Megan's Island
Page 9
Ben considered the situation. “Your grandpa probably will be gone until suppertime. And no telling how long Dad will be away, maybe that long, too. I guess there’s only one thing to do.”
“What?” Sandy asked, his voice squeaking.
“Stay here. I’ve got binoculars, we can take turns watching and see what he does if he comes back. Unless he goes down to our place and swipes our canoe, there’s no way he can get at us here on the island,” Ben said. “Come on, let’s go back to the tree house where we can see your cottage.”
He led the way up over the rock, with Sandy and Megan following. For once Megan didn’t resent the way Ben took charge without asking anyone else’s opinion.
For a few hours, until one of the grown-ups came home, they ought to be safe here on the island, she thought. Megan wished the idea made her feel better than it did.
* * *
“Make me another sandwich. Boiled ham with mayonnaise,” Ben said. He was lying flat on his stomach on the deck that projected from the side of the tree house, so that he could rest on his elbows as he held the binoculars to his eyes. The binoculars were at the moment trained on Grandpa Davis’s cottage, although from time to time he swept them along the rest of the shore to make sure he wasn’t missing any action.
He’d already had two sandwiches, and Sandy had had one. Megan felt too much tension to be hungry, though several hours had passed and nothing more had happened. Whoever had driven the car that needed a tune-up off the main road had never appeared where the trio on the island could see him. Maybe that should have made her feel better, but Megan only felt more tense than ever, waiting. Knowing the man would eventually return.
“Put a slice of cheese on it, too,” Ben added.
When she didn’t move from where she sat cross-legged in the doorway of the house, Ben lowered the glasses to twist his head in her direction.
“What’s the matter? We can’t be out of cheese yet. I brought enough food out here to last for a week.”
“Who was your servant this time last year?” Megan asked, disgruntled.
Ben’s grin was disarming. “I think it was my friend Fred. Yes, it was definitely Fred. But Fred’s in Duluth. Besides, he’s not allowed to associate with me anymore.”
“Why not?” Sandy asked, intrigued. He was sprawled inside the hut on a sleeping bag, reading a comic book. Ben had thought of practically everything.
“His folks said I talked him into skipping school to go swimming. Actually he was the one who said he wanted to swim because it was so hot, and we didn’t have anything left of school but study hall and P.E. We didn’t think anybody would miss us. Besides, how did I know Fred would lose our bus fare so we’d have to walk all the way home and we’d be so late both our dads would call the cops to look for us? Well, Lawrence is only my stepfather, and I don’t think he was worried as much as mad. Lawrence must never have been a kid. He has no sense of humor whatsoever.”
“Did Fred make you sandwiches?” Sandy asked, tossing aside the comic book.
“Fred did everything I wanted him to do,” Ben said, nodding. “Until they grounded him.”
“Why?” Megan asked.
“I just told you why. We skipped the last two periods. . . .”
“No, I mean why did Fred wait on you?”
“He liked me. He looked up to me. He felt worthwhile, waiting on me. It gave him something to do besides count his zits.”
“I’m not Fred,” Megan said. “I don’t like waiting on anybody. Especially when they don’t say . . .”
“Please!” both boys chorused. “And thank-you!”
“Make your own . . .” Megan began, and then broke off, suddenly breathing more quickly.
“What’s the matter?” Ben grabbed for the binoculars and swiveled them toward the cottage. “They’re back! Or somebody is. Medium-blue Ford Escort, I think. Not a white car with a red top, so it’s somebody different.”
There were any number of reasons why someone might legitimately drive into the yard. A meter reader, a delivery person, someone who was lost and wanted directions to a local cabin on the lake. Why, then, was Megan’s mouth so dry? “Let me see,” she requested.
Ben handed over the glasses as the car doors opened and two men got out. “Is one of them the guy you saw before?”
The two figures seemed to leap toward her through the powerful lenses; she focused first on one, then the other. “No. These are different men. They’re younger.” There was a tremor in her voice as she returned the binoculars.
