark towards the very end.  The old lobby area stretched away to the left, but all the tables and chairs which had once filled it were shoved neatly against the wall.  At least, they’d originally been shoved neatly, though some of the chairs had obviously fallen.  Across this floor, however, were stacked many of the same type of boxes Auburn had seen down below, all full of toys.

Grinning like…well, like a kid in a toy store, Auburn started her way through a narrow path in between the boxes.  Enough were stacked near the window to keep people outside from seeing in; perfect, thought Auburn, for when guests started staying here again.  She soon figured out that this part of the hotel had actually been a ballroom, not just a sitting area, and the old door to the kitchen was still visible at the end of the room.

A stack of boxes blocked it, too heavy for Auburn to move…all at once.  One at a time, the boxes were more manageable, if time-consuming, to shove out of the way.  Auburn removed all except for the bottom one; stepping over this, she pushed her way through the double doors.

Inside, it was almost as though Auburn had entered a different building.  The kitchen floor was tiled, not hardwood, and there wasn’t a single toy box inside this room.  Perhaps this was because of fire hazard, or perhaps it was because the swinging doors made it more awkward to bring boxes into the room; Auburn didn’t know enough about city ordinances or warehouse procedures to tell which.

The kitchen, however, still had its old utilities.  Pots and pans were neatly stacked around the room, and a few utensils were scattered about as well.  A large oven was still in place, as well as a refrigerator at least two times as tall as Auburn.  A refrigerator…that might come in handy…Auburn reached for the wall and flicked a lightswitch.

Nothing happened.  Training her flashlight beam towards the ceiling, Auburn looked around for the lights.  When she found some, she saw that there were bulbs in them.  The electricity was off.

Oh, well, thought Auburn to herself.  I’ll worry about that later.  She left the kitchen and poked around a bit looking for the staircase for the second floor.  It was not in the main lobby, though there was an elevator—a really old-fashioned one that looked more like an ornamental black cage.  Auburn doubted this would run without electricity, however, so she poked around a little more until she found the staircase door, hidden towards the back of the lobby.

The steps creaked alarmingly as she worked her way to the second floor, but Auburn wasn’t worried about being overheard.  This level had more boxes, though they were mostly smaller than the ones below.  The rooms, which opened off both sides of the hallway, were unlocked, and Auburn poked her head into some of them.  To her delight, she found many of them still furnished, though naturally extremely dusty.  Ancient iron bedposts still held creaking boxspring mattresses covered with extremely fancy sheets and comforters.  Auburn was tempted to jump up and down on one of the beds, but she resisted the urge, not wanting to unnecessarily break an ankle.

For the most part, the rooms off both sides of the hallway were empty of boxes, the toy store employees not wanting to have to keep track of what was in what room.  The third floor was even emptier; in fact, only two boxes were visible on this floor.  One contained a kid’s jeep toy; the other contained a—a talking coffin?  “Guaranteed to scare all trick or treaters out of their wits,” the writing on the side of the box read.  Auburn doubted this had been a top seller.

On to the fourth floor.  There were no boxes up here, and all of the rooms were still furnished.  However, the roof leaked, and several of the rooms had seen plenty of water damage.  The smell was so bad in one of them, Auburn thought she was going to pass out.

Three out of four’s not bad, though, Auburn thought.  She was about to go back downstairs when she noticed a ladder at the top of the staircase.  This led to a trapdoor at the top, which in turn led to the roof.  Auburn clambered up and put her hand against it, to see if it would open.

It was rusty, but after some shoving, the thing creaked, groaned, and started to shift a bit.  Auburn stopped before she got the whole thing open, though, unsure whether she’d be able to close it again.  Smiling, she clambered down the ladder and started back down the staircase.

Now, there was the problem of getting back inside…  Sure, Auburn could always drop in through the basement, again, but now that she was inside, surely she could make an easier way.  As she re-reached the first floor, she noticed, on the left side of the building, a door that fronted on the alley.  She unlocked it and tried to open it.

