by Dayle Gaetz
Cliff took a step toward her. “Your mother told you to stay away from that boy. Can’t you understand he’s stalking you? He could be dangerous.”
Megan backed toward the stairs. “Who do you think you are?” she screeched. “My father?” She turned and ran up the stairs.
“Megan, come back here!” Cliff yelled and started after her.
“It’s all right, Cliff, let her go,” Aunt Margaret said.
“No sense in letting her spoil everyone’s fun.”
That was the most sensible thing Katie had heard all day. She smiled when Megan’s bedroom door slammed and the sound of it reverberated through the house.
“And I really don’t think Scott is dangerous,” Aunt Margaret continued. “He’s just a boy who made a mistake. As for Megan’s cell phone, she’s forever misplacing it. I’m sure it will show up soon.”
Once again, Cliff headed for the door.
“Why don’t we get Katie to try the number now?”
GJ suggested. “If it rings we can track it down. What’s the number?”
Aunt Margaret gave Katie the number, and she started to punch it in. Not that she wanted her first call on her new cell phone to be to her cousin, but she was curious to find out where the phone had gone. You never knew what might turn out to be a clue.
“If it rings, say hello to Scott,” Cliff called over his shoulder.
Katie pushed Send. They didn’t hear the phone ringing anywhere in the house. After four rings, Megan’s voice answered, “Hey, it’s Megan. Leave a message. If you’re real lucky, I’ll get back to you.”
10
“I should go.” Emily’s mouth twisted down on one side. “I don’t think, like, Megan wants me here?”
“I’m really sorry, Emily,” Aunt Margaret said. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Megan lately; she’s acting just plain rude. But I poured you some tea. Why don’t you stay and finish it? We enjoy your company even if Megan is too preoccupied with herself right now.”
“I can help you clean up,” Emily suggested with an unhappy glance at stacks of dishes piled on the countertop and overflowing the sink.
“Thanks, but no.” Aunt Margaret grinned. “That’s what my sisters are here for.”
Katie’s mom and Aunt Sarah groaned.
“Katie,” said her mom, “why don’t you and Rusty take Emily out to the porch? There’s no need for her to rush off just yet, and you kids can keep her company while we get these dishes done.”
“Good idea.” Katie hopped up from the table. She couldn’t believe her luck. There were tons of unanswered questions rattling around in her brain and this opportunity to question Megan’s friend was perfect timing. She grabbed her new notebook and cell phone and headed for the door before anyone could have a change of mind.
Emily carried her tea out and sat on a chair next to Katie. Resting her elbows on the white wicker arms, Emily stared into the mug she clutched in both hands. Rusty sauntered out and plunked himself down on the chair closest to the door, his sketchbook balanced on his knees.
“So, Emily,” Katie began, “have you and Megan been friends for a long time?”
Emily nodded. “Ever since we were three years old. Our parents were, like, I mean, friends too.”
“They aren’t anymore?”
Emily shook her purple, sea urchin hair. “I don’t know. Since Megan’s dad died, they don’t see each other so much. Megan’s mom is always, like, way too busy.” She sipped her tea and muttered something under her breath.
“Are you mad because Megan hardly paid any attention to you tonight?”
“Why be mad?” she sighed. “I’m getting used to it.
Megan doesn’t like, uh, like me so much anymore.”
“So, you don’t hang out together?” Katie clutched her notebook on her lap, itching to take notes but afraid to open it. Sooner or later Emily would get tired of answering questions, just like everyone did. And if Emily saw Katie writing down everything she said, it would be sooner rather than later.
“Not like we used to. Summers used to be, like, so much fun. Megs, Scott and me always got together with kids from school and went swimming or biking, whatever. And we played tons of baseball.” Emily smiled, remembering. “Megs was good too. You should have seen her hit that ball!”
Her smile vanished. “But Megan never wants to do anything anymore. And she’s been tons worse since Cliff fired Scott.”
“I thought Aunt Margaret fired him.”
“Huh? No, it was Cliff.”
“But, why?”
“Scott was staying here to help with seeding, and he slept in the spare room in Cliff’s suite. They were real busy, so Megan was supposed to, like, take care of the housekeeping in their rooms? But she got too busy with exams. Anyway, her mom went in to clean one day and found something in Scott’s room.”
“What was it?”
“A necklace. She didn’t even know it was, like, missing? It used to belong to Megan’s grandma—her dad’s mother? Anyway, before she died Grandma Piercy gave the necklace to Megan’s mom.”
“So, is it, like, valuable or what?” Katie was vaguely aware that like had slipped into her sentence. Seemed like like was catchy.
“I guess so. It’s old anyway. I think it’s, like, a family heirloom or something? From England. Anyway, Megan’s mom kept it in her jewelry box in her bedroom, but she never wore it. She doesn’t like, uh, jewelry.”
“But, why would Scott take it?”
“I wouldn’t have believed it a few months back, but who knows? It’s totally weird how everyone around here has changed lately. Megan sure did. And Scott’s so desperate to save money for college, maybe he planned on selling the necklace to make a bundle.”
“Then, why would he leave it in his room? You’d think he’d be smart enough to figure out Aunt Margaret would find it.”
