Mom’s hand in mind shook and felt icy cold. “Actually, we can’t tell you where the gold is,” she said. “We’ll have to show you. Both of us. Together. If you kill one of us, believe me, you’ll regret it to your dying day, which might be sooner than you think if you harm my daughter.”
Glancing at my mother’s face, I saw determination in the hard line of her mouth. She meant every word.
“Oh, I’m scared!” he jeered. “No, you’re gonna tell me now! I’m not foolin’. I don’t have time for games. You might save your lives if you tell me where it is, but I’m gonna find it, one way or the other.”
As he spoke, Mom and I inched around Jeff Thorne’s sewing machine. Now we had the old machine between us and what looked like certain death. With a low snarl, he raised the blade with both hands and lunged toward us.
Instinct took over. Releasing my mother’s hand, I shoved the sewing machine at him the instant he swung the blade.
The old machine rammed into him. Surprise widened his eyes. With a grunt and what I suspect was a vicious oath, he fell backward. The downward arc of the heavy blade whipped past my face. Deflected by the ancient cabinet, it splintered the wood, bounced off, and whacked his thigh. He yelled, grabbed his leg and dropped like a rock.
“Come on, Mom!” I shouted. “Run!”
Hand in hand, we skirted the fallen man and darted out the back door. Rain and wind stuck us like a wall. .
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