However, the door wouldn’t budge.  Auburn remembered that all the windows on this side of the building were boarded up; she assumed the door must be as well.  That was unfortunate…but there were other ways to access the building.  Auburn didn’t want to use the main door; there was too much of a risk of some explorer coming along and trying that himself.  Better to keep that one locked, but those windows on the front looked like they might open…

Actually, each of the windows on the front of the hotel was a set of several smaller windows, all of which opened individually.  The one on the far left of the building was composed of three that opened.  Auburn removed the boxes from in front of the one on the right on the exterior (her left, since she was inside) and tried to unsnap the latch.  However, there was paint all over it, and the rusty thing wouldn’t budge.

Moving some more boxes out of the way, Auburn exposed the center one.  This one unlocked, but when she tried to shove it open, the window only rose two inches.  Now, Auburn was pretty thin, but not that thin…it would take a lot more than two inches for her to get inside.  The one all the way on the left, however, unlocked and opened a foot.

That should have been plenty of room, but Auburn tested it as she left to make sure.  The window worked fine, and she soon found herself on the street, back in fresh air.  She realized, for the first time, just how musty it had been in the hotel.  The scent of the afternoon rain was a welcome relief from the dinginess of the old brick building.

Auburn’s only difficulty came in closing the window; it didn’t want to budge.  The final inch was the worst part; it gave a screech loud enough to wake the dead…that is, if anything was loud enough to wake them up.  Not good, thought Auburn to herself, but nothing a little WD-40 won’t take care of.  This building will work nicely.

Taking a deep breath, Auburn glanced east, in the general direction of the old movie theater.  Now for the hard part, she thought.  Getting that list.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing had changed at the theater since the other day, but in the dim light of that rainy afternoon, the cinema looked as grim as a tombstone.  The drops glittering off the worn white marble out front reflected the hardness of the stuff, a substance that could crush anything it came in contact with if it was moving fast enough.  The empty black windows above the front looked like a dozen or so eyes, watching evilly as Auburn approached the building.

She stared across at the windows, not worried about any of them seeing her, but worried about someone behind one of them, possibly watching her every move.  She’d approached on the south side of Bridge Avenue, across from the theater, and she tore her eyes from it as she marched across the street, trying to assume an air of carelessness about where she was going.  Once across, she kept going, not once glancing at the building until the door she’d used the other day was nearly ninety degrees to her right.

Suddenly, barely taking the time to look for traffic, she sprinted across to the building and grabbed the door.  As hard as she could, she tugged on the handle.

All she succeeded in doing was wrenching her arm.  Today, the door was locked.

Auburn let go of the door and put a hand to her shoulder, but the pain quickly went away, same as it had before, when she’d dropped into the basement of the Larkin Hotel.  She glanced up at the windows, then away to her right.  Nope.  No other doors on this side for her to go in by, save those two rusty doors, and they weren’t opening.

Trying again to assume her carefree manner, she wandered down Bridge until she came to the back of the theater building.  Few windows were back here, hardly a surprise, since the only view would have been the back of another building fronting on another street.  Hugging the wall of the place, she slipped along to the other side, stopping once to try a doorknob—locked, same as the other had been.  She’d have to wait and see what the north side of the building would promise her…

But when she reached it, she found that getting in on this side would be tough.  Impossible, actually, for there was no north side of the building.  Well, actually, there was, but it was connected with another building, a smaller two-story affair leaning smack against the movie theater.  It had the same color brick as the Rivoli; presumably, it had been built at the same time.  Who knew?  All Auburn cared about was that it blocked her way; there were no doors on this side that would lead her into the main theater.

Shielding her eyes from the rain once again, Auburn stared up in disappointment.  And that’s when she saw it.

Since the Rivoli had been a movie theater, its first floor was unnaturally tall.  Twice as tall, in fact, as a regular building’s.  The second floor didn’t start until after the roof of the two-story building right next to it.  And above this building, leading all the way to the fourth floor of the theater, there was a rusty metal fire escape, just like the one at the Hotel Larkin.

Auburn’s brow furrowed as she examined the structure.  What was the point of having a fire escape that ended on a two story building?  If the theater caught on fire, anyone running down from above would be stuck on the building nextdoor, and though its first story was shorter, it was still to tall for anyone to jump safely.  There had to be a way down…

And that’s when Auburn saw the ladder.