“Let me see, too,” Sandy said, and Ben handed them over to him. He studied the men in silence for a moment, then frowned as he lowered the glasses. “I think I’ve seen one of them before, maybe. The smallest guy, the one with dark hair.”
“Where?” Ben asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
“Fat lot of help you are,” Ben observed, so that Megan bristled.
“He can’t help it if he can’t remember,” she said in a challenging tone.
Ben refused to be riled. “You’re no help, either. Get this description: the first one is skinny, dark haired. The second one is a lot bigger, blond, and he’s wearing glasses with dark rims. They’re both wearing jeans, I think, and plaid shirts.”
Sandy had reached for a pencil and a pad—Ben really had thought of everything, though it was doubtful those had been provided for such a purpose—and scribbled some notes. “What are we keeping this information for? Are we going to call the police? What if that first one was the police?”
“Then they ought to congratulate us on being observant.” Ben swung the glasses slightly. “I think that’s a Minnesota license plate.”
Again the binoculars were handed back and forth. Although the glasses were powerful ones—Megan suspected they were expensive and Mr. Jamison probably would be upset when he found out where they were—it was enough of a distance across the water to make it hard to be sure about the license. “It could be Minnesota colors,” she said finally.
“What’s that prove?” Sandy asked.
“Nothing. No more than the Illinois ones prove. Write it down anyway. It’s evidence,” Ben said. “Who do you know in Illinois?”
“Nobody,” Megan and Sandy answered together.
Even without the aid of the binoculars, Megan could see that the two men were poking around the cottage, the same as the first man had done. They didn’t walk down to the water’s edge, though. After a few minutes, they got into the blue car and drove away.
Ben set aside the binoculars. “It makes your eyes tired to look so hard. Have you thought of who the smaller guy might be, Sandy? Or where you saw him?”
“It had to have been at home,” Sandy said. “That’s the only place I’ve been in a year, until we came up here. I can’t remember who he is, though. What are we going to do now?”
Once more it was Ben who made the decision. “Stay here, until either my dad or your grandpa comes home.”
He sat up and went through a carton of supplies until he came to a package of doughnuts. He opened them, took out one with chocolate frosting, and extended the box. “Have some. They’re great.”
Sandy took one with coconut frosting, and after a moment’s hesitation, Megan selected maple topping. It had been a long time since breakfast, and Wolf had eaten part of that.
She stretched to see the dog, lying at the foot of the tree below the platform. Immediately he lifted his head and whined, wagging his tail.
She broke off a chunk of the doughnut and dropped it down to him, where he gobbled it quickly, and waited expectantly for more. She felt funny feeding him Ben’s groceries, however, so she drew back far enough so the dog couldn’t see her.
For the rest of the afternoon they stayed hidden in the tree house, taking turns watching the shore, but nothing stirred in the clearing around the cottage.
* * *
“What if nobody comes home?” Sandy asked. “What if we have to stay here all night?”
In late afternoon, Ben decided to go swimming off the little cove. Sandy went off to change into swim trunks, but Megan wasn’t in the mood; she was too apprehensive, and she wanted to know the minute Grandpa returned from town. There wasn’t any question now about telling him about the letter to Annie, the one from her, and the men who had come while he was gone. Grandpa would know what to do.
Whenever she thought of her letter to Annie, new guilt washed over her. Was it because of that letter, mailed in secret, that someone had been able to find them? They’d moved other times, when Mom hadn’t left a forwarding address, hadn’t told anyone where they were, and nobody had found them.
Tears stung her eyes. She wished her mother would come back, even if it meant they had to run again. She had always taken being part of a family—even a single-parent family—for granted. She didn’t like having that family split up, even temporarily.
“Sure you don’t want to come?” Ben asked, drawing her out of her reverie.
Ben still had both parents, and an extra father, but he didn’t feel part of a family. She felt an unexpected twinge of sympathy for Ben.
