“I don’t like that we don’t know where he is,” I said.
Rachel was anxious too. “It could be a trap,” she said softly. “By now he must know that his keys and his cell phone are missing. Misplacing one item is believable, but there’s no way he’d think he lost both.”
We studied the property for several more minutes. Everything seemed quiet and normal. The birds chirped peacefully in the trees, and there was no sign of a trap or anything sinister.
“If I was Creepy,” Eric said, “I would hide in the truck and wait for us to come to him. With his messed-up leg, he’s not going to want to chase after us.”
“I could sneak over and peek in the window,” I said. “It’s open.”
“He has guns,” Rachel reminded me. “If he’s waiting in the truck, he’ll shoot you the next time he sees you.”
“What we need is a distraction . . . a diversion,” Eric said. “Something to lure him out of the house, or out of the truck—if that’s where he’s hiding.”
“If we can get him down to the boathouse,” I said, “we’d have plenty of time to start the truck and drive away.” We weren’t legally allowed to drive a car or a truck, of course, but this was an emergency. The last thing on my mind was worrying that Rachel didn’t have a licence.
“I can’t handle this waiting,” Eric said. “I’m going to sneak back down to the boathouse. When I’m there, I’ll scream and make a ton of noise. Hopefully, that will get him to come down to the water.”
“And then what?” Rachel whispered. “He’ll capture you again.”
“No, he won’t,” Eric said. “He can barely walk. As soon as I see him, I’ll sprint along the edge of the forest and come back to the truck. Then we’re outta here.”
Eric was about to leave when Rachel grabbed his forearm. “Shh!” she said urgently. “Listen!”
A vehicle was approaching the farm. I’m sure we all hoped it was a telephone company van, or a conservation officer in a truck, or someone who could give us a ride to Sultana. But I knew that was wishful thinking. And sure enough, a minute later, Brad pulled into the yard in his police cruiser.
He turned off the car, got out and locked it, and then checked to make sure all the doors were secure. He jogged to the back door of the house, ripped it open, and called for Calvin. Calvin must have responded, because Brad slammed the door and waited outside. He scanned the yard and we automatically dropped our heads lower when he turned in our direction.
“You think he can see us?” Rachel whispered.
“No way,” I said. “These shrubs are thick.”
“Look!” Eric said, peeking up again. “It’s Calvin.”
I poked my head around a tree. Calvin walked outside with a half-eaten sandwich in his hand.
Brad asked him something, and Calvin shook his head. Calvin then said something to Brad—probably, “Why are you here?” Brad asked him a bunch of other things, which caused Calvin to point at his truck and then in the direction of the boathouse. Brad headed toward the river with a confused-looking Calvin hobbling after him.
“This is our chance,” I said. “Get ready to run for the truck.”
When we thought they were near the boathouse, we popped out of the trees and bolted for the vehicle.
Eric and I dove in the passenger door, and Rachel ran around the hood and jumped in behind the wheel. Unlike what you see in the movies, the truck actually started immediately—no complications, no dead battery, no weird noises from the engine. Rachel pressed the brake pedal, yanked the gearshift down into drive and hit the gas. The tires dug into the gravel and sprayed rocks in a semicircle around the yard.
“Easy!” Eric yelled.
Rachel lifted her foot off the accelerator and straightened the steering wheel. Aiming down the driveway, she touched the gas again—lightly this time—and we left the yard.
“Good job, Rach,” I said.
“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” Eric added. “And don’t hit the ditch.”
I pulled the dead cell phone from my pants and said, “Let’s see if we can find a charger for this.”
After a minute of searching, Eric found the adapter in the glove box. He plugged it into the cigarette lighter and connected it to the phone. “Yesss,” he hissed, “it’s charging up!”
The truck was old and seemed to drift all over the road, so Rachel kept both hands clamped on the wheel. After rumbling down the gravel for five minutes, I glanced at the speedometer: seventy kilometres an hour.
“Stop!” Eric screamed suddenly.
Startled, Rachel stomped on the brake pedal with both feet. “What . . . ?” she yelled. “What’s wrong?” The tires locked up and the truck side-slipped to a stop.
Eric pointed down the road. “Spike belt,” he said.
I looked at the gravel ahead of the truck. In the distance, something was stretched across the road. Rachel touched the gas and we rolled closer. She stopped again when the tire-piercing belt was right in front of us.
“Gosh, he’s nasty,” Rachel said.
Eric nodded. “Brad laid down the spike belt from the trunk of his car. . . in case we tried to escape in Creepy’s truck.”
“Which we did,” I said, studying the puncturing trap.
I jumped out and dragged the spike belt toward the truck. “I got an idea!” I shouted. I threw the belt in the back with the statue and jumped in the cab again. “Go!”
Rachel looked in the rear-view mirror. “They’re coming,” she said.
I twisted and looked out the back window. Far behind us, a plume of dust was beginning to grow. “They’ll be on us in a few minutes!” I yelled.
Rachel pressed the gas pedal and we shot forward again.