Well, more like part of a ladder.  Bolted to the top of the smaller building was the top part of a ladder—three rungs leading to curved handles that stretched over the roof of this building.  It was way too high for anyone to reach from below, but presumably, another ladder had been stored on top, one that could be fastened to the bottom of this one in case of emergency.  Indeed, two small projections underneath the lowest rung suggested that this was the case.

Auburn could have used that ladder right then and there, but it wasn’t available.  She had no idea if it was still in place or not, but if it was, it was stuck on the roof of that building, and there was no way for Auburn to get it until she could get to the second floor.  Which looked very difficult indeed, unless a ladder could somehow materialize.

Maybe there was one in the alley.  Auburn glanced up and down.  No such luck.  All she saw were a couple garbage dumpster, five cans, and a car bumper.

It was a shame that the heyday of this downtown was gone.  In the old days, Auburn could have wandered a few blocks, fully confident of finding a hardware store somewhere around.  Now, the only things you could find in downtowns were barbershops, antique stores, expensive restaurants, and novelty shops—gifts, art, western wear (at least in this part of the country), bookstores—

Western wear.

Auburn darted down the alley, turned to the right, and glanced up Main Street, hoping, just hoping, that by some small miracle, she might spot—there it was!  Exactly the right store for Auburn at the moment.

Trying not to act excited, she started north on the street, rain snapping against the pavement and her umbrella.  She’d only passed three storefronts before she held up her umbrella, put her thumb against a button, and folded the thing shut.  Yanking open the door to the store in front of her, she wandered in, knowing that this place would have exactly what she was looking for.

The clerk, a thin man of about fifty with sunken features and a pipe sticking out of his mouth, looked up from a sheet of paper on the table.  “Welcome to Murray’s Western Wear,” he said.  “I’m Murray.  What can I do for you?”

“Yes, I’d like to buy a rope,” said Auburn.

“What kind of rope?” said the man.  “We got sisal rope, cordage rope, nylon rope—”

“I’m not an expert,” said Auburn.  “I just need something sturdy in the neighborhood of thirty feet.  You got any like that?”

“You come to the right place,” Murray said.  “Of course we got rope like that.  Hope you don’t mind a hundred feet.  We sell it in bundles so’s cowboys have extra for when the part they’re using wears out—”

“That’ll be fine,” said Auburn, trying to conceal her excitement.  “It’s strong enough to rope a calf with, isn’t it?”

“Don’t sell any that’s not!”  Murray puffed on his pipe as he returned to the counter, carrying a large bunch of rope.  “This what you’re looking for?”

“That’ll be fine, thanks,” said Auburn.  “How much do I owe you?”

We can’t print Murray’s price here because it wasn’t a regular one—he had a soft spot in his heart for cowgirls, having raised five daughters, each of whom had taken to the ranching life.  He didn’t realize that Auburn wasn’t one; in fact, Auburn wasn’t even sure how much a calf weighed.  It’s got to weigh about as much as me, though, she told herself, and that’s plenty.

“Here you are,” said Murray, shoving the coil across the counter.  “Have a nice day!”

Auburn thanked the man, then turned and left the building.  It was all she could do to keep from running down the street, but she kept a grip on her emotions and walked slowly back to the alley.  Peeking over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, she slipped into it and put down the rope.

Though she’d been in the Midwest awhile, Auburn had never roped a calf—or a post—or anything, for that matter.  She didn’t even know how to tie a lasso properly, but she did know how to tie a knot in the end of a piece of rope, and that’s all she needed to know for what she had in mind.  Once finished, she took the knot in her hand and stared up at the ladder.

Here goes nothing, she thought to herself, and she flung the end of it towards that lowest rung on the ladder.  It missed—but not by much.  Her second try was a little more errant, and her third throw was her shortest yet.  Before her fourth attempt, Auburn took a few deep breaths, then tried again.  Once more she missed, but the fifth time—bull’s eye!  The knot sailed neatly over the rung, then started dropping on the other side.

Auburn wanted it to drop a lot—all the way back to the ground, for that matter.  She fed the rope up, trying to make gravity more powerful on the other side of the ladder than it was on hers.  The knot got stuck a couple of times, but not for long, and soon, it was right back in Auburn’s hand.

