Joe’s race recognized ten places, but only paid money for the first five. He didn’t care. He was so happy to have placed in the top twenty.
I bumped him with my shoulder. “Hey, come here.” I led him to the side of the crowd so he could hear me. “Know who’s here? The scary guy I saw on the four-wheeler in the woods—the guy riding with the rednecks. The one Peapod wanted to kill even more than the rednecks. He asked me where Allie—where Allison—is.”
The P.A. system crackled. “Now for the Women’s Expert class.” This class paid through five places. The third-place woman stepped around me to go to the podium. She winked at me and muttered, “That race was like riding through hell.”
“Great job,” I said. It felt good to belong, like I had earned a place among the racers.
“Grand prize, first place, Women’s Expert champion for the second year in a row, goes to Miss Allison Baker!” the announcer called. The crowd erupted in cheers, looking expectantly for Allie. “AllieCat! AllieCat!” a small group started chanting. The chant spread.
But of course there was no Allie.
I saw the leather man on the edge of the crowd, eyes riveted on me. I swallowed.
“Go,” Joe shoved me. “What are you waiting for? Go get it.”
“I thought I’d get it after the awards ceremony,” I said to Joe over the din.
“Is Allison still here?” the announcer called.
The cheers faded.
“I’ll take it,” a voice boomed across the crowd. The leather, steel-eyed man strode toward the announcer. The announcer frowned at him, but the leather man reached out a hand. “I said I’d take it for her. I’m her father.”
Her father? Allie’s father? He was in prison. This couldn’t be …
“NO!” I yelled. I ran toward the podium. “I’m supposed to collect her prize. She asked me to. You can’t give it to him!” I looked up at the leathery man. “Who are you really?”
He chuckled. It was as metallic sounding as his voice. “Don’t be a wiseass. I’m Allison’s father. I’m collecting her prize for her.”
Everything jumbled around in my head. Her father. In prison. Allie taking off without an explanation … Her father? Out of prison? Breaking the law...What else? Allie had said.
“NO!” I said again. I turned back to the announcer, yanked Allie’s number from my jersey pocket, and pleaded, “She gave me this. She told me to collect her prize for her. You have to believe me.” The announcer looked from me to the man, confused, holding the envelope, not relinquishing it to either of us.
“I’ll just take it for her.” The steel and leather man snaked out a lanky arm. The announcer pulled the envelope back out of his reach. The leather man’s eyes grew harder, even more like steel, if that were possible. Without taking those eyes off the official, he fished a wallet out of his skinny jeans and held out a driver’s license. “Cecil Baker,” he said. “Allison Baker’s my daughter.”
“You can’t give it to him.” I shoved Allie’s number at the announcer, in front of the driver’s license. “Allie wants me to pick it up.”
Just then, Mike of A-1 Bike stepped up beside the announcer. “Sorry, sir. We’ll just keep the prize money. I’ll deliver it directly to the champion myself.”
“What?” I deflated. “Mike, Allie asked me—”
“Trust me,” Mike said. “Sorry sir. Sorry, Sadie, I can’t give this out to anyone other than Allie herself.”
The man’s steel eyes bore holes into Mike’s face. He turned and strode through the crowd, which parted like a sweaty sea. He went straight toward the parking lot and didn’t look back. The crowd was silent.
“All right then,” said the announcer. “Let’s hear it for the women … Next and last, we have the Men’s Expert class.”
The man disappeared, and I turned back to Mike. “That’s not really her dad, is it?”
“Yup. Afraid so.”
“I thought he was … in prison.”
“He was.”
“He’s out?”
Mike looked at me and nodded meaningfully, as if he wanted me to read his face without asking any more questions.
“Holy shit.” My mind couldn’t keep up with all the ideas spinning around. Her dad. Her disappearance. I couldn’t put it all together. “Mike. You still have to give me the prize money. I promised Allie. She said you’d give it to me.”
