Before Roland could answer, he heard his name and turned around.
Father Carston descended the steps, his green chasuble flapping around him. He motioned Roland over.
“Roland, nice to see you.” Father smiled, rested his hand on Roland’s shoulder, and walked him away from the crowd. “How’re you doing, my boy? Don’t see much of you or your family anymore. We miss you at Mass.” He gave Roland a stern yet fatherly look before going on. “Mrs. Digby approached me after the eight o’clock Mass. She’s worried about you. Is everything okay?”
Nanny was worried. Roland’s heart twisted. He turned his gaze to the crowd. He couldn’t see Caitlyn, but Peter walked over to a kid in a—
Shoot! It was the wheelchair kid. Of course, the wheelchair kid was here. Of course, that was the friend Peter wanted him to meet.
Shaking his head in disgust, Roland returned his attention to Father Carston who was waiting for an answer. “Uh, sure. Everything’s fine.”
“Good. I told the Digbys you were a good kid, and there must’ve been a misunderstanding.”
Roland nodded.
“I hear your father will be away for a few days.”
“Yeah, he’s out of town.” The phone conversation with Jarret returned to Roland’s mind. Jarret put ideas into Nanny’s head, she shared them with Father Carston, and now he thought Roland was up to no good. “Everything’s fine, really.”
“Well, you know my door’s always open. Stop by. If you need to talk, I’m here to listen. All right?”
“Yeah, sure.” Roland turned away. No way. The less people he talked to about this mess, the better.
Chapter 16
Out of the corner of his eye, Peter caught Roland staring at Caitlyn’s flouncing skirt. Caitlyn, along with her little sisters Stacey and Priscilla, pranced down the sidewalk a few steps ahead, holding hands and singing “Here I Am Lord” in voices that—admittedly—didn’t sound too bad but still managed to make the mile-long trek to their house feel like at least two miles. Walking with the girls had seemed like the saner option, saner than inviting Roland to sit three across—with Toby—in the back of Mom’s compact car, as they had done on the way to church.
Their song finally ended. The girls giggled. Caitlyn wriggled her hands free from her sisters, turned around, and walked backwards.
Anticipating the inevitable consequence of this action, based on her accident-prone nature, Peter smiled at her.
She smiled back, naivety written all over her face. When would she learn?
Roland, still mesmerized, tore his gaze from her skirt and redirected it to her face.
“How was fishing with Toby?” she said.
Peter rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t make me talk about it.”
Caitlyn’s brows crinkled. “It was just the two of you, out in the woods, fishing. He loves fishing. What could go wrong?”
Roland and Peter exchanged glances, Roland giving a barely perceptible shake of his head, though his face remained expressionless.
“Don’t ask.” Peter tried not to smile. For some reason, it gave him pleasure to have singular ownership of a secret of the most-talked-about kid in school. Maybe Roland would come to trust him and share more secrets.
Caitlyn turned around and took her sisters’ hands again. “Did your father call about the key to your grandfather’s old box?”
“Yeah, yeah, he called. My uncle said he’d send it. I can’t wait.”
“Your uncle lives in California, right?” Roland mumbled.
At the same time, Caitlyn said in a louder voice, “Did you hear they hired a permanent substitute history teacher?” She peered at them over her shoulder, but then Stacey took up skipping and dragged her forward.
“Stop it,” Caitlyn snapped at Stacey.
Peter squinted. “How can a substitute teacher be permanent? Sounds like an oxymoron.”
“You haven’t even met him,” Caitlyn said, rolling her eyes.
Roland smiled and averted his gaze.
Peter rolled his eyes. “So when does the oxymoron start?”
“Tomorrow.” Her sisters released her hands and dashed across the street, toward their modest, yellow, ranch-style house. Caitlyn slowed enough for Peter and Roland to catch up then forced herself between them.
“I hope he’s nice.” She faced Roland. “History is so hard.” She spun her face to Peter, and her straggling curls whipped Roland’s shoulder.
Peter shrugged. “History’s boring.”
