Towering - By Alex Flinn Page 0,66

thought no one heard. Yet, it sounded right when I said it to Rachel. She was like a girl from one of those books they made us read in Language Arts class, like Cathy Earnshaw, only not batshit crazy, or like Daisy Buchanan, only nice. I repeated the word because I liked it so much. “My darling.”

She touched my cheek with her soft hand. “My own, Wyatt. Wyatt. I don’t want you to go.”

“I know. I don’t either. But you’re safe here, and I need to get some answers. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Remember, this is my number.” I pointed to what I’d written. “Don’t answer if anyone else calls.” I thought of the weird phone calls. If someone was really following me, I sure didn’t want him to find Rachel.

“All right. I promise. But call soon.”

“What time does Mama come?”

“At night, nine or ten. Call before then.”

“I will. I can’t wait to hear your voice again.”

It should have been easy to reach the ground. I’d done it before, so I was used to the rope. My feet had memorized the tower’s shingled surface. Yet, it was hard because I didn’t want to go.

But I had to leave. I had to go to Hemingway’s, to find the one person besides Mrs. Greenwood who might know something about what happened to Danielle.

The whole way, I tried to think of an appropriate reason, a reasonable explanation why I was there. After all, it was a hardware store, not a grocery store. Maybe there were some people—adults—who would go to one every day, but guys my own age didn’t think home repairs were fun. I didn’t want Josh to think I was stalking him. Unfortunately, Hemingway’s wasn’t like Home Depot, so big you could probably keel over in the aisle and go unnoticed. Around here, people wanted to talk to you.

So, when Josh greeted me at the front (crushing any hopes I had that he might not be working that day, it being the last few days of break), I said, “I need a washer. Mrs. G. has a leaky faucet.”

“All work and no play . . .” Josh grinned. “What size?”

“Yeah.” I tried to laugh. I hadn’t anticipated this question. I looked around, trying to see if the old man, Jerry, was there, if I’d made the trip for nothing. “I’m not sure. Mind if I just look around.” I didn’t see him. I didn’t know why I’d been so sure he’d be there.

Josh looked dubious. “Sure. But usually, people bring in the old washer or the faucet or something. It’s hard to judge otherwise.”

“Is there a standard size?”

“Nothing’s standard in Slakkill.” He gestured toward the aisle where the washers were. “The houses are old. Most faucets are washerless these days, but don’t tell the people who come in here. They want to repair the one they have for the fifteenth time, instead of buying a new one that will last the rest of their lives.”

I spotted Jerry. He was, as usual, browsing through the yard sale items. I said to Josh, “Would it be better to buy a new one?”

He shrugged. “If you can talk her into it.”

“I can try. Is there some kind of catalog with pictures of the faucets. Maybe she’d like a pretty new one.”

“I could give you some websites if she, you know, believes in the internet.”

“Paper would probably be better.”

“I can print something out. Just give me a minute.”

“No problem.” I gestured toward where the old man was standing. “Take your time. I’m going to look at your secondhand stuff. I want some board games.”

“Board games?”

“The old lady, she’s been kicking my butt at something called Rummikub. I thought maybe if I got a different game, the playing field would be more level.”

Josh shook his head. “Beating up on the elderly, nice. Oh, I think we’ve got Battleship.”

“Perfect. I’ll look for it.” There were board games over where the old man was standing. “Take your time. I want to make sure it has all the pieces.”

“Good idea.” He walked away.

I headed toward Jerry in the opposite direction of Josh. I wanted to see what he was looking at, but on the way, something caught my eye. A hairbrush. The same silver hairbrush I’d seen before. I remembered Rachel telling me her mama used to brush her hair with a fancy hairbrush. I picked it up. The bristles were made of boar’s hair, and the back had an intricate design, flowers as Rachel had said, orchids