Chapter 7

"Don't drive by the new jail. I don't want even a chance of catching sight of Jock Smithers." Vivian hugged herself as the airport disappeared from view behind them.

"You and me both. What an oaf." Gilbert exhaled a puff of frost. "Wait. Vivian, I hate him because of Becky Kramer. Why do you hate him? Surely it's not, you know, sibling loyalty."

"It isn't. It's his general slimebaggery. You'd have to be a girl to understand."

"Ugh. No, I probably got the picture clear enough." Gilbert navigated to a side street to avoid the main road. A few bright stars peeked through gaps in the clouds overhead. Most of the houses they passed lazily emitted wood smoke. "His dad's all right, though."

Vivian wrinkled her nose. "I suppose. At least he's nicer and I wouldn't be afraid to be alone in the same room as him. Never much sheriffing to do in Lark Haven, though. Maybe that's why he's fat."

"Ace Carroway's not fat."

Vivian smirked. "So she affected you, too. I'm not surprised."

Her brother drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Well, just think. She travels. She flies. She flies, Vivian!"

"I'd love to fly, someday."

"And she gets respect."

Vivian grew a wistful smile. "It's odd. To Jock Smithers, I'm a number somewhere near the bottom of his potential-date list. To Mr. Mullerbeck, I'm a brain on a stick. But to Ace Carroway, I'm a person."

Gilbert didn't answer. He was staring up the street. He pushed in the clutch and braked. Vivian followed his gaze up toward the hillside.

It was the old jail, now derelict, at the end of a row of older houses. Its stony façade slumped in places like a sad troll. Ivy and moss blotched its visage. It was a familiar sight to the twins, but today there was something extra. "What is that black truck?" Gilbert said.

Vivian narrowed her eyes. The descent of twilight made it difficult to see clearly. "Shiny paint, looks brand new. Definitely not local. I don't see any signs on it."

Gilbert sounded petulant. "Well, it's backed up right against the door. Like they're loading coal."

Vivian said, "Well, maybe. Or maybe they're some kind of officials. Whoever is in charge of condemning property."

A woman dressed in black from head to toe padded catlike from behind the truck. Immediately, the woman's head snapped to track the steam car and its occupants like a cobra tracking a mouse.

She spoke a word over her shoulder and a man in black appeared behind her. His gaze also riveted to the steam car with single-minded intensity.

"Um," said Vivian.

"Yeah," said Gilbert. He eased off on the brake and put the car back in gear. It accelerated away.

Just before the row of houses obliterated the view of the old jail, Vivian gripped Gilbert's arm. "Gilbert! Did you see?"

"See what?"

"Behind the black truck. A yellow car. Clem Seville's car!"

"You sure?"

"Yes!" spat Vivian, her eyebrows knitting.

"Well, so what? It means he's not at the house anymore, and I like that."

"I don't know what it means, but I don't like it. That B-anthracite is Dad's. Ace Carroway said it was important. And now Clem Seville and a black truck of mystery are suddenly there. See? It stinks."

Gilbert massaged a temple with gloved fingers. "All right. It does. But we need to go home. Who knows what state Mom's in?"

"It won't be good."