The Hidden Valley Mystery

by Susan Ioannou

  “Grrruff-gruff! Grrruff-gruff!”

  “Better hurry.” Gunnar sprang ahead. “The other dog’s untied. It’s after us now.”

  Through the branches they crashed, skipping over roots and fern. Mike was glad he wore long sleeves and pants. But poor Tuan—still in T-shirt and shorts—oh no! “Gunnar!” Mike caught his friend’s sleeve. “Tuan and the poison ivy! He can’t see it in the dark.”

  All three staggered to a halt. “Quick,” Gunnar crouched low, “Tuan, jump on my back, and keep your head down. I’ll cut through the forest sideways, to the nearest fairway fence. From there you can run clear.”

  “That will slow you too much!” Mike protested. His heart raced. “I know! Let’s split up. I’ll try to get them off your track, then circle out at our usual spot. By then I hope Freddy’s phoned the police, and they’re combing the valley,” he added.

  “I hope so too,” Gunnar nodded with a frown. “But, just in case, the first one to my yard at the top of the valley, call for help. “Good luck!” With Tuan’s arms wrapped around his neck and knees digging into his sides, off Gunnar lurched to the right, angling deeper through the undergrowth and trees.

  “Grrruff! Gruff!”

  Mike shivered. The dog was getting nearer!

  “Gruff! Gruff!”

  That voice was higher. Oh, no. Now there were two! King and Queen! Forward Mike hurtled, crashing noisily through the branches to attract the dogs’ attention. He must have reached the end of the mansion property. The trees leaned together, and the brush tangled in weed. Far behind, he heard the pound-pound of heavy feet.

  Crack!

  That was much closer!

  “Gruff! Gruff!”

  The dogs! Faster he smashed through the trees. Sweat soaked his shirt and slid down inside his pant legs. His heartbeats thundered in his ears.

  Small and firm, something whammed against his back. Mike toppled to the ground and sprawled on his side, covering his head with his arms. “King, sit! Queen, sit!” he screamed. He felt the pressure of two paws leave his shoulder as the dog eased back on its haunches. Mike waited. When at last he looked up, above him two golden eyes glared in the dark. “Good, girl. Good, boy,” Mike sighed, “whichever you are.”

  He let his muscles relax, and enjoyed the tangy softness of pine needles beneath his head. What a crazy time to think about forest scents! He wasn’t out of danger yet. But he didn’t know any other commands. What if he made a wrong move and the dog attacked?

  The dog leaned down and sniffed his ear.

  “Good girl. Good boy.” Mike tried to smile.

  With a long sloppy tongue, the dog licked his nose and whimpered.

  “Queen, sit. King, sit,” Mike repeated.

  Again the dog straightened back onto its haunches. It cocked its head at Mike. In the darkness its golden eyes shone.

  A few moments later, the dog stiffened, as if listening. Mike strained his ears also. Was that the same whistle he’d heard earlier? With a yelp, the dog leapt up, tail wagging. It listened again, turned, then bounded away through the shadows toward the mansion.

  Mike sat up. “Whew!” He wiped the sweat from his face with a sleeve, and shook the pine needles free from his hair. He climbed to his feet. Ahead, the moonlit grass glowed eerily through the trees. In a few more strides, he reached the hole in the golf course fence. He pushed through and looked up the fairway. Had Gunnar and Tuan made it out? Did the other dog chase them, or had it been called off too? Something on the western rim of the valley caught his eye. Through the tall pines, where the Parks and Rec centre nestled, lights bobbed up and down. Red circled and flashed. “The police!” Mike cried. “Freddy did get through and call them.” But his other friends were nowhere in sight. Should he climb to the clubhouse and check with the police? Or wait at the other side of the valley, in Gunnar’s yard, as planned?

  Too late he heard the bushes rustle behind him. Iron fingers closed around his neck

  CHAPTER 16 – Dead Man’s Cliff

  “So you thought you’d get away, kid.” The fingers tightened around Mike’s neck.

  Mike knew that voice. It was Lou. Leaning closer to hiss in Mike’s ear, he smelled of sweat, cigarettes, and beer. “Well, guess what, Smarty? You’re my ticket outta here. Get going.” He let go of Mike’s neck and shoved him forward, away from the clubhouse and the police, toward the river. “That way. Show me where you kids cross.”

  “I don’t know any place,” Mike lied. “I live on the other side of the valley.”

