by Tara Ellis
Blushing, the young sleuth slowly wipes her damp hands on her jeans. Was she really that obvious? “Can we talk to Mr. Potts, too?” Sam asks, turning to face Grace. “We have something to show both of you.”
Her smile fading, Grace pulls a chair out from the table and sits down. “I’m afraid not. Benny hasn’t been doing well at all the past couple of days. He’s lying down right now, girls, and I’d rather not bother him.”
The news gives weight to the need for action, and it encourages Sam that they’re doing the right thing. Stepping away from the carrots with purpose, she goes to stand next to Grace, while pulling the sheets of paper from her back pocket.
Ally and Cassy exchange a nervous look. Ally isn’t so confident, but she has faith in Sam. Her friend has a knack for putting random pieces of information together where others don’t see the pattern. She’s also much braver than your average teen, and doesn’t hesitate to push, where others might back away. If anyone can convince Grace to let the girls help, it’s her.
Spreading the pages out deliberately on the kitchen table, Sam then sits down in the other chair. She nervously picks at the ragged edges of a new hole in her jeans, while Grace looks over the documents.
“What is this?”
Sam looks up at the sharp intake of breath, and cringes at the disapproving frown on Grace’s face. “We stopped by the program yesterday to pick up some items from Mrs. Trent,” she explains. “She was working on some stuff in her office, and it was pretty obvious that she was upset about it. When she left to go get the things for us, we happened to look at one of the papers she crumpled up and threw on the floor. We weren’t trying to be nosey,” Sam adds hastily, as the older woman begins to shake her head in displeasure. “But I thought that these numbers might be what you need to compare to your bank statements, and prove that Mr. Kingsman is taking the money!”
Grace starts to say something, but then thinks better of it, and presses her lips together in a hard line. Standing abruptly, she gathers the papers up and walks briskly from the room without a word.
The three girls are left staring at each other in uncertainty. Cassy and Ally are frozen at first, but then go and stand on either side of Sam. An old clock mounted on the wall above the table ticks off the seconds, suddenly much louder than before, in the now silent room.
“Should we leave?” Ally finally whispers, when several minutes pass without any sign of Mrs. Potts.
Shaking her head, Sam stands and pushes her chair in. The legs scrape across the floor and seem to break the spell. “No. I don’t want to leave without talking to her some more. We just have to figure out a way to prove their innocence!”
Approaching footsteps announce Grace’s return, and she walks back into the kitchen with a cardboard box in her arms. Setting it on the table, she then looks pointedly at Sam.
“These are all of the bank statements for the past year,” she explains, taking out a handful of official looking papers. “I have to admit that I haven’t really done much with them, other than to put them in this box. I’ve felt completely helpless, and haven’t seen the point in doing much else.
“But things are different now,” she continues, making separate stacks and beginning to sort the documents while talking. “Even if you hadn’t found Benny, we don’t have a choice. I won’t risk his health any longer. The truth has to come out. At least now, we have a chance to prove what Gregory has been doing. He’s known all along that if Benny survived that storm, he’d have to cover his involvement … and he has. I have no doubt now that that thief intended for my Benny to drown. He knew that storm was going to hit early, and it’s why he pushed him to go that day.”
Pounding a fist on the table, Grace looks up at Sam, her face a combination of anger and grief. “He’s threatened, blackmailed, and stolen from us consistently for the past six years, but I’m afraid we’re not going to have enough to prove it!”
Sitting down again, Sam takes her older friends’ hand in her own, and squeezes it reassuringly. “Maybe his crooked dealings with the afterschool program will be enough to make the authorities look more closely at all of his other transactions,” she says, trying to sound reassuring.
“Perhaps,” Grace replies, forcing a smile. “Whatever the outcome, I must insist that you girls not involve yourself any further.”
