It took the whole walk to school to fill Betsy in on the night’s adventures. At school, the rain clouds had cast shadows on everyone. Nobody could remember how to smile. Of course, it didn’t help that Frankie Zalenchak came back to school after his brother’s funeral. Everywhere Frankie walked, silence followed. Even when he wasn’t nearby, Charlotte didn’t dare laugh, because what if he happened to turn the corner and she was laughing? If you had a dead brother, could you ever stand the sound of kids laughing?
By lunchtime, Charlotte felt as stretched and thin as a rubber band on a package. If anybody did or said one more bad thing …
“Hey, Charlotte, guess what?” Sophie Jaworski stood with her arms folded across her chest and grinned.
Charlotte had the feeling Sophie might just say that one bad thing. “Not right now, Sophie. I’ve got to go check with Betsy about something.”
“I’ll come too,” Sophie offered. “That way I can tell you both at the same time.” She tagged along like a stray puppy, reminding Charlotte of the dog they’d seen in the river. She shivered at the thought.
When they reached Betsy, Sophie began to talk right away. “We know who the thief is,” she began.
“Oh, come on.” Charlotte snapped her mouth shut before she said any more, but inside, questions pushed so hard she had to clench her jaw to keep from spitting them out. What do you know, and how? Did you find the thief’s hiding place? No. Did you lurk in the shadows in a puny little rowboat to watch for him? No. Can you do anything at all, besides flap your tongue?
“Who is it?” Betsy asked.
“Wagon Willie. We know for sure.”
Charlotte felt her lungs swell. She took in a huge breath, then another. Her cheeks burned and she made her hands into fists. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, Sophie Jaworski. Take it back.”
“I will not. It’s true.”
“How do you know?”
“He’s got keys to the school. By the second time the thief came, there was a lock on the cellar door, remember? So the room was locked up tight. But the thief didn’t break the lock to get in. Which means he must have had keys. Wagon Willie has keys. So he’s got to be the thief.”
“I don’t know, Sophie,” Betsy began. “Mr. Willis doesn’t seem like a bad man.”
“Betsy, you should be glad it’s him. That way, kids will stop blaming you. You should help prove he did it, don’t you see?”
“No.” The word came out so hard it nearly burned Charlotte’s tongue. “What if somebody else has keys? What if somebody swiped his keys? What if he forgot to lock up that night? What if he put the lock in wrong and it didn’t work? What if—”
“Why do you care, Charlotte?” Sophie interrupted. “He’s just a crazy old man. My sister says they shouldn’t let people like that work in schools. He could scare kids.”
“Your sister also said Mr. Costa was an Italian spy,” Charlotte said. “When it comes to meanness, your sister’s a hundred times more scary than Mr. Willis. And so are you.” She grabbed Betsy’s arm and marched away from Sophie, who for once had nothing more to say.
They held recess in the gym because of the rain. Charlotte grabbed a jump rope and spun it, jumping as fast as she could. She didn’t even count the jumps, her mind was so stirred up. Rumors, suspicion, finger-pointing—it was rotten to think about poor Mr. Willis like that. It made Charlotte furious.
But by the end of recess, his name was a hum, spreading around the room under the sound of jumps and bounces and yells.
Charlotte wanted to stick her fingers in her ears. “What are we going to do, Betsy? Poor Mr. Willis.”
“Are you sure he didn’t do it?” Betsy replied. “I mean, he could have taken the scrap upriver as easy as anybody else, couldn’t he?”
“Not you too!” Charlotte turned away and bumped into Paul Rossi, who was charging toward her with a frown on his face.
“You hear what they’re saying? About Wagon Willie?”
“Yeah.” Charlotte nodded.
“So what are we going to do about it, Charlotte? Unless you think, like the rest of these bozos, that Mr. Willis has a criminal mind just because he can’t talk real smooth.”
“I don’t think that! But what can we do?”
“Catch the real thief.”
Charlotte shook her head. “You don’t mean … Not tonight … Not in the rain …”
“Why not? It’s a perfect night for a thief. He can come and haul his loot away and nobody will see. Who else would be out?” He grinned at her.
