And when Andrea first got to Cliffs Donnelly, she interviewed Jack Hought and Detective Donan. Hought had been evasive but mostly consistent with his story. Donan had played the addled old codger, scratching his head and fiddling with his hearing aid. He kept calling her Amy by accident and asking her to repeat her questions.
It was a good performance, but Andrea didn’t buy it. Detective Donan looked too good. If the old man had really been as senile as he let on, his pants would have been wrinkled and there’d have been tapioca stains on his shirt.
He was hiding something.
It was a girl in Marcus’s class who helped her put it all together. Lizzy was an awkward girl but clever, Andrea could tell.
She sat up front, her big, eager eyes glued on Andrea from the minute she walked in the door. At first the girl was on the edge of her seat, hanging on Andrea’s every word, but then once Andrea got the other kids blathering about Thompkins Well, the girl’s body language completely changed. She closed off, slumped down in her chair, and lowered her head. Like she was scared.
Andrea then spotted two other kids, boys, in different parts of the classroom. One, a small, bouncy kid, kept looking over at Lizzy and another, bigger boy. The other boy just stared straight ahead. Andrea’s gut told her these three kids were connected. But the girl, Lizzy, she was the key.
So Andrea had asked Marcus to bring Lizzy to his classroom after school. The girl had almost cracked. Still, Andrea could definitely tell that she was lying when she said she didn’t know Hought and Donan.
After her meeting with Lizzy, Andrea had gone back to Shady Lanes. It was almost too easy. Old people love to talk, and kids stand out at a retirement home. Andrea was there barely twenty minutes before she had confirmation that two boys and a girl had, indeed, visited Detective Donan on the very day that Donan and Hought discovered the Holyoke Red Diamond. Even better, a couple of residents actually recalled seeing the sock monkey. One lady had even loaned Detective Donan her seam ripper so he could open the stuffed animal and retrieve the diamond inside.
Of course there could be an innocent explanation for it all. But innocent, Andrea knew, was boring. And she didn’t get paid to be boring.
As evening set in and the crowd thinned, Andrea and Chuck started to pack up and call it a night. Then a slight and unassuming boy entered the park and made his way straight for the well.
Andrea recognized the boy from Marcus’s class. She remembered him because, like Lizzy and the other two boys, he took no part in the class discussion. At first Andrea thought he might be with the other three, but this boy spent the whole time staring out the window with a forlorn, faraway look in his eyes. He wasn’t avoiding the discussion; he was ignoring it.
The boy stood quietly at the well for several moments. Andrea nudged Chuck, who had just laid his camera down in the back of the SUV. She mouthed silently, “Get this!” and pointed at the boy. Then they stayed back, partially hidden by the SUV as Chuck shot the boy standing at the well.
For a good half a minute the boy continued to just stand there, not making a sound, not moving a muscle. Then he said, quietly, “Last year my brother was killed in Afghanistan.” He didn’t say anything else for a few moments, then, in almost a whisper: “I … I just want my family back. Please.”
“Tell me you got that,” Andrea said once the boy had wandered out of earshot.
“I got it,” Chuck said, checking his playback.
“And the audio. Please tell me—”
“I got it,” Chuck said. “I got it all.”
It was too good to be true. She could see it now. She’d air the sad little boy at the well, wishing for his dead soldier brother to come back, just before the commercial break. Then return with the one-two punch, how Cliffs Donnelly was home to not one, but two hoaxes. How all the hope, all the good feelings surrounding this town were nothing but lies. The audience would be outraged. They’d be furious. They’d eat it up.
Yeah, she could really work with this.
TOMMY’S HIDEOUT
At the far end of Rod Serling Middle School was a large storage room, about the size of a two-car garage, where Truman the Custodian stored a riding mower, weed whacker, hedge clippers, and other assorted groundskeeping equipment. And the only way in and out of the room was through a thick, metallic double door that was kept locked. But one of the doors was loose on its hinges, just enough so that most of the time the latch didn’t quite catch.
Tommy Bricks knew this because he had scouted the storage room as a possible hiding place for Sam’s tools back at the beginning of the school year. Though Tommy had ultimately decided against using it, now with his father home and Winston’s extended family in town, he had something else he needed to hide for a little while.
Himself.
So after Winston drove away with his grandmother, Tommy went back behind the school and into the trails for about an hour. Then, once Truman the Custodian had finished his rounds outside the school, Tommy emerged from the woods and slipped into the storage room.
And waited for it to get dark.
BLOWUP
“This is bad,” Ryan said quietly.
They were in the Hardys’ den. Lizzy had just shown the boys some of Andrea Chase’s old TV segments. Then she told them about her little after-school meeting with Andrea, and how the reporter had asked her if she knew Mr. Hought and Detective Donan.
