He broke into a big smile and added, “Unless…”
Feit pulled a vial of the red crystals out of his pocket and held it up to me, shaking it temptingly.
“You can’t be serious,” I spat at him.
“It’s totally safe if you take it properly. Marty didn’t. But you’re smarter than that. What do you say? Don’t you want to be the one who gets the girl?”
I stood there, mesmerized, staring at the sparkling red substance. The dazzling glow that came from the crystals was almost…hypnotic. It was so tempting. Marty had overdosed; that much was obvious because Kent was fine. The Ruby could be used safely. What harm would it do? Nobody would know. I could finally compete. I could make that catch. Without it, I didn’t stand a chance. It would be so simple. Just a little bit and things would be so different.
I started to reach for the vial when…
“No!”
Somebody knocked the vial out of Feit’s hand. I came to my senses to see that it was Tori. She stood with her legs apart and her fists clenched, facing off against Feit.
“Get out of here,” she ordered Feit. “Take that crap with you.”
Feit was momentarily thrown but recovered quickly and scooped up the vial. He backed off with a smile.
“Easy now,” he said calmly. “No need to get all worked up.”
“I’m going to the sheriff,” Tori threatened.
Feit stopped walking and gave her a curious look, as if he didn’t understand what she had said.
“The sheriff?” he said and laughed dismissively. “Let me know how that works out for you.” He looked at me and added, “It’s your call, Tucker. I’ll be around.”
Feit turned and strolled off, whistling as if we had just had a casual, friendly conversation.
My brain had locked. Too much had happened too quickly, not the least of which was the realization that I had actually considered taking the Ruby again.
“You’re welcome,” Tori said. “Now we’re even.”
“You know about it?” I asked, desperately trying to collect my thoughts.
Tori kicked at the ground, as if buying time to decide on how to answer.
“Would you have taken it?” she asked.
I had to think about that for a second.
“I don’t know,” was my honest answer. “I’m being publicly humiliated. Taking that stuff would be dangerous, and totally unethical, but man, it’s so tempting.”
Tori nodded as if to say she understood where I was coming from.
“But I think it killed Marty,” I added. “And maybe Mr. Nelson. That makes Feit a killer. I think that guy with the baseball bat took it too, and he nearly brained you. You’re right, we’ve got to tell the sheriff. This could be what SYLO is looking for.”
“But we need more than theories,” she said. “We need proof.”
“Fresh out of that,” I said.
Tori gave me a small smile. It was the first time I had ever seen her smile. I liked it.
“Come with me,” she ordered and strode toward the parking lot.
“What? Why?”
“You need to see something,” she said without breaking stride.
I followed obediently until we arrived at her motor scooter.
“You want me to get on that? With you?”
“Unless you want to run alongside,” she said.
The seat was barely big enough for two, but there didn’t seem to be much choice.
“What about helmets?” I asked.
“Do you have one?”
“No.”
“Then I guess you don’t wear one.”
I slung my gym bag over my shoulder and sat on the back of the seat. Tori turned the key and the engine whined to life.
“Hang on,” she said.
“To what?”
She hit the throttle and I barely had time to grab her around the waist. The bike wasn’t big, but it was fast. At least it seemed pretty fast as we hurdled along with no protection.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“I’m going to show you what a huge mistake I just kept you from making…and how we’re going to get SYLO off this island.”
TWELVE
I decided not to ask her any more questions until we had arrived at wherever she was taking us. The whine of the scooter was too loud and besides, I wanted her to focus on not wrapping us around a tree. Tori liked to go fast and take sharp corners. It felt just shy of reckless but I didn’t want to sound like a weenie by complaining.
Our trip took us past the Oak Hills Country Club where we saw that it had been transformed into the SYLO base camp. Dad had a contract with Oak Hills, so I’d spent a lot of time there tending the clubhouse gardens and knew the layout pretty well. Flashing past, though, I barely recognized the place. There were dark green military-looking tents erected up and down the golf fairways. Some were small and looked to be where the soldiers slept while others were massive, circus-tent-sized structures. I also saw the tops of some wooden structures that were going up. That made me nervous. They may have been prefabricated quickie buildings but it gave the impression that they planned on being there for a while.
Humvees and Jeeps came and went. A helicopter swooped overhead and skimmed the treetops before landing somewhere within. I caught a glimpse of a truck that had sprouted a dozen antennas, all pointed in different directions. The amount of equipment that had suddenly appeared on Pemberwick was incredible. The once-perfect golf course had a new personality. There had always been a tall ivy-covered wall surrounding the property but now with armed soldiers at every entrance, that wall had taken on a different, more ominous character. I saw the glint of silver razor wire peeking over the top as if another, more secure barricade had been erected within. This was now a secure military base. There would be no sneaking in to walk your dog or going for a run on the wide fairways as long as SYLO was there.
“I guess the members aren’t going to be playing a whole lot of golf for a while,” I said to Tori above the engine whine.
