Just One More

“You take the left, I’ll take the right,” whispered Bryan, indicating the rows of bins on either side. We’d poke around a bit, see if anything interesting came up.

But that was when the door to the basement slammed shut, the bulb simultaneously snapping off to plunge us into darkness.

Instead of screaming or shouting, our police training immediately kicked in. I could sense Bryan reaching for his gun and I did the same. Yes, we were wearing concealed weapons, and rightfully so given that this mansion was a place of suspicion.

“You take the left, I’ll take the right,” muttered Bryan again, repeating his phrase from before.

Because we were prepared … to fight or die.

17

Callie

The tea was slightly rancid, but I didn’t say anything. I was here for more important things, mainly consoling my benefactors, Mr. and Mrs. Adams.

“Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do,” I said, tentatively biting into a cookie as we waited for Bryan and Blake to come up from the basement. “I’m not sure exactly how I can be helpful, but really anything, just ask.”

Just then, a door slammed shut loudly, jarring in the quiet.

“What was that, my dear?” asked Mrs. Adams, perking up a bit. “What were you saying?”

Was it my imagination or had the older woman just dropped ten years from her appearance? She was already sitting up straighter, looking healthier, more vigorous.

“I was just saying that I’d be happy to help you out with anything you might need. You’ve been so kind to me over the years.”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Adams, taking a big gulp of tea. Okay, it definitely wasn’t my imagination. Just two minutes earlier she hadn’t been able to drink anything, the grief overwhelming, and now here she was guzzling like a hungry bear.

“Mrs. Adams?” I said, as the woman looked around the living room. “You were saying?” I asked, perplexed.

“Oh honey,” said the older lady, her voice strong and assured. “You have no idea of the big favor you’ve done.”

I was really confused now.

“But I haven’t done anything,” I murmured, looking around. Was she referring to the flowers? “I mean, we haven’t sorted through your son’s stuff yet, not that I don’t want to, I’m just saying that I haven’t done anything of value.”

That made the older woman laugh.

“You silly, silly girl,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You really have no idea, do you?”

Now I was genuinely confused.

“Mrs. Adams,” I said, setting my teacup down carefully. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Please, enlighten me.” Where were Bryan and Blake?

But the woman saw me looking around and laughed raucously.

“Those boys aren’t going to be able to help you … and boys isn’t the right word to describe them either,” she snarked.

Of course not, they were more manly than most of the men I knew. Bryan and Blake were mature, giving, kind and had it together. That was saying a lot more than many adults out there.

But I couldn’t hide the look of confusion from crossing my face.

“Mrs. Adams, please, I’m tired of asking. What exactly are you talking about?” I queried.

And the woman just rolled her eyes.

“You’ve been living with SFPD, didn’t you know? Undercover cops,” she jeered. “Did you really think Bryan and Blake Hanson were senior transfers to Canterdale? In the middle of senior year?”

I gasped. It couldn’t be.

“No, that’s not true,” I shook my head. “They’re normal guys with aspirations to attend the Police Academy. They told me so themselves,” I stated resolutely.

“You’re so stupid!” cackled the older woman. “They are the police, they already graduated from the Academy. Haven’t you noticed that classes seemed easy for them, that everything seemed too easy for two boys from a bad neighborhood in Queens?”

Well yes, but I thought it was because an intelligent mind could make up for a deficient education. I’d never thought it was because they’d already graduated from high school … and not just high school but the academy, no less.

I was frozen with shock, suddenly realizing that there was some truth to what the hag was saying.

“But … but why are they here?” I asked tremulously. “What’s going on at Canterdale that would merit undercover cops?”

“I’ll tell you,” said the old lady nastily. “They’re here to bust a drug ring. One that my husband and I run.”

That made me gasp. Sure, there are kids with drug issues at school but it was just pot, chew, the small stuff.

The old hag cackled and spilled the beans.

“You stupid girl,” she said, an evil grin on her face. “My husband and I have been running cocaine through San Francisco using Canterdale as a transfer station. It’s never been easier, and so profitable until our boy died,” she lamented.

I was still confused. I shook my head, my mind racing as I struggled to process the information.