Now to make sure everything was secure.  Mr. Reynolds had given Auburn a pocketknife for her birthday once, only to receive a severe lecture from her mother.  “What the heck does Auburn need a pocketknife for?”

“Everybody needs a pocketknife,” Mr. Reynolds, unfazed, had told its wife.  “My grandpa needed it to whittle.  My dad needed it to make a tourniquet.  Me, I needed it to kill someone—I’m joking, dear.”

(Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds got along great…usually.  That evening had been an exception.  Mr. Reynolds had kind of reined in his humor, since then.)

Well, Auburn’s first use for the knife had been to split rope.  Once she had a neat slice, she took the new end and tied it around the one with the knot.  She gave it a tug, just to make sure it was secure.  Then, she twisted and twisted the two strands around and around each other until they seemed more like one coiled strand.

Making sure to keep a firm grip on the rope at all times, Auburn began to climb.

She hadn’t counted on the rain having a chance to soak the rope.  The—whatever that material was—the stuff the rope was made of felt slick under her hands, and it was all she could do to keep a grip on it.  The climb was a long, slow ordeal, and each passing minute made it more dangerous for Auburn.  At any moment, Richards might walk down the street, spot the alley, and see the girl on her way up—or, worse yet—

Auburn made it to the top.  She collapsed on top of the building for a second and let herself relax.  Then, getting to her feet, she started pulling the rope up.  No sense leaving it there for Richards to spot, though she left the strand coiled around the ladder, just in case she needed it to get down again.  Then, she ran across to the theater and tried the window in front of the fire escape.

Locked!

Auburn glanced up at the rusty iron steps leading to the fourth floor.  This escape hadn’t been used in years, and there was no guarantee it would hold now, but there was only one way to find out!  Gripping the rusty railing in her left hand, she started up the stairs.

The escape shook much worse than she thought it would, and Auburn let go of the railing when it gave an alarming jerk to the left—towards the roof of the building below.  She reached the landing and started her way up the next stretch—up to the third floor window.

When she was almost there, the entire escape gave a jerk.  Auburn saw screws vibrating in and out—no—no, the screws weren’t moving—the escape was shaking.  It was loose, but just how loose was it—

Auburn grabbed the third floor window and desperately shoved upwards, hoping against hope that it might—

The window rose seamlessly without any issue whatsoever.

Auburn leaped through it and rolled into the hallway of the building.  Picking herself up, she started back towards the front of the building—towards where she knew that staircase would be.  As she went along the hallway, she thought how similar this building was to the old hotel—faded wallpaper well overdue for a replacement, sagging ceiling panels that had seen better days, and dust over everything.  Difference was, the hotel had been unoccupied—this place had Richards, and you’d be hard-pressed to find a worse occupant than that.  If he was in his office—well, in that case, Auburn wasn’t sure what she would do.  All she knew was that she’d have more to fear from him than he would from her—until she could get her hands on that list.

The sneakers made little squeak sounds on the cement staircase, though these became softer as Auburn noticed them.  She worked her way down to the first floor and was relieved to see that bush still where she’d left it.  So no one had poked around since then—that hopefully meant her presence was undetected.  Now, though, she had the toughest part of all—opening the stairwell door onto the hallway that contained Richards’s office.

There was absolutely no way for Auburn to see around the door.  If he was standing in that hallway, or if he was standing in the lobby, he’d notice immediately when the door opened.  Auburn had tried to think of a foolproof way to get through, but she couldn’t, so she immediately assumed a risk as she budged the thing open a crack—

No yells.  No footsteps.  No gunshots.

Auburn pushed open the door wider.  It squeaked.

Still no yells.  Still no footsteps.  Still no gunshots.

Easing it open all the way, Auburn stepped out and flattened herself against the wall.  Then, she let out a sigh of relief.  There wasn’t a sign of anyone down the hall.

Auburn still remembered the sign on the office from the last time she’d been there—Manager.  No lights were on, and there were no windows on this hallway, but Auburn still had her flashlight.  She slipped past two doors, once again, before she found the one she was looking for.  Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a Kleenex, determined not to leave fingerprints.  The knob twisted easily in her hand, and she started to push open the door—

“Come in!”