Charlotte swallowed hard. She turned. “Betsy? Can you come?” Betsy understood how she felt about the river. With Betsy in the boat, she might make it through another night on the water. “Please.”
“I’d help if I could, Charlotte. You know that. But my ma is so strict.”
“But the rain …” Charlotte protested, turning back to Paul.
“Come on, Charlotte, your pa’s a river man. You’ve got old oilskins around the house. If not, we’ve got extras from my brothers. Besides, it’s May. A little spring rain never hurt anyone.”
Right, Charlotte thought. Spring rain was soft and gentle. Spring rain fed the flowers. But it also fed creeks and rivers. It turned into river water and popped huge barges from their moorings and set them adrift.
“Decide, Charlotte. We have to catch the real thief, or Wagon Willie could be in a lot of trouble. He could lose his job. Unless that doesn’t matter to you.”
“Of course it matters, but—”
“Great,” he said, smacking her shoulder. “Meet me by the boat then. Same time as last night.”
“Come on, Charlie. Hurry up. It’s getting dark.” Robbie stood by the back door, wrapped in one of Pa’s old jackets. He kicked at the bottom of the door.
Charlotte buttoned her sweater. “Don’t hurry me, buster. I don’t want to go at all, so don’t push.”
“Fine. Me and Paul will do better without you.” He reached for the doorknob.
She knocked his hand away. “Let me finish getting dressed. Are you sure you’re wrapped up enough?”
“Stop fussing, Charlie. You’re worse than Ma.”
“Yeah, and how am I supposed to explain to Ma if your clothes get soaked? Should I tell her you took a bath with your pants on?”
“We’ve been over this already. If anything gets wet, we hide it in Jim’s closet. Come on. Paul will leave without us.”
Charlotte tightened Jim’s spare oilskin around herself. She checked her bag from the night before and picked up the baseball bat. “Okay. I’m ready.”
What a lie that was. She’d take ten spelling tests, twenty arithmetic tests, if it meant she didn’t have to go out on the water tonight with all that rain. But when she thought about poor Mr. Willis, what choice did she have? She’d spent the afternoon trying to think of a better way to catch the thief and she’d come up empty. Even if they showed the police the stash of metal, somebody could still say Mr. Willis had taken it and hidden it by the river.
She stood on the back porch and locked the door, wishing that somehow Betsy could sneak out and join them.
Robbie bounced down the steps. “Hurry up. I think tonight’s the night. I got a feeling about it.” He splashed through a puddle and onto the street.
She hurried to catch up. “So do I, buster. A bad feeling.”
Her worry didn’t lighten when they reached the river. Even in the near-darkness, she could see how angry and muddy it looked. When she stepped into the rowboat, the current rocked her. “Water’s high, Paul.”
“I know. We’ll have to be extra careful. You too, Robbie.”
“Aye, aye. Let’s go get the crooks.”
Paul rowed. The beat of rain on the water hid their slight splashes as the boat nosed into the river. When he pulled his oars out between strokes, the current shoved the boat backward. Staying even with the cove would be hard work tonight. Charlotte might have to take a turn at the oars.
She peered forward into th
e gloom. If she were rowing, she wouldn’t have to look out at the water rushing past. She’d be working too hard to hear it slap against the sides of the boat. She closed her eyes. They hadn’t reached the cove yet. She didn’t have to look at all. But not seeing was worse, for she could imagine …
“Paul. When we get there tonight, could we tie up somewhere? I don’t like the feel of the river.”
“Maybe. But it would make a getaway harder. I’m not sure which is worse.”
Charlotte sighed and huddled on the seat. Already rain was leaking in around her collar and at the tops of her boots. She hugged herself and tried not to shiver. “Maybe we should just wait till Pa comes home and haul the metal to the scrap yard on his tug. Forget about the thief.”
“If we don’t catch him before your pa comes home, maybe. But tonight we’ve got to keep watch for the thief. It’s a perfect night.”
“Perfectly awful,” Charlotte grumbled.
“What if they have a motor?” Robbie asked. “We’ll never catch them if they have a motor.”
