“Aw, just some raccoons raiding the trash cans.” I shook my head and tried to act annoyed. “We scared them away.”
Dad walked over to me and patted my shoulder. “Scared me, too.” He glanced out the window, then pulled it shut. “You hop back in bed now. See you in the morning,” he said, snapping off my light as he left.
I felt bad as I listened to him walk back to his room. I’d sort of lied to him and it made me feel guilty. He trusted me; I was planning to betray his trust. And yet I had to. For Jack.
I gave Dad a few minutes to fall asleep, then got out of bed to reset the trap. Jack dropped softly to the floor, and his nails clicked on the wood as he followed me.
“No, Jack,” I whispered and crouched beside him. “Stay here. I have to go by myself.”
I got up, turned away, and heard him clicking after me.
“Jack—” It was useless. Excitement colored his eyes. His ears blushed and stood erect. Something was up and he knew it.
“Okay,” I said. “But you have to be quiet.”
We slipped through the house like shadows and made our way to the refrigerator. I looked at that ham. Through the plastic, I could see the pineapple rings crisped with brown sugar. Cloves decorated the crisscrosses Millie had sliced across the meat. I licked my lips. Dad would kill me.
The chicken was already gone—that would take some explaining. But I didn’t think I’d be able to explain the disappearance of the ham and the chicken. I shifted around the cheese and found some bacon and bologna.
I closed the fridge. Jack sniffed the air, raising himself for a moment on his hind legs. He licked his chops.
He followed me to the back door. “No, no, Jack.” I couldn’t bait the trap and hold him at the same time.
I backed up to the door and twisted the lock and the handle. Cool air breezed through the crack. With my back against the door, I pulled out a few pieces of bologna and threw them deep into the kitchen.
“There you go!” I said. He went after it like a chowhound, and I slid through the door and pulled it shut.
The trash cans lay on their sides. I looked at the chicken left behind by the raccoons. It wasn’t much but, together with the lunch meat, it might be enough to draw a coyote.
The bacon was raw and greasy. I smeared it all over the outside of both trash cans and then the insides before throwing it in with the bologna. The garlic aroma of the chicken wafted up, mixing with the bacon and bologna, and altogether it smelled like a trashy deli. A smell that—I hoped—would be irresistible to coyotes.
Jack greeted me at the door, inspecting my hands. He licked the grease and trotted away. I washed my hands.
The trap was set. We went back to my room and waited.
chapter 35
My light was out and I lay in bed with Jack beside me. My senses were on high alert. Blood surged through my body and my muscles tensed, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. My eyes could make out every detail of my darkened room, and I could clearly see the picture of me and Jack on my nightstand. My ears picked up sounds beyond Jack’s light breathing: the occasional groan of the house as the wind shifted, the rattle of the living room screen downstairs, and the hum of the refrigerator.
I fell into a black, dreamless sleep.
Suddenly I was awake, heart hammering, Jack barking and jumping. The metallic clang of trash cans resounded from the driveway. I flew to the window and looked down.
Coyote.
His fur was dark and thick, and his tail was a bushy bottle brush drooping behind him. He was about the same size as Jack but heavier. He tore at the chicken.
My legs weakened even as a jittery energy raced through my veins.
“Dad!” I fumbled with the camera. The first shot didn’t go off. “Dad!” Jack thrashed at the window and barked violently.
The second shot fired off and the coyote jerked his head up. He froze for a moment and I saw his yellow eyes piercing through the darkness. In that liquid yellow gaze, I saw all that he had done, all that Jack was being blamed for.
I bolted from my room with Jack at my heels. We rushed past Dad, who was just now coming out of his room, still numb from sleep.
“What?” he mumbled. “What are you—”
“Coyote!” I yelled from the stairs. I raced to the back door and flung it open just in time to see the coyote cut through the woods. Jack bounded over the steps and charged after it.
“Jack!” I shouted. The anger I felt toward the coyote now turned into dread for Jack. I tore barefoot through the woods after him.