Emily shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. Maybe he felt guilty about taking it in the first place. I mean, he really likes Megan, and her mom’s always been real good to him. She even gave him a job to help him make some money.” She sipped her tea and thought for a minute. “So, yeah, maybe that’s it. Maybe he couldn’t go through with it but, like, got caught before he could return the necklace.”
“But Megan still sees Scott?”
“Yeah, sometimes, when she can get away from here.”
“Why can’t she get away?”
Emily frowned and stared out through the window screen. Katie was sure she’d had enough and wouldn’t answer any more questions, but Emily surprised her. Maybe she was happy to share her worries. Still gazing outside, Emily said, “Megan’s mom won’t let her see Scott and she keeps a close eye on everything Megs does, ’cause she thinks Megan might, like, sneak off.”
Emily gulped her tea and lowered the mug to her knee, still holding it in both hands. “Then there’s Cliff.
That guy watches over Megs too, like he’s her big brother or something? It drives her nuts! Tonight, when I caught him alone in the kitchen, I told him to back off. He got real mad. He thinks I’m, like, a freak.”
“So that’s what you were arguing about when we got back?”
Emily nodded.
Katie couldn’t stand it any longer. She opened her notebook and started to write.
Emily twisted her head to see. “What are you, some kind of spy?”
“No.” Katie shook her head without looking up.
“A detective. And a good one too. Ask Rusty.”
Emily turned to Rusty.
Rusty looked up from his drawing and pulled a face. “I have to admit, she’s not bad.” He grinned.
“And you gotta admire her modesty.”
Emily’s eyes shifted back to Katie. “I don’t know what you’re detecting but if you can help Megan, count on me to help. Can you believe I had to whisper a message to her tonight? Scott wanted to meet her but he was scared to call her cell phone because her mom keeps track of the calls when she gets the bill.”
Kat
ie smiled as she made a note. She felt good.
Emily was the first person over twelve ever to take her seriously. “What makes you think Megan needs help?”
“I don’t know. I just figure something’s, like, really wrong and Megs can’t handle it herself.” Emily’s mouth twisted. “But she won’t talk to me about it, that’s for sure. Or Scott either. We’re kinda worried she might have, like, anorexia nervosa.”
“Anorexia nervosa?” Rusty snorted. “What’s that? Some kind of dinosaur?”
“No, Dumbo,” Katie said, “it means she will eat hardly anything because she thinks she’s fat. We talked about it at school last year.”
“Megan? Fat? She looks like a walking skeleton.”
“Anorexia is an eating disorder,” Emily explained. “I looked it up on the web. It’s, like, something wrong with the dopamine receptors in the brain. Or, whatever. Seems like it’s mostly girls who get it and they, like, basically stop eating. It’s like the only way they can control their lives is to not eat. If they eat anything, they feel guilty, even if it’s just like, salad or something. And they never stop exercising.”
“How come they don’t starve to death?” Katie wondered, thinking about Megan’s bone-thin arms.
“That’s the thing. No matter how skinny they get, they still aren’t happy. They’re hungry but can’t admit it. Some girls get to the point where they can’t eat, even to save their own lives.”
“That’s sick!” Rusty said.
“Yeah,” Emily agreed. “It’s, an illness, you know?
One thing I read said anorexia has, like, the highest death rate of any psychiatric disease.”
“Whoa!” Rusty said. “That explains why she’s skinny like a bone and grumpy as a turtle.”
“A turtle?” Katie asked.
“Yeah, you know those snapping turtles? When they’re hungry, they snap at anything that comes near them. And Megan is hungry all the time.”
Katie rolled her eyes and turned back to Emily.
“Just ignore him,” she said. “He’s way weird.”
“But he’s right.” Emily’s eyes misted over. “That’s exactly Megan. She’s always hungry, but she won’t eat. She’s wasting away.”
Emily drained her mug, placed it on the wicker table and stood up. “I don’t know how to help her. And her mom’s so busy worrying about the farm, she doesn’t even notice anything’s wrong.” She started for the door. “I need to, like, thank Megan’s mom for inviting me. Then I’m gone.”
“Wait!” Katie said. “Could you help me meet up with Scott? I need to question him.”
Emily turned back, a half smile on her lips. “You sure do like asking questions, don’t you?” She rested her hand on the doorjamb. “Okay, give me your cell number and I’ll, like, call you tomorrow.”
Katie opened her phone to check the number then wrote it on the small pad tucked in the front pocket of her new notebook. She ripped off the sheet and handed it to Emily.
After Emily rattled off in her parents’ battered blue truck, Katie and Rusty remained on the porch. Katie wrote notes on everything Emily had told her, a crucial part of any investigation, so she wouldn’t forget the smallest detail.
In some remote part of her mind Katie realized Rusty was bent over his sketchbook. She began to wonder what he was drawing. She looked up. He was lost in his work, sketching furiously.
Rusty had always loved to draw, and even though Katie would hate to admit it to him, she admired his skill. She knew he never wanted anyone to see a drawing until it was done and she respected that. So she tried to resist standing up and moving close enough for a good look.