“So sad,” she replied with total sarcasm. “What’ll all those rich guys do with their time?”
“Seriously. I just hope my dad gets the contract to clean it up.”
Tori had probably never set foot inside the country club, I realized, unless it was to deliver a load of lobsters. Being so close to her, I caught the unmistakable scent of lemons. I couldn’t help but think that it was her way of masking who she really was. Was she ashamed? Or embarrassed? She said she hated Pemberwick, but was that because she hated being the daughter of a lobsterman? Or did she resent the “rich guys” who spent their days playing golf while her dad was out on the ocean pulling lobster traps? The more I learned about Tori Sleeper, the more I wanted to know.
We shot quickly out of town and sped along the winding Memagog Highway, which was a fancy name for the four-lane road that circled the entire island. It was the same road that Quinn and I used for our midnight rides. Every so often the road dipped closer to the shore, where glimpses of the ocean could be caught through the trees. A few times I thought I saw a military ship moving far offshore, but it was hard to get a good look through the dense foliage. It was a sobering thought. Did the Navy have the island surrounded?
We passed a farm where I spotted a familiar structure that I’d seen a thousand times before and never gave a second thought to…until then.
“Silo,” I said aloud without thinking.
It was a tall red-and-white grain silo with a rounded dome that was used to store feed for a small herd of dairy cows. Was that what we were dealing with? Was SYLO doing the same with us? Storing us for some purpose other than what they would admit to? It was a silly thought that I shook off quickly. There was no sense in letting my mind spin to possibilities that didn’t make sense.
After fifteen minutes of butt-numbing, teeth-rattling travel, Tori turned off the highway onto an unpaved road that led toward the shore. The sandy road was packed enough so that we didn’t spin out, but I h
ad to fight to keep my balance as we bounced over the washboard-like surface. Finally, we arrived at our destination: a house that sat on the edge of a quiet salt pond. The place was classic Pemberwick Island, with steel-gray shingles and a porch that wrapped around the three-story structure. There was a narrow yard in back covered with a checkerboard of grass and sand that definitely could have used my dad’s expert touch. Beyond the yard was the water. A dock was built out from the shore that led to a long float where two lobster boats were tied up, bow to stern. It was a tidal pond, which meant the float would rise and fall with the tides.
A man was sitting on the float wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and a worn Sox cap, working on a lobster trap. The place was classic Maine, like you’d see on a postcard.
Tori got off the scooter and strode toward the house.
“Wait here,” she commanded. She climbed the porch and went right into the house.
I wasn’t about to sit there like some barnacle, so I got off the scooter, dropped my gym bag, and followed. The place was old, but well taken care of. Across from the house was a gray barn that was nearly as big as the house and just as weathered. The expanse between buildings was nothing but hard-packed sand with sprouts of sea grass poking through everywhere. I walked onto the porch but rather than knock on the door, I rounded the house on the porch until I was on the pond side.
Tori had gone through the building and out the back door. She strode quickly across the yard, headed for the dock. It was low tide so the ramp at the end pitched down at a sharp angle. The pond must have been deep because even at low tide the lobster boats were floating. They looked to be twin thirty-five-foot Duffys. Or maybe Beals. Both had white hulls. One had a navy blue wheelhouse; the other was painted bright red. The red boat’s name was painted on the bow in fancy, scrolling letters: Tori Tickle.
Cute.
The blue boat looked to be older. The paint on the white hull was yellowed with age. It was probably the backup vessel. Its name: Patricia.
The guy on the float must have been Tori’s dad because she went right up to him and gave him a big hug. It was the same guy she’d been with when she made the lobster delivery to Lesser’s Fish Market. It felt like a hundred years had gone by since then. I never met the guy but I must have seen him around because he looked familiar.
I had no idea where her mother might be.
Though Quinn and I had spent the summer working on a lobster boat, I didn’t know much about the business end of lobstering. But I knew enough to understand that the only way a lobsterman makes money is by dropping traps and hauling up lobsters. The quarantine was keeping the lobster boats at their docks, which meant none of these guys could work. There was nothing good about this quarantine.
Tori said something to her dad and playfully pushed his cap down over his eyes. It was nice to see that she wasn’t cold toward everybody. At least she liked her father. When she started back toward me, I quickly shot around the porch and went to the scooter. No sooner did I sit down than the front door of the house opened and Tori came out.
“This place is like…classic,” I said. “Where’s the closest house?”
“I told you to wait,” Tori scolded.
Busted.
“I was just looking around,” I replied. “Is that your dad?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s gotta be tough,” I said. “Not being able to work his traps.”
“You think?” she snapped angrily, as if I had insulted her.
“Whoa, easy. Just making conversation,” I said defensively. “I work with my dad too.”
“Let’s go,” she said and walked toward the barn.
“Go? We just got here.”
She held up her hand to show me a key on a ring.
“We’re not there yet,” she explained.
Tori opened the barn door and I was hit with the distinct smell of horse.