I followed the sound of breaking branches and the drumming of Jack’s footsteps. We headed in the direction of Prater’s but at a sharply lower angle, taking us to one of the streets that ran parallel to ours behind the woods.
Jack sailed over a chain-link fence. Barking and high-pitched yipping erupted. I ran up to the fence and climbed over into the yard, my eyes scouring the dark lawn. No coyote. Just a little white dog on a back porch yipping at Jack and trembling. Jack ran along the fence, agitated and confused. He growled and whined and shook off my hand when I tried to calm him.
A porch light snapped on and flooded the backyard. My eyes darted to every corner—no coyote. I heard the door being unlocked, and a gray-haired man with a white T-shirt and a big belly yelled from behind his screen door.
“Who’s there?” His voice was deep and gravelly.
“Um … I am.” My voice quavered. “Joshua Reed.”
“Who?” The man pushed open his screen door and squinted at me.
“I—my dog—” I stammered. “He was chasing a—”
“Raccoon,” Dad said. He jogged up to the fence, but by his breathing I could tell he’d been running at breakneck speed.
I shook my head at Dad. “Not a raccoon—”
“Joshua, grab Jack.” Dad turned to the old man. “Raccoons have been dumping our trash cans. The dog had to go to the bathroom and took off after one.”
The old man scowled. “Need to control your dog better.”
“Yes, sir,” Dad said. “I’m sorry about the disturbance.”
The old man frowned, scooped up his dog, and disappeared back into his house, turning the light off.
I grabbed Jack’s collar and led him out through the gate.
Dad gripped my arm as we came out. “More trouble? After our last talk?” he growled. “Did you think I was joking?”
I spun and faced him. “I got his picture!”
“What?” Dad snapped, confused.
“I took a picture of the coyote. Now you’ll see.” I had to walk bent over since I didn’t have Jack’s leash and I couldn’t let go of his collar. “He was in our trash cans—I set a trap—didn’t you hear it? Didn’t you hear Jack barking? I kept calling you.”
Dad glowered at me. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Wait till you see the picture. Wait till everyone sees it.” Jack would be proven innocent and everyone would be sorry.
When we got home, I rushed upstairs to get the picture. There it sat on the windowsill, the evidence of Jack’s innocence. As I walked to the window, I heard Dad come into the room behind me.
I picked up the picture and stared at it. My insides crashed. It was a perfect picture—a perfect picture of the window frame and screen, nothing but darkness behind it.
“I knew it!” Dad thundered over my shoulder. He ripped the picture out of my hand and spoke to me through clenched teeth. “Nothing! Just your wild stories.”
“But, Dad—”
“I’ve had enough,” he said hoarsely, flinging the picture to the floor. “Go to bed.” His face hardened. “No more sneaking around.”
My eyes widened in protest. “I wasn’t—”
“Enough.” He slammed my door shut behind him.
chapter 36
When I woke up the next morning, my heart jolted with one thought: coyote. He was real, and I’d seen him. I peeled the covers off and looked at the picture I’d shot last night. As hard as I
stared, I could not make out the coyote’s form in the darkness beyond the window. But he was there. I knew it. Now I had to prove it.
Flashes of Dad’s anger filled my mind. How he’d yelled at me, how he didn’t believe me, how he’d slammed the door. If only he’d woken up sooner, he’d have seen that coyote for himself. I shook my head. It didn’t matter. The coyote would be back. And I’d be waiting for him.
I was still staring at the picture when my door opened and Dad stepped in.
“It’s late,” he said.
I nodded, looking at him.
“Get dressed. Eat breakfast.”
“Okay,” I mumbled.
“You’re grounded.”
“What?” I couldn’t be grounded—I had too much to do. I had to get more bait. I wanted to look for tracks. I needed Ray to come by and go over the whole thing bit by bit with me to make a better plan for tonight. “I can’t be grounded. Not today.”
Dad shook his head. “Joshua, you do not have a choice in this. You snuck out of the house last night.”