  Lou smacked the back of Mike’s head so hard he fell to the ground. Mike felt the flashlight break from his belt. It bounced a few feet away.

  Lou leaned down and stared hard into his face. His upper lip curled in the moonlight. “Cut the cute stuff, kid. I seen you on the street, riding your bike. Your ma is that fatty waving her arms and yakking some foreign language.” He straightened and threw his head back.

  “Don’t you talk about my—”

  “Shut-up, kid,” Lou kicked Mike’s leg hard. “Now, get up and show me where to cross.”

  Mike struggled to his feet. His leg throbbed, but he tried hard not to limp. He wouldn’t give Lou the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt him.

  “This way,” Mike muttered, heading toward the fourth-hole dogleg. As he plodded along, his mind groped for a plan. What would Gunnar do in his shoes? Gunnar? Shoes? Mike stopped. He had an idea.

  “Hey, get a move on,” Lou shoved Mike forward. Them lights behind us are starting down the hill.”

  “I can’t go any faster,” Mike faked a whimper. He slowed. “You hurt my leg.”

  “I’ll hurt it worse, if you don’t hurry up,” Lou snarled. He pushed Mike forward again.

  Mike bit his tongue. He remembered the knife Lou had flashed at Tuan. “O.K., O.K.,” Mike grumbled. “I’ll show you our shortcut.” His mind raced ahead. Instead of following the rest of the dogleg to the green, he veered left, straight toward a big willow tree on the sandy riverbank. In the moonlight, the bubbling water sparkled. “You can cross there,” Mike pointed, “on the stepping stones. It’s easy.”

  Lou glared at the water frothing between the rocks. “Deep enough,” he muttered.

  Mike grinned to himself. He bet that klutz would fall right in. He glanced back. Behind them, several more lights bobbed down the far valley slope. The police were getting nearer. “It’s not hard,” Mike said, stalling for time, “First you take a deep breath, like this. Then you step back as far as you can, and give it a run. Be sure you stop to catch your breath on each rock,” he lied, knowing that would sink Lou for sure.

  “Shut up and just do it!” Lou growled.

  “Me? I thought you wanted to cross.”

  “You’re not getting away that easy, kid,” Lou snarled. “Now shut up and go! Remember,” Mike felt a sharp point poke his back, “I’m right behind you. No tricks.”

  Mike shivered and took a deep breath. He didn’t like that knife one bit. This was his last chance. The faster he got across the river, the greater his head start. His leg would hurt each time he landed, but he’d have to keep jumping ahead, not lose his balance.

  “Move it, kid!”

  Mike felt the point jab deeper. Forward he leapt. One OW! Two OW! Three OW! Four OW! Home!

  Right behind him, Mike heard a splash! There was no time to turn and look. Jumping from stone to stone had made the pain in his leg much worse. As fast as he could, he hobbled along the bank. How far ahead could he get?

  “Over there!”

  “There they are!” faint voices echoed across the river behind him. Or did he dream it, dizzy with pain? If only the police could close in soon. As he struggled to run, his chest heaved, his muscles strained. His strength started to fail. A few feet further and he reached the upward path. Not far behind him, he heard the squelch-squelch of Lou’s wet shoes. Maybe he could outrun Lou after all. With that beer belly and cigarette breath, for sure Lou would puff behind on the slope. Mike forced his legs to grind
upward. He had to increase his lead.

  Up the path he veered. The angle called new muscles into play. A week ago, here, he’d easily beaten Gunnar. But a week ago, he’d also—

  Mike’s stomach turned over. His muscles sagged with fear. Down, down, he remembered. Down, down, that terrible slide through steep gravel. Down, down, grabbing at branches and roots. Down, down, helpless, falling and falling. What if he fell again? What if he never reached the top? What if those rocks at the bottom—

  No! Mike tightened his stomach into a giant knot. This was no game of Capture the Flag. This was survival. This was real! Fresh energy surged through him.

  The path grew steeper and steeper. Mike counted his steps. Rhythm, that’s what he needed. One-and-two-and, one-and-two-and, one-and-two-and. Steady, steady, up the slope, a shiny, sleek machine. Like a bike wheel, round and round, watch the silver spin. As he pushed himself higher and higher, he knew his mind was dizzying with the pain. And, worse, Lou was closing in. Mike focused his vision ahead. Harder, he had to run harder. Only a few more feet to go.

