Tracking Daddy Down Page 16

  He kept talking, his voice sounding calm and matter-of-fact. “I’ve got a hurt boy here, Fred. He fell off the bridge; you can see for yourself.”

  Old Man Hinshaw looked at Tommy, who stared back at him with big, frightened eyes. “Shouldn’t of been out on that durn bridge, boy,” he said.

  “I’d like for you to help us out, Fred,” Daddy Joe said. “We need to get him to the hospital.”

  “Ain’t no hospital out here.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Daddy Joe said. “That’s why we’re looking for the highway. I hear you know these woods like the back of your hand. Thought you might oblige me by showing us the way. I’d be mighty appreciative.”

  Old Man Hinshaw lowered his gun, staring off through the trees like he might be thinking things over. He wiped his forehead with the crusted sleeve of his shirt. “The highway’s down this here dirt road. Follow me.” Then he turned back to me and said, “Close your mouth and git up, girl. We ain’t got all day.”

  Daddy Joe and I followed him along the lane, the heavy silence of the woods broken only by our footsteps and Tommy’s whimpering. Every once in a while he muttered something about Tiger or his bicycle, but none of what he said made any sense—it sounded like gibberish. It still scared me to hear him ramble like that. Daddy Joe didn’t seem worried. He patted Tommy’s arm and answered him like everything was going to be okay.

  I heard the sirens as soon as we made it to the clearing that led out to the highway.

  “What’s that?” Tommy said. “Are they coming for me?”

  Old Man Hinshaw’s head perked up. He stopped, one hand flat to his side, the other cupped to his ear. He motioned us ahead of him, and the gun came back up. “Go on. Go on, now. Git! I ain’t inclined to meet up with no city officials today.”

  I edged around him, staring at his gun barrel the whole time. He backed away and faded into the thick shelter of the woods.

  The ambulance turned onto our lane from the highway. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the flashing lights of Bud Castor’s police car following it. The closer they got, the more confused and scared I felt. Daddy Joe for sure would tell Bud what had happened in the woods, and once the truth came out, how could I face everyone? I’d have to rat on my own daddy. I’d have to admit what he’d done.

  I knew what highway him and Uncle Warren planned on taking. I even knew where they were going. But now I felt scared. Could I really send my own daddy to prison?

  Daddy Joe must’ve been reading my mind. “Billie, I want to tell you something,” he said. His deep voice startled me, but this time it didn’t make me mad. It didn’t make me turn away. This time I listened.

  “I’m going to have to tell the police what I saw. It’s my responsibility. But whatever else happened between you and your daddy out here today—whatever else you might know—is your story to tell, not mine. You’re a brave young girl; I know you’ll do the right thing.” He put his arm around my shoulder. I hesitated for a moment, then leaned my head against his side.

  “I want you to know that no matter what you do, no matter what you say, I’m here for you,” he said.

  I looked in his eyes, but I didn’t have a chance to answer him. The doors to the ambulance and Bud’s police car flew open, and the very next second I was swept into Mama’s arms.

  Chapter 32

  I stood next to Mama as the ambulance pulled away with Tommy and Aunt Charlene. I couldn’t quit thinking how it was my fault, how I’d talked Tommy into coming with me in the first place, then called him a chicken for not wanting to cross the bridge.

  I climbed into the backseat of Bud’s car next to Mama. Carla had already snuggled beside Daddy Joe in the front seat, humming and chattering away to her Kimmy doll. For some reason, the sight of her sitting next to him, so carefree, made me even sadder.

  Ernestine slid in beside me and shut the door. Once we got settled in the car, she nudged me and pointed to Bud in the front seat, whispering, “I didn’t say anything about you-know-what to you-know-who.”

  Castor Oil took off his sunglasses and looked at us through the rearview mirror. His eyes were lit up with curiosity.

  “Now here’s what I’d like to know,” he said. He adjusted his mirror to get a better view of us. “Just what were you kids doing out there on that bridge? Were you looking for someone?”

  An uneasy silence filled the car. Ernestine nudged me again.

