I jerked back. A chill shot down my spine. The boy’s clothes were soaked in blood.
I scrubbed and rinsed until the water ran clear. I peeked in on him again before I went to bed. He looked peaceful. Unhurt. The sweater looked as if it had never been washed. The blood could have been there for years, I told myself.
So I climbed into my own bed and tried not to think about it.
Three
I thought he’d sleep for a week. But when I got up the next morning to milk the goat, he was already gone. He had slipped out of the house without a sound, taking with him the red cowboy boots, the eggs from my fridge and the box of shotgun shells from the cedar chest.
Maybe not so slow after all.
“Your hens stop laying all of a sudden?” Aunt Penny asked. She was watching me unload the box of produce I had brought to her store. Since the October frosts started, the box was getting lighter. I still had some squash and apples worth selling. But most of my cash came from the eggs and goat’s milk Aunt Penny sold from her private fridge at the back of the store. Enough people want my organic, free-range products that they don’t let a few food regulations stand in their way.
Or maybe they just don’t want to get on the wrong side of Aunt Penny. She’s watched over the village from her store at the cross-roads as long as folks can remember. There isn’t a secret she doesn’t know. She squinted at me now through her crooked gold glasses like she could read my every guilty thought. I thought of saying my fridge had broken down, but in the end I told her about Robin. Not about the blood or the box of ammo he’d stolen. Just about my taking him home the night before. That was bad enough.
“Ricky!” she said. “What were you thinking! You should have called the police right away!”
“But…” How could I tell her about the fear in the kid’s eyes? “I don’t think he wants to be found,” I muttered.
“Doesn’t matter. His family must be worried sick.”
I wasn’t so sure. What kind of parent doesn’t even teach their kid to count? Even my mother had managed that. “If they cared, they’d be looking for him. I don’t know anyone that’s missing a kid. Have you heard anything?”
She shook her head. She’d been rearranging my squash on the shelves, and she stopped to rub her shoulder. No one really knows how old Aunt Penny is. She’s actually my mother’s aunt, and she’s had gray hair as long as I can remember. And every year she gets a bit more stooped. The work is getting hard on her, but she’ll be too stubborn to give up the store until she is ready for a pine box.
“Maybe his family’s not from around here,” she said. “The police will know. Speak of the devil…”
As if by magic, the bell over the front door rang. Our detachment commander, Sergeant Hurley, swaggered into the store. He was flashing his friendly neighborhood-cop grin, but he can spot a lawbreaker a mile away. I’m no good at lying, especially to him. My red face and tangled tongue give me away every time. So I ducked my head and mumbled hello as I scrambled out the door.
Driving past his cruiser, a much better idea hit me. Madrid County doesn’t have much of a police force, so if the boss was out doing his rounds, Constable Jessica Swan might be alone at the station. She would at least listen to my story before heading out with sirens blaring. Jessica is still a newcomer by Lake Madrid standards, and she’s about the only woman under fifty who doesn’t think I’m a joke. Just thinking about her, my heart raced.
Since the detachment serves the whole county, it has a fancy new building on the main highway, about a mile outside of town. Jessica was on the phone when I arrived, but her sunny blue eyes lit up. I grew hot and my thoughts all disappeared. By the time she hung up, I’d only found about half of them. I wanted to be cool, but that’s not my strong suit at the best of times.
“Working hard?” I asked, pointing to her computer.
She grinned. “Why? You got another body for us, Rick?”
I wished I could think of a funny come-back. I admit a couple of dead bodies have come my way, causing some teasing by the regulars at the Lion’s Head. But it’s not like I go looking. I tried to smile back. “Not today,” I said. “But maybe something else. Has anyone reported stuff being stolen from their farms?”
Her smile faded. “What kind of stuff ?”
“Small stuff. Vegetables, blankets.” I kept quiet about the ammo. I’d seen no gun in the cave, and maybe the boy didn’t know what the shells were for.
