Shakespeares Champion Page 0,36

have achieved a truce.

"They're breaking in," he whispered. "For God's sake, just shut up and be still. They'll kill us both."

I know how to shut up and I know how to be still, though

I couldn't stop quivering. My eyes finally adjusted to the near-darkness of the closet, and by the faint light coming in through the partly open door, I saw that the man on top of me was Mr. Black Ponytail.

After a second, I wasn't too surprised.

Those eyes were not focused on me, but staring out the closet door as the man listened to the faint sounds that were just now penetrating my tangled state of fear and rage.

He bent back so his mouth was by my ear, his newly shaven cheek again resting against mine. "It's gonna take them a while. They don't know shit about breaking and entering," he said in a voice so low it seemed to come from somewhere inside my own head. "Now, who the fuck are you?"

Through clenched teeth I said, "I am the fucking maid." Every muscle in my body was tensed, and the shivering would not stop no matter how I willed myself to be still. I began to make myself relax, knowing that if I didn't, I would remain weak and disadvantaged.

"That's better. We're on the same side," whispered the man as he felt my body soften and still beneath him.

"Who are you?" I asked him.

"I," he told my ear, "am the fucking detective. " He shifted on top of me. He wasn't as calm or cool as he was trying to sound. His body was reacting to its proximity with mine, and he was getting uncomfortable. "If I let you go, are you gonna give me any trouble? They're much more dangerous than I am."

I thought about it. I had no idea if he really was a detective. And whose detective? FBI? Private? ATF? The Shakespeare police force? Winthrop County?

I heard glass shattering.

"They're in," he breathed into my ear. "Listen, the game plan has changed."

"Huh," I said contemptuously and almost inaudibly. I hated sports metaphors. I felt much better almost immediately. Angry is better than scared or confused.

"They'll kill us if we're caught," he told me again. His lips, so close to my ear, suddenly made me want to shiver again in a completely different way. His body was talking to mine at great length, no matter what his mouth was saying.

"Now, what I want you to do, when they're all in the house," he whispered breathlessly, "is start screaming. I'm going out the front door, circling around to the alley to get their license plate number, identify the car, so I can try to find where they go after this."

I wondered what his original plan had been. This one seemed awful haphazard. His hands, instead of gripping my arms, were rubbing them slowly.

"They'll know it was me and come after me."

"If you're never in their sight, they won't believe you saw them," he breathed. "Give me three minutes, then scream."

"No," I said very softly. "I'll turn on the vacuum cleaner."

I sensed a certain amount of exasperation rolling off Mr. Ponytail. "OK," he agreed. "Whatever."

Then he slid off me, and rose to his feet. He held out his hand and I took it without thinking. He pulled me up as easily as he'd helped me do chin-ups that morning. He gave me a sharp nod to indicate the clock was running, and then he was gone, easing himself out of the closet, through Beanie's bedroom, and presumably down the little hall that led to the foyer of the house. His exit was much more subtle than the burglars' entrance.

I peered at my big-faced man's watch, actually timing the self-proclaimed detective, trying not to wonder why I was doing what he said. At two and a half minutes, I risked stepping out of the closet. I could hear the intruders clearly now. Once they'd gotten into the house, they'd abandoned all attempts at silence.

After plugging in the vacuum cleaner, I suddenly began belting out "Whistle While You Work." Without waiting to assess the reaction, I stepped on the "On" button and the vacuum cleaner roared to life. I was careful to keep my back to the bedroom door as I began industriously vacuuming, because I could see in Beanie's dressing table mirror if I was being stalked. I caught a shadow swooping across the mirror, but its owner was in the act of departure. I'd spooked them.

When I felt sure