O' Artful Death - By Sarah Stewart Taylor Page 0,108
what seemed like an eternity, a figure came through the window. She turned the flashlight on, shining it at where she imagined the face would be.
“Hey.” It was Gally. He squinted at her, holding a hand up to shield his eyes from the light.
She had not expected to see Gally.
“What are you doing here?” She continued shining the light at him. He was wearing a parka and ski pants and his legs and arms were caked with snow.
“Don’t be scared,” he said. “I followed you. I want to talk to you.”
She didn’t trust her voice, so she just kept the light on his face.
“How did you figure it out?” he asked her.
“I went to the library,” she said. “I looked at when the burglaries were. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that they only happened when you and Trip were home from school. And my earrings. I started to see that there was a pattern. One thing followed another.” He seemed to understand what she was saying.
“I don’t want you to go to the police. I’ll pay them back for it.”
Stay calm, she told herself, just stay calm.
“But what about the other stuff? The stuff that’s been sold already. The stuff that was dumped and that Carl Thompson found and fenced.”
“I’ll figure something out. Look, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s always liked taking stuff. Ever since we were kids. It’s like a sickness. He can’t help it.”
Sweeney stepped a foot closer to him. He was upset, almost crying, and she felt sorry for him.
“I know,” she said.
“He doesn’t know any better,” Gally said, running a hand through his wet hair. “Look, if you’re not a twin, you can’t understand. He’s gotten caught a few times and my parents have had to bail him out. If he gets caught again, he’ll definitely get kicked out of school. He doesn’t even know why he does it. He doesn’t need the stuff. He can afford to pay them back. He has money from my grandparents.”
Sweeney went along, not knowing exactly where it was going to go. “What about the blackmail, and the murders?”
Now Gally looked genuinely surprised. “What do you mean, blackmail? And he didn’t have anything to do with the murders.” Gally looked around the room, desperate, as though he expected someone else to be there.
“Are you sure?” Sweeney watched him think about it.
A motor sounded outside.
“What is it?” she whispered.
Gally turned and looked. “It’s one of the snowmobiles.” Sweeney shut off the flashlight and told him to be quiet and stand with her against the wall. They listened to the footsteps outside, and the sound of a key in the padlock, then the squeaking of the door hinges. And then a light came on.
It was Trip. He was holding one of the hunting rifles, the same one Britta had trained on Sweeney the day she’d arrived in Byzantium. It struck her that this had been the cause of Britta’s fear, the knowledge of what this boy, her son, was capable of.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s going on here?” He watched them, his eyes wide, his hands shaking.
“She’s not going to the police, Trip,” Gally said. “Don’t worry. She promised she wouldn’t go. We’ll bring back all the stuff and no one will know.” His voice had an edge of desperation.
Sweeney turned to him. “Look, Trip. You’re in big trouble. But if you tell the police about it, you’ll get off easy. You’re a juvenile. You probably won’t even go to jail. Gally thinks you’ve been burglarizing the houses because of your sickness, but if you tell them the truth, if you turn her in, things won’t be as serious.” Trip kept staring at her, the barrel of the long rifle pointed at her forehead.
“What do you mean ‘her’?” Gally asked, turning to his brother. “Trip, what does she mean?”
“Yes, I do,” Sweeney said. “I know about Rosemary.”
Trip turned and almost dropped the rifle.
“It’s okay, Trip,” Rosemary’s gentle voice came from the porch. She had been standing out there in the snow, listening to them. “Just keep it on them. You’re doing just fine. I can handle this now.”
Then she came around the corner of the door and walked slowly over to Sweeney, her hands in her pockets. “Just relax,” she said again to Trip, as though she were talking to a scared child. “It’s okay.”
Rosemary took off her hat and ran her hands through her hair. Then she got another flashlight out of her