“Well, it’s worse when you have a strict teacher.” She turned around again and walked backwards. “Or if he’s way too smart, or doesn’t have a sense of humor, or—” Her last word came out with a shriek. She stumbled backwards, arms flailing, then plummeted to the ground, landing half on the sidewalk and half on the grass.
Peter laughed so hard tears came to his eyes. “How . . . can you—? The sidewalks are new. There isn’t anything to trip on.”
Before Peter could control his laughter, Roland had grabbed Caitlyn’s arms and helped her to her feet. They stood face to face for a full second. Then Roland said in a low voice that he might’ve meant for only her to hear, “You seem to have a knack for falling.”
“You seem to have a knack for helping me up.” She gave Roland a shy smile.
They finally released each other’s arms. Roland’s face had turned pink, and he stepped away from her.
Peter grinned. They liked each other.
“Caitlyn, Caitlyn,” Stacey called from the front yard of their house, jumping up and down between a tricycle and a little plastic slide. “Watermelon, watermelon! Mom said for you to cut the watermelon.”
“Watermelon. Oh, okay.” Caitlyn didn’t sound enthused. She stepped toward the street then stopped and looked at Roland. “Do you like watermelon?”
He shrugged. “I . . . uh—”
“Look, come see!” Toby’s high-pitched, screechy voice came from somewhere behind Mom’s car in the driveway. They probably got to the Summers’ house ten minutes ago.
Caitlyn crossed the street, heading toward him.
“So who’s your friend in the wheelchair?” Roland said as they stepped into the road.
“What?” Peter wanted to know what got Toby all in an uproar. “My friend? Oh, his name’s Dominic. Why?”
Roland shrugged. “I’ve seen you with him at school. I thought that’s who you wanted me to meet.”
“No, I meant Caitlyn.” Peter gave a sly grin, thinking how it would please Dominic to meet Roland for himself, seeing as how he talked about him so much. “Would you like to meet him? Cuz I could introduce—”
“No.” Roland’s eyes flickered, and he shook his head. “No.”
Peter was about to question Roland’s quick rejection of the idea when Toby dashed out of the open garage, holding something over his head. “Some-un’s key. I found it.”
“Someone?” Caitlyn approached Toby. “Did you find someone’s key? A car key?”
Roland’s mouth fell open. He stopped dead in his tracks. “Some-un? He doesn’t mean me, does he?”
“Probably.” Peter shrugged.
“He didn’t go back—”
“To your place? When would he have done that? You’ve been with us the whole time. Don’t worry.”
“Not the whole time,” Roland muttered, eyeing Toby.
Caitlyn and Toby both clutched something small and tugged it back and forth.
“Let me see,” Caitlyn said.
“Mine,” Toby whined.
“Give it here.” Peter snatched it from them. It was a six-inch, arch punch with a loop on the end. “It’s not a key at all.” He showed it to Roland just before Toby swiped it back.
“It probably reminds him of a skeleton key,” Caitlyn said. “Where would he have seen one of those before?” She touched Toby’s arm. “Whose key do you think it is?”
Toby looked at Roland.
Roland’s face drained of all color. He shook his head and stepped back. “I gotta go
.”
“What?” Caitlyn and Peter said together.
Roland shoved his hands into his pockets and strode away.
Irritated, Peter jogged after him. “What’s your problem, man?” he whispered. “It’s not your key. Nobody’s been back to your place. And I’m not gonna tell your secrets.”
Roland didn’t slow his pace. He shook his head again but wouldn’t make eye contact. “I have something I need to do.”
“Yeah, sure.” Peter stopped walking as Roland lengthened his strides. “Well, come over later,” Peter shouted. “Come over to my place. I’ll be home in about two hours.” Of course, so would the Summers. And with the guests at the B&B, and Roland’s obvious aversion to humans . . . Peter shook his head.
With his head hung low, Roland cut across the street and traipsed down the sidewalk on the opposite side.
Chapter 17
Roland ran a hand along the cold, rock wall as he crept through the dark tunnel. Not wanting Jarret to find the door to the secret entrance open, he made his way blind. Nearing what he assumed was the end of the tunnel, he put his hands out and slowed his steps. A few yards further, he bumped the gate.
