Finding Zola Page 9

  I landed with a grunt, sitting a little lopsided, but home again in my seat. Now that I was in my chair, I felt in control again. But I was also mad. Real mad. What a creep to leave me to drown in that pool!

  Voices from the street told me the Tuckers were still out there. Maybe Zola, too. I still had a chance to do something. In his dash to get away, Mr. Tucker had left the pool gate unlocked. I sped through the cabana and around the oleander hedge. The clouds overhead parted, and a full moon shone down on me. My arms, neck, and head felt cold and tingly. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a puddle of water. In the moonlight, my wet skin and clothes glistened like silver. But the best part was my hair. It stood out in a frizzy blue glow, like I’d stuck my finger in a light socket. I knew Dad was surrounding me with his presence.

  The Tuckers had backed their van across the street and into the carport of the vacant house. I was surprised they were still there. Then I saw why. Milton had parked his golf cart right in front their van, blocking their escape. He and Mr. Tucker were arguing.

  “What’s your big hurry?” Milton demanded. “I got more questions. I heard some shouting a few minutes ago, and I’m thinkin’ it might have been Zola. What have you done with her?”

  I kept closing in on them. So far, no one had noticed me.

  Ward Tucker grabbed Milton by the arm and pushed him over to his golf cart. “You’re just looking for trouble, aren’t you?” he growled. “Now get a move on before you get more than you bargained for.”

  Milton jerked his arm away and stumbled against his cart. “Hey, back off! What are you two doin’ over here, anyway? This ain’t your house. You’re acting like—”

  “W-W-Ward. Look!” Susan blubbered, scrambling out of the van and over to her husband. Her face pale, she pointed her finger at me. I was now in the middle of the street.

  Mr. Tucker turned, his eyes wide. I’m sure he thought I was a silver ghost. He blinked and shook his head.

  “Go away! You’re dead.” He shoved his wife toward their van. “Get in, Susan!”

  They bolted into the van. It lurched across the gravel yard, smashed through a clump of cactus, and bumped out into the street.

  “No!” I shouted to Milton, who stood by his cart looking stunned. “They’re getting away!”

  Then a flash of headlights barreling toward us caught my eye. A turquoise convertible screeched to a sideways stop, blocking their escape down the street. DJ hopped out, picked up a rock, and hurled it, smashing the van’s windshield.

  Mr. Tucker beat his fist on the steering wheel. He backed up, swung the van around, and aimed his lights right at me. My heart leaped to my throat. If he figured I was a ghost and already dead, driving through me wouldn’t matter a bit. But I wasn’t a ghost. I was solid flesh and blood.

  Instinctively, I tilted my chair back, doing a wheelie and hoping—praying—that he’d miss me. DJ launched another rock, a perfect fastball pitch. This one smacked the side window, making the van swerve. As it did, the fender clipped my footrest, sending me tumbling backwards. Things happened in slow motion as I fell. Before my head met the pavement, I heard screaming. A metallic crash. A blaring horn. Then pain exploded like fireworks in my head.

  Chapter 21

  DAD AND I STOOD BY A CRYSTAL BLUE LAKE, surrounded by thick blue spruce. A clear sky arched overhead, reflected on the water’s surface below. We’d each caught three rainbow trout for dinner. It was perfect. Too perfect.

  “Let’s call it a day, okay, Ranita?” Dad reeled in his line and started to pack up our gear. “See if you can find some firewood. I’ll clean the fish.”

  I trotted over to a mountain of driftwood piled up at the edge of the lake. The branches, worn smooth by wind and water, were completely dry—perfect for a fire.

  “Is this enough?” I knelt down and dumped my armload by the circle of stones we had arranged at our campsite.

  “That’s fine for now.” In no time, Dad had the pile crackling with fire. I ran over to the Jeep and grabbed the cooler. Mom had packed salad, hard-boiled eggs, chocolate cake, sodas, and even a can of tuna in case we didn’t catch anything.

  As we waited for the flames to die back, Dad clinked his soda can against mine.

  “Finally, we get to finish our camping trip. It’s been a long time, Ranita.”

  “Yeah. I’ve missed you,” I said, putting my head on his shoulder.

  He mussed my hair gently. “I’ve missed you, too. I’m glad to see you can take care of yourself. I don’t feel so bad now about leaving you.”

  “You felt bad? Why?”

  “Because of what happened to your back! And then you went around with a long face, thinking it was all your fault.”

  “But it was just an accident, wasn’t it.”

  He smiled. “Yes. Just one of those stupid things. Not my fault. Not your fault. So stop beating up on yourself, okay?”

