Chapter 32
Mom and I lean against the kitchen counter and I dial the number.
“Hello. This is Patrick.”
“Hi Mr. Douglas. This is Darcie Reynolds. Do you have a minute?”
“Darcie! Of course. What can I do for you?”
“Some things are going on at school that I thought you might want to know about.”
“Okay.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “What’s happening at Silver Pines Middle?”
“I’m being harrassed,” I say. “People are trying to stop me from testifying to help Grover.”
“Well, I imagine as soon is this is over, kids will settle down, and life will go back to—”
“I’ve been locked in a closet and my property’s been stolen and vandalized. It’s not just the whispering and kissing noises behind my back. It’s…”
“Forgive me for making light of the situation.” he says.
“I don’t think this is just kids being mean. I know what that’s like, and this is…different.” I pace the floor in the kitchen while Mom wipes the counter for the tenth time. The sounds of Dad and Andrew wrestling in the next room make it difficult to hear. I press my finger against my ear to block them out. “That’s why I called.”
“I’m glad you did. Walk me through the closet and vandalism incidents.”
“Actually, the closet thing happened right after I finished talking to you on Monday.”
“Monday? Why didn’t you tell me when I delivered your subpoena?”
“My focus was on telling you about Amy. I didn’t even think about it. But then today when they flushed my notebook down the toilet, I thought I better tell you.” I go through everything that happened including the note and the mirror writing. “So far, everyone that’s come after me connects back to the Peaks. Maybe that’s nothing, but…” I pause to listen as he asks about Amelia.
“No. She hasn’t done anything, but she doesn’t stop it either. She seems really nervous and doesn’t talk to anyone. She’s changed a lot since we got back.”
“So…You’re thinking this is a concentrated effort by the Peaks to get you to back off?”
“Yeah. It’s weird. Why do a bunch of kids care about it anyway?”
He clears his throat. “That is interesting.” He pauses like he’s writing something down. “We’ll touch base again on Friday, if not before. If you can think of anything else we need to know, call me. You’ve been extremely helpful.”
“Okay, see you, Patrick.”
“Wait, Darcie? Can you text me the restroom pictures and photos of the note and the notebook? You can bring the originals with you on Friday.”
“Yeah, sure, give me a few minutes.”
The call ends, and I pass the phone to Mom. “He wants me to send the pictures. I’m gonna grab my computer, then I better take Andrew outside before we lose a lamp.”
“Ready to play in the snow, buddy?”
“Yay!” He raises his arms and claps his hands. “I wanna build a snowman!”
“Me too.”
Dad gets Andrew bundled up while I grab a basket and a scarf that no one uses. We always try to use natural stuff for the face, but a scarf is classic.
The wind has picked up, and the snow blows across the deck as we slip out the sliding door.
“Have fun, kids.” Dad calls. “Mom and I will be toasting our toes by the fire.”
“Want to look for stuff for the face now or after?” I say, picking up two smallish pinecones for the eyes.
“I wanna make him first.”
The snow is the perfect amount of fluffy and easy to pack. I scoop up a big handful and mold it into a ball. “Ready?”
“Yeah! Let’s do dis!” He throws up his hands and stomps his feet. “We building a snowman!”
We roll the snowball around in a circle, picking up more snow and packing it tight.
“Is it big enough?” I say, breathing hard.
“Nope. Big as me,” he says. “Little more.”
We circle again, packing it one more time. The middle and head go quicker, and we stack them on top.
“So far, I have the eyes and a scarf.” Handing him a pinecone, l hold him high so he can press it into the face. “Here’s the other one.”
He laughs, making the eyes lopsided on purpose. “Give me da scarf.”
We step back, surveying the masterpiece. “Whadda you think, Andrew? What else do we need?”
“Eyebrows.” He covers his mouth with his mittened hands and giggles.
“Eyebrows?” I poke his stomach. “I’ve never seen a snowman with eyebrows. What should we use? Sticks? Or bark?”
“Dis.” He hands me a long, thin stone.
“Yeah, this works for one. Can you find another?”