After yanking the key from his pocket, Roland groped for the lock. He tried to slide the key into the slot, but his hands trembled from the cold. Or from anxiety. A few tries later, the key went in. The gate creaked open.
He waded through blackness in the basement, going over his plan. Peter may have already shared his secrets with Caitlyn and Dominic, starting more rumors, but maybe he hadn’t. Most likely, Roland would find out tomorrow at school. Either way, if he could keep clear of Jarret until Papa’s return then prove himself in Italy, he wouldn’t have to worry about the kids at school. He just needed to make it through the week. To keep Nanny from worrying and to alleviate his guilty conscience, he would find a way to tell her he was staying at a friend’s house. Then he’d grab some clothes and go. He just needed to do it without Jarret seeing.
Groping the air, he shuffled through the darkness, around the weight set, and to the steps. A sliver of light showed under the basement door. Roland’s heart pounded louder than his footsteps as he snuck up the stairs.
On the last step, he listened at the door.
Silence.
He grabbed the knob. Please don’t be locked.
It turned easily.
He cracked the door open and peered down the hallway.
Light came from the window by the front door and from the kitchen, across the hall from him. Sensing no one, he pushed the door open further and stepped into the hall.
Nanny wouldn’t start working in the kitchen for at least another hour. She and Mr. Digby spent most of the day, Sunday, in their suite or on the front porch.
Roland crept down the hall. He’d check the porch first.
When he neared the steps that led to the upstairs bedrooms, he stopped and pressed his back to the wall. The trembling had moved from his hands to his chest. What would Jarret do if he caught him?
Roland peered around the corner.
No sound came from upstairs, so he made a split-second decision to get his clothes first, and he dashed up the stairs. On the top step, he stopped cold.
Jarret’s bedroom door hung open.
A tremor ran through Roland. But the room was silent, and a dim, natural light reflected on the floor.
After taking a breath, he tiptoed forward, past Jarret’s room, past Keefe’s room, and into his own bedroom. He stripped off Peter’s clothes and jumped into his own. Then he grabbed an extra couple of jeans and shirts and stuffed them, with Peter’s clothes, into a duffle bag.
Now, he needed to get to Nanny without Jarret seeing.
He grabbed the doorknob. What if she wouldn’t let him stay at Peter’s? He’d be back where he started: at the mercy of Jarret until Papa returned. He could leave her a note, slide it under the door to their suite. Yeah.
Roland dropped the duffle bag, darted to his desk, and ripped a piece of paper from a notebook. “Dear Nanny,” he mumbled. “No, not Dear.” He wadded the paper and ripped out another sheet.
“Nanny,” he mumbled as he wrote. “Please don’t worry. I’m staying at a friend’s house for a couple of days. I’ll call you later. Roland.” Good enough. He folded the paper a few times on his way to the door.
As he opened the door, music broke the silence. The hard beat told him it was Jarret’s music, and Jarret’s door still hung half-open.
Roland’s stomach flipped. He re-gripped the duffle bag. Had Jarret been there all along? Did he know Roland was here?
Making a sweeping glance of his room, Roland sighed. He couldn’t climb out the window. Too high. He’d have to pass Jarret’s room. Maybe, if he hurried, Jarret wouldn’t notice.
With a deep breath, Roland stepped into the hall. He closed his door and tiptoed to the beat of the song. Once down the stairs, he bounded for the basement door.
The note. He needed to leave the note.
Music still played upstairs. No one had followed him. With another deep breath, he scurried to the front hall, past the front door, past Papa’s study, past the guest suites, and slid to a stop in front of the door to the Digby’s suite. He slipped the note under the door.
Then he dashed back the way he came and snuck through the basement door.
Chapter 18
Peter sat aloof in the dining room, gazing out the windows over the booths. Caitlyn sat beside him, cutting food on her plate. The marquee atop the signpost in front of the Forest Gateway B&B flashed ‘No Vacancy.’ The hot pink letters contrasted with the darkening fall sky. A campfire’s mesquite smoke drifted in, mingling with the aromas of baked chicken, green bean casserole, and spicy potatoes.
