The Witch Of Agnesi Part 18

"So ends the criminal career of the Pinkwater and Callahan gang," Armen whispered. He raised his hands and walked slowly toward Molly.

Bonnie raised hers as well then found she couldn't walk. Well, this just sucks. I'm going to be shot because I'm a cripple. Well, this just sucks. I'm going to be shot because I'm a cripple. "Molly, it's Missus Pinkwater, Edmund's math teacher. I'm on crutches. I need to put my hands down to walk." "Molly, it's Missus Pinkwater, Edmund's math teacher. I'm on crutches. I need to put my hands down to walk."

The girl lowered the rifle maybe ten degrees. "Missus P? What are you doing in our barn?"

Armen, having already reached the girl, looked back at Bonnie as if to say, "You have to admit, it's a reasonable question. I can't wait to hear your answer."

Bonnie hobbled to Molly, still considering viable responses. I've always wanted to see the inside of a barn. I can come back if this is a bad time. I've always wanted to see the inside of a barn. I can come back if this is a bad time.

Of course, there was always the truth. I was looking for Edmund because he and a cla.s.smate, who by the way has been missing for two days, may have murdered a young girl. You haven't by any chance seen them? I was looking for Edmund because he and a cla.s.smate, who by the way has been missing for two days, may have murdered a young girl. You haven't by any chance seen them?

Molly laid the shotgun across her lap. "It's Edmund, isn't it? He's in trouble."

Bonnie studied Molly's guileless face wondering just how much she could trust the girl. Supposedly, Edmund and this invalid sister were close. How would this same sister react to the news that her beloved brother might be a murderer? "I'd feel more comfortable if you let my friend hold your shotgun before I answered your question."

Molly peered up at Armen. Her soft almond eyes regarded him and she nodded. She extended the shot gun, barrel first. At the last moment, she appeared as if she'd changed her mind and refused Armen's attempt to take the weapon. From the look of her well-muscled arms, she could easily have given him a fight.

Then she relented and let Armen have the rifle. "He's in that bad of trouble?"

You have no idea, sweetie. "Are your parents here?" "Are your parents here?"

Molly shook her head, her straight, black hair tossing first right then left. "They left for the Springs early this morning. Sometimes I have trouble sleeping at night, so I took a pill and went back to bed."

That explains no answer at the door. "How about Edmund?" "How about Edmund?"

Molly shrugged. The expression carried the weight of miserable resignation. "He's gone, but who knows where? He doesn't tell me anything, not any more." Her face contorted.

Bonnie prepared herself for the young woman's tears, but Molly recovered, fighting her way back to control. Her face grew tight. "He's gone all the time. Sometimes sneaks out in the middle of the night. I'm worried sick about him."

"Can we go inside and talk?" I don't think I'm about to make you feel any better. I don't think I'm about to make you feel any better.

BONNIE HUDDLED OVER HER GLa.s.s OF ICE TEA. THE three of them sat at a long maple dining table, in a semilit dining room, not drinking drinks and taking turns clearing their throats. Molly couldn't seem to take her eyes off Armen's "I throw peanuts at old ladies" s.h.i.+rt, her lips moving as she read. Bonnie had been a.s.signed the head of the table with Armen on her left and Molly's wheelchair pulled up to the table on the right. The seating arrangement seemed to dictate Bonnie a.s.sume the task of leading the conversation.

How do I tell this girl I intend to phone the police and rat out her brother? "Did you know Peyton Newlin had run away, that he'd been hiding in your barn?" The question sounded smoother in her mind, but what the h.e.l.l, she was winging it. "Did you know Peyton Newlin had run away, that he'd been hiding in your barn?" The question sounded smoother in her mind, but what the h.e.l.l, she was winging it.

Molly's face went to stone. She glanced first at Armen, who by his own hard expression gave nothing away. When she came back to Bonnie, she blew out a long breath. "I knew Edmund was out there, but not Peyton. Like always, I was having trouble sleeping Thursday night. I was staring out the back window when I saw the barn door slide open. Edmund carefully slid it shut then snuck into the house."

Bonnie rubbed her sweating palms on her jeans. "Did he see you?"

She shook her head. "My bedroom door was closed. My lights were out. I heard him pa.s.s my door in the hall heading for his own room."

"In the days since, you never confronted him?"

Molly opened her mouth then closed it. "There's more to this than Peyton sleeping in our barn, isn't there?" Her lips flattened into a tight line.

Armen folded his arms across his chest, as if to remove himself from the possibility of answering this difficult question.

Thanks a lot, Callahan. "Yeah, honey. There's quite a bit more. We think Edmund may be involved in a murder." "Yeah, honey. There's quite a bit more. We think Edmund may be involved in a murder."

Bonnie had been prepared for denial, anger, or even a physical response. But the young woman surprised her.

With a jarring shove, Molly pushed her wheelchair away from the table. "That b.i.t.c.h. It's all her fault. I know it. Edmund is no murderer."