“Uh-huh.” He runs toward the driveway while I search for a nose, mouth, and arms.
“Hey lover girl.”
I whirl around so fast that the basket I’ve been holding goes flying out of my hands. Three boys move toward me. Their faces are covered in ski masks, but I know that voice. Ezra Pitts.
“What do you want? You’re on private property. Get out.”
They move closer. “Nice frosty.” One of the other boys knocks the head off, crushing it with his boot. “Oops.”
“Hey! That’s mine!” Andrew stalks toward him, looking like an angry Buzz Lightyear in his white puffy coat.
“Andrew. Just—stay away. Go in the house, okay?”
“Hey bud,” Ezra crouches until he’s eye level with Andrew. “Go ahead, take your best shot.”
Andrew heaves the stone in his hand, miraculously hitting him right in the nose, then turns and runs for the deck. “Dad! Daddy!”
“Ow!” Ezra yells. “You little brat!”
I shouldn’t have laughed. I knew it the second it left me.
Ezra pins my arms down and shoves me, face-first, into the pile of snow. “That’s for your little brother. And that…” He shoves me again, “…is for laughing.”
Ice-cold snow jams into my nostrils and burns my face as it scrapes across my cheeks—the crunch, crunch, crunch hammering into my ears.
My lungs scream for air while I kick and twist, trying to get free, but he holds my face down, showing no mercy. Can you drown in snow, or will I just suffocate? My mind fights to stay focused. Far off in the distance, his muffled words issue a warning. “Keep your mouth shut. Got it?”
I bite down hard and push with my forearms, raising myself up just enough to turn my head. Freezing air mixed with snow hit the back of my throat. Coughing, I fight to fill my lungs.
Suddenly, my body snaps into action. I bring my knee up toward my chest, then thrust it out, jamming my boot hard against his leg and raking down his shin. He lets out a howl like an injured animal. His grip loosens and I shove him off of me. He stumbles back, grabbing his leg. “You little—”
I scramble to my feet, sucking air. “You almost…killed me. Are you…crazy?”
“Just remember what I said. You stop, we stop.” He pulls his pantleg up to check his shin.
BWAAAAHHHH! The blast of a bear horn shrieks across the yard, and Ezra falters. The other two boys disappear into the trees as Mrs Peaster—all four feet nine inches—comes charging across the yard. With the horn in one hand and a rolling pin in the other, she shouts, “You get out of here before I start swinging this at your head!”
Ezra jerks his head, searching for his friends, then skitters toward me like a crab, elbows and heels slipping as he tries to get as much space between him and a crazed Mrs. Peaster. But he picked the wrong girl to mess with. I plant one boot on his chest, pressing my weight into it. “I’ve been subpoenaed, you doofus. You know it’s a crime to try to stop a witness, right?”
“Yeah, how you gonna prove it’s me?” He shoves my foot away and scrambles to his feet.
“That scrape down your shin for one.”
Mrs. Peaster rounds on him. “And I’m calling your daddy, Ezra Pitts.” She yells. “You can’t fool me with that ski mask! I know it’s you. Now get!” She points the horn straight at him and gives it another blast. He doesn’t argue.
Mom and Dad burst from the house, followed by a crying Andrew who runs straight to Mrs. Peaster. She lifts him, soothing his tears.
“What in the world was that all about?” Mom says, wrapping her arms around me. “Are you okay?”
“Just some dumb kids from school. They don’t want me to testify.”
Mrs. Peaster hands off Andrew to Dad. “I’m calling the sheriff. That was his boy. There’s no doubt in my mind. I’d know that hulk of a body anywhere. Had him in the third grade. Was a bully even back then.” She turns and marches back to her own house.
An hour later, I’m just about to crumble cornbread into my chili when the doorbell rings. We open the door to find Mrs. Peaster and Sheriff Pitts. Both are fierce-looking, but the sheriff is way more intimidating since he easily has two feet and two hundred pounds more bulk.
Mrs. Peaster pushes her way in. “I called the sheriff about the incident this afternoon,” she says. “He wants Darcie’s statement. Are we interrupting your dinner? Smells good.”