  “That’s exactly what I want to know,” Mama said. “I’m sure Ernestine’s parents will want an answer, too, as soon as they hear what’s happened.”

  Ernestine clamped her teeth over her lip like she’d been sucking on a lemon. Neither of us said a word. I felt bad for Ernestine. I didn’t want her to get in trouble; she hadn’t asked for any of this. Neither had Tommy. They’d only gone along to make me feel better. I thought about what good friends they’d been. Tommy hadn’t ever ratted on me after I’d found the money, and Ernestine chose me over Ada Jane. And what about the promise I’d made Tommy, that I’d tell Bud Castor the truth?

  I squirmed around in the seat, trying to sink out of Bud’s view. By now the secrets I carried felt heavier than a suitcase full of bricks. From the corner of my eye I looked at Mama. Her face was lined with worry and unanswered questions. Didn’t she deserve the truth, even if I was too chicken to tell her?

  Chicken.

  I cringed at the word. That’s what I’d been calling Tommy the last two weeks, every time he didn’t want to go along with me. A chicken.

  But who was the chicken now?

  I swallowed a gulp of air, praying Mama would forgive me. I took her hand. “Uh…there’s something I’d better tell you before we get to the hospital….”

  After I finished talking, after I told them everything, Mama held me so tight I thought she would crush my ribs. She had a few choice words to say about Daddy, and Uncle Warren, too—words that made Carla giggle into her Kimmy doll.

  Castor Oil turned on his siren. “We’re on official police business now,” he said. He sped down the highway at least eighty miles an hour toward the hospital. Once we got there, he let us run in to ask about Tommy while he called the Millerstown police. The next thing I knew we were surrounded by cops in the hospital waiting room.

  Ernestine sat next to me, between Mama and Daddy Joe. She held my hand as I told my story again. I told about finding the money at Old Man Hinshaw’s shack, about Daddy’s smudged note I still had hidden in my closet, and about what’d happened after Tommy fell off the bridge. Castor Oil kept interrupting every few seconds, nodding and saying things like “Uh-huh” and “Those were my suspicions all along.”

  Finally, with tears burning my eyes, I told the police the description of the Studebaker and what highway Daddy and Uncle Warren planned on taking. “They’re supposed to stop in Decatur at Uncle Mike’s to lay low and maybe change cars,” I said.

  I felt so rotten afterward, especially when I remembered how I’d promised Daddy I wouldn’t squeal. Would he ever forgive me? I worried all night about him, praying him and Uncle Warren wouldn’t do anything crazy when the cops came after them.

  Ernestine sat waiting on the bench outside Fuzzy’s Tavern the next day as I walked up with Mama, Daddy Joe, and Carla. I couldn’t wait to talk to her. We’d just left Bud Castor’s police station, where we’d learned Daddy and Uncle Warren had been caught the day before, only a couple of hours after I’d told on them.

  “You did the right thing by telling, Billie. I’m proud of you,” Mama said. She gave me a hug before going inside the diner to start a batch of french fries for her Monday lunch customers.

  Ernestine handed me some Milk Duds. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “They caught Daddy and Uncle Warren.”

  She blinked her big green eyes and stuffed candy in her mouth. “For real?”

  “Yeah. They found them somewhere by Illinois. They’re in jail already.” I sat down next to her, wishing I felt as proud of myself as Mama did about me.
I couldn’t get over the feeling of being a traitor—no better than Benedict Arnold. I thought about Daddy being dragged into Pendleton and shoved into a cell. They’d probably make him wear one of those black-and-white striped prison suits, like the ones the convicts on television wore. I wondered what he’d be eating for lunch. I doubted it would be french fries and hamburgers, like I’d be having. More like bread and water. That’s what I heard they got for almost every meal at the Pendleton Penitentiary.

  Fuzzy Hilton was leaning against the door of his tavern, chewing tobacco. He spit a wad out toward the street and asked Daddy Joe, “You seen the boy yet?”

  “That’s where Billie and I are headed, soon as I get the car.”

  “You tell him Fuzzy says to stay off them railroad bridges.”

  “Will do.” Daddy Joe took off down the street, waving at us. “I’ll pick you up here in a few minutes, Billie.”