It was Richards’s voice!  There was no mistaking it!

Auburn released the door handle and ran back down the hall as fast as her legs would carry her.  She slid across the slick marble entryway, certain of falling had she not reached out and grabbed the stairwell door.  Yanking it open, she darted in, hoping to get in before Richards had a chance to see her—

The door closed behind her, and Auburn prepared to run up the staircase.  Then, she stopped.  Pushing the door open slightly, she listened.

No sounds of pursuit.

Hmm.  That was odd.  Richards must have heard Auburn run down the hall.  He may have been wicked, but he was plenty smart.  There’s no way he’d let her get away that easily…

Pushing the door open wider, Auburn started down the hall again, towards Richards’s office.  With each step she took, fear welled up inside her.  She was playing a hunch, against all odds, and if she was wrong, there was no telling what would happen.  Things could get very dangerous for her.

Reaching the door, she paused.  No sound came from behind it.  Auburn twisted the knob, and—

“Come in!”

Auburn’s heart raced as she stood there, still gripping the knob.  Suddenly, she flung the door open!

There was no one in the office!

Auburn shined her flashlight at the door, starting to swing shut after bouncing off the wall.  There, barely discernible on the side of the wood, was a thin wire, coated in white paint so as to blend in with the rest of the wood.  It ran all the way down to the knob—

That was creepy.  Richards knew the sound of his own voice would terrify anyone wanting to sneak into his office over something, even the kids he pretended to hold the trust of.  He’s brilliant, Auburn told herself, in a serial killer sort of way…

The office was empty, though.  Good!  Now Auburn could get to work.  She raced across the room to the desk.  Still holding the Kleenex, she pulled the handle of the drawer…

It opened, revealing a list.  THE list, in fact, that Auburn was looking for.  Three pages containing the names of members, some personal information about each of them, the name of their special someone whom Richards was threatening, some facts about them, and the maniac’s plan for disposing of them.

Auburn really wished she could use a copier, but there was none in Richards’s office.  A camera would have been nice too, but Auburn didn’t own one, and purchasing one would have led to too many questions.  From under her raincoat, Auburn pulled out a notepad and a pen and started to copy down the names of the members, the names of the holds, some brief information about each plan, and the addresses.

Henry Allanson.  Brother Marty (seven).  Accidentally knock that boombox off the table into the pool while he’s going swimming.  Lives at…

Phil Bates.  Sister Sarah (four).  The wrong chemical in her next allergy shot.  Lives at…

Greg Benson.  Brother Charlie (eight).  A little malfunction with the fuel tank on that go-cart he loves so much.  Lives at…

The list made Auburn shiver as she read it.  Richards had certainly done his homework on these kids.  He knew who all their relatives were, and his plans looked absolutely foolproof—take that four-year-old.  Sarah Bates.  Who’d murder a four-year-old?  The thought nearly made Auburn sick to her stomach.

She kept going, however, and soon found out it wasn’t just kids that Richards was threatening.

Anna Grayson.  Grandmother Ellen in Parkview Nursing Home.  An—

Auburn only went on after that one because she had to, so I won’t subject you to the details of it.  Rest assured, it was pretty terrifying.

A little further on down, there was another adult.

Mary Kelly.  Mother Joanne takes heart medication.  Sugar pill, coupled with an unexpected loud noise.  Lives at…

Oh, this was ghastly!  Auburn was almost relieved when she finally came to the one she knew.

Brittany McPherson.  Sister Alice (nine).  Slip through—

Auburn decided not to finish writing that one down.  She knew she wouldn’t forget it.

There was a whir of machinery, and then a strange noise startled Auburn!  She looked up in terror, only to see that it was a cuckoo clock, announcing that it was now three in the afternoon.  As her eyes flicked back over the page, they skimmed over a large desk calendar, then hurried back to it.  The entry that Saturday had caught her attention—

“2:00—Visit folks at Parkview Nursing Home.”

Oh, that was sick.  Here was this supposedly civic-minded man, going to visit a nursing home out of the goodness of his heart, all the while plotting the death of one of its own…

Auburn turned her head back to the list.  She read many more terrifying things before coming to something else that looked familiar.