“Nope. No way. Not since he showed up. That dude is dangerous. I’ll take the money to her.”
“So you do know where to find her! I thought so. Tell me.”
He bit both lips, as if locking them, and shook his head.
“Come on, Mike. She’s at your bike shop, isn’t she?”
“Listen Sadie. I appreciate your loyalty and your dedication. Allie will, too. But believe me, it’s better if you don’t know where she is. Safer that way.”
“Safer? But—she’ll be waiting for me.”
“You want that dude following you?”
“No, but—”
“If he knows you’re taking money to her, you think he won’t follow you?” He shook his head again. “No way. Where were you going to meet her?”
“Back door of A-1.”
“See? Nothing suspicious about me being at my own shop on a holiday. You? Yes.”
“Four o’clock,” I said, defeated.
“I got it covered, Sadie.”
“Okay. Shoot,” I said. “She was going to tell me the whole story when I came to meet her. Tell her … tell her I would have brought it.”
“You got it. And I’ll tell her I wouldn’t let you keep your promise.”
I drifted back to Joe like I was in a fog. Joe grabbed my arm. “Allie’s father? That dude is scary.”
“You’re not kidding. Joe, come here.” I motioned him over to the side of the crowd so we could talk. “That’s not even half of it. He’s been in prison.”
“What? Prison?”
“Stillwater Prison.”
“I didn’t mean what prison. You knew he was in prison, and you never told me?” he said.
“It didn’t occur to me.”
“All this time we’ve been looking for her. Don’t you think it might matter if her dad was in prison?”
“Well, it doesn’t exactly change anything, does it? I didn’t think it had anything to do with her disappearing. He’s locked away and all—and we don’t know why he’s there—was there—she wouldn’t tell me that—just that he’s in Stillwater.”
“But now it matters. ’Cause he’s obviously out. You think there’s a connection? Her leaving and her dad being out?”
“Why? Joe, how would that matter? It was the priest that made her take off, not her dad.”
“This just gets deeper and more screwed up all the time.”
We stared at each other, letting everything soak in, wracking our brains.
“You think,” I asked, “that it was him watching us this morning? When Peapod growled?”
Joe shrugged. “No reason to think it was him, really. I think we’re creeping ourselves out.”
“We were right about Mike anyway,” I said. “He knows where Allie is. He’s taking her money to her. I think she’s been staying at the bike shop.”
When everything was over, we loaded our backpacks. We turned our bikes out of the parking lot, toward the river and the bike path shortcut to LeHillier.
Where the bike trail forked at Highway 66, a green diesel pickup sat at the stop sign, blocking the trail that crossed the highway. Smoke wafted in the shimmery heat from the driver’s window. A cigarette mirage of wavy air.
We both did track stands at the stop sign, waiting for the traffic on the highway so the pickup could go. When it was the pickup’s turn, he did not move.
“Holy crap,” Joe said under his breath. “It’s him!”
The leathery man looked at us, took a drag on his cigarette, and blew smoke straight at us. “You lied to me,” he said.
I swallowed.
“You can tell me now where my daughter is.”
“I didn’t lie. I don’t know where Allie is.” I swallowed hard. Again. “Today’s the first time I’ve seen Allie since … since … ”
“Since what?”
“Since Fath—” I cut myself off. “For several days,” I finished. “Since the last time we rode together.”
He stared. “Since what? What were you going to say? And if you don’t know where she is, how were you going to give her the money? You were just going to steal it, weren’t you?”
“No! I was going to meet her—”
“Let’s go, Sadie.” Joe said. Since the truck blocked the trail crossing entirely, he veered his bike to go behind and around the pickup, but the man jammed the truck into reverse. “Holy crap.” Joe slammed on his brakes.
“Answer my question, young lady.” The man gunned his engine. The memory of the rednecks chasing Allie and me washed over me.