  He heard Lou panting. A hand tugged at his shirt.

  Mike yanked it free. He felt the trees start spinning. Three more steps. One. Two. He forced himself forward. Lou’s fingers brushed his ankle. Three! The path turned sharply. Mike grabbed the birch trunk on his right and threw himself behind.

  Eyes closed, he heard Lou scream. Over the edge of Dead Man’s Cliff Lou pitched. Gravel and sand roared, as he slid away.

  Mike rolled onto his back. High above, a little white cloud shaped like a sheep puffed across a bright blue sky. Mike watched it float along, happy and free. No thunder grumbled in its ear. No lightning flashed at its tail. “Hi, little cloud,” Mike croaked. When the cloud saw Mike, it bobbed down and rubbed a cool nose on his forehead. “I didn’t fall off this time,” Mike mumbled. “I didn’t fall off.”

  “That’s good,” the cloud replied. “Are you O.K.? You look white as the moon.”

  Mike blinked open his eyes. That moon seemed familiar. But there wasn’t supposed to be a moon in the daytime. He looked around. The bright blue sky disappeared. He blinked. It was night, and the moon was Tuan’s worried face bending over him. “The man ...” Mike began.

  “Lou, your nice neighbour? Oh, he dove over the cliff-edge and slid all the way down.” Tuan chuckled. “Guess who was waiting to greet him at the bottom?”

  Mike shook his head to clear his thoughts. “The police?” he asked, easing himself up on one elbow.

  “You bet,” Tuan replied. “I saw the whole thing. After Gunnar piggybacked me to the golf course fence, I started this way to wait for you both. Far ahead in the moonlight, I saw you push through the hole in the wire. Right after, your nice neighbour lunged out of the woods. He knocked you down. I tried to catch up, to help. When I couldn’t, I signalled up the hill to Freddy and the police.”

  “Signalled?” Mike asked, “How?”

  “With the flashlight you dropped, sloppy,” Tuan giggled.

  Mike laughed. “You’re amazing, Tuan. But what’s happened to Gunnar?”

  Tuan shrugged. “After he dropped me over the fence, he ran back into the trees—to leave his ‘trademark’, he said. We’ll probably meet him soon. If you think you can walk, I know a trail that winds out near Gunnar’s backyard.”

  Mike nodded. “I’m O.K.” He was anxious to find Gunnar. “Just help me up.”

  CHAPTER 17 – The Mystery Solved

  Long past midnight, overlooking the valley below, Mike and Tuan sprawled on their stomachs in the cool grass of Gunnar’s backyard. Beneath them, some distance to the north, specks of light bobbed along the bottom of Dead Man’s Cliff. Between cricket songs, faint voices floated up. On the far side of the valley, a flashing red light—the third police cruiser—wound from the Parks and Rec centre down to the river bank. To Mike, it felt as if he and Tuan were watching fireflies dance between flames. Both hoped Gunnar and Freddy would show up soon.

  Mike rolled onto his side and looked at Tuan. “I still don’t understand,” he said. “How could Lou, Johnny, and Walt make that fake money? Those $100 bills Gunnar found were amazing. I thought they were real, until a little silver smudged off.”

  “Now, Mike, if you knew anything about computers, the answer would be easy,” Tuan laughed.

  “O.K., Mr. Genius, explain.” Mike nudged Tuan’s shoe.

  Tuan sat up. “Well, first you need a real $100 bill.”

  “To use as a model for the drawing, right?”

  “No,” Tuan corrected him, “More high-tech than that! Remember, you told me how your uncle wanted to do desktop publishing too.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, he’d start with a scanner.”

  “Scanner?” Mike blinked. “Theo Lazo did say something about wanting a scanner too.”

  “Listen.” Tuan raised a finger in the air. “You know a scanner can make a really exact picture.”

  Mike scratched his head. “But how do you get the picture onto a printing press?”

  “You don’t,” Tuan replied. “The scanner is plugged into a computer, connected to a colour laser printer.”

  Mike frowned. “But how can that make a picture good enough to be a fake bill?”

  Tuan replied, “You need a special software program that cleans up any spots or blurry parts, and makes the colour near perfect. It can even add a phony watermark to make the bill look genuine.”

  Mike sat up. He slapped his forehead. “Now I get it. In the mansion, that’s what all those different machines were for. Scanners, computers, laser printers.”