  After he left, Carla came out of the diner with her Kimmy doll. She danced the doll on the bench beside me, singing a rhyme to herself, the same rhyme I’d sang hundreds of times with Ernestine and Tommy, way back when we were in kindergarten:

  Ho, ho, ho and a bottle of rum,

  Pendleton ain’t too much fun.

  You’d better watch your P’s and Q’s,

  Or Pendleton’s the place for you.

  Ho, ho, ho and a bottle of ale.

  Pendleton’s a bad ol’ jail,

  If you don’t—

  “Hush,” I said, before she could finish the second verse. “That song ain’t nice to sing.”

  Carla stuck her lower lip out, and her thumb started working its way to her mouth. “I can sing it if I want to, can’t I, Ernestine?”

  “You shouldn’t, really,” Ernestine said. “It might make Billie feel bad.”

  “Do you feel still bad, Billie?” Carla asked. “Like last night when you cried.”

  “Kind of,” I muttered.

  Carla handed Ernestine her doll and climbed on my lap, taking my chin in her sticky hands. “Don’t feel sad,” she said. “I won’t sing that song no more, I swear it. And Mama said our real Daddy’s gonna be okay. She promised me so.”

  “That’s right. He’ll probably be out of Pendleton in no time,” Ernestine said, but I knew she was just trying to make me feel better.

  “I bet he’ll be out of jail before Ada Jane is,” Carla said. “Won’t he, Billie?”

  Ernestine took my arm. “What? What happened to Ada Jane?”

  “She got took to Pendleton, too,” Carla said.

  “She did not,” I said. “You shouldn’t go spreading things that aren’t true.”

  “Did her parents find the money?” Ernestine asked.

  I nodded. “She’s in big trouble. I told on her. Castor Oil went over there last night, and she finally told the truth. They found the church money under her bed. She said she was going to give it back.”

  “Yeah, right,” Ernestine said. “Maybe after she bought five more hula hoops and a thousand root beer floats.” A giggle popped out of my mouth, and Ernestine snorted, and then we fell against each other laughing. Even Carla joined in, except I’m not sure she was clear about the joke of it.

  As I sat on Fuzzy’s bench, I thought how good it felt to be with my best friend again. To be sitting side by side, joking and laughing, without the cloud of the stolen church money or Ada Jane hovering over us. “You think your mom will let you hang out with me again?” I asked. “You know, after she finds out I didn’t steal anything.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure she will. I heard her tell my dad she misses you. And Ada Jane was starting to get on their nerves. My dad said she whines too darn much.”

  Ernestine dug around in her pocket but came up empty-handed. I knew what she was after so I reached in my own pocket and pulled out three pieces of Bazooka. I’d found them on the floor of our bedroom closet that morning. I gave one to Ernestine, one to Carla, and unwrapped the other for myself. Then I thought about Tommy, and the gum didn’t taste nearly as sweet as usual. I wondered how long it’d be before he got out of the hospital.

  Ernestine stretched her gum out of her mouth and twirled it around her finger. Carla copied her.

  “What did they say about you going on the bridge?” I asked. “Are you in trouble?” I was nervous to hear the answer but felt like I had to know. After all, I’d been the one who’d begged her to go along with me.

  “Can’t ride my bike for two weeks.”

  “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t bring myself to look at her, knowing how much she loved that bike and how it was my fault she couldn’t ride it. I picked up a pebble and scratched a heart on the sidewalk, then wrote “E & B” in the middle of it.

  “That’s okay; I don’t care,” Ernestine said. She took the pebble and wrote “best friends 4 ever” under our initials. “Ada Jane messed the handlebars up anyway. What about you? Are you in trouble?”

  “Yes, she sure is,” Carla said. “Mama says Billie can’t go nowhere but the diner for two whole weeks.”

  “My mom says she’s going to see your mom today. Maybe she’ll talk her into letting you come to the diner for floats. I’ll make them for free,” I said. I put an exclamation point after “4 ever,” then nudged Ernestine in the side until she giggled.