“You want to make a report, Rick?”
“No! I can’t be sure. Maybe it’s just kids. Any reports of kids causing trouble?”
She frowned like she was trying to see through me. I plowed on before she could see too much. “If it’s just a joke, it’s no big deal. But if a kid is in trouble, like maybe lost or ran away…”
“We have no reports of local children lost or missing.”
“But how would you know? I mean, if they’re from away? Or their family is just passing through?”
She waved her hand at her computer. “We get alerts from all across the country. And we pay attention to them. A missing child is a priority call.”
“So, no alerts?”
“Is this serious, Rick? Are you saying you have reason to believe a child is missing?”
I was going to have to lie, and I hated doing that. Jessica is my friend, and I don’t have too many of those. “I’m just checking. The nights are getting cold. But if there are no alerts...” I let my voice trail off.
She was still studying me, so I kept my eyes on the corkboard on the wall. It was covered with notices, including one about the village’s pumpkin-carving contest. But nothing about a missing child. She turned to her computer and began to fiddle with her mouse. She started shaking her head. “Nothing new province- or nationwide,” she said finally. “And no reports of thefts or trespassing in the neighboring counties either. Do you want to make a report?”
I was already backing out the door, afraid I’d said too much. Jessica is a softie, but she isn’t stupid. I needed to protect Robin. Nobody had cared enough to teach him or even to report him missing. Living by his wits was the only life he knew. Before I got him in more trouble, I needed to find out why.
Four
There was no way to sneak up to my farm unnoticed. For one thing, my truck tires made an awful racket on the gravel road, and for another, a big cloud of dust trailed me down the road. So I was just turning in the gate when I spotted Robin running out of my barn. I skidded the truck to a stop by the barn and jumped out to chase him. As he ran, he dropped the armload of boards he was carrying.
I tackled him halfway up the first hill. He landed a couple of good kicks before I pinned him to the ground. From inside his jacket, I pulled out my two best towels.
“Robin! What’s going on?”
We both gasped for breath. He glared at me.
“Why are you hiding?”
“Not hiding.”
“Then tell me who you are and where you live.”
His chin wobbled, but he didn’t answer.
“Then let’s go. We’re calling the police.”
“No!”
“You can’t steal from me. It’s wrong. I’m trying to help you!”
“Sorry.” He struggled to get free. “No police!”
“But you can’t just stay in the woods. Winter’s coming.”
“I stay with you. On farm.” He looked at me, his blue eyes huge. “Please.”
“You can’t stay with me. You’re a kid.”
“I strong. I help. I know farm.”
I thought of all the trouble that could cause. Not just with his parents, who might be missing him, but with Aunt Penny and Jessica Swan. I would have to lie to all of them. I could feel him shivering beneath me, and I loosened my hand on his arm.
He grabbed my coat. “Please. No police. I promise not steal.”
He was dirty, cold and scared. Something terrible must have happened to this boy. Something that had made his home worse than living rou
gh in the woods. I didn’t know what it was, but I could buy us both some time. Time for him to calm down. Time for me to figure out what to do.
I tried to sound fierce. “You promise you won’t run away again?”
Tears filled his blue eyes. “Yes. Promise.”
“And you’ll give me back my shotgun shells?”
His wet eyes flickered. I tightened my grip. He looked away. Gave just the tiniest nod.
What have I done? I thought as I led him home again.
This time I ran him a bath. While I handed him clean clothes, I secretly checked his body. No scars, no wounds. I didn’t ask him about the blood. For now, I needed to build some trust. I even put clean sheets and an extra blanket on the bed in the hopes he’d feel safe.
But the next morning the bed was empty. The blankets and pillow were gone. I swore out loud. “The kid has just blown his last chance,” I grumbled as I headed out to the barn. I was surprised to see fresh straw in the chicken coop and clean water in the old laundry tub I used as a trough. Even the goat had been fed and milked.