  “Right,” Tuan patted Mike’s shoulder. “The image the scanner makes will be a perfect copy of the dollar bill. That’s the easy part. The trick is finding paper. It has to feel like real money, yet work in the laser printer too.”

  Mike sat back on his heels. “So maybe that’s why the men broke into Theo Lazo’s shop—for paper. And they made such a mess, so we wouldn’t notice stuff like that was missing. I mean, who counts a few boxes of paper, especially when it’s busy? We all thought they were hunting for the safe or a fire-box full of cash.”

  “Don’t forget,” Tuan added. “They also could use the boxes to hide fake bills under the stationery.”

  “There’s one more thing.” Mike frowned. “What about the shiny metal strips on dollar bills?”

  Tuan thought for a moment. “I know! Maybe the counterfeiters used a metallic spray paint. You can buy the aerosol cans in any hardware store.”

  “Hey!” Mike cried and bounced to his knees. “That’s why the bill Gunnar found was a throw-away. The silver rubbed off on our fingers.”

  “Give yourself an ‘A’, Mike.” Tuan rolled onto his side and laughed.

  Mike shook his head. He gazed down over the dark valley. A few last small lights bobbed away from the river banks. Only minutes before, the last flashing red cruiser had wound up the Parks and Rec service road on the valley’s far side and disappeared. “I guess the excitement’s over,” Tuan said.

  “Yup,” Mike agreed. He plopped down and leaned over his folded arms. “I wonder what’s happened to Gunnar. Still no sign of him coming up the path.” An hour had passed since Tuan helped Mike hobble away from Dead Man’s Cliff. Surely nothing bad could have happened when Gunnar left Tuan and ran back in the woods—or could it? Mike’s worst fears he couldn’t say out loud.

  “Oh-ooo-ooh,” Mike heard a moan. “I am the ghost of Gunnar, eaten by a vicious black dog in the woods.”

  Mike twisted around. Tuan sat up. Across the dark grass, Gunnar and Freddy strode toward them. By the gate from the driveway, silhouetted in flashing red light, waited a tall policeman.

  “Where did you guys come from?” Tuan cried, jumping up.

  Freddy nodded toward the red light. “A police cruiser brought us,” he said. “Officer Powchuk wants us all down to the station to answer some questions.”

  Mike scrambled to his feet and followed his friends down the driveway to the
cruiser at the curb. On the porch, another policeman stood talking with Mr. and Mrs. Lindstrom, Gunnar’s parents.

  Mike, Freddy, and Tuan crawled into the cruiser’s back seat. Because of his long legs, Gunnar climbed into the front. He slid around to face them and knocked on the wire mesh separating front from back. “Hi, jailbirds,” he joked.

  Mike leaned forward. “So tell us what happened, Gunnar.”

  “Yeah,” Tuan spread his fingers across the mesh, “where did you go after you dropped me over the fence? What did you mean by a ‘trademark’?”

  Freddy laughed. He sprawled back in the thick seat. “Johnny could tell you. He’ll be itching and scratching tomorrow.”

  Mike looked at him. “You mean the poison ivy?” He remembered Johnny’s bare legs, stretched out when he tilted back on the wooden chair in the basement.

  “I wanted to give Tuan more time to escape,” Gunnar explained, “and Johnny was hot on our heels. I couldn’t outrun his dog for long. So, before I climbed a tree, good and high, I circled several times through the poison ivy.”

  Freddy slapped his knee. “It was really comical,” he added. “When the police caught up with Johnny, he claimed he was just a late-night jogger cutting across the golf course to his house. But while he talked, without even realizing, he bent down and scratched. Later, when Gunnar explained, the police knew for sure they had their man.”

  Tuan tightened his fingers around the mesh. “But how did you get out of the tree, Gunnar?”

  “When Johnny saw lights bobbing through the woods, he panicked and ran. Meanwhile the dog was jumping up and down the tree trunk, snarling, and ready to chew me up for its dinner.” Gunnar’s eyes widened. “It was scary,” he admitted. “But I used the command again that Mike told me. ‘Queen, sit’ didn’t work, but ‘King, sit,’ did. The dog just eased back on its haunches. I waited, to be sure it was really calmed down. Then I heard two high-pitched whistles. The dog jumped up and took off toward the mansion. I never saw it again.”

  “The same thing happened to me!” Mike cried. “But who freed Walt from his chain in the basement!”