“But I didn’t say anything,” Lizzy insisted.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ryan said. “This is a woman who did an attack piece on public libraries. She’s not going to stop till she gets the story she wants.”
They were all quiet for a moment, and another few after that.
“Well, maybe—” Ernest began sheepishly.
“Maybe what?” Ryan snapped. The mere sound of Ernest’s voice, the very gee-whiz essence of it, flipped a switch inside Ryan. “What, Ernest? What?!”
“Ryan, go easy,” Lizzy said.
But Ryan was done going easy. Going easy was what had gotten them into this mess, and now they’d taken it all too far.
“Face it,” Ryan said to Lizzy. “We’re in big trouble. Sooner or later she’ll connect us to the diamond, and Mr. Hought and Detective Donan. Once that secret is out, it will be easy for her to tell the story any way she wants. Maybe then she’ll find the cave, or figure out that the diamond was really in Eddie Wilmette’s attic for sixty years. Either way, it’s just a matter of time before that reporter tracks everything back to us—three kids, hiding in the well and listening in on people’s wishes. And then, just like that, the magic or miracles or luck or whatever you want to call it becomes a lie. A giant hoax.”
“But it’s not a hoax!” Ernest interjected. “You know that.”
“If only that mattered,” Ryan said. “But all that really matters is what the whole town is going to think.”
“That we tricked them,” Lizzy said.
“Exactly.”
“That’s not true,” Ernest said. “Or at least it doesn’t have to be.”
Ryan was having none of it. Not now, not from Ernest. “Quiet,” he said, giving Ernest a withering glare. “The grown-ups are talking.”
Ernest recoiled. Ryan knew it was a cruel thing to say, but blurting it out made him feel better.
“Ryan, stop it,” Lizzy said.
He didn’t stop. “No. I’m sick of coddling him. I already have one pain-in-the-neck baby brother—I don’t need another.” And then, oddly enough, Ryan heard himself chuckling. “If only,” he said quietly.
“What?” Lizzy said.
“If only,” he said, louder. “Just another day in If Only, Ohio, right? As in: If only I hadn’t introduced Ernest to Mrs. Haemmerle, or if only we hadn’t ever gone inside Thompkins Well, or even better,” and here he looked over at Ernest, “if only I had just let Tommy Bricks beat the snot out of him two months ago—”
“Ryan!”
“—then maybe none of us would be in this mess!”
; Ernest ran out of the room. Lizzy followed, but not before stopping to give Ryan a look he would never forget. A cold, hard look of hurt and disappointment, a look you give someone who has really, really let you down.
REGRET, RESOLVE
Ryan spent the whole night lying in bed and thinking about it.
He had never been ashamed before. Sure, he’d screwed up plenty in his life, but until today he’d never done anything that made him truly think less of himself.
Those things he’d said to Ernest, they’d have been terrible to say to anybody. But saying them to Ernest was like kicking a puppy.
Ernest was his friend. Or, more likely, was his friend. Ryan wouldn’t blame Ernest if he never spoke to Ryan again.
What made him the most ashamed, though, was that he’d let his fear get the better of him. He was scared. Scared of being found out and of what everyone would say when they learned he had been in the well. Ryan had let all that fear take over. He’d let it make him someone he didn’t like at all.
But it had happened and there was no use dwelling on it. For now, he could only do two things: Promise himself never to let fear control him like that again, and figure out how to protect his friends, even if they didn’t want to be his friends anymore. Otherwise, all those wishes would be undone. Every good thing that had happened these last couple of months would unravel, like a spool of thread. And then this town would be worse off than before.
This, Ryan realized, would be the worst of all outcomes. Worse, even, than getting caught.
At first he thought the answer lay in covering their tracks. They could make sure that no one could trace the well or Rollo’s gifts back to them. But that, he realized, would really be half a solution.
The only way to stop Andrea Chase from controlling this story, from telling it however she wanted to, was to control it himself. And the easiest way to control a story is to give people someone to blame.
He’d learned that much from those news shows his dad always watched.
And when you looked at it like that, there was really only one thing to do.
2 MUCH 2 DAY
Ryan avoided them the next day at school. He wouldn’t even look at them, and Lizzy couldn’t believe it. After all the things he’d said yesterday, Ryan owed Ernest an apology to beat all apologies.
Ernest. The poor guy was inconsolable. He’d barely said a word at lunch. He just sat there, staring at his food while Lizzy tried, in vain, to cheer him up.
When the last bell rang, Lizzy considered going after Ryan and really giving him a piece of her mind. Maybe even punch him in the nose again. But this notion was drowned out by two insistent horn blasts from the parking lot, followed immediately by the caterwauling of an all too familiar and all too screeching voice.
“Lizzy! Gawd! C’mon!”