Mom takes Mrs. Peaster’s coat, but Sheriff Pitts waves her off. “We were just sitting down to some chili. Would you like some?”
Mrs. Peaster hesitates, but declines when the sheriff says, “No thanks, Molly’s expecting me home shortly. I’ll just get Darcie’s statement then get outta your hair. It won’t take but a minute.”
“Mom! Mama!” Andrew screams from the kitchen, banging his spoon on the highchair.
She hurries to him while the rest of us gather in the living room.
Sheriff Pitts sits in the chair next to the fire and pulls a small notepad from his back pocket. He clicks his pen. “How ‘bout you give me a blow-by-blow of what happened this afternoon.” He says, shedding his coat. His enormous stomach hangs over his belt, pulling at the buttons on his shirt.
“By afternoon, do you mean after I got home, or the stuff that happened at school too?”
Mrs. Peaster pats my leg. “You'd best tell him everything.”
“Cindy, now this is my interview. Pipe down.” He shifts his gaze to me. “It depends. You think today’s business at school and what happened out in the yard are connected?”
“Yeah. I mean, yes, sir. I think so.”
“Alright, shoot.” He scribbles notes onto his pad as I tell him about the girl’s restroom. “That’s terrible,” he says. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
Dad palms the back of my head, and I give him a straight-lipped smile. “So after I got home, Andrew and I went out to play in the snow.”
Andrew comes rushing in, Mom two steps behind. “We builded a snowman and those mean boys knocked it down.” He climbs onto Mrs. Peaster’s lap. “But Miss Peaser got ‘em good.” He grins up at her, and she kisses his cheek.
“I bet she did.” He adds that to the notes. “Anything else?” His eyebrows lift, and he taps his pen against the pad.
“And Ezra shoved my face in the snow.” I show him the scratches on my face. “And told me that the Shadow Man better stay in jail.”
He stops writing all of a sudden. “So, you did see their faces?”
“No sir. They were wearing masks.”
He picks up his coat and starts to stand. “Alright. If you think of anything else, call the station.”
“Kelsey! You sit yourself right back down,” says Mrs. Peaster. “We’re not finished. That was your boy. Ski mask or not, I know Ezra Pitts.”
He runs a hand down his face and sighs. “Darcie? Can you identify any of the boys?”
“Yes sir. I’m positive the one that shoved my face in the snow was Ezra—and not because Mrs. Peaster says it was.” I shift a little in my seat. “He has a distinctive smell.”
“Smell?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, but he smells like wet dog. I can always tell when he’s around me at school. Plus, he’s the one that’s been threatening me.”
Now it’s the sheriff’s turn to squirm in his seat. “I thought you said some girls stole your notebook.”
“That was today, but Ezra…won’t leave me alone.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Like?”
“Like he whispers behind my back and makes kissing noises. He even…” I swallow, clasping my hands tightly together. ”…locked me in the janitor’s closet. I still have the note he slipped me if you wanna see it.” I hurry toward my backpack, unzip the front pocket, and hand it over.
Sheriff Pitts stares at the note, eyes going wide. He rubs a finger across his lips, then glances from the paper to me, then back again. His forehead creases as he lets out a heavy sigh and closes the notebook.
“Don’t you worry, folks.” He stands abruptly. “I will get to the bottom of this.” He nods to Mrs. Peaster. “You won’t have any more trouble with Ezra, Darcie. You have my word.” He shakes Dad’s hand and lets himself out.
“Well, that was peculiar.” Dad lifts Andrew. “Darcie, I don’t want you keeping things like that to yourself. Your mom and I want to hear those things.”
I stare at my hands. “I was trying to handle it.”
He gives me a hand up. “Kiddo, you’re twelve. Some things aren’t yours to handle alone. That’s what your mom and I are here for.”
He wraps his arm around me, and we head toward the kitchen.
“Am I still invited for dinner?” Mrs. Peaster asks. She’d been sitting there so quietly, we’d almost forgotten she was still in the room.
“Of course, Cindy! You’re the hero of the day!”