  “I promise, Daddy.”

  He gave a quick smile. “I have to go now, Ranita.”

  I gave him a hug. “Can we do this again? I like these visits.”

  “Sure thing, Ranita.”

  A bright light flooded the scene at the lake, making the blue sky, the lake, the trees, and Dad all fade away. I wanted him back. I heard myself shouting, “Daddy! Daddy!”

  “It’s okay, Crystal. Shhh. You were dreaming.”

  It wasn’t Dad’s voice. I opened my eyes. A blinding light shone right in my face. I blocked it with my arm and saw two figures standing by my bed. All I could make out were dark shapes in a halo of light.

  “Where am I? Am I dead?”

  DJ muffled a laugh. “No, not quite. But you had us scared for a while. You’re in the Copper Valley Care Center. You’ve got a little concussion, plus a bad rash from being in that swimming pool.”

  I reached up and felt a thick bandage covering a large lump on the back of my head. “Oww!” I cried.

  “Easy now.” Matt’s voice cut in as he leaned closer. It was nice to see his freckled face again. “You shook up old Mr. Tucker so much that he crashed into our carport. He totaled my dad’s golf cart. You watch, Dad’s going to sue him!”

  I looked over at DJ. “I remember your car. You came charging in just like the cavalry. What made you come back?”

  DJ grinned. “You know how I said there was something odd about that phone call from Zola’s so-called brother? I was halfway to Tucson when it hit me. There are no West Air flights from Tucson to Chicago at night. I know because this spring the softball team had a game in Chicago. The last flight out is at noon. I called the airlines from the road to be sure. Then I called the cops.”

  My head still hurt, but things were coming back to me. “What about Zola? Is she all right?”

  “A little bruised, but fine,” said DJ. “She was in the back of the van when it crashed.”

  “And the Tuckers?”

  “In the pokey for now,” said Matt with a grin. “They’re in a whole pile of trouble. What were they up to, anyway?”

  I closed my eyes, which were still burning from the chorine, and tried to put some order to my thoughts. My memories were all jumbled up with scenes from my dream. “I remember Mr. Tucker saying they needed money. He’d been breaking into houses and stealing things. Zola and her camera really set him off.”

  “And that guy in the panel truck fenced the stuff?” asked DJ.

  “Yeah. They were going to disappear into Mexico after they dumped Zola at the border. It was their own cushy retirement plan.”

  “Well, now they can retire in Florence, in the state pen.” DJ said. She sighed and looked at the ceiling. “Who knew this geezer town would turn out to be Crime Central?”

  “What about Mom?”

  DJ put her hand on my arm. “We had to call her to get you admitted here. She’s on her way right now. I told her you’d be okay, but she was pretty upset, anyway.”

  I suddenly felt very tired. “Great. Now she’ll never let me be on my own again. She’ll be watching my every move.”


  As if on cue, Mom swept into the room and threw her arms around me, hugging me close.

  Chapter 22

  WHEN MOM PICKED ME UP FROM THE HOSPITAL the next day, I thought we’d go straight to Gran’s place. Instead, she pulled into Zola’s carport.

  “She wants to see you,” Mom said, smiling over at me.

  “Good. I want to make sure she’s okay, too.”

  A burst of cheers greeted me when I came through the door. Far from looking normal and tidy, Zola’s place rocked like a New Year’s Eve party. There were streamers, balloons, and flowers everywhere. Neighbors and friends filled the living room and the kitchen, and DJ and Matt tooted at me with party horns.

  Zola came scurrying over, wearing her frilly dance class dress. Except for a dark bruise on her arm, she looked like her old self. She bent down, cupped my face in her knobby hands, and kissed my cheek.

  “Here is my brave little friend!” she said. “You are okay now?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. How about you?”

  “Good as new.” She gave my cheek a pat. “Come. Meet my new helper, Myra.”

  She motioned over a young woman who was dressed in a casual pink uniform. She reminded me of my third-grade teacher—friendly, but also strict. I shook Myra’s hand. “Are you a nurse?”

  “Health aide. I’ll be here during the day and on call at night.”

  Zola nodded toward Horace Andrews, who was sitting on the sofa. “Is big lawyer’s idea. So I don’t get in more trouble!”

  “And how did you get in trouble this time?”

  Zola waved her hands in disgust. “I know something is going on next door, but I have no proof. So I borrow little camera and start taking pictures. He sees me, I see him, and I hide film quick. Some man comes right in my house asking for camera. So I give.” She giggled at the memory. “‘Sure. Take camera,’ I say. ‘Now go!’ But does he go? No. He grabs me. When I wake up, I am locked in empty house.”