Stephanie?

Bonnie inhaled slowly to get her voice and emotions under control. "Exactly what b.i.t.c.h might we talking about?"

Molly c.o.c.ked her head and tendered a look dripping with disdain. "His girlfriend, of course." Molly had her hands raised since pus.h.i.+ng off the table, now she lowered them into her lap-two fists pressed one against the other like b.u.t.ting rams.

The air felt close and hot about Bonnie's face. She turned to Armen, and he mouthed the name Bonnie had been thinking just a moment ago.

She shook her head. "I don't think so," she mouthed back. "Molly?"

Edmund's big sister raised her eyes from her fists to Bonnie's face. Her compact little Korean face looked lopsided with rage and sorrow.

"What?" She sniffled wetly.

"Do you know this girlfriend's name?"

Like a child, Molly unselfconsciously wiped her sleeve across her nose. "She never signed her name on her emails, but I think I know who she is."

Oh, my G.o.d. "She wrote emails to Edmund?" And you read them. Clever girl. And you read them. Clever girl.

Molly nodded. "About a dozen. You should see the c.r.a.p she says to him."

"I'd like to, very much."

CHAPTER 11.

EDMUND SHERIDAN'S BEDROOM LOOKED like a local branch of the Library of Congress. Bookshelves lined every wall including around the window and the s.p.a.ces beside and above his twin bed. Black binders filled every shelf. A niche had been grudgingly carved out of the ubiquitous shelves for a small computer desk. A poster hung in the s.p.a.ce above the computer. Casper the Friendly Ghost had his marshmallow arm around a young witch clad in a red cape and conical hat.

Molly Sheridan sat in front of a flat-screen monitor firing up a Gateway computer.

A gigantic throw rug covered the floor from wall to wall. It featured an obese boy wearing Harry Potter gla.s.ses and brandis.h.i.+ng a lollipop like a weapon. The caption next to the boy's head read, "You want I should bop you with this here lollipop?"

"Herbie Popnecker," Armen whispered as if he had just entered the sacristy of the Sistine Chapel.

"Who?" Bonnie asked, although the name sounded vaguely familiar. She'd been preoccupied with a full-sized fibergla.s.s statue of Wonder Woman. As always, the female superhero looked as if her pointed bosoms just might explode out of her costume.

"Herbie Popnecker," Armen repeated. "A fat little boy who fought crime and saved the world using a collection of supernatural lollipops."

Molly punched "enter" to finish logging on and pivoted in her wheelchair. "Do you remember Herbie's favorite flavor of lollipop?"

A wide grin that spoke of not quite forgotten childhood memories split Armen's face. "Hard To Get Cinnamon."

He turned his smile and enthusiasm on Bonnie.

"Herbie once went back in time and saved the American Revolution using Hard To Get Cinnamon."

Bonnie stared at this fifty-year old Science teacher, amazed he could still speak of comic books with such reverence. Once again, her belief that men never stopped being little boys was validated. "That's nice, Armen."

If he caught the hint of sarcasm in her voice, Armen didn't acknowledge it. "I once owned every issue of Herbie Popnecker. Read them all a dozen times."

Molly pointed to a binder on a shelf one removed from the top. "Edmund owns the entire Herbie run, including his first appearance in Forbidden Worlds."

Armen reached for the binder then stopped. "May I?"

Molly nodded. "I'm sure Edmund wouldn't mind as long as you're careful. None of the issues are in anything above Very Good condition."

Armen slid the binder free and opened it for Bonnie and himself. Encased in a plastic sleeve lay a comic book featuring the same rotund boy, this time towing George Was.h.i.+ngton and his troops across the Delaware.

"Comic books are rated according to their condition, the best being Mint condition. Then follows Near Mint, Very Fine, Fine, then Very Good all the way down to Poor." He peered above the volume at Molly. "Even in Very Good condition a complete collection of Herbie Popneckers must be worth a considerable sum."

Molly spread wide her hands. "I'm not an expert like Edmund. I'd have to look up the price in Overstreet." She took the binder gingerly from Armen's hand.

In spite of herself, Bonnie felt her interest being tickled. "Overstreet?"

Molly smiled indulgently. "The bible of comic book collectors-current prices, news worthy sales, notices from collectors looking for specifics, ads from commercial collectors."

For the first time Bonnie became fully aware that all the binders wore labels. Some of the t.i.tles she recognized from the recent spate of comic book movies-Daredevil, Spiderman, Hulk Spiderman, Hulk. Some were unknown to her-Punisher, Doctor Strange, Justice League of America. Four thick binders were t.i.tled Mad Magazine Mad Magazine. "My G.o.d, we're talking hundreds, maybe thousands of comic books. Edmund must have a small fortune tied up in these."

Or at least his parents have.

Molly tilted her head and scanned the binders. Her lips moved as she checked off t.i.tles. "Not as much as you think. Maybe ten, fifteen thousand dollars tops. But then again, none of these are in better than Very Good condition."

