Of course, I was quite fond of Sally and grateful to him and his twin sister, Sophia, for taking Frankie in and pretending to be her relatives. And when the church spinsters and that group of Germans grew suspicious of the little newcomer to town, I greatly admired how he shut them up by writing a check for a new church roof because, “Nothing talks louder than money, girls.” And what a kind and understanding employer he was. On a night I was restless and thirsty in the hideout, I was on my way back to the house to get a glass of lemonade when I heard some whimpering coming from the Maniachis’ backyard. I thought Sophia might’ve fallen out of her wheelchair and needed help, but when I looked around the bushes, I could see that Sally was letting Dell cry on his shoulder, probably about how much she could use a new vacuum cleaner because he gave her a Hoover 800 a few days later that she really loved.
After Uncle Sally spotted us the night of the emergency meeting, he smiled and waved enthusiastically with both of his arms, which is how he always greeted us. Like we’d just disembarked from a cruise ship that’d docked in Sicily and he was a tour guide who couldn’t wait to show us a good time. He’d usually shout at us, “Ciao, bambinas,” in his booming voice, but if he did so that night my family was sure to hear, so Frankie had to act fast. She locked eyes with Sally and ran her finger across her throat—Italian sign language for “Keep your mouth shut or you’ll be taking a long walk off a short pier.” Of course, we hated to see his welcoming face turn into a wounded one, but we knew he’d do as Frankie asked because he adored her, and if there was anyone in Summit who appreciated the importance of a well-kept secret more than we did, we were looking at him.
But we weren’t home free yet.
When the church bells announced that if you intended to attend the meeting at the town hall, you better get on the stick, we had been crouching behind those prickly bushes for a good fifteen minutes. When God passed out patience, Viv and her tiny bladder must’ve been in the bathroom. She was growing more restless and testy by the minute. Frankie was doing her best to keep her occupied with a game of cat’s cradle, but Viv had been on such a losing streak that when the string slipped off her fingers, I was sure she’d lose one more thing—her awful temper. If she went off on Frankie, she would give away our hiding spot, and it looked like she was about to do just that when we heard voices on the other side of the hedge, and a few moments later, the doors of the sheriff’s county car slammed shut and the engine roared to life.
Soon as Doc, the sheriff, and Aunt Jane May were halfway down Honeywell Street, we shouted “Arrividerci” to Uncle Sally, promised we’d come mangia with him and Sophia real soon, and ran across the backyard of my house at full speed, praying the whole time that we’d make it to the town hall before my family did.
After Frankie, Viv, and I hopped over the stepping stones behind the hideout, we ran down an alley, jumped the Wellners’ fence, sped down Main Street, and arrived at the square in the nick of time. Seconds after we concealed ourselves behind one of our favorite downtown observation points—the storage shed adjacent to the town hall—the sheriff pulled into his reserved spot in front of the building.
The hall was primarily used for government meetings, beauty pageants, holiday plays, and whatnot, but there was no jockeying for position or buzz of anticipation that night. Parents who’d been planning on distracting themselves from the punishing heat by sitting out on their front porch steps and talking about the Milwaukee Braves’ winning season with a cold bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon were not happily chatting or stepping lively. They were shuffling along the sidewalk and milling outside the front doors of the town hall looking so lifeless that my first panicked thought was that the search the girls and I had done around town for pods incubating soulless aliens after we’d seen The Invasion of the Body Snatchers hadn’t been thorough enough.
The next part of Viv’s plan called for us to hurry to the spot that we’d watch the meeting from. Considering the split-second timing it’d take to beat my family to their seats, we probably should’ve called the whole thing off, but with the lives of so many people we cared about at stake, the girls and I had no choice but to put our guts where our hearts were.
“One for the money,” I said, and Viv piped in, “Two for the show,” and after Frankie capped off our call to action with “Three to get ready,” our voices rose together in a quiet but determined “Go, Tree Musketeers, go,” and we took off toward the town hall.
Chapter Seven
Children weren’t always seen and not heard in those days—mostly we weren’t seen or heard—so we weren’t concerned that our presence outside of the town hall that night would be noted by anyone other than Doc, Uncle Walt, and Aunt Jane May. We knew our neighbors would be far too preoccupied with their heat discomfiture and the provocative topic of the evening to pay us a lick of attention.
When we skirted past them and reached the door we planned to enter the building through, I was surprised to find it locked, but that wouldn’t stop us either.
After we’d seen Vincent Price doing his dirty work in the House of Wax, we got the idea to at least try to get a peek inside the locked basement room at Broadhurst that we’d begun calling the Chamber of Horrors after the one in the movie. To facilitate that goal, Viv had donned Frankie’s Girl Scout uniform—she set hers on fire and toasted marshmallows over it after she’d been kicked out of Troop 333—and paid the town locksmith a visit at his shop on Ivy Street to convince him that she was working to earn something she’d called a “Disaster Badge.” She explained to former Eagle Scout Ed Gracker that she knew how to use a tourniquet on deep wounds and suck poison out of a snake bite, but she needed him to provide her with the means to get into a locked building that’d gone up in flames so she could save anyone trapped inside. Ed was a good egg, but not the brightest, none of the Grackers were, and he was certainly no match for a kid who’d grow up to be an Emmy-winning actress. He ended up cutting Viv not one key but three that day, and she never left the hideout without them in her pocket or hanging around her neck. “Because,” she said with a sly grin as she slipped one of them into the lock on the town hall door the night of the emergency meeting, “it always pays to be prepared.”
Frankie went first to get the lay of the land. When she returned a few minutes later and gave Viv and me the okay sign, we tip-toed inside, concealed ourselves behind the maroon velvet curtain at the back of the stage, and gingerly moved along the wall until we reached the metal ladder that led up to the catwalk.
It was the ideal spot to watch the meeting from. Angled enough that we could see anyone on the stage, as well as the audience, but I could’ve kicked myself for not bringing our binoculars along. I would’ve liked to get a closer look at a couple of faces. Knowing how someone felt about the issues to be discussed that night might come in handy at a later date, I thought.
Peacekeeping Uncle Walt, who was expected to show up at all town functions, was the first to walk onto the stage and take a seat below us. Next came my father. Doc was not involved in the inner workings of the town, but he often tended to the physical needs of the patients at Broadhurst and was thought of as an expert at dealing with emergencies of all kinds. One of the other empty chairs was reserved for Mayor Kibler, and I thought the other must be for Dr. Cruikshank’s assistant, Nurse Holloway.