Sam tries to respond, but Mrs. Potts drops her hand and surprises her by firmly grasping her arms. “I mean it, Sam. No more. I appreciate your caring enough to want to help us, but this has gone way too far. I will not have you mixed up in any of this! Do you understand? You host the fundraiser tomorrow night, Sunday I will phone the police, and that will be the end of it.”
On the verge of tears, Sam looks numbly at Grace, unsure of how to respond. Even though she wants to do more to help, she can’t think of a way to do it, so it’ll be easy to follow her demand.
“We understand, Grace,” Ally offers, wiping at her nose. Always the more emotional one, she’s unable to hold her own tears back.
“Sam?” Grace asks, still unconvinced.
“Of course,” Sam finally mumbles. Grace releases her arms, but then leans in to give her young friend a brief but fierce hug.
13
GOOD DEEDS GONE WRONG
Sam tugs at the eye patch and pulls the elastic up, turning it into a makeshift hairband. “I guess my head must be bigger than Hunter’s,” she complains, rubbing at the mark it’s made on her left temple. Borrowing her brother’s pirate costume from last year seemed like a good idea, but now she’s not so sure.
“I know I’m missing a perfect opportunity right now to make a joke about brain size,” Cassy counters, looking at her own ghostly white face in the school bathroom mirror, “but I’m too exhausted to think that hard.” Deciding it’s not quite Casper-like yet, she dabs some more face paint on, and then stands back to admire her reflection. “What do you think?”
Sam tugs at her oversized, black and white striped pirate shirt, before studying Cassy’s handiwork. “If you’re going for a friendly ghost, you might want to rethink the black eyeliner and bloody lips,” she offers, reaching out to wipe off a clump of paint from Cassy’s ear.
Laughing, Cassy twirls around, making her white flowing robes balloon out, and does her best imitation of a scary moan. “I dunno. At first, I thought that since I’m going to be taking and selling the tickets, I should look friendly, but I’m kinda liking the whole spook thing.”
“Go for it!” Ally urges, already gathering the makeup back into a bag. “Your dark hair looks fabulous against the white. “You look like one of those freaky things crawling out from under a bed in a horror movie.”
“Ummm … I dunno if that’s a compliment or not,” Cassy counters. “You, on the other hand, are absolutely terrifying. If anyone goes running out of there, we’ll know why!”
Ally pats at her red hair, which is teased and sprayed so that it sticks nearly straight out from her head. Her clown makeup is perfect, and all she needs to do is put on the big red nose to complete her outfit. While Sam is escorting the paying guests through the maze of scares, Ally will be stationed about midway through, in a dark corner. Propped up like an oversized doll, as people stroll by she’ll come to life and chase after them.
“It’s not even two-thirty yet, but it feels like midnight!” Sam complains, following Ally out of the locker room. “But at least we have some time to relax.”
John and Hunter got permission from their coach to use their football gear as part of their zombie costumes, but in exchange, they have to participate in the whole Saturday practice. It doesn’t get over until three-thirty, but one of their teammates claims to be a pro at zombie makeup and is going to do theirs before they leave the high school.
As a result, the set-up time was moved to eight that morning, so most of the work was done when the guys left at noon. With the help of the other students that showed up at eleven, everything that could be finished in advance is completed. Lisa is leaving at four to
go pick up a bunch of dry ice, and one of the boys in the club, Brian, is bringing his two promised smoke machines.
Sam stands back to observe the entrance, trying to picture it with the smoke, dry ice fog and black lights. She has to admit that it’s all come together a lot better than she ever hoped, but it’s hard to be too happy with the nagging thoughts of Grace and Benjamin Potts tugging at her.
“Something is still missing,” Ally observes, tapping at her chin.
Sam didn’t even realize that her friends were standing beside her, and jumps at the comment. Laughing at herself, she tries to shake off her mood, and to focus instead on the upcoming, positive night. “What else could we possibly cram in there? I don’t think we can get one more decoration in it.”