I had to put my first idea on hold, because I suddenly got a second idea. I waited for Rachel to drive around a sharp bend, and then I asked her to stop again.
“What’s up?” she asked.
I quickly explained my first idea. “If we put the spike belt here, they might not see it in time. And we might be able to hoist them by their own petard.”
“Huh?” Eric said. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted, “but I think it might apply to this situation.”
“Do it, Cody!” Rachel said. “And hurry!”
Eric and I jumped out and arranged the aluminum track across the road behind us. Fifteen seconds later, we were in the cab again, accelerating down the road toward Sultana.
“That’s only going to help us if they don’t see it,” Eric said.
I nodded, and then quickly moved on to my second idea. “Let’s call Mr. Provost,” I said to Eric, “and put him on speaker so we can all hear him and talk to him.”
“You think he can help us?” Rachel asked, not taking her eyes off the gravel road.
“He’s our best bet,” I said. “I just hope he believes us.”
CHAPTER
15
“HELLO?”
“Hi.” I spoke loudly so the mic in the phone could pick me up. “This is Cody Lint, the kid who found your watch.”
The phone was silent, and Mr. Provost didn’t say anything.
I decided to continue. “Your wife gave us your cell phone number. We need your help.”
Rachel yelled, “We have the statue, Mr. Provost. We found the bronze that was stolen from the Manitoba Council of Cree. But the two men who took it are trying to kill us—to keep everything a secret.”
“Oh, my,” he said.
The rough gravel road turned into smooth pavement, so we no longer had to shout to be heard. “We don’t know anyone else who we can trust,” I said, “or anyone who’ll believe us.”
“Have you called the police?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “But one of the bad guys is Special Constable Brad Murphy.”
“And he’s chasing us in a police car!” Eric added. “We’re on the river road, about five minutes south of town.”
I glanced over my shoulder, but didn�
��t see anyone. They were either dragging the spike belt from the road, or they had driven over it and ripped open their tires.
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” Mr. Provost said. “I want you to drive straight to the MCC office in Pine Falls. I’m close by, and I’ll meet you there.”
“But these guys are dangerous,” I said. “They have—”
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Provost said urgently. “Leave the rest to me. Just get yourselves to the MCC parking lot. Hurry!”
He disconnected before I could warn him about the guns.
Eric twisted around. “You better stomp on it, Rach. They’re on us again, and I think they’re catching up.”
Rachel straightened out her leg and pushed hard on the gas pedal. The old truck rose up, enthusiastically barrelling down the highway. I didn’t think we could outrun the high-performance police interceptor Brad was driving, but it sure felt like we were making good time. Then, just when I thought we had lost them for good, they were behind us again.
Rachel kept checking the rear-view mirror, and I knew she was worried.
“Just ignore them,” I said, “and keep driving. You’re doing great.”
“I sure hope Mr. Provost knows what he’s doing,” she yelled.
When we got to Sultana, Rachel made a left turn, a right turn, and another left turn, and we continued down the highway to Pine Falls.
“If we’re lucky,” Eric said, “they’ll waste time driving around Sultana looking for us. They’d never think we’d take Calvin’s truck to the next town.”
That seemed to be the case, because we drove west, almost all the way to Pine Falls, before Rachel gave us more bad news.
“Uh-oh,” she said, using her thumb to point out the back window, “we’ve got trouble.”
Eric and I spun around and looked behind the truck.
“That might not be them,” I said, studying a vehicle in the distance that seemed to be rapidly gaining on us.
A second later, the car’s emergency lights began to flash.
“Correction,” Eric said, “that’s absolutely Brad and Calvin.”
Rachel ignored the police car chasing us and took us into the town of Pine Falls. We turned right on Cambrian Avenue and bounced into the parking lot of the Manitoba Council of Cree. The lot had spaces for ten cars on each side, but all the stalls were taken. Rachel stopped and left the truck right there in the middle of the parking lot and turned off the engine.
I noticed Mr. Provost’s red SUV parked at an awkward angle in the handicapped space.
Rachel noticed his car too. “Thank goodness,” she said. “Mr. Provost is already here!”
Brad suddenly screeched to a halt behind us, blocking the entrance near the curb with his police cruiser. I’m sure he thought he was preventing our escape, but we had no intention of leaving. We were exactly where we were supposed to be.
The double doors of the building flew open, and Mr. Provost came out at a brisk walk. He was followed by a dozen other men and women with confused looks on their faces. I had the feeling he’d interrupted some sort of meeting. But that was okay with me. He quickly led everyone over to the truck—to the back of the truck.
We exited the cab and joined them around the tailgate.
Brad got out of his car and started shouting, “Get back! This is police business. Step away from that vehicle now!”
The passenger door of the police car also opened, and Creepy Calvin tried to get out. He teetered and then fell back into the seat, looking like he’d rather be in a hospital than in that parking lot.
A few people glanced in Brad’s direction, but most ignored him, choosing instead to admire the giant bronze statue in the back of the truck.
Brad stomped closer and tried again. “Get back! This is a stolen vehicle. Those three kids are under arrest.”