"Fifteen thousand dollars?" Bonnie forced down a giggle she knew would be interpreted as disrespectful. "Edmund must have quite an allowance."

Molly shot her a shows what you know frown.

"Edmund doesn't get an allowance. He's a serious collector. Last year, buying and selling, he made a profit of twenty-eight thousand dollars."

"But I thought you said all of these were only worth between ten and fifteen thousand."

"This isn't the good stuff." Molly smiled mischievously, her almond eyes twinkling. "Edmund keeps his prized pieces in a dehumidifying vault in the bas.e.m.e.nt."

"Mint condition?" Armen looked as if he might salivate.

A spark of something indefinable pa.s.sed between Molly and Armen. "Of course. He's got a mint original Secret Origins Secret Origins from DC comics. And a mint collection of the first fifty issues of from DC comics. And a mint collection of the first fifty issues of Omni Magazine Omni Magazine."

Armen laced his fingers behind his head and exhaled. "I'd love to see them, especially the Secret Secret Orig Origins."

"No can do." Molly pursed her lips, looking apologetic. "Edmund has the only key. He loves that collection more than he loves me."

She lowered her eyes. "Especially now."

Oh, sweetie, don't let Edmund's problems become yours.

"What else does he have?" Armen's hands shook with the asking.

Molly took a long breath and released it. "He just picked up Mad Magazine Mad Magazine number twenty-four in Very Fine condition. I think he paid four thousand for it." number twenty-four in Very Fine condition. I think he paid four thousand for it."

"Four thousand dollars?" Bonnie immediately regretted her outburst. No Pinkwater, four thousand lira. No Pinkwater, four thousand lira.

Molly was looking at Bonnie as if she might be mentally challenged. "Edmund could sell it right now for fifty-one hundred. He also has Daredevil Daredevil number one in Very Fine condition-bought for five hundred, worth eight." number one in Very Fine condition-bought for five hundred, worth eight."

"Daredevil number one," Armen said as if he intoned the sacred name Jehovah. "He wouldn't really sell it, would he?" number one," Armen said as if he intoned the sacred name Jehovah. "He wouldn't really sell it, would he?"

"He once told me that if the price was right he'd sell it all." Molly waved a hand to indicate Edmund's entire collection.

Sensible young man, Bonnie thought, then remembered Edmund might be a murderer. A sensible young murderer. A sensible young murderer.

"But Edmund's a liar," Molly said, a little too vehemently. "He's got a small run in the vault he'd never sell. Have you ever heard of Harvey comics?"

Bonnie knew the girl couldn't be talking to her. She'd lost face since the embarra.s.sing "four-thousand dollars" outburst. But even Armen was shaking his head.

"In the last few months, Harvey has become Edmund's obsession and spesheeality." Molly elonated the syllables of the word to show she didn't think much of this section of Edmund's collection. "Their most famous t.i.tle is Casper the Friendly Ghost Casper the Friendly Ghost, but Harvey also printed Hot Stuff Hot Stuff-"

"The little devil in the diaper who roasted apples on his pitchfork!" Armen exclaimed. "I loved him."

Molly grimaced. "The very same. Also Little Audrey, Wendy Little Audrey, Wendy, The Good Little Witch The Good Little Witch, Little Lotta, Little Dot Little Lotta, Little Dot, and Baby Huey Baby Huey." She ticked off the t.i.tles on her fingers.

Armen nodded the I know those nod with each t.i.tle.

Bonnie eyed the computer screen thinking she'd had enough comic book talk to last her a lifetime. Unfortunately, she couldn't see any way to steer the conversation back to Edmund's e mails without being rude. After all, Molly was doing them a favor. "You sure know a lot about Harvey comics."

Molly shrugged an it's no big deal shrug. "Edmund's most recent acquisitions are from Harvey. He won't shut up about it-calls it his coup coup. He picked up the first five issues of Casper the Friendly Ghost Casper the Friendly Ghost, Mint condition for six hundred. Issue number one alone, the one that introduces both Casper and Wendy, the Good Little Witch, is worth almost that much."

Molly must have noticed Bonnie's eyes glazing over.

"We probably ought to look at those e mails."

Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus. "We could do that." "We could do that."

Molly clicked the icon for AOL. Following a series of dips and dives through America On Line's roller coaster ride, Molly arrived at the mail center. She first checked new mail and found it empty. "Nothing since yesterday."

She clicked the old mail tab-equally vacant.

"Don't worry. AOL automatically archives its mail. Two days ago, Edmund's archive had at least a dozen letters from his honey bunny."

Molly's face had grown pinched, her hands small hammers pounding the keys with ferocious precision. She's p.i.s.sed at Edmund, and especially hates this girl friend, whoever she is. h.e.l.l hath no fury She's p.i.s.sed at Edmund, and especially hates this girl friend, whoever she is. h.e.l.l hath no fury . . . . . .