“No, we have plenty of decorations,” Ally agrees. “I’m talking about the reason why we’re doing it. We’ve got all the signs up that we made to advertise the haunted house, but nothing about the afterschool program. We need a donation table, and information board!” she says, getting more excited. “So that people know what their money is going to. I helped with a fundraiser once at our church. It was a kid’s camp, and they put this big board up with all sorts of pictures of the camp and the name. Then, there was a jar where people could give extra money.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Ally!” Lisa agrees, walking over with empty bags of fake cobwebs. “We could pull out one of the folding tables, and put it over by the entrance, across from the ticket table.”
“But what would we put on the board?” Cassy questions. “We don’t really have anything.”
“We’ve got all sorts of craft paper and paint,” Sam says, thinking aloud. “It would be easy enough to use some of the left over cardboard, decorate it, and paint the name across the top.”
“We have over two hours until we really need to be back here,” Ally continues. “We can go take some pictures of the school and get them developed at the hour developing place just down the street. We’d have plenty of time to set it up!”
“Here,” Lisa offers, pulling out her wallet. “This should be enough to pay for several photos, and some sandwiches while you wait. I’ll work on getting the rest of this picked up, and then I’ll go write up some information about the program and print it out on the computer in my classroom.”
After a brief debate about walking around town in their costumes, the girls decide that it is Halloween, after all.
It doesn’t take long to make their way to the building, and Sam snaps off some quick pictures of the quaint porch and sign.
“Why don’t we walk around back and get some shots of the cute playground?” Ally suggests. “I just wish we thought of it when we were here with the kids.”
As they push through the latched side gate, Sam moves forward to get a good view of the outdoor toys, while Cassy asks to borrow Ally’s phone. “I’m pretty sure they have a website,” she explains, doing a search on the internet. “Here! I found it. There are all sorts of pictures on here. I’m sure we can download and use some of them.”
“Aren’t they protected by a trademark, or something?” Sam asks, unsure of using the photos without permission.
“You mean a copyright,” Ally corrects, taking her phone back. “My Dad explained all of that to me once. Since we’re doing this fundraiser with the permission of the school, I’m sure it’ll be okay to use their pictures. We’ll just have to give them credit for it on the board somewhere. And we really shouldn’t use one if you can see the kids’ faces. A trademark,” she continues, slipping on to one of the swings, “is what you see stamped on a product, like a hairbrush or something.”
Joining Ally, Sam, and Cassy both sit on the other two empty swings. Twirling slowly, Sam suddenly sits up straight, a faraway look on her face. “A trademark …”
“Uh-oh,” Cassy murmurs, beginning to recognize the same warning signs that Ally has spoken of several times. Their friend is onto something.
Jumping down from the swing, Sam starts thumbing frantically through her pictures. “Where is it … here!” Still talking to herself, she takes a few steps forward so she can see the image better in the shade of the building. Swiping at the screen, she enlarges the picture and then gasps. “Look!”
Her excitement rubbing off on them, Ally and Cassy scramble to Sam’s side, and lean in close to her phone. It’s the picture that she took at the pirate cove. The close-up shot of the fabricated wood used to make Benjamin Potts’ ill-fated boat. Sam has enlarged it to the point that the screen is dark with it, but in the middle, barely visible, is what looks to be a raised edge clearly forming the letters B T P.
“That has to be Benjamin Thaddeus Potts Trademark!” Ally cries, looking up at Sam in amazement. “He might not have submitted his work for a legal patent, but he still stamped it to identify it as his.”
“You mean we can prove that the fake wood in the pirate’s cove is from his boat?” Cassy asks, trying to grasp the bigger picture.
Nodding, Sam swallows around the lump rising in her throat. “Not only that, Cassy, but we can prove that Mr. Potts invented that wood over a year before Gregory Kingsman stole it! This is what they need to prove everything!”
“We’ll have John take us out there tomorrow morning,” Ally says, tapping out a rapid-fire text message to her brother while she’s talking. “We might even be able to get it back in time for the Potts to show to the police! They’ll be so surprised!”
“Why wait until tomorrow?”