The name was Jimmy Redford, and the only thing it reminded her of was that bit she’d overheard yesterday, when Richards had been talking about an upcoming assignment.  The picture, however, looked incredibly familiar, and it didn’t take long to figure out why.

That’s the kid who was biking on my street!  Auburn read on, to see what Richards’s tie to this kid was.

Sister Valerie, age 9.  Open bedroom window and…

It was worse than a pitchfork this time.  Don’t they lock their windows around here? she thought to herself.  Then, she shook her head.  No, I suppose they don’t.  Blackwell’s too small to have crime issues…

At least, it should have been, but for one man, Richards was certainly capable of doing a lot of damage.

Those other names Auburn had heard mentioned soon popped up.  As she finished writing down the info on Zechariah Taylor (first one on the list who had an uncle in danger), she saw that she had only three to go.  She was just about to get started on Penny Thurston when suddenly, she heard something!

Voices!  Coming towards the office!  And one was Richards’s!

Auburn stuffed the list back in the drawer and shut it, barely remembering in her haste not to slam it.  She stuffed her own back into her raincoat; then, she shined the flashlight around the room, looking for a hiding place.  A closet, preferably…but there was none.

The voices were practically at the door!

Auburn sprinted across the room and jumped over a sofa, curling up behind it just before the door opened and somebody flicked on the lightswitch.

It was Richards and another man, whom Auburn had never seen before.  They walked straight past her, and if either had glanced to his left, he would have seen her, curled up behind the sofa, staring in wide-eyed fright.  But neither was so observant, and they both walked to the desk without so much as paying attention to Auburn.

“Have a seat, Hardaway,” Richards told his friend.  “Now, I hear you’re interested in making a donation to our club?”

“Skip the spiel, Boss.”  Hardaway lacked Richards’s personal charm.  “I’m here for instructions about the dough, and that’s it.  Understand?”

“Relax, Hardaway, relax.”  Richards smiled evilly at his friend.  “You should visit a nursing home sometime, Hardaway.  The smiles on all the folks there would do you a world of good—”

“You ain’t there to make the old ladies happy.”  Hardaway leaned over to spit, then faced Richards.  “The dough.  Where is it?”

“In the usual place,” said Richards.  “Pick it up when no one’s around.  Now, the cash will be easy enough.  Your relations with that bank in Algeria haven’t changed in the past couple weeks, I hope—”

“It’s Africa,” said Hardaway.  “They’ll take anything American over there, no questions asked.”

“Exactly the way we need it,” said Richards.  “Now, as for the other stuff—my boys made out with some nice jewelry and other valuable effects.  You know the routine.  Use your black market contacts, figure out who wants what, and make sure the payment doesn’t get us in trouble.  Understand?”

“Got anything to say that I don’t already know?” Hardaway yawned.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was still alright and to let you know it wasn’t all cash this time—”

“I know, I know.  Save it.”  Hardaway stood up.  “I’ll get to work on it this afternoon.”

“Splendid,” said Richards.  “Good luck.”

“Oh, there’s one other thing.”

The smile shrunk on Richards’s face.  “Am I paying you to ask questions—”

“Not that I care a whole lot about it, but that business about the arson last week.  On C Street.  Did one of your boys do that?”

The smile widened.  “Ehh, someone might have.  Why do you ask?”

“I don’t get it,” said Hardaway.  “What could you possibly get out of burning down that old lady’s house?  Mrs. Wilson doesn’t even have insurance on the place.  There’s absolutely no reason to go around starting fires—”

“Hardaway, I’m paying you to do the jobs we need Underworld contacts on.  The business we can do independently; that’s my affair.  I had my own reasons for wanting that place burned down, and they’re none of your concern.  Understand?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, I get it.”  Hardaway turned and started for the door.  “See yah around, Boss.”

“Good day, Hardaway.”  Richards leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk, his grin wider than ever now.

Auburn watched him, despairingly.  She didn’t want to be stuck there all day, but there was another reason she needed Richards to hurry up.  All that dust she’d been breathing all day had finally irritated something in her nose, and Auburn felt a sneeze welling up inside her.  She wasn’t sure if she could hold it much longer—

Suddenly, Richards sprung to his feet.  “Hardaway!” he yelled, running for the door.  “Hold on a minute!  There’s one more thing!”