Guests packed the dining room, chattering and laughing, clanging forks to their plates, frequenting the spread of food on the counter, and hogging up all the booths. The Bjorns sat in one, what had become their regular booth, and a new couple occupied another.
He wished his parents would rethink their Sunday ritual of having the Summers over for dinner. The place was always packed with B&B guests, especially in the fall.
Peter glared at Toby, Caitlyn’s little brother David, and her sisters who took the last of the booths. He and Caitlyn got stuck sitting at the long table, across from the newest arrival at the Forest Gateway.
The fifty-something man had a greasy, black comb-over. He wore a black sweater over a white dress-shirt. Over a wide gut. A penguin came to mind. A big penguin. Something about his face gave a bird-like impression, too. Maybe it was his long nose and dark beady eyes.
“That was nice of you to let Roland wear your clothes to church,” Caitlyn said.
“What? What’re you talking about?” Peter’s face flushed hot. He tore his gaze from the penguin and gave her a sideways glance.
“Well, you wear the same thing every Sunday.” She sat to Peter’s right, straight and proper, with a fork in one hand and a knife in the other, her forearms resting on the table. “Those were your dress pants and your new shoes, weren’t they?”
Peter shoved half a slice of bread into his mouth. “Doe worry abow it.”
“I’m not worried. I just thought it was nice.” She sliced and sliced the remaining sliver of chicken breast on her plate. “I guess Roland doesn’t usually go to church, or he doesn’t have any dress clothes. Maybe his family is poor and he only owns jeans. He shouldn’t feel bad. Lots of people wear jeans to church. Maybe they shouldn’t. But they do.”
Peter shook his head and spluttered. A piece of bread flew from his mouth and landed in the middle of the table. He glanced at the creepy penguin. The penguin glanced back. Peter shifted his gaze to Toby just as Toby stuffed a baby carrot up his nose. Stacey said, “Ewww,” but David and Priscilla choked with laughter. Toby picked up another carrot.
“So, where do you know him from? How’d you meet?” Caitlyn said, poking at scraps of chicken.
“Who? Roland?” He gulped down his mouthful.
> “Yes, Roland.”
“I-I don’t know. He’ll probably never come around again anyway. Toby messes up everything.”
“How can you not know how you met him? Did you just meet? You’ve never mentioned him before.” She pushed her plate back and picked up a napkin.
“Yeah, we just met. He goes to our school. You’ve seen him around. Haven’t you?”
“No.”
The penguin scraped his chair out and waddled to the food counter. Aunt Lotti jumped up, and the two almost collided. The penguin laughed. Then he leaned and spoke to her. She laughed, smoothed her hair, said something back.
Peter glanced at Mom, who sat to his left, then bumped shoulders with Caitlyn. “Does Aunt Lotti look interested in the creepy guy?”
Caitlyn glanced. “I haven’t seen Roland at school. You have? Really? Is that where you met?”
“I don’t know. You sound pretty hot for him.” Peter grinned. “Are you?”
Her napkin fell to her lap, and she gasped. “I just wondered how you met and . . . and what you know about him.”
Peter laughed. “Well, his brothers are twins. I’m sure you’ve seen them. And I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about that family.” He stabbed a potato with his fork.
She gave him a big-eyed, blank stare. “Rumors?”
“Duh. The Wests? Didn’t we talk about them before? Everyone at school talks about them.” He motioned with his fork, the speared potato flopping to the table. “Supposedly, they’ve lived in town for years. Ever seen ‘em around town before? I haven’t.” He snatched the potato from the table and shoved it into his mouth.
“Maybe they were home-schooled, and maybe they like to keep to themselves. That’s not strange.” Caitlyn, twirling her hair with a finger and looking pouty, slumped back in the chair. “And who cares about rumors? You can’t believe everything you hear. What do you know about him that’s true?”
“Nothing. Well, he’s got two brothers. That’s all I know.”
The penguin waddled back to the table with a full plate of food. He caught Peter looking and nodded.
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