“You can ride, right?” she asked.
The truth was I had been on horseback a couple of times but to say I could ride was a stretch.
“Sure,” I said, and instantly regretted it.
“Don’t sweat it,” she assured me. “It’s an easy ride, but we can’t take the scooter.”
Made sense, but it didn’t make me any less nervous. If Tori rode horses the way she drove her scooter, I was in trouble.
Tori quickly and expertly saddled two beautiful, golden palominos. It made me think of Quinn’s theory about people and knots. I wondered if the same applied to saddling horses because Tori definitely knew what she was doing.
She handed me the bridle of one, then led the other out of the barn.
“Does he have a name?” I called.
“It’s a she,” she replied.
Oh.
“Then what’s her name?”
“I don’t know.”
Tori was starting to annoy me. I looked up into the big brown eyes of the horse that I was about to trust with my life. She looked harmless enough.
“Are we cool?” I asked her.
The horse blinked. I hoped that meant we were cool.
“I gotta call you something so how about…Lassie?”
The horse blinked again. I took that as a yes and led her out of the barn.
Tori was already mounted and waiting. With only a minor amount of awkward struggling, I managed to get my foot into the stirrup and hoist myself aboard.
“Hi-ho Silver,” I said with a smile.
Tori didn’t think that was funny and/or charming. She reined her horse around and started off. With a small kick, Lassie and I followed. Seconds later we were bouncing back along her driveway the way we had come. Lassie was a calm old girl, which was fine by me. Tori led us back toward the highway, but before we reached the main road, we turned onto another sandy road that I hadn’t seen on the way in. This one was less used and the sand was soft, which was why the scooter wouldn’t have worked. The road traveled roughly parallel to the highway while gradually moving closer to the shore.
I trotted up to Tori and we walked side by side.
“You going to tell me what this is all about?” I asked.
“You’ll see when we get there. It isn’t far.”
We walked along in silence, which was making me crazy.
“You know, I’ve known you for four years and I don’t—”
“Five,” she corrected. “We’ve been in school together for five years.”
Oh. That was interesting. I didn’t even think I was on her radar.
“Okay, five years, and all I know about you is that you work with your father and don’t talk much.”
I wasn’t sure if Tori was going to say anything and was about to give up trying to draw her out when she finally spoke.
“That’s all there is to know,” she said flatly. “That’s the trouble with this island.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Don’t you ever get tired of living on a rock?” she asked.
“You mean Pemberwick? Uh, no. I kind of like it here.”
“Well, good for you.”
“That means you don’t?” I asked.
Tori gritted her teeth. She obviously wasn’t used to talking about herself. Or about anything.
“My father works hard,” she said. “He drops traps, pulls out spiders, drops more traps, and argues over prices. That’s his life. He’s a good guy. He deserves more than a bad back and a house that’s falling down.”
“Is that what he thinks?” I asked.
“No, but this is all he knows.”
“What about your mom?”
Tori’s expression turned dark.
“Sorry,” I said. “Don’t mean to be nosy.”
“She left when I was three,” Tori said, suddenly cold. Colder than before. “Never even said goodbye. I’m not sure if I should hate her for bailing on us, or envy her for escaping. I guess maybe I’m more like her than like my dad.”
“That sucks. Where does she live now?”
“I have
no idea,” she said with no emotion, as if she couldn’t have cared less. Or at least acting as though she didn’t care.
I was beginning to get the picture of why Tori was so closed up…and hated Pemberwick.
“I wouldn’t do what she did to my dad,” she added. “So maybe I’m not exactly like her. But I wouldn’t hate it if we moved somewhere else and started over.”
“You sound like Quinn,” I said. “He’s ready to blast out of here the first chance he gets.”
“And you’re not?” Tori asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe there’s something wrong with me but I like it here. My parents chose to come here and Dad loves his garden—uh, landscaping business. I can see going into business with him someday.”
“And spend your life spreading manure on other people’s flowers?” Tori asked, as if I had said I wanted to be a professional assassin.
“Yeah,” I answered sharply. “Sorry if that doesn’t meet with your approval.”
Tori opened her mouth to say something quickly, but then thought better of it and stopped. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“Yeah, you did. Why don’t you cut the mystery. I’m tired and I’m sore and I want to know why the hell you dragged me out here.”
“We’re here,” she said.
We had arrived at a fence with a gate that was shut and padlocked. Tori dismounted and went to unlock it.
“The horses don’t belong to us,” she explained. “Some rich guy pays us to board them so he’s got some toys when he comes out on weekends. Nice, huh?”
“You really resent rich guys, don’t you?” I said sarcastically.
She shot me a cutting look, swung the gate open, then climbed back on her horse and we walked through the gate.
“This whole area is fenced in. I think it may be the biggest parcel of undeveloped land left on Pemberwick. The guy said I should let the horses run free and get as much exercise as they wanted. Nice life.”
Sylo Page 11