“I didn’t sneak out. I called and called you, but you—”
Dad held up his hand and closed his eyes. “Enough. I don’t want to hear it again.” He looked at me and his jaws tightened. “You’re grounded for the weekend. No going out of the house and no one coming over. That’s it.” He turned and slipped out of the room. “Get dressed,” he called from the stairs, “and eat your breakfast.”
I tried to keep out of Dad’s way after breakfast. I didn’t want him any angrier than he already was. Jack and I looked at my shoe box stuff for a while, and I read some comic books. Voices floated upstairs, Dad’s and Mark’s and someone else’s. I figured having company might have helped Dad cool down, so I took a chance and went downstairs.
“Hey!” Mark greeted me. He seemed looser than usual, lighter. “What’s going on?”
If we’d been alone, I could’ve told him all that happened last night. I bet he’d believe me, and he might even help me. But Dad was here and this other man. “Nothing,” I said.
“So you’re Joshua,” the other man said, his eyes crinkling with a smile. “I’m Mark’s dad.” He stuck out his hand. For a second, I thought he was doing that thing adults sometimes do—shaking kids’ hands because they think it’s cute—but he didn’t have that jokey look on his face. I was a real person to him.
I shook his hand.
He clapped me on the shoulder. “Your father’s a fine man. I hope you haven’t minded sharing him with Mark.” Then he turned to Dad. “Thanks again for all you’ve done. If there’s ever anything we can do for you, let us know.”
Before Mark followed him out the door, he stopped and shook Dad’s hand, too. “Thanks, man. You’ve been great.” To me, he said, “See you around, little man.”
Dad smiled. “Keep in touch.”
Mark’s hair had been growing out since the funeral. I watched him walk behind his dad in his jeans and T-shirt. It struck me all of a sudden how young he looked.
“Mark!” I called before he made it to the car. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen!” He gave me a big smile, then waved and piled into the car.
“Are they going somewhere?” I asked after they left. Those were pretty big good-byes.
Dad allowed himself a grin. “They stopped by to tell me Mark’s registered for college. Not Penn State—too late for that—but he’ll be starting at the community college this fall.”
So that’s why he was smiling. “That means you’ll still see him.”
“It means”—Dad paused—“he’s going to do something with his life. He’s going to have all kinds of opportunities.” Dad’s face was open, his voice upbeat. “I feel like—I feel like it’s me going to college!”
I high-fived him. “Way to go, Dad!”
He was no good at holding it in—he broke into a big, wide smile. Afterward, he futzed around the house, fixing things, cleaning, even humming as he worked. He was the happiest I’d seen him since we moved here.
chapter 37
Later, in my room, I studied the photo I’d taken, hoping desperately to make out some part of the coyote. Being grounded kept me from talking to Ray, but maybe I could think it through by writing a letter to Scott. I grabbed a pencil and a notebook, but when it came down to it, I didn’t feel like writing a letter; I felt like taking action.
Suddenly, I heard a car roar into the driveway, screech to a stop, and Wham! Wham! Two doors slamming shut. Loud banging at the back door. I heard people yelling, and one sounded like a kid. I jumped up to my window and saw a police car pulling in behind a truck. I shot down the stairs. Jack ran with me, barking the whole way.
Dad beat me to the door. I stepped behind him as he swung it open. Prater’s dad filled the doorway with his huge frame.
Dad moved squarely in front of him. “What’s going on here? What’s this all about?” he shouted over the yelling.
Mr. Prater’s face was red. “Your dog—your dog—”
Ed, the policeman, leaned in front of Mr. Prater. “Listen, Rich, there was an incident at Bruce’s place this morning. I was called in—”
“Incident?” Mr. Prater yelled. “That dog killed my boy’s horse.”
My heart dropped. I caught a glimpse of Prater behind his dad. His eyes looked swollen and the rims were red. Dried streaks of salt stained his cheeks and his whole face was puffy. He cried openly.
Stricken, I stood behind Dad.
“This dog didn’t do anything,” Dad said.
“First he attacks my kid, then he—”
Dad stepped forward. “Back off, Bruce,” he said in a low, menacing voice I’d never heard before. “You’re on my property.”
