Hostage by Willo Davis Roberts Page B

minutes.”
    How long did I have? They’d mentioned Mrs. Banducci, too, I supposed. They’d called her a “nosy old biddy,” and who else could that be? Somehow they’d managed to flood her garage, and she was presumably next door cleaning up a mess, a project to keep her and her curiosity out of the way while they did what they’d come to do.
    There was no time to waste. I had to get out of the house, run next door, and call 911, and then my dad, before it was too late. There was only one main street coming into Lofty Cedars Estates. If the police could get to the entrance to this subdivision, they could cut them off; there was no other way to escape.
    Sometimes when I get overexcited, Dad will tell me, “Calm down, Kaci. Stand still and take a couple of deep breaths. It’ll make your brain work better.”
    I tried it. It felt like drawing in deep breaths was making a terrible cramp in my chest, but after a moment I had settled down to just mild tremors.
    I edged closer to the top of the stairs. I could hear their voices—two of them, I decided, and hoped I was right—somewhere in the back of the house. Well, then, I’d run out the front door if I could get to it.
    I started to creep down the stairs, glad they were carpeted, so I didn’t make any noise. I was halfway down when I heard the engine as a truck pulled into the driveway.
    For a few seconds I regressed into total panic.Should I run back upstairs? Hide again? What?
    â€œHey, I think I hear Buddy.” The voice was almost below me, and I swallowed hard and dropped to my hands and knees so they wouldn’t see me through the railing if they looked up. I had no choice but to retrace my steps, crawling as fast as I could.
    â€œWhat took you so long?” the deeper voice said as the front door opened.
    If the truck driver had looked up instead of straight ahead, he’d have seen me for sure. I reached the landing and went flat, praying hard that they wouldn’t notice me. I remembered I was still wearing that bright red backpack and I squirmed forward on my stomach, working my way around the corner. I was sweating and I felt the trickle of moisture working its way down my face.
    â€œI’m only ten minutes later than I said I’d be,” Buddy stated. “You guys get those boxes filled up so we can start moving them out of here. We ought to get out of this place before anybody comes home and catches us.”
    â€œExcept for the old witch next door, the whole neighborhood is empty.” That was theone who thought the piano was too heavy to move. “I hope she didn’t have sense enough to call a plumber.”
    â€œI told you, I cut her phone wire. She can’t call anybody. It’s not likely she’s got a cell phone, old broad like her.”
    Cell phone. I swallowed hard. Dad and Mom had a cell phone they carried when they were out late at night, or other times when they thought they might need it. When it wasn’t in use, it was left on the desk in the study.
    My hope died quickly, though. The thieves had probably already been in there and cleaned out everything of any value. If they’d taken all the other phones, they’d probably swept that one up, too.
    Knowing that I couldn’t call from next door was a bummer. What was the next best thing to do? Would I be in terrible trouble if I ran to one of the other houses and smashed a window to get in to reach a phone that was still working?
    I wondered if that was how the men had gotten into our house. Around in back, maybe, where they’d be out of sight if anyone camealong, had they broken a window and then opened up the front door from inside?
    It didn’t matter. What mattered was that I had to get out of there as soon as possible. But I couldn’t do anything as long as the three men were in the lower hallway.
    They were wrangling now about the piano. Buddy, too, thought it was too heavy to move.