Her good intentions lasted for at least ten seconds. Then she reminded herself that, like all good detectives, she was born to snoop. She stood, stepped closer to Rusty and managed a quick glimpse of a tall slim figure with hair that stood long on top of his head but was cut bluntly over his ears.
“You’re drawing Scott?”
Rusty covered his work, but his smile told Katie he was pleased she had recognized the figure. “I’m training myself to draw faces from memory.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Something to do. It makes me more observant.”
“Just faces?”
Rusty shook his head. “No, the whole person, clothes, everything.”
“Can I see? Please?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“Because,” she hesitated. “Okay, your drawings are good, Rusty. I like seeing them. Besides, I want to compare it with my notes about Scott.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you after I see it.”
Rusty leaned over his work, pencil in hand. “Maybe, in a minute, when I’m done.”
Katie sat back down and tried to concentrate on her notes. A clatter of dishes and the chatter of voices that drifted from the kitchen told her the rest of the family would soon wander out here. There wasn’t much time.
She tapped her foot impatiently until at last Rusty put his pencil down. Katie snapped her notebook shut.
“Can I see it now?”
Rusty shrugged. “I guess.” He held his sketchbook toward her.
Katie studied the drawing. A tall young man looked up at her, remarkably like Scott, right down to his white T-shirt and jeans that were a bit too short for his long legs.
“What about the cell phone?” she asked.
Rusty frowned, thinking. “I don’t remember a phone,” he admitted.
“Me neither. Cliff must be more observant than us.”
She sighed, “You know what? I’m so full I feel sick.
Want to walk up the driveway with me?”
“Why?”
“I told you, I’m full from eating too much cake, so I need some exercise.”
“Ha! I bet you want to see where that red truck was parked.”
There was no point in denying it; Rusty knew her too well. “Okay, I might want to do that too, but I really am full, aren’t you?”
Rusty put down his book and patted his stomach.
“Yeah, kind of. If I’m going to eat more cake later, I need some exercise.”
They walked the length of the driveway, swatting mosquitoes with every step. The evening air was hot and sleepy. It smelled like dust. At the road they turned right and walked to a grove of poplars that grew just inside the barbed wire fence bordering Aunt Margaret’s farm. Between the fence and the road was a small slough where red-winged blackbirds balanced on the tips of tall brown reeds. The birds filled the air with squeaky little songs and fluttered their short black wings. Here and there red shoulder patches flashed bright in the evening sunlight that filtered through the trees.
Long green grass grew alongside the slough but turned brown near the dirt road where the kids stood. Two wide tracks of flattened grass made a wide semicircle away from the road and back again.
“If Scott parked here,” Rusty said, “he was on the wrong side of the road. I’m going to check out the other side.” He ran across the road.
Katie bent to study the tire imprints on the grass. Rusty’s footsteps thudded back across the dirt.
“Nothing’s been parked over there,” he said. “No,” Katie said. “His truck would be better hidden on this side.”
A short shrill whistle made Katie’s breath catch in her throat. It was followed by loud flapping, like a strong gust of wind catching an awning. Every blackbird took to the air in an instant.
“What the heck was that?” Rusty whispered.
The whistle sounded again; then more flapping and a huge splash. The kids turned toward the slough in time to see a large, brown speckled duck land in the water, wings fluttering.
They moved down the slope. “Look at that!” Katie pointed. “Another nest basket, like the one by the hay field.” Directly above the duck, the man-made nest was partially hidden by reeds, but she could see that it was made of long grasses tightly wound around a wide cylinder made of chicken wire.
“That must be the male,” Rusty said.
Katie nodded. “What’s that lying in the grass?” She crouched at the edge of the slough and worked to free a small section of chicken wire entangled in the long green grass.
“It’s the same as the stuff in the equipment shed.” “And the wire that got caught in the cutter bar.” Katie looked across the shallow water. “I wonder who made that nest basket?” She climbed back up toward the road, searching the grass for other chunks of wire that might have been dropped. She stopped abruptly. “Look at this!” Close beside one of the tire prints, at the edge of the long grass, lay a small closed cell phone.
“Hey! Weird.” Rusty picked it up. It had a black leather case with a large plastic clip on the back. Rusty opened it and the little screen lit up.
“It still works, so it hasn’t been here for long,”
Katie said. “Hold on, I have an idea.”
She opened her own phone and pushed a few buttons until the word Redial? popped up on her screen.
She pushed Send.
Seconds later a raucous tune filled the air. It stopped. And started again. Rusty stared at the phone in his hand. “It’s ringing! What do I do?”
“Answer it.”
The phone rang once more before Rusty figured out which button to push. He put the phone to his ear. “Hello?” he said nervously.
“Hi, Rusty,” Katie said. “What’s new?”
Rusty pulled a face and disconnected. “So, it’s Megan’s phone!” he said. “Cliff was right. Scott must have taken it. He must have chucked it out after he was done. But why?”
Katie closed her phone. “I don’t know.”
“Look who’s coming!” Rusty said.
Broad shoulders hunched forward, muscular arms hanging out from his sides like a gunslinger’s, Cliff strode down the center of the road toward them.
“What are you kids doing there?” he yelled.