ALL THAT GLITTERS, chapter 1

chapter 27

chapter 27

A commotion below the balcony caused Lucky, Michelle, Terry, and Sandy to lean forward over the railing, trying to see what was going on. A parade? An invasion? Trick-or-treat, three weeks too late?

At the front of the room, the woman with the PowerPoint show stood frozen, staring. Next to her, a stocky man in a business suit reached over and took the microphone from her. “No masks allowed inside the State House,” he ordered crisply. “If they take off their masks, Sergeant, then as citizens you can escort them up to the gallery.”

Under the balcony, a cluster of people in blue uniforms with signs hanging on them scrambled to push back their masks to the tops of their heads. The ones Lucky could see ranged from painted-cheek “girls” to square-jawed aging men plus one that looked like a dog, maybe a German shepherd. The signs – they were storefront signs, “pharmacy,” “stationery,” “children’s clothing,” some others. But she didn’t recognize the faces.

A voice rose from the invading group, deep and low, and everyone hushed to listen. “Thank you, Senator. We’ll be glad to take our places in the citizens’ gallery. But first we’d like to line up here for just a moment so you can see the kinds of downtown businesses we’re calling to your attention. This wonderful city, this proud state capital, this location strong enough to say no to chain restaurants and more – every business in the downtown is struggling to succeed. We’re here to ask you all, Senators.”

The man paused, and all his friends joined him in saying the last finale: “No more taxes in downtown Montpelier. Don’t kill the downtown. No more taxes. Please!”

Around her, cameras clicked, and Lucky saw Michelle snapping images with her cell phone. Terry said in a low voice, “It’s the Bread and Butter protest group, from up on the mountain. See?”

Lucky nodded. “That’s going to be front page news for sure.”

Now the dozen costumed people, still with their masks up above their faces, began climbing the stairs to the gallery.

“It’s going to be too crowded,” Terry whispered. “Sandy and I’ll stay here and let you know what happens. So you and Michelle can leave if you want.”

“In a minute,” Lucky agreed. “Let them all come up first, and then we can ease out.” The three of them slid toward the side of the balcony, circling back toward the stairway, watching for their chance.

It was very crowded with another dozen people, and Lucky edged around three men who seemed to be wearing winter jackets under their costumes, making them doubly wide. Someone grabbed her wrist, then shoved her lightly. She felt a hand dip into her pocket, and a voice growled, “Don’t look at it until you’re outside.” She twisted, trying to see who it was, but Sandy and Terry swung over to protect her from the strangers, at the same time blocking the view. All the costumed people stood next to the gallery railing, staring down at the state senators, while two reporters continued to take more photos.

Michelle tugged at Lucky’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Lucky thrust her hand around the object in her pocket to make sure she wouldn’t lose it. It felt like folded paper. All her complications seemed to be on paper lately. She muttered to herself, “Paperless society, right.” At the same moment, her cell phone began to vibrate in her other pocket. Without watching where she was going, just following Michelle down the next flight of stairs to the marble-floored lobby, she pulled out the phone and stared at the screen.

It was a text from her mother, and it said: “Pauline wants you at Rivendell fast. Alarm going off. Police coming. I’ll call lawyer.”

Without taking time to explain, Lucky told Michelle sharply, “Come on – my dad’s bookshop – hurry.”

As she ran up the icy sidewalk with her friend, she realized what they’d all forgotten about: the magnetic book-alarm strips they’d placed in the cash bag the night before. Whoever had them must be inside the bookshop right now, setting off the alarm without knowing it. If they hurried, they might be able to catch the person – the one she’d nicknamed “Grumpy.” The guy with the nasty voice.

Michelle panted next to her, “I’ve got a text from the hospital. Somebody tried to get into your dad’s room again. Jon’s saying we need to come up there.”

Lucky grabbed at Michelle as she nearly fell on the slippery sidewalk. Her own phone buzzed again in her hand. She gasped. “Roger’s texting, too, from Sean Perkins’s place. Somebody just stole the truck!”

They rounded the corner to take the back way to the bookshop, and Lucky gasped as she ran, “When we get there, stay behind me, just in case.”

A wet handful of snow fell into her face from a roof edge, and she braced for the last turn, swinging with one arm against the bookstore window frame and following the shrill sound of the entryway alarm into the shop, where Pauline stood with crossed arms, preventing the four presumed customers from leaving. A siren sounded, approaching, and Michelle pushed up against Lucky, the heavy wooden door swinging shut behind them.

This is it, Lucky decided. This is when we find out what’s been going on.

She scanned the four faces in front of her, trying to identify them through winter clothes and scarves and the fog of tension in her chest.

Who were these people? And couldn’t Pauline shut off that darned alarm?