Chapter Twelve

“What do you mean you sold the jewelry?” Mrs. Levesque didn’t sound scared anymore; she sounded angry. Really angry.

“I’m sorry.” Mr. Levesque dropped his eyes to the floor.

Now Patsy’s eyes were darting back and forth between her parents. You could tell she was trying to make sense of their conversation.

The home invader threw his hands up into the air. “What is this? Some kind of bad reality TV?”

Mrs. Levesque ignored him. Instead she focused on her husband. “You told me it was over, Sylvain. You told me things would change when we moved here.”

“I tried, Annette … believe me, I tried.”

Now Mrs. Levesque turned to the home invader. “He gambles. Now he’s gambled away my jewelry. My grandmother’s jewelry.” Her voice shook.

Patsy’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of her head. Her cheeks were puffed up too, because of the gag in her mouth. I had the feeling this was the first she’d heard about her dad’s gambling problem.

Patsy cringed when the home invader dropped to his knees in front of her. “I’ll take this,” he said, snatching her iPod from out of her pocket. Then he looked back at Mrs. Levesque. “You have silverware? Or did he sell that too?”

“It’s in the kitchen,” Mrs. Levesque said. “Second set of drawers to the left of the sink. At least it was there last time I checked,” she added, giving her husband an accusing look.

“It’s there,” Mr. Levesque said in a hoarse voice.

As soon as the home invader got to the kitchen, I stepped out of the closet, carrying the metal bucket. My legs felt wobbly but at least now I had a plan. Well, sort of a plan anyway. Catching the home invader, solving a mystery, making a painting—they were all about details.

I raised a finger to my mouth. If the home invader found me now, he’d tie me up too, and then I wouldn’t be of much use to the Levesques.

Patsy’s eyes bulged. I could tell I had frightened her, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it then. Right now, every second counted.

I could hear the home invader pulling open kitchen drawers. Then I heard the clatter of silverware as he emptied it into a bag.

If only I had a little more time. In the end, it was Mrs. Levesque who helped me out. “There’s grocery money too. Not a lot, but you can have it if you’ll go away and leave us alone,” she called out so the home invader would hear her. “It’s in the back pantry in a peanut butter jar.”

The home invader whistled. “That’s what I like,” he called out. “Cooperation!”

I held the bucket by the handle, careful not to let it bump into anything. It wasn’t exactly a lethal weapon, but it was all I had.

I took a deep breath and tiptoed toward the kitchen, keeping as close as possible to the wall. Like before, all I could see was the home invader’s back. He was crouched on the floor, rummaging through the pantry and making grunting noises as he searched for the peanut butter jar. The handle of the knife jutted out of his side pocket.

I willed him not to turn around. Just give me a few more seconds, I thought. This time I couldn’t hesitate.

I was so close I could smell him. I swung the pail with every ounce of strength I had, aiming right for the middle of the thin white elastic that was holding his skeleton mask in place.

He yelled as he tumbled over, his face to the ground. He was sprawled on the tile floor; his arms and legs were twitching. The bump on the back of his head was already as big as an egg. How long did I have before he regained consciousness? My fingers shook as I slid the knife out of his pocket. Then I raced back to the living room.

First I used the knife to cut the tape on Mr. Levesque’s wrists and ankles. “Phone the police,” I told him as I began freeing Mrs. Levesque and Patsy. The electrical tape had left red welts on their wrists and ankles. When I took the gag from Patsy’s mouth, she started to cough. I hoped the noise wouldn’t wake up the home invader.

In the background, I heard Mr. Levesque whispering on the phone.

Mostly, of course, I was listening for sounds in the kitchen. For now, all I heard was the steady drip of the Levesques’ leaky faucet. With the knife in one hand, I grabbed what was left of the roll of electrical tape.

Patsy and her parents followed me back into the kitchen.

“Quick!” I said, keeping my voice low. “We need to drag him someplace where we can tie him up.”

“The table!” Patsy said.

Together the four of us managed to drag the home invader over to the table. His mask was half off now, so we could see a bit of his face. It was badly sunburned and he had a thin moustache and small beard. He looked like a regular guy.

Using the long strips of tape Patsy handed me, I tied his wrists to the table legs. If he wanted to go anywhere, he’d have to take the table with him.

Suddenly he moaned. Then he opened one bloodshot eye. I lifted the knife into the air so he’d see I had it. “Don’t make me use this,” I said. I hoped he wouldn’t notice my voice was shaking.

He moaned again when he heard the sirens. Mrs. Levesque let the cops in, while Patsy, her dad and I stayed in the kitchen with the home invader. His eyes were closed again, but he seemed to be breathing normally.

Four cops rushed into the kitchen, their hands on their holsters. “This young man managed to subdue him,” Mr. Levesque said, clapping me on the shoulder. One of the cops loosened the home invader’s hands from the table leg. At the same time, another one clasped a pair of handcuffs around the home invader’s wrists.

I recognized the last cop. It was the woman from the police station — the one who’d complained about her boyfriend’s kid. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her eyebrows arching as she spoke. “Your stepfather’s supposed to be supervising you.”

“I guess he’s not doing a very good job,” a voice said. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Clay. He was standing in the hallway, his cowlick sticking up. For the first time ever, I was glad to see him. Well, kind of glad, anyhow.

“What were you doing here?” Patsy wanted to know after the police had escorted the home invader from the Levesques’ house. We were standing on the front balcony. Clay was inside, chatting with Patsy’s parents.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Are you sure you really want to know?”

“Of course I do,” Patsy said.

“I don’t want you to think I’m a freak,” I whispered.

I thought Patsy might turn away, but she didn’t. “Look,” she said, “whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“The thing is,” I said as I looked up into her eyes, “I’m kind of a home invader myself.”