Part 34 (1/2)

”Please,” I cried, ”put the knife down, Mr. Kana. He didn't mean it.” But Dad kept goading, as though Kana's threat meant nothing to him.

”I've seen too many punks like you, Kana,” he said through compressed lips. ”I-” Suddenly, Dad's eyes grew huge and he gave a loud gasp. Kana jerked the knife away from his chin as Dad began to struggle for breath.

”Dad, what's wrong?” I cried.

His face turned red, his eyes rolled back, and his head started to fall forward. He caught himself and snapped upright again. Was he having a stroke?

”What is he doing?” Kana asked sharply, stepping back.

”Sugar . . . low.” Dad gulped for air, as though he was about to pa.s.s out; then his eyelids fluttered and his head fell forward again.

Sugar low? What was he talking about?

Dad's head jerked up, and he struggled to open his eyes. He gasped several times, then said in a raspy voice, ”Forgot . . . to take . . . insulin.”

”You forgot your insulin?” I repeated in bewilderment. But he wasn't diabetic. He couldn't be thinking clearly. Or had he not told me he had diabetes?

I started toward him only to have Kana jab the knife at me. ”Sit down! Over there!”

I watched from the far end of the sofa as Dad made a weak effort to point to the gla.s.s jar. ”Candy.” His eyes closed, his mouth sagged open, and his head dropped forward. Drool leaked from his mouth.

Closing his knife and tucking it in his pocket, Kana lifted the gla.s.s jar and held it out in front of Dad. ”Is this what you want?”

Dad roused himself and tried to stretch out his hand. ”Candy. Hurry.”

Kana shook the jar. ”Are you sure?”

Dad's jaw was slack, his breathing more labored. ”Please,” he whispered.

”Then come get them,” Kana taunted. He glanced behind him so he wouldn't trip on the books, and in that split second, Dad cast me a look that explained everything. There wasn't anything wrong with him. He had a plan!

”Come on, old man. Here they are,” Kana coaxed, shaking the jar.

Dad winced convincingly as he attempted to grip the wheels to move the chair forward.

”Not in your chair,” Kana sneered. ”Get up! On your feet. What kind of a big man are you that you can't get up and come get them?”

As Dad slumped over, I said, ”Please, Mr. Kana. My dad's about to go into diabetic shock. He could die unless he gets sugar into his system. You don't want another murder on your hands, do you?”

”Hey, old man.” Kana jostled the wheelchair with his foot until Dad dragged his head up. ”Pay attention.” Then Kana removed the lid, dug out a handful of hearts, and displayed them in his palm. ”Are you willing to beg for these to save your life?”

Dad murmured something, his head sagging. I held my breath as Kana moved up close, until he was inches from Dad's face. ”What did you say? I couldn't hear you.”

”Please,” Dad rasped, ”I beg you.”

”That's more like it.” Kana held out his hand, offering him the candy.

I bit my lip as Dad lifted a trembling hand. What if he were forced to swallow them?

With a smug grin, Kana withdrew the candy. ”Perhaps . . . I should eat them instead.” He tilted his head back and let the red hearts slide from his cupped palm into his mouth. He moaned as he chewed, as though they were delicious.

At once his eyes widened and his mouth opened like a fish as he dragged in air to cool his burning tongue. But that merely caused him to choke and cough up red goo. He tried to sc.r.a.pe the sticky candy off his tongue. He clawed at his throat, as though to rip out the searing heat.

In a swift, sure motion, Dad grabbed Kana's arm with one strong hand and yanked him forward onto his knees, then gripped Kana's throat with his other hand, practically lifting him in the air. ”No one threatens my family,” he sneered.

As the Hawaiian fought to free himself, Dad tumbled forward, taking himself and Kana to the floor. ”Get my cuffs from the drawer,” Dad ordered, keeping up his choke hold.

I ran for the handcuffs in the bottom kitchen drawer, but I yanked the drawer open with so much force that it fell to the floor, spilling the contents. Quickly I scooped up the handcuffs and ran back.

Dad had one of Kana's arms stretched out to the side. His other hand was on Kana's throat. ”Snap a cuff on his wrist.”

Kana's face was deep red and his eyes watery. Clearly he was in pain, yet even as he gasped for air, he managed a last effort to push my dad away. But Dad held him easily while I followed his commands.

”Loop the cuff around the sofa leg,” Dad said.

Quickly, I obeyed, then fastened that cuff on Kana's other wrist.

”Now call the cops,” Dad said. He rolled onto the floor, putting distance between himself and the Hawaiian, then pushed himself to a sitting position and leaned against the sofa, breathing hard.

For a second all I could do was stare at my father in awe. I thought I needed to protect him, yet he had saved both of us. He was still the brave police officer I'd always admired. Tears misted my eyes. There was only one cripple in the room, and it wasn't Dad.

At a heavy pounding on the front door, I jumped.

”Police. Open up.”

I ran to open the door and there was Reilly and five of New Chapel's finest. I stepped back and they poured into the living room. Behind them stood my hero-make that Marco-who didn't appear to be injured. I threw myself into his arms and leaned my head against his chest, my arms around his waist. ”Marco, thank G.o.d you're all right! Kana said you were in an accident.”

”It's okay, Suns.h.i.+ne,” he said, stroking my hair. ”I wasn't hurt.”

I lifted my head to gaze at him. ”You were in an accident?”

”Yes, and lucky for me I had that defensive driver training. But there's an injured limo driver on his way to the hospital and a badly damaged black Cadillac wrapped around a pole at the intersection of Lincoln and Franklin. Are you all right?”

”Thanks to some quick thinking by my dad, we're both all right. Marco, Dad was amazing. He tricked Kana into eating Mom's red-hot candy, then took him down to the floor in a choke hold. He was fearless.”

”That's where you get that quality, Abby, in case you hadn't noticed.”

”Really? You think I'm fearless?”

”Fiercely.”

We went to see how Dad was faring. He was back in his wheelchair, thanks to the cops, with a cloth pressed to the cut on his neck. Kana had been hauled to his feet, rehandcuffed with his hands behind his back, and searched. He was still drooling and begging for water, which Reilly was just now bringing to him.

I filled Reilly and Marco in on our ordeal, how the brooch had ended up at Bloomers instead of Tom's Green Thumb, Harding's role in the theft, and what I'd been able to get Kana to admit.

”So Kana was the mastermind behind the kidnappings,” Reilly said, sizing up the Hawaiian.

”Kana planted a listening device in that flashlight he left for me,” I told Marco. ”That's how he found out the brooch was here. I dropped it and discovered the bug, so I knew he'd heard me call my mom and tell her to have the brooch ready. I dashed over to pick it up, but Kana got here before I left.”