  A few minutes later Daddy Joe pulled up in the station wagon. When I opened the door, I noticed a box in the backseat. “What’s that?” A frightened mew answered me, and I looked over the seat to see Tiger scratching at the side of the box.

  “Are we taking her to see Tommy? Will they let her in the hospital?”

  “Yes and no,” Daddy Joe answered. “I’ve got big pockets.”

  I giggled, reaching into the box for Tiger. She clung to my blouse with her tiny, sharp claws as we headed out of town. Once we got to the highway I rolled my window down, letting the wind whip my hair into tangles.

  I couldn’t quit thinking about Daddy, though. The picture of him being locked up in Pendleton kept crawling across my mind, over and over. I held tight to Tiger and stuck my head out the window, wishing the wind could blow all my worries down the highway.

  Chapter 33

  I sunk back in the car seat with my eyes closed. I didn’t know what to expect when we got to the hospital. Suppose Tommy had gotten worse during the night and no one had told us? I worried about Aunt Charlene, too. Would she be mad at me about the accident? She’d spent the night at the hospital, and I hadn’t seen her since yesterday.

  We drove through Millerstown and passed by the Henderson County Bank that Daddy robbed. I watched as a group of people walked inside. One of the women was carrying a little girl with a doll in her arms. She reminded me of Carla, kind of silly acting. All of a sudden the scariness of what Daddy and Uncle Warren had done hit me like a slap across the cheek. What if that little girl had been in the bank the day they robbed it?

  I thought about how Daddy and Uncle Warren had threatened people, how they’d stolen all that money—thousands of dollars. What if they’d gone free and tried to rob another bank, only this time someone got hurt, some little kid like Carla?

  I stared out the window, scratching Tiger’s ears as she purred in my arms, thinking about how Daddy’s actions had hurt so many people. For the last three years I’d never accepted what Mama had said about him. All I knew was that I’d missed him, so bad I couldn’t think straight. I missed his handsome face and his quick grin. I missed the way he kidded around with me and how he always made me laugh.

  I remembered all the times she’d said Daddy had never grown up. It’d made me mad before, but now I kind of understood what Mama meant. And I finally believed her that he got fired from the Firestone plant because he stole from them, just like he’d taken the sparklers and the pie and the bank money.

  I knew now I’d done the right thing by telling the police. Daddy had to face up to his crime, and at least I’d stopped him and Uncle Warren from doing something worse. I took a deep breath, letting my guilt evaporate into the steamy summer air.


  I glanced at Daddy Joe. He was whistling Elvis Presley’s song “You Ain’t Nothing but a Hound Dog” while he tapped on the steering wheel. I straightened up, eyeing him with surprise. I never knew he could whistle. I never even knew he liked Elvis Presley. I watched him—real curious—realizing how much stuff I didn’t know about him, like what flavor ice cream he liked best, or why he never went to church on Sunday. He wasn’t anything like my real daddy; that much I knew. He didn’t tell racy jokes or twirl Carla so fast on the swing she couldn’t catch her breath. Daddy Joe didn’t do magic tricks, or secretly tie my shoelaces together, or swig milk out of the container behind Mama’s back.

  I realized other things Daddy Joe had never done, either, things that made me feel bad about the way I’d treated him. He never forgot to make lunch for Carla and me—even if it wasn’t all that good, and he never complained he was too tired to go to work.

  Daddy Joe did quiet things, important things, like fixing our broken bicycles and helping Carla collect old Popsicle sticks. He made sure we brushed our teeth and drank all our milk at breakfast. And one thing I knew for sure: He wouldn’t be going to jail anytime soon, leaving me and Mama and Carla behind with a sorry mess to clean up.

  I was thinking about all this when I realized we’d already pulled into the hospital parking lot. I looked up at the big building, and my heart skipped a beat. What if Tommy had gone into a coma? Or what if he was wide awake and curious, wanting to know why his dad hadn’t come to help him yesterday? What would I tell him?

  Daddy Joe stood outside the car, waiting for me, but I couldn’t make myself touch the door handle. I pictured Tommy’s curious face, quizzing me about what had happened at the cabin, and I didn’t think I could stand to answer him.