“With gas shortages? Not likely,” Paul said.
“They could too have a motor,” Robbie argued. “If they could steal our metal, they could steal somebody’s gas. So there.”
“Come on, buster. We’ve got to be quiet, remember?”
As they neared the small cove, the night grew darker, and fog began to drift along the river, mixing with the rain. Upstream somewhere a train whistle blew, long and loud and so lonesome Charlotte wanted to cry. “We should go home,” she said softly. “It’s nuts to be out here tonight.”
“Shh,” Paul warned. “Watch the bank now. I’m going in closer.”
Closer meant shallower water. That made Charlotte feel a little better, but in a cove the currents sometimes acted funny. And with fog coming down, a boat could get lost just a few feet from shore.
“Do you see anything, Charlie?” Robbie whispered. “I don’t.”
“I can barely see the bank. Paul, we really should go home. We won’t catch anybody if we can’t see.”
“I’ll tie up then,” he said. “We’ll use our ears.”
As he finished speaking, a low wail blasted the air around them. A tug in midriver. The sound came three times. Charlotte braced herself for the wake. It hit them broadside, knocking the rowboat sideways toward the bank and sloshing water in over their feet.
When the river calmed, Paul rowed toward an overhanging tree. “We’ll tie up here. If we can’t see the crook, he can’t see us. So we’ll be fine.”
“I’m not sitting in this boat,” Charlotte said. “I want solid ground under my feet.”
“Come on, Charlie. Don’t turn chicken again. The banks are all mud anyway.”
“I’ll find a rock to sit on.” She climbed out, carrying the bat and her bag of supplies.
“Shh,” Paul warned again. “Sounds can carry a long way on the water.”
Like last night, Charlotte thought. Were that man and child going to come back? Were they mixed up in the stealing? She squinted, trying to spot a protected place to sit. There didn’t seem to be any flat rocks nearby, but she found a beached log that was better than mud. She sat, wishing for a thick umbrella of pine branches overhead. But no big trees grew this close to the river, so the rain trickled down her neck.
Minutes crept by, then a half hour. Another train blew. The chuffing of wheels grew loud, then soft, finally disappearing into the fog. “How long?” she whispered. “It’s really bad out here.”
“Another hour?” Paul said.
“Half? Please?”
“Okay, half.”
“Aw, Charlie—”
“Shh. I hear something,” Paul whispered.
Charlotte held her breath. Footsteps? The splash of water against a boat? She listened hard over the river noise and the rain.
“It’s too hard. I can’t bear it, Johnny.” A woman’s voice.
“I know. I know. But I got no choice.” A man.
Robbie slipped out of the boat and crawled next to her on the log. She threw her arm around him. These people didn’t sound like thieves, but they sure sounded spooky. They had to be mighty desperate to be out on such a night. And where were they? On the river? On the bank? Charlotte listened for boat sounds but didn’t hear any. Just sad voices.
“Do you have to? If you love me …”
“I have to. Because I love you. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t?”
Charlotte pulled Robbie closer. She heard no more talking, but there was a sound, soft crying, like a kitten would make. They weren’t supposed to be hearing this. Nobody was. It felt all wrong.
“Paul. I want to go home. Now.” She opened her bag and pulled out the flashlight. Turning sideways to keep any stray light from reaching the river, she flicked on the flashlight, checked her watch quickly, then switched off the light. “We’ve been out here for more than an hour. The next dry night I’ll come back, I promise.”
“Shh.” His warning came as a soft hiss, barely reaching her ears.
What had he heard or imagined this time? Charlotte held her breath and listened, so hard she could hear her own heart beating and Robbie’s soft breathing next to her. Then she heard it too, upstream. The scrape of wood against rock. A splash and the gentle thwack of a rope being tossed to shore.
CHAPTER 12
AT WHISPER BEND
Charlotte froze. She felt Robbie’s hand inch over onto her arm, and he dug his nails in, like a kitten will when it’s scared. His fingers crept down until they reached her right hand. He tugged on the flashlight she still held. His motion thawed her muscles.