“No. I’d better watch for Grandpa.”
“Okay.” For once he didn’t try to bully her into complying with him. “When you see him, or my dad, come get us. We’ll head for shore.”
“Do you think your dad would help us?”
“Sure! He’s really a good guy. It’s only that the divorce wasn’t his idea, and he’s hurting from that, I guess. And he always gets uptight when he’s writing to a deadline and it’s not going as fast as he wants it to. Ready, Sandy? Okay, let’s go.”
It was very quiet after the boys’ voices died away. Megan sat on her airy perch as if she were a bird, high in the trees, able to see across the lake in all directions. It was a wonderful spot, and for a while she could pretend that it was all hers, that no one threatened its serenity.
When at last a car eased into sight in the yard beside the cottage, Megan grabbed for the binoculars. Grandpa’s face jumped closer, and a feeling of relief swept over her. He had been shopping; he started unloading the car. He set down a bag and poked in the can of rocks, dumping some of them onto the boards of the porch; Megan remembered she’d put the key in her jeans pocket, and felt a moment’s panic that it might have fallen out in the lake during one of her dunkings.
Grandpa gave up and got out another key, letting himself inside. Megan carefully hung the expensive binoculars on a projecting nail inside the tree house, then climbed rapidly down the ladder. “He’s here!” she called, even before she was close enough for the boys to hear her. “Grandpa’s home!”
Chapter Thirteen
“I was wondering where you kids had got off to,” Grandpa said, busy putting away the groceries he had carried in. “I hoped maybe you’d have supper ready, since I was so late. Just in case, though, I brought fried chicken with me. I know your mom doesn’t approve of fried foods, but once in a while . . .”
He turned then and saw Ben. “Oh, we got company?”
“Ben’s dad’s been gone all day,” Megan said. Her mouth was dry with dread at the coming ordeal of confessing how foolish she had been about writing to Annie. “He hasn’t come back yet. Is it okay if Ben stays?”
“Sure. Why not?” Grandpa said, but he wasn’t smiling. A moment later they knew why. He nodded toward the table, and Megan saw two letters lying there. “I picked up the mail on the way in. Surprised me, you hadn’t been out to get it. There’s a letter there from your friend Annie.”
Megan’s throat felt as if it were closing, as if she were suffocating. Now she was in for it, and seeing how troubled her grandfather looked, she was ashamed that she hadn’t trusted him in the first place and asked his advice about writing.
Ben and Sandy stood just inside the kitchen doorway, not speaking. It was up to Megan.
She reached for the letter, then recognized the handwriting on the other envelope. Her jaw dropped. “It’s from Mom!”
“Yes.” Grandpa’s voice was level, serious. “How did Annie know where you are, Megan?”
Her legs were suddenly wobbly. Megan sank onto a chair. “I wrote to her,” she admitted in a small voice. “I was going to tell you—I didn’t realize it might mean somebody would ask about us at home, and follow us here. . . .” She sounded as if she might cry, but a quick glance at Ben made her determined not to do that.
“Follow you?” Was there alarm in Grandpa’s voice?
It all came out then. The letter to Annie, Annie’s response, and then the man in the white car, and the other two men in the blue Ford.
Grandpa listened so quietly, with so few interrupting questions, that Megan felt worse than ever, worse than if he’d shouted at her.
“You’re sure none of them got into the house?” he asked when she finally fell silent.
“No, they didn’t. Grandpa, I’m afraid they’ll come back.”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “They probably will. I guess you weren’t close enough to either of the cars to see the license plates?”
“The white car had Illinois plates—NC3-4289. The other one we thought had Minnesota plates. We only saw it through the binoculars, from the island, and we couldn’t read the numbers.”
“Illinois?” He said it sharply, as if that meant something to him, though he didn’t explain. “Well, I wish you’d talked to me about writing to your friend, Megan. Your mother should have made it clearer, I guess, that you shouldn’t contact anyone back home.”