“Yes,” Ed said, turning to Mr. Prater. “I told you before to let me handle this. Step back from the door.”
Mr. Prater glared at Dad. Taking one step back, he shook his finger at Ed. “You’d better handle this.” The veins in his neck popped out. “You’d better do something this time.”
Ed took a big breath and exhaled loudly. “Something attacked their horse early this morning. Got ahold of its hind leg and ripped it up something good. Tore into some of the muscle and buttocks, too. Bruce ran out, fired a shot in the air, and saw a dog run into the woods.
“The vet came out but said there was too much damage. They had to put the horse down.”
On those words, sobs shook Prater’s body. Poor, gentle Shadow. That beautiful horse. I felt tears spring to my own eyes. I knew how I’d feel if something hurt Jack.
“Your dog did it,” Prater said, trying to control his sobs. “I know it was him.”
I shook my head, scared. “Jack’s been home all morning.”
The policeman waved his notebook. “We got a witness found your dog loose in his yard early this morning.”
My mouth dropped open. I stared up at Dad.
“Yes, the dog got loose.” Dad folded his arms.
My breath escaped me. I couldn’t believe Dad would betray me like this.
Dad narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “What else? What real proof do you have?”
Ed stared at him. “Well, the animal that ran away headed into the woods in your general direction.”
“You mean he ran into the woods.”
Ed sighed. “Okay, I can see where this is going.” He turned toward Mr. Prater and his voice became clipped. “Bruce, do you have a definite description?”
Mr. Prater’s face bulged with rage. “I had a horse to take care of,” he said between clenched teeth. “Are you going to let him get away with this? I don’t believe it! He destroys our horse and you’re letting him off?”
“Mr. Prater, go to your truck,” Ed said.
“What?”
“Mr. Prater, go to your truck now.”
Mr. Prater’s hands clenched into fists. His eyes became wild. “Are you kidding me?”
“Mr. Prater, I am not joking.” Ed spoke firmly. “Go to your vehicle now with your boy.”
For a moment, Mr. Prater stood there, opening and closing his fists. The three men glared at one another. Finally, Mr. Prater grabbed the back of Prater’s shirt and turned with him to leave.
“That’s it?” Prater yelled up to his dad. “He gets away with it?”
“Come on,” Mr. Prater said gruffly under his breath.
“I can’t believe this,” Prater shouted as his dad pushed him along to their truck. Prater turned and locked eyes with me. “I hate you! I hate you and your stupid dog.”
“Shut up,” Mr. Prater said and jerked Prater forward.
Prater wrenched away and faced me again. “You killed mine; I’m going to kill yours. I’ll leave poison meat outside for him. I’ll set leg traps by the corral. I’ll—”
“Get in,” Mr. Prater said. He gritted his teeth. Without another look at us, he got in, slammed the truck into reverse, and tore through the side yard around Ed’s patrol car. Gravel shot out from under the tires when he hit the driveway. Then they were gone.
Ed turned to Dad. “It’s a shame what happened to that horse,” he said, shaking his head.
“Yes, it’s a shame. But I don’t appreciate—” Dad turned to me. “Joshua, go in the house.”
I pulled Jack in, closed the door, and pretended to walk to the living room, but I turned and leaned my ear against the crack of the door.
“Bruce is a hothead,” Ed said. “As soon as he picked up his car keys I knew where he was going. That boy of his was so insistent.”
“Ed, if either of them ever touches my boy or his dog, I will do something about it.”
“Well, now, I do need to talk with you about that,” Ed said evenly. “This is the second time someone’s pointed to your dog for killing their animal. I have to ask you—what was the dog doing outside?”
“Joshua accidentally let him out—they heard a noise in the yard. We were both right behind the dog; he certainly didn’t run all the way to Bruce Prater’s.”
“Are you sure?”
“Look, he didn’t come home with blood on his face.” Dad’s voice rose with irritation. “Something else is going on here. I didn’t believe it at first, but now I’m not so sure.”
Me & Jack Page 13