“There’s nothing to say,” I said. “’Cause I’m not meeting her now. I don’t have her money, and I don’t know where she is. Leave me alone. Come on, Joe. Let’s go this way.” I turned my bike around, back toward Mount Kato. Joe followed.
The leathery man opened the driver’s door and in one fluid motion, was halfway across the pavement toward us.
“Shit!” Joe said. “Come on!”
We took off as fast as our tired legs would accelerate. Allie’s dad lunged for my bike, but he missed. By inches. For a man with a limp, he moved with catlike smoothness. And speed. Allie’s father, indeed. We rode, adrenaline pumping our legs as fast as in any race sprint.
He chased us for about twenty feet. I didn’t look back, but I could hear his boots on the trail, running and then stopping. I could feel his eyes boring into my back until we crested the hill out of sight, back to the ski hill parking lot. We coasted in among the remaining crowd.
“Joe. You said shit !”
“Yeah. I know.” Joe braked and put a shaky foot down. “I think that was shit-worthy.”
It was one of those moments so full of tension that we had to bust wide open, crying or laughing. We burst out laughing. Our legs shook, and we laughed so hard we almost fell over. “Ya know, it’s not funny at all,” I said. “I’m scared to death.” And we laughed all the harder.
“We better get going,” Joe said. “Especially if we have to go the long way home, through town.”
And so we rode the bike trail into Mankato and back around main roads to LeHillier. We looked over our shoulders all the way. No sign of the green pickup.
We finally turned into Scout’s driveway. I’d never been so happy to smell burgers and hear my little cousins’ voices. We wheeled our bikes into the garage.
“I feel like a limp noodle,” Joe said. “I got nothin’ left.”
“I’m still shaking.” I hung my bike on the hooks Scout had installed. “What do we do now?”
When I turned, Joe was standing only inches from me. “How ’bout this?” He held out his arms and pulled me into a hug. We stood there, trying to let the tension leak away.
Finally, I looked up into Joe’s face. He smiled down into mine, ran his index knuckle along my jaw. “For starters,” he whispered, “I’m proud of you today. And I’m so glad you’re okay. Cecil Baker is one scary dude.”
I nodded, feeling his chin against my head. His arms felt good.
“Thanks for listening to me this morning. Seems like a long time ago.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you talked to me. And Joe? You did it. You went down the big hill. Like nothing.”
And then, he took my chin in his hand and lifted my face toward his.
“John would be proud,” I whispered.
“I hope so.” He looked into my eyes. Finally, finally he was going to kiss me, and I was not about to screw it up. I lifted my chin and closed my eyes.
“Sadie! Joe! Where are you?” Uncle Scout bellowed from right outside the garage door. “I thought I saw you ride up.”
We pulled apart as quickly as we’d gotten away from Cecil Baker. And started to laugh again. We couldn’t help it. “Scout!” Joe called through his laughter. “In the garage.”
“And what are you doin’ in here?” Scout said. “Come get a burger. Your grandma’s here, too, waiting to see you, Sadie. How did the race go? And what’s so funny?”
So we told him. We told him everything we knew.
Except, of course, about why we were laughing.
Twenty-Five
Rockin’ in the Quarry
The Fourth of July
By the time we finished our story, Scout had chewed clear through his cigar. “F—Blast it all.” Since jail, Scout had embraced an anti-swearing campaign in addition to his anti-drinking campaign. It was tough on him. “What do you think this has to do with Allie disappearing? Think she’s hiding from her own dad?”
“No idea. But I’d hide from that dude, if I was her,” Joe said.
“Makes sense,” I said. “All she ever said is that her dad was in prison. I got the feeling that she doesn’t exactly feel warm and fuzzy about the guy. Like something bad enough happened that she won’t talk about it. Or him.”
Scout bit another piece off his cigar and spit it out the garage door. “You two okay?”
We nodded. “A little shaky is all,” I said.
“And hungry,” Joe added.