Whew! thought Auburn to herself.  She let the sneeze go—softly, into her Kleenex.  No elaborate production; she just needed to get it out.  Once that was done, she ran back to the desk and started copying down the last names.

Penny Thurston.  Brother Will.  Age six.  Diecast racecar with a poisonous injection.  Lives at…

Harry Wells.  Sister Jean.  Age eight.  Burr under the saddle of her favorite horse.  Lives at…

Benny Young.  Sister Marie.  Age seven.  [too awful to put in print]  Lives at…

There!  The list was done!  Auburn put it back in the desk, shutting it exactly as she had before.  She wandered across the room, then opened the door, noticing as she did so that the “Come in!” recording did not play this time.  She figured Richards must have shut it off when he came in, not wanting anyone else to be aware of its existence.

She could still hear Richards and Hardaway talking, but they were in the front lobby, and their voices were growing softer every moment.  She worked her way down the hallway, reaching the corner just in time to see the front door to the theater swinging shut.

Phew! Auburn thought, darting across to the stairwell door.  She shoved it open and started up the steps, clutching the list under her raincoat.  The door began swinging shut behind her, almost closed when suddenly, she heard voices again!

It was Richards, and what he said first was indistinguishable, but the volume soon rose to a shout.  “Hardaway!  Come here, quick!  Someone’s on the stairs!”

At that moment, the door did slam shut.  Auburn didn’t stick around to hear any more—instead, she took off running for the second floor.  Once again, it was more flights than she expected, but she’d made it through the door before hearing sounds of pursuit from below.

Auburn slammed it just as Richards and Hardaway reached the stairs.  She sprinted down the second floor hallway as fast as she could, any second expecting to hear the door swing open behind her.

It still hadn’t opened when she rounded the corner, though, and she kept at it, knowing that her only hope of escape lay in staying far enough ahead not to be spotted.  She was nearly at the door to the staircase she’d used the other day when she finally heard the second floor door click open.

Slowing as to make less noise, she gently nudged the stairwell door open and pulled it shut behind her.  Then, she charged down the stairs, gambling that both Richards and Hardaway had followed her.  Even if they hadn’t, neither would make it to the door below before Auburn did.

Her chest was heaving as she swung open the door and ran onto the street.  Now!  What was the fastest way to get away?  Where could she hide?

Auburn’s first inclination was to jump in a garbage can and pull the lid over herself.  Unless someone was looking for Oscar the Grouch, she’d probably be safe there.  But she’d be stuck there, too, and the time spent waiting would give Richards plenty of opportunity to stake out the area—

Then, she saw the farm truck travelling down the street.  Some of the Oklahoma plates said farm vehicle on them, and this had those.  Not that it needed any telling—the age of the truck, plus some stains on the back, gave away that it hadn’t exactly come from a quarry.

It was slowing down for the Main Street stoplight, which was just turning yellow.  Two other cars were in front of it, meaning it would stop close to Auburn and remain in place for at least thirty seconds.  Better yet, a canvas was smushed in the back, not currently in use…

Auburn took a deep breath and hurtled towards the farm truck as fast as she could, hoping the driver didn’t see her in his rearview mirror.  When she got to the truck, she leaped in the bed, rolled to the back, and pulled the canvas over her.  As she did so, she glanced up at the second floor windows.

No sign of Richards or Hardaway at either of them.  Before this could change, Auburn pulled the canvas all the way over her head.

Only then did she finally relax.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All aboard for adventure!

When their baseball game gets postponed due to rain, Frank Anderson and Dick White decide a train ride to Ardmore might be an adventure.  The real excitement comes when they get off and stumble across a bank robbery!  The robbers have just escaped, and the bank president’s been shot!  Frank and Dick try to help his daughter find the crooks, only to see her go missing as well!  Can they find her—and the money—before it’s too late?

Well, there’s only one way to find out!  Pick yourself up a copy of The Ardmore Bank Robbery today!  Available at https://www.amazon.com/Ardmore-Bank-Robbery-Anderson-Mystery/dp/154073823X/ref=sr_1_1