No one even looked at him that time.
A Cree elder in his seventies said, “I never thought we’d ever see him again.” He reached over the side of the truck and touched the statue.
Mr. Provost pushed us closer to the elder and said, “Tell everyone where you found the statue.”
We quickly spilled the story—how we found the statue, how we recovered it, and how we were abducted by Brad and Calvin. By the time we were done telling our crazy story, two more police cars and an ambulance arrived on the scene. Brad Murphy was cuffed with real handcuffs and shoved into the back of a cruiser, and a relieved-looking Calvin was hauled away by the paramedics.
Mr. Provost rubbed his hands together like he needed to warm them up. “I feel like a reporter on the crime beat again,” he said, grinning. “This unsolved case has troubled me for a long time, and now you kids have finally set things right.”
Everyone in the parking lot began clapping and cheering and crying.
Ten minutes later, the detachment commander, Superintendent Walker, arrived on the scene. He made us retell the entire story again. He took a few notes, but mostly he just listened.
When we were done, he said, “You boys were foolish to swim in the lake at night. That was beyond dangerous.”
Eric and I nodded.
“And I hope you boys don’t make a habit of driving trucks on the highway, either,” he said.
“That was Rachel,” Eric said, pointing at his sister. “She was the one who did all the driving.”
“However,” he continued, frowning at Eric’s interruption, “all three of you were also extremely resourceful and courageous in escaping from those men. I would be pleased to have officers like you on the force someday.”
We nodded again.
“And don’t forget about the bronze,” said Mr. Provost, who was still with us. “They recovered a statue that’s been missing for a long time.”
“Correct,” he said. “I’m sure the Manitoba Council of Cree is pleased to have their memorial back.”
“They’re thrilled,” Mr. Provost said.
Superintendent Walker cleared his throat. “I would also like to apologize for the behaviour of Brad Murphy. His actions were his own and should not taint your opinion of the RCMP or its members.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but it seemed like a good time for us to nod again.
CHAPTER
16
“LET ME SEE if I’ve got this right,” Dad said. “In the last two days, Cody and his friends located and recovered a statue—one that’s been missing for almost three decades. They solved a murder that the cops couldn’t solve. And they helped capture the culprits and arrest them. Is that about it?”
I was eating pizza at the kitchen table, and Mom was trying her best to explain everything that had happened.
“No, dear,” Mom said. “There’s one more thing.”
Dad groaned. “Don’t tell me he’s been elected mayor too.”
“Worse!” she said. “I think Cody has a girlfriend.”
It was my turn to groan now. “Mom!”
She explained how she’d seen Rachel hug me and kiss me on the cheek. That was true, of course, and the memory of it made me blush.
What happened was this. After the police took our official statements, they drove us back to Sultana and dropped us all off at my house. And that was when Rachel hugged me. The shock of being suddenly squeezed by her sent my head spinning. But before I could say or do anything about that, she kissed my cheek.
Eric saw the kiss and cried, “Gross!”
Rachel ignored her brother and said, “Can we come over tomorrow?”
I nodded, still too stunned to speak.
Eric shook his head. “That kiss is going to make things awkward and bizarre for the rest of the summer.”
“The summer is over, Eric,” Rachel said. “And in case you haven’t noticed, it was already a bizarre summer.”
“As far as I’m concerned,” I said to my friends, “this was the best summer ever.”
Eric considered that for a few seconds, then nodded and said, “Best summer ever!”
“Ever
!” Rachel echoed.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
MASSIVE KUDOS AGAIN to everyone at Heritage House Publishing/Wandering Fox Books, for continuing to make the series look good on the inside and the outside.
AUTHOR
Q & A
QHow long have you been writing?
AI’ve been writing and experimenting with different genres of fiction for over twenty-five years.
QHow did you end up writing for young people and specifically mysteries for young people?
AWhen I first started writing, I wanted to write a book for adults, but I was nervous about the scope and size of a full-length paperback. So I decided instead to start with middle grade fiction, with its more manageable size of forty thousand words. After my first book was published, I found I really liked writing for that age group. Middle grade readers are sharp, ready for adventure, and appreciate humour. And two hundred pages gives me plenty of space to tell a complete story.
I’ve always enjoyed reading books of adventure and mystery, and now I have just as much fun writing those kinds of stories for young readers. I like the challenge of reverse engineering plots, sneaking in red herrings, and hitting the reader with a good twist now and then. And the more savvy middle graders become, the sneakier I have to be as a writer.
QWhat other kinds of writing do you do?
AI also enjoy writing quirky short stories and submitting them to publishers. My dream is to one day see a story of mine in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine.
QCan you remember your first published piece? What was that like?
AMy first published work was a children’s story printed in the United States. It wasn’t a great piece, but being published (and paid royalties!) after collecting dozens of rejection letters was a real confidence boost for me. In fact, I think I was actually more excited about finally being published than I was about the story itself. That experience motivated and inspired me to continue to write and learn the craft.
QWhat advice do you have for young writers who want to get their stories published?
In Too Deep Page 11