“What am I thinking! I put burgers on the grill for you when I saw you coming up the hill,” Scout said. “Might be burnt offerings by now. You go eat. I’m going to call the cops.”
“But—” I started.
“Nope. No arguments. I’m calling. Tell ’em what we know. Go.”
So we did.
I ate two cheeseburgers from the grill. I’d never eaten two whole burgers before, but I was starving in spite of the pizza I’d had. Scout’s burgers, in the bar or at home, were legendary. Thomas made the best potato salad in the country, and Grandma had brought apple and peach pie to our picnic. It was quite the spread.
Grandma sat next to me at the picnic table and patted my grimy leg.
“Watch out, Grandma, I’m pretty stinky.”
“I don’t care about that. Tell me about the race.”
“Sadie was amazing,” Joe chimed in.
Susan poured rock salt into the hand-crank ice cream maker. Timmy and Stevie took turns cranking for her. “Was Allie there?” she asked.
“Yeah. She got first by about a mile.” We told the race stories. We stopped at the finish line.
Susan looked as if she might cry. “This ice cream just won’t set up. It’ll just be cream soup!” she said. “Stevie, you have to crank faster. Or let me crank.”
“You can do it,” Stevie said. He and Timmy took off running. Smart boys, I thought.
“Susan, you worry too much,” Grandma said. “My stars, I survived Scout and Thomas and this one’s mama.” She patted my dirty leg again. “Runny ice cream is small potatoes. Not worth fretting.”
Susan brushed hair out of her face with the back of her hand but didn’t look up. Josie chose that moment to ask, “Are we shooting the cannon boom today?”
I thought that was a hilarious question, but Joe and I were the only ones who laughed. Susan looked up and glared at us. So did Janie.
“Oops,” muttered Joe.
I swallowed to keep from laughing again. “Yeah,” I said to Josie. “There’ll be lots of booms. But Scout said they only shoot oatmeal cannon balls in the quarry. It’s safe.”
Susan cranked the ice cream bucket
even harder.
“Well.” I got up. “Time to go take a shower.” I gave Grandma a peck on the cheek.
Joe followed me. He whispered, “Is Aunt Susan certifiably nuts? Who cares about mushy ice cream? I never knew she was so moody before this summer.”
We met Scout in the kitchen. “Cecil Baker is out on parole,” he said. “That’s worse than probation. He’s only been out of prison about eight days. Cops said they’re keeping an eye on him. Will you do me a favor? Keep me posted where you are all the time. Joe, you have your cell phone?”
“Yup.”
“Scout?” I said. “Maybe you shouldn’t tell Aunt Susan about Allie’s dad. She’s stressed out enough already.”
He nodded. “Probably right. Now go clean up. We gotta leave for Rockin’ in the Quarry pretty quick. You two can meet us out there.”
Rockin’ in the Quarry was a sight to behold. Thousands—literally thousands and thousands—of people packed into the flat bottom of the quarry on blankets and lawn chairs, or perched on coolers.
Blue Velveeta, a popular local band, belted out “Party in My Mind.” A couple dozen people were dancing by the stage when Joe and I wandered in.
The quarry was about half a mile wide and looked like it was a mile long. One side, the stone cutters had taken away slabs of Kasota stone—a special local limestone—for things like pillars, stone steps, the “Welcome to Mankato” monolith, and the huge “Minnesota State University” markers. The outcroppings left behind made a natural backdrop for a stone stage. On the far back side, behind the mob, there were mountains of crushed gravel, five stories high, where little kids were scrambling up and sliding down. Between the performance stage and the gravel mountains, the floor of this whole place was flat.
We walked up and down among picnic blankets, coolers, lawn chairs, and umbrellas looking for Susan and Janie in the mob. Uncle Scout and Uncle Thomas spied us and waved from their post by the cannon, between the crowd and the gravel mountains. Thomas mopped his sweaty forehead with a white monogrammed hanky.
Chasing AllieCat Page 14