Robin, however, was nowhere in sight.
Back inside, I found half a loaf of bread missing. But there was a bowl of fresh eggs and a pail of goat’s milk on the counter. Also on the counter were the pencil and the map I had shown him the first night. It was even more scribbled on than before. Curious, I studied the scribbling. I saw that he had been practicing straight lines, curves and angles, and in the end had made an R. Sort of.
Had this kid been up half the night?
Hoping he’d come back, I fixed some breakfast for him and me. Then I drew up a couple of estimates for small jobs that were going to keep me afloat through the winter. It was almost noon when I packed up the eggs, milk and a couple more squash from the garden and signaled Chevy into the truck. I scanned the fields one last time, but they were empty. I couldn’t put off Aunt Penny any longer.
The O’Tooles were never much for family even when my mother was alive. Aunt Penny was the only one still speaking to her after I was born. I guess being sixteen and pregnant without a man in sight didn’t go over well with my mother’s clan. But Aunt Penny was the O’Toole patron saint of lost causes. Even after my mother died, Aunt Penny figured she was all that stood between me and the wrong path.
Lake Madrid was mostly a cottage town, with a jumble of houses and stores strung along the lake. During the summer cottage season, the store kept Aunt Penny too busy to pay much attention to me. But now that most of the cottages were closed up for the winter, she had more time for her favorite lost cause.
Before I even opened my mouth about Robin, she saw right through me. She took a long look at the ice cream and popcorn in my order before she rang it through. I’m not big on junk food, but Robin needed a few pounds on him. And I needed something besides vegetables and eggs to fill that bottomless pit.
“You got an extra mouth to feed, Ricky?”
I mumbled something about liking ice cream on the apple pie she gave me. Then I slipped a notebook and a box of crayons onto the counter. Her eyebrows shot up.
I shrugged. “For a job.”
She studied me. “You want to be careful, Ricky. A certain pretty blond constable might not be pleased.”
Five
I was redder than a fire engine as I got back into my truck. Even I know Jessica Swan is way out of my league. She is a smart cop with the whole world open to her. What would she ever see in a bumbling country handyman like me? A grade-eleven education, a collection of junk and a falling-down house? That doesn’t stop me from dreaming, but I don’t want the whole village to know.
I felt pulled apart. By Robin, by Penny, by what Jessica would think of me. I knew I shouldn’t keep this from her, but I’d made a promise to the kid. By the time I reached home, I was mad at everybody. Most of all myself. But Chevy leaped out of the truck, all excited. Usually she romps around with her tail waving, eager to check out the rabbits in the back field. But this time she headed instead toward one of the little sheds far from the house. Most of my sheds were so full of junk, you could hardly open the door. But this one still had some free floor space.
The door was shut. When I pushed it open, sunlight poured into the darkness, across a faded plaid blanket on the floor. I could see a bump beneath the blanket and long tangled hair on the pillow. Robin was fast asleep, but he bolted up when the sunlight hit. He shrank into the corner and looked at me with huge eyes. For a minute it looked like he didn’t know where he was.
“Robin,” I said, squatting down beside him. “You don’t have to hide out here.” Chevy licked his face, and slowly he stopped looking scared. I picked up the pillow and blanket and started back to the house. I’d learned words didn’t help. The boy would either follow, or he wouldn’t.
He followed. Head down, fingers locked in Chevy’s fur. “Thanks for taking care of the hens and the goat,” I said once we were in the kitchen. I unpacked the groceries.
“I know farm.”
“Yes, you do. Next time”—I opened the door to the fridge to put the food away— “you put the eggs and milk in here.”
He peered inside. Opened all the compartments. “Okay.”
I moved around the kitchen, showing him the stove, the toaster, the lights that came on at the flick of a switch. By the end, he was grinning as he turned the lights on and off.
I tried to sound casual. “You have no lights in your home?”
He nodded. “With match.”
What century had this boy lived in? I took the notebook and crayons out of the bag and put them on the table. He flipped through the blank pages, frowning. While the soup warmed up, I printed the letter R on the first blank page. Then O-B-I-N.
“Robin,” I said and pointed to the space below. “You try.”
He took the crayon in his fist and made his first line. How did I teach a ten-year-old kid to read? Teachers had tried every trick in the book with me, and most of them hadn’t worked. So who did I think I was? While I puzzled over that, Robin copied his name. Badly. Before I could say a word, he scribbled over it and started again underneath. By the time the soup was hot, he’d filled the whole page.
I remembered the silly books my mother used to read me. Cat in the Hat. One Fish, Two Fish. Maybe I should look for them upstairs. I also remembered the lists of rhymes from my remedial books. I’m not much good at reading, but I’m pretty good at drawing. So while we sat at the table eating our soup, I drew pictures and printed letters underneath. A for apple, B for bowl, C for cup, T for table. The rhyming words cat, hat, bat, rat.
Robin tried. Furrowed his brow and mouthed the sounds. But he couldn’t get it. I cut words out and taped them around the kitchen. Another trick my mother had tried. Chair on the back of the chair. Can on the tomato soup. Table, stove, fridge. By the end of an hour, the room was filled with bits of paper. I made up his bed again and left him with some yard chores before I headed out to my job.
When I got back, the yard was swept. The dead tomato vines were cleared. The vegetable garden was filled with compost from my pile nearby. I found Robin in his favorite shed, surrounded by chains, clamps and springs. My old bear trap sat on the floor, half taken apart. He shrank away at the sight of me.
“Not steal! I make same.”
I squatted beside him. He’d made a good start. But he needed more tools, including a blowtorch, to finish the job. I wasn’t about to let him try that. My house might not be much, but I’m kind of attached to it.
That night after I put him to bed, I noticed the notebook open on the kitchen counter. I leafed through it. Robin had filled the entire book. First with copied letters and words, later with the numbers I had written on the map that first night. At the back, he’d made drawings of dogs, chickens, goats and trucks. He’d tried all the colors. Not much to look at, but the kid had never held crayons before. Whatever he was, he was not stupid.
I studied the drawings carefully, hoping for a clue to his past. There was only one. A small one-story h
ouse that looked nothing like mine. It had a front porch with what looked like a rocking chair on it. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Was it time to tell Jessica the truth? And get this kid back home with some real help?
Instead, I stalled. I admit, I kind of liked his company—and his help. I had a busy couple of days paneling the living room in a cottage near the village. So Robin was left to do the chores and keep himself busy. He spent hours in my junk sheds, fiddling with things. He played with Chevy and the goat, even enjoyed watching the hens. But he hardly talked. Every night I put him to bed in my mother’s bed, and every morning I found him asleep in the shed. He ate like a football player, but during the night food still disappeared. Not only food, but my mother’s sweaters, more towels and spare cushions from the couch.
So one night I woke up at 2:00 AM and went to peek in my mother’s room. Sure enough, the bed was empty. I peered out the window. The moon was on the wane but still cast enough pale light that I could see a shape running toward the woods. Toward the mystery cave I had found a few days earlier.
What the hell was this boy up to?
Six
The next morning, mist rose off the frosted ground. I could see my breath, and I shivered as I went out to the barns. Winter was coming. I found the animals fed and Robin fast asleep in his shed. He didn’t even stir. Whatever he had been up to in the night, it sure had worn him out.
I tiptoed out without waking him and signalled to Chevy. Together we set off across the field in the direction I’d seen Robin go. Chevy led the way, tail waving and nose to the ground. After a while we came to the cave. It was deserted. There was no microwave, no blanket on the floor or branch across the entrance. No sign of the things he’d been stealing either. Obviously, he had another secret place. I tried to remember the route we had taken when I first found him. Across the stream and deeper into the woods.
The Night Thief Page 2