Spinning around at the deep voice coming from the shadows of the porch behind them, the three girls all cry out in fear. Standing there is Gregory Kingsman!
“It’s a beautiful day for a treasure hunt,” he says coyly, and begins to walk slowly towards them.
14
AYE, MATIES!
Ally grabs onto Sam’s hand instinctively, pulling her friend close. Cassy crowds her other side, and together, the three of them face the large, intimidating man.
“We should be going,” Sam says bravely. “We’re expected back at the school.” Her voice wavers slightly, and she hopes that her lie isn’t too transparent.
Mr. Kingsman is standing in between them and the only exit from the backyard area. The building wraps around three sides of them, creating the courtyard, with the fence and bushes closing it off from the side street. Even if the door he came out didn’t lock behind him, they would still have to go around the man to get to it.
He must have been in the office, and heard us talking out here, Sam thinks, chastising herself for not paying more attention to any cars parked out on the road. They should have knocked on the front door first, before coming back here. How much did he hear?
Sticking out his hand, any trace of humor fades from his face as his eyes narrow to slits. “Give me your phones.”
Sam takes an automatic step back from him, bumping into Ally. Her phone still grasped in her now clammy hand, she can’t try to claim not to have one. Hesitating, she looks sideways at Ally, unsure of what to do. Why does he want their phones?
Ally stares back at Sam, just as confused by the request as she is. Clearing her throat, Ally leans in close to her. “Let’s just leave,” she whispers, somewhat desperate. “What’s he going to do, tackle all of us?”
Cassy surprises both girls by stepping past them, her white robe flapping in the offshore breeze. When Kingsman doesn’t move aside for her, she stops just a couple of feet short, crossing her arms over her chest. “We aren’t doing anything wrong.”
“You’re trespassing,” he replies with authority. “Now give me your phones!”
Cassy flinches as he yells at her, but doesn’t back down. “We have permission to be here, and my sister isn’t going to like the way you’re talking to us!” Instead of following his demand, she flips open her older cellphone and starts to dial Lisa’s number.
In a motion so fast that Sam barely has time to react, Kingsman steps forward and slaps the phone from Cassy’s hand, sending it crashing against the side
of the building. Cassy gasps and falls away from him, as pieces of her phone clatter to the deck.
Reaching out to catch the shocked girl, Sam and Cassy then stumble back, a contrast of black and white material tumbling to the ground. Sam’s phone bounces across the yard, knocked free by the impact.
Left standing alone, Ally trembles slightly when Kingsman advances on her. Holding her hand out, she offers the cell to him, and then recoils as he snatches it away.
Watching the scene with dismay, Sam notes that in a different setting, the stunned expression on her friend’s clown-painted face might be funny. However, it’s rapidly becoming apparent that Gregory Kingsman heard everything they said, and he has a lot to lose. How far is the rising politician willing to go to keep his secrets?
“What’s going on, boss?”
Rising slowly to her feet, tying to think of a way out of the situation, Sam spots the man that’s appeared at the gate. He’s younger than Kingsman, probably in his late twenties. He’s dressed more casually in a worn t-shirt and his hair is overgrown and unkempt.
“Here,” Gregory barks, tossing Ally’s phone at him. Bending to pick up Sam’s, he throws that at him, too. “Lock these in the glovebox, Ryan, and then bring the car around. We’ve got a change in plans.”
Ryan looks at the older man questioningly, but he doesn’t appear troubled by the requests. “Sure, man. Whatever you want. But what’s with the kids?”
“They stuck their noses where they shouldn’t have,” Kingsman explains evenly.
Shrugging, the younger man doesn’t push for more information, and Sam is discouraged when he leaves, apparently to go get the car. It doesn’t seem that he’s going to help them.
Sam pulls Cassy to her feet, and she notices fresh grass stains on her white costume. The evidence of the attack against her friend causes a wave of anger to wash over Sam, and propels her into action. If they’re going to get away, it has to happen before Ryan returns.