Henry & Eva and the Famous People Ghosts by Andrea Portes

Author:Andrea Portes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-08-13T16:00:00+00:00

17

WE MAKE OUR way back toward the chapel and grand hall.

The last thing I want is to have some sort of open confrontation with the Midwestern Mastermind, but it seems like these guys working for him are . . . malleable. Maybe even kind at heart.

But the Midwestern Mastermind is poised to make off with millions in stolen art, and I have no doubt in my mind he will do so at any cost.

I could see it in his cool stare when I was hiding behind the curtain. There’s nothing behind his eyes. Not a soul. Not a conscience. Just someone who is used to a life of betrayal and backstabbing and every man for himself.

I wonder how a person even gets like that. Why is it that some people veer so crazily off the tracks? Is it in their brains? Baked into the cake? Or is it something that comes from a life of disappointment after disappointment?

Why do some people become the Midwestern Mastermind and other people become Winston Churchill? Is it a plan? Or is it a process? I wonder . . .

“We have half an hour to save everyone in that room,” Henry breaks in, nodding toward the wedding guests, still sitting, some lying down, as the guards watch over them.

“The rugs will slow them down,” Zeb points out.

“But for how long?” I ask. “For. How. Long?”

The three of us ponder this.

“So, what do we do?” I ask. “I mean, divide and conquer is nice but pretty time-consuming. Maybe we should be more aggressive somehow. Considering.”

Henry thinks.

But now there is a light down the hill, headlights splitting the rain into sheets. The three of us stare as a truck comes up the hill, hoping it’s one of the parents returning to solve everything.

We watch the winding truck make its way up the serpentine little road, its wheels bearing into the mud. Clearly, whoever they are, they have super four-wheel drive.

The truck gets halfway up the hill when a light shines out onto it and one of the guards flags it down.

We three stare as an interaction takes place. It’s impossible to hear what is being said through the pounding rain, but the Hearst “guard” looks official, casual, nonplussed. He stands in an official way, gesturing back down the road.

The three of us watch as the interaction comes to an end. The truck driver nods, rolls up his window, and begins to execute a three-point turn, turning back down the road.

“The guard must have told him it’s closed. Or it’s a private party,” Henry thinks out loud.

But there’s no need to say anything. We three watch, deflated, as the truck rights itself and makes its way back down the hill, back down the coast, and to whatever little life awaits outside of this dire situation.

Almost.

We were almost saved.

And the three of us lose something watching that almost drive away, back down to wherever almosts go.

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