  DJ handed me a cold drink. “They kept her knocked out most of the time with drugs. But when they came to take her away, the drugs had worn off. They had their hands full trying to get her into that van.”

  Zola winked at me. “First I fight. Then I pretend I am dead. Go limp, like in old days of Viet Nam war protests. I am not so dumb. Have to buy time for someone—for you and my boyfriend—to save me. How do I thank you, my little friend?”

  I squeezed her hand. “Just stay well. And don’t give Myra any grief.”

  “I’ll see that she behaves herself,” said Milton. He ambled over to take Zola’s hand and led her to a chair. “We got lots to talk about,” he added.

  After Zola and Milton left us, I gazed across the living room, watching Mom as she visited with everyone. I had the feeling the neighbors, including Anna Norberg, were talking about me and filling her in on what had happened. Every now and then she’d look over at me with her eyes wide, like she was saying, “My daughter did that?”

  Through the crowd, I spotted Matt on the patio. He caught my eye and waved me outside.

  “Come on, Deej,” I said, grabbing her arm. “I still have a few questions for Matt about his so-called ranch.”

  Today, Matt looked like a junior version of his dad. He wore khaki pants, a blue golf shirt, and loafers. He was perched on a patio chair, trying to balance a plate of snacks and a drink. “Nice party, huh?” he said, flashing me his best smile. “DJ and I decorated.”

  “You did great. I’m sorry about suspecting your dad. He was being awfully secretive.”

  Matt shrugged it off. “Yeah, but that’s all out in the open now. He’d heard that some company was planning a big development for the land we looked at. Not crowded like most are these days, but with small ranches and lots of open space for wildlife. He wanted to be sure he got a piece of the deal before the prices jumped.”

  Matt put his plate on the ground. He stood up and dug into his pocket, coming up with a small card. “Here’s my dad’s business card. Not because you need a lawyer. I wrote my e-mail address on the bottom. Let me know when you come back and get settled.”

  “Settled?” I stared at him and then at DJ, confused.

  DJ squatted down next to me. “Your mom and I had a long talk last night about the possibility of you two moving into Gran’s place.”

  Matt sat down and picked up his snacks. “Yeah. You could go to school just down the road in Rio Vista. I bet I could talk my old man into letting me come to visit more often. Between the two of us, we could lower the average age around here by at least a couple of decades!”

  I let these new ideas sink in for a moment. “It’s tempting,” I admitted. “But how could Mom decide all this without even talking to me?”

  “Relax. It’s not decided,” said DJ. “She promised she’d discuss the whole plan with you before she makes any decisions.”

  And she did. Later that afternoon, Mom and I got out a yellow tablet and made a list of all the pros and cons about moving into Gran’s place. On the plus side was all the money we’d save. Also, her show was doing so well in Santa Fe that they wanted more of her work. We’d be a whole lot closer to the gallery here than in San Diego. Mom started to put “new school” down on the negative side, but I stopped her. The idea of starting out in a new place was growing on me. It had all kinds of good possibilities, including seeing Matt once in a while.

  The next day, while Mom loaded the car for our trip back to San Diego, I sat out on the patio, listening to Gran’s wind chime. A fat quail waddled along the back fence, stopping now and then to chirp out a message. From somewhere not far away, another quail answered. Wipwip, wip-wip.

  In my lap, I cradled the watercolor of Dad. The painting was back in its silver frame where it belonged. DJ and I figured Mr. Tucker had let himself into Gran’s place and had stolen the frame, thinking it was more valuable than the painting. By the time anyone found the painting under the bed, he and the missus would be long gone. Then he must have panicked and thought that by giving back the frame, he’d look innocent.

  I hadn’t told Mom about the videos. There was time enough. We’d have ourselves a “family reunion film festival” after we got settled. My bruised heart was finally starting to mend. I had found Zola, and that lost piece of myself, too. The accident was just that—an accident. Nobody’s fault, no guilt to carry around. Yes, it had changed things. But I was getting used to changes, including starting at a new school in Rio Vista this fall. No one there could compare the Before me and After me. And even if they stared at me, what did I care?

  I knew I wasn’t the helpless invalid they might think I was. That would be my little secret. And having a good secret made me feel powerful. What was it Gran used to say? Saber es poder. Knowledge is power. At last, I knew just what she’d meant.

  MARIANNE MITCHELL is the author of several books, including the mystery Firebug and a picture book, Gullywasher Gulch. She was born and raised in Arizona and currently lives with her husband in Tuscon.

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