Lizzy looked over to see her cousin Chelsea leaning halfway out the passenger-side window of Aunt Patty’s colossal SUV.
Lizzy pulled her phone out of her pocket. There was a text waiting from her mom.
Last minute shift at hospital. Sorry. Couldn’t reach Mrs. Hardy.
Need u 2 go to ur cousins for the afternoon.
Love you :)
Lizzy dropped the phone back into her pocket. Just when she thought her day couldn’t possibly get any worse—
More honking.
“Hurry up, you stupid cow!”
RYAN CLEANS UP
After school Ryan went straight to Mrs. Haemmerle’s house. It was only mid-afternoon, but the sky was crammed with dark, heavy storm clouds that made it seem later.
Though he had finished cutting the grass before finding Mrs. Haemmerle, the lawn mower needed to be put away, the clippings bagged, and the bins brought out to the curb. There was some small trimming and edging to be done as well.
He had to make sure the lawn looked good, clean. It was his way of saying goodbye to Mrs. Haemmerle. And that he was sorry for what was to come.
Ryan made the chores last as long as he could, but finally there was no more to do. After he put the lawn mower back in the garage, he allowed himself one quick glance at the house. For a split second he was sure he saw a figure, a woman with long hair, passing by the kitchen window. Right where Mrs. Haemmerle would stand and wave at him to see if he was ready for a lemonade break.
At that exact moment a low rumbling pulled his gaze to the clouds opening up overhead. Then he glanced back at the window and shook his head. He tried to tell himself that the figure had been a trick of the eye.
But she’d been right there. He had seen her.
And then she was gone.
BAIT AND SWITCH
“This isn’t a good idea, Andrea,” Marcus Earle said slowly, deliberately. “That family has been through too much already.”
Andrea had shown him the footage of Josh at the well, wishing for his family back. Now she wanted to go to the boy’s house and interview him.
“I understand,” Andrea said. “But maybe something like this would be good for the family. You said yourself this boy barely speaks in class.”
“This is starting to sound a little self-serving, Andrea.”
“That’s not fair,” Andrea said, a hurt look on her face. But she hadn’t really wanted Marcus to help her with the Rediggers anyway. She was just putting him off balance before she asked him to help her get the story she was really after.
“Okay,” she said. “I could maybe lose the footage of Josh at the well.”
Marcus slumped in relief. “Thank you, Andrea.”
“But I’m going to need your help with something else, Marcus.”
ENOUGH
Chelsea was even pushier than usual today. Perhaps she sensed vulnerability, a weakening of resistance on Lizzy’s part, and decided to see how far she could push her advantage.
“Ooh, I know,” Chelsea said. “Let’s do Lizzy’s hair.”
Amber’s body stiffened; she gave a barely perceptible warning shake of the head in Lizzy’s direction.
“Chelsea, I don’t—” Lizzy began.
But Chelsea was already back from her mother’s bathroom with various hair care products, most notably a dyeing kit.
“This is going to be awesome!” Chelsea squealed.
“No, it’s not. We’re not—”
“I’m thinking we go lighter, put some streaks in it maybe.”
“Chelsea,” Lizzy said firmly. “I said no.”
Chelsea cocked her head, a confused and disturbed look on her face, as if Lizzy had just spoken in tongues. Then she sighed and dropped the hair products on the floor. “Fine,” she said. Then, under her breath but not really, “Be a lonely old hag just like your mom.”
That’s it, thought Lizzy. I’m done with this.
Lizzy lowered her gaze and advanced on Chelsea, slowly but with a purpose that would not be altered. “Excuse me?” Lizzy growled in a voice not entirely her own. “What did you just say, you repulsive, bitter, obnoxious, tacky nightmare?”
Amber squeaked in fear (and, just possibly, a pinch of amusement).
For a split second, Chelsea looked like she might stand her ground. Then her lip started to tremble, her throat spasming like a turkey’s gullet as she wailed, “MOOOOOOOOM!!!”
Lizzy didn’t blink, didn’t even flinch. So Chelsea followed her cry for reinforcements with a tactical retreat, nearly colliding with her mother on the stairs.
Lizzy sat down at the foot of the bed and waited. To her shock, she was completely at peace. And for the next moment or two, nothing mattered. Nothing at all. Because Lizzy felt relieved—and whole—in a way she hadn’t for a long time now.
Amber, meanwhile, made the rather brave move of joining Lizzy at the foot of the bed, and sitting quietly beside her.
JUST A STORY
“Andrea, they’re just kids.”
“I know, but they’re hiding something. Possibly something criminal.” She had explained about her meetings with Hought and Donan, how their stories were sketchy, how they’d stonew
alled her. She’d told Marcus that Lizzy lied about knowing Donan, and that the girl was seen