Megan’s fingers crept across the table to touch the second letter. “There’s no return address, but it’s Mom’s writing.”
“Yes. I haven’t had time to read it yet. Maybe we’d better see what these letters say. Open them up.”
Megan read her mother’s note first. She had already noted that the postmark was Ironwood, Michigan, which meant nothing to her except that her mother had apparently driven east.
Her lips felt stiff as she read aloud.
Dear Dad and Kids:
I’m sorry to have left you so abruptly, and with no explanations. I’m feeling better about everything now; I just wanted you to be together while I looked for another job. Worrying about money doesn’t do anything for my disposition, I guess. I think I’ve lined up a job; I’ll know for sure in a couple of days. If it comes through, I’ll be back to Lakewood to explain. Yes, Dad, I can see you’re right. Megan and Sandy are old enough to understand, I hope. Anyway, I want them to have a fun vacation at the lake for a couple of weeks, and by then I’ll have a house or an apartment here to bring them to. In the meantime, kids, have fun.
Love, Me.
There was a postscript at the bottom of the page. It might be better not to mention to anyone around there where this was postmarked, though it’s not in the town where I’ll be working.
There was silence when she put the letter down on the table. Nobody asked why they weren’t to mention the postmark. In a town the size of Lakewood, it was possible that the postmaster or the mail carrier had already noticed where the letter came from. Which also made it possible that one of those people would mention it to anyone who was asking questions about the Colliers.
Ben cleared his throat. Sandy shuffled his feet uneasily. Grandpa cleared his throat, too. “Maybe you better see what your friend Annie has to say.”
Reluctantly, Megan tore open that envelope. She read the brief message to herself first, then out loud for the benefit of the others. The tears were there in her voice; she couldn’t help them.
“Dear Megan,” she read. “Mom said I’d better write to you again, in case any of this is important. Mrs. Morgan talked to Mrs. Salzman. . . .” She broke off to explain to Ben. “Mrs. Morgan was our next-door neighbor, and Mrs. Salzman lived next door to her.” S
he swallowed and continued.
“Mrs. Salzman said the night you left she saw a picture on TV, of two kids. The announcer said, ‘Have you seen these children?’ and there was a telephone number to call. Mrs. Salzman said they were just little kids, but she thought they looked remarkably like you and Sandy, though their name wasn’t Collier. Anyway, my mom told her it was probably just coincidence, but that man was back in the neighborhood again today, and we saw Mrs. Morgan talking to him. We don’t know what she said to him, but my dad was coming up the walk past them and heard the guy thank her for her help.
Megan, are you in trouble? I hope you can write and tell me everything’s okay. I’ll understand—well, sort of—if you can’t write back again.
Love, Annie.”
Megan’s worst fears were realized. She couldn’t bear to look directly at her grandfather when she said, “I did it, didn’t I? The man wouldn’t have known where to look for us, if I hadn’t sent the letter to Annie.”
His reply was gentle. “Yes. But if your mother had told you why all this secrecy was necessary, you’d have known better, so don’t take all the blame. I’m puzzled by the second car, the one with two men. I don’t know who they could be.”
Sandy spoke up, sounding croaky. “Was it our picture on TV? An old picture?”
“I didn’t see it,” Grandpa reminded. “It’s possible.”
“But those pictures asking ‘Have you seen these children’ are of kids who’ve been kidnapped, aren’t they?”
For a moment Megan thought Grandpa wasn’t going to answer that. Then he sighed. “Yes. This situation is leaving me in an intolerable position. Your mother wants to tell you what’s going on herself. But if this man from Illinois is here looking for you—and maybe someone else is looking, too—then I’m not sure I can safely wait until she shows up to do it.”
Safely. That was the key word. “Are we not safe?” Megan asked unsteadily.
Again Grandpa hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t know if safe is the right word. I’m sure he doesn’t intend to harm you. . . .”