Chris Grabenstein - The Crossroads

“Who am I?” The man laughed. “Why, I just happen to be the proud father of your bouncing baby boy.” He put on his cutest, dimpled smile. “We were married for a while. Remember, dolly?”

Embarrassed, Sharon nodded. “Yes.”

“You two were married?” Miss Spratling fanned herself. “My, my, my, Sharon. Keeping secrets? My, my, my.”

“I need to see my boy, Shari. Need to see Aidan real bad.”

“No.”

The man pursed his lips. “Purdy, purdy please?”

“No.”

Sharon remembered Billy’s plea: “No matter what I say. No matter what I do. Don’t let me anywhere near Aidan.”

“Why do you wish to see Aidan at this hour?” Miss Spratling twirled a strand of stringy hair around her wrinkled finger. “What’s your tale, nightingale?”

The man smiled a devilish grin. “Do you know where my boy is, Gerdy?”

“Miss Spratling, please,” begged Sharon. “Don’t tell him!”

“Of course I know where Aidan is, dearie. I know everything.”

“Good. ’Cause I need to see my boy. Need to see him real bad.”

“Get out of here, Billy! I mean it! Leave!”

Billy laughed. “I need your son, Shari. This Billy body is no good for me anymore. Won’t do what I tell it to do.”

He lunged at Sharon.

She kicked over a chair and ran.

Sharon dashed through the pantry, darted right, and raced across the dining room.

She veered left and headed down a long hall into the old ballroom. There were doors on all sides of the vast, empty space. She took the one that would take her past the library, through the portrait gallery, into the foyer, and out to the driveway. Once outside, she’d race to the carriage house and save her son.

Sharon realized she had only one advantage over her pursuer: She knew her way around the ratty old mansion in the dark; he didn’t. But she could hear Billy behind her. Stumbling. Cursing every time he crashed into furniture.

Sharon made it to the front door. As she grabbed the doorknob, she felt a push.

Someone was on the other side, trying to get in!

Had Billy crawled through a window? Was he outside?

Sharon let go of the knob and backed away from the door.

“Hello?” came a man’s voice from the other side. “Is somebody there?”

“Yes?” Sharon was shaking.

“I’m Sheriff Ben Hargrove with the North Chester Police,” said the voice. “May we come in?”

“Yes. Please! Hurry!”

“Ma’am, we have reason to suspect that—”

“He’s here!” Sharon screamed. She could see there were three police cars in the driveway.

“Billy O’Claire?”

“Yes! He’s here!”

Hargrove turned to a female officer standing behind him in the doorway. “Mary Beth?”

“Got her. Ma’am?” The female officer grabbed Sharon and escorted her out of the building.

Hargrove pressed a button on his walkie-talkie.

“Jimmy?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You and Dave cover the side. Keep an eye on the windows.”

“Will do.”

“Springer?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You and Bull cover me. I’m going in.”

“Ten four.”

“The woman is secure,” the female officer’s voice crackled from the walkie-talkie. “I’ll cover the front door.”

Hargrove pulled out a high-intensity torchlight and moved forward. He stepped into a dusty corridor that looked like it might be the Spratling family gallery. Ancient portraits lined all the walls.

“You like the paintings?” Eberhart made Billy O’Claire snarl.

Hargrove swung his light to the right.

O’Claire was standing in front of a painting. He held a knife.

“Drop the weapon. We have you surrounded.”

Billy jammed his blade into a crusty canvas portrait of Julius Spratling and tugged down to slice a long gash through the dignified old man’s head and chest.

“Cheapskate! Old man Spratling was a penny-pinching welsher, never paid people what they were owed!”

“Mr. O’Claire, put down the knife.” Hargrove raised his weapon.

Billy’s eyes twitched. “Shoot me! Please? Stop me!”

“Drop the knife and nobody needs to shoot anybody.”

“You don’t understand. It’s the only way.” He gagged. “ Don’t listen to this coward! I can’t take this anymore! Shut up! Shoot me!”

Billy dropped the knife and clutched his head. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

Hargrove holstered his pistol and reached behind his back for a pair of handcuffs.

“What do you think you’re doing, fuzz?”

“Let’s take this nice and easy.”

“No way, copper! You’ll never take me alive!”

“Freeze!”

Billy ran to the foyer, where he saw the swirling red lights of police cars pouring in through the open front door.

“Freeze!” he heard Hargrove yell.

Billy didn’t freeze. He raced out the front door. He was going to end this once and for all. He was going to save his son!

The police took him down with a single bullet. Billy O’Claire died in the driveway of Spratling Manor—right where his father and mother had died twenty-five years before him.

The phone rang. Judy snatched it up.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Jennings? Ben Hargrove. I just wanted to let you know we got him.”

“Mr. O’Claire?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You have him in custody?”

“No. He’s dead. You were right. He came after Miss Spratling. He sounded crazy. Talking to himself. And he had a knife.”

“I’m sorry you had to—”

“Yes, ma’am. Me too. Anyhow, I thought you and Zack would like to know.”

“Thank you.”

Judy knew there was still one piece of the puzzle missing. She also knew she held the key to cracking it.

Literally.

She squeezed the tiny bank key in her hand.

A bright beacon of light swung across the kitchen windows. Judy went to the back door.

“Davy? Is that you?”

“Howdy, Mrs. J.! You remember my pops?”

“Well, I certainly remember his flashlight.” Judy shaded her eyes. “Are you okay, Davy? After last night?”

“Oh, I’m fine. How’s Zack?”

“Fine.” She wondered whether Zack and Davy had had any visitors during their overnight stay in the graveyard. Had Bud shown up?

“We was gonna have us that sleepover at my place tonight,” Davy said. “Remember?”

“I’m all set!” Zack stood behind Judy, carrying a small gym bag.

Judy turned to Davy’s father. She knew that Billy O’Claire was no longer a threat. If the boys spent the night at Davy’s house, she and Mrs. Emerson could check out that safe-deposit box at the bank.

“Sir, are you sure you’re okay with the boys sleeping over at your house tonight?”

“Yep,” said Davy’s father.

Judy knelt down to look Zack in the eye.

“Honey, the sheriff caught the plumber,” she said.

“You figured it out, didn’t you?” Zack whispered. “You told the police how to catch him.”

“Well, I had a hunch. Turns out I was right.”

“Thank you!” He hugged her.

Judy thought about how much Zack had been hurt in his short life. There was so much she wanted to say. How she was sorry his mother had been so mean. How things were going to be different now.