She passed him the flashlight with her right thumb covering the switch, protecting it. With her left palm she covered the end with the lightbulb, then shook her head as if to say, Don’t turn it on yet. She prayed he understood.
He nodded and she released it into his hands. Bending slowly, she reached for the baseball bat and wrapped both her hands around it.
Upstream, a thump and footsteps.
She peered into the darkness, trying to see Paul’s face, but he was too far away, a pale blur in the rainy night.
The footsteps came closer. Was it just one person?
Robbie poked her side with his elbow.
She shook her head. Not yet, not until the thief was close enough to catch. She lifted the bat from the ground and set it on her right shoulder. She glanced toward Paul again and saw motion. She wasn’t sure what he was up to.
A twig snapped, so close she could almost feel the bark splinter. She tightened her grip on the bat and prepared to stand. She nudged Robbie.
He flicked on the light.
“Stop right there!” she shouted.
Paul leapt from the rowboat with an oar, ready to swing it.
The light wobbled, then Robbie caught a face in its beam. A boy, or a young man. Dark clothes. A cap. His mouth open, his eyes wide. Then a deep voice. “Oh, geez. No!”
“Don’t you move,” Robbie warned.
Paul slipped behind the guy. “Not unless you want a taste of this,” he shouted, slapping his oar against the water.
Charlotte stood and stepped closer. He was a boy, but older. Jim’s age maybe, his size. She could see shadows of a beard on his jaw. Dark hair and dark eyes.
“Joey? Joey, what’s happening?” A voice from upstream, from the darkness. A kid’s voice.
“Hush. Stay in the boat.” He turned to Charlotte and let out a sigh. “It’s me you want, not them. They didn’t do anything.”
“Did you steal our metal?” Robbie demanded.
“Joey, I’m coming to help,” the kid called again.
“No! Stay back!”
Noises from upstream, splashes and voices. Then running feet. Two kids burst from the bushes and grabbed Paul’s legs from behind.
The thief turned and tugged on them, freeing Paul. “I said not to,” he began.
Robbie shined his flashlight on the kids. “I told you, Charlie. I told you it was
Tommy Stankowski.”
The boy in the light blinked, scowled, and stuck out his jaw. The other kid, a little girl, started to cry.
“Give me that light,” Charlotte said. She set down her bat in Paul’s boat and took the flashlight from Robbie. She fumbled, then flicked off the switch. “What do we do now?” she asked Paul.
“Take them to the cops,” Robbie said.
“Please. I can explain. Just hear me out,” the guy said. He threw an arm around each of the kids.
Paul stepped closer and Charlotte watched him study the three thieves. “I think we should hear what he has to say. We can always take him to the cops after. Go on.”
“It could take a while,” Joey said. “But the little fella is right. I’m Joseph Stankowski. This here’s my brother Tommy and my sister Tessa. They didn’t do none of this.” He pointed to the metal.
“But, Charlie—” Robbie began.
A voice from the bank cut him off. “N-nobody move!”
A powerful glare hit Charlotte in the eyes, blinding her. She raised her hand as a shield. “Who is it?” Was there another thief?
Nobody moved. Charlotte heard scrambling sounds, branches breaking, boots hitting rocks with loud thuds. And then she found herself looking right into a familiar face. “Mr. Willis? What are you doing here?”
“M-m-missy. Shame.” He shook his head at her, angry.
She touched her chest. “Me? You think I’m the thief? Not me. We found the metal. We’ve been watching for two nights from the river.”
He nodded, as though maybe he believed her.
“How about you, Mr. Willis?” Paul asked. “How come you’re here?”
“G-garden,” the man said.
“Garden? You can’t grow nothing on the riverbank,” Robbie said. “It’s all muck.”
Mr. Willis shook his head. “G-garden,” he repeated.
Charlotte frowned, trying to understand. “Were you guarding? Keeping watch on the metal? Did you see it and decide to wait for the thief too? That’s what we were doing.”
Mr. Willis nodded. “Guarding. W-waiting for the thief. Th-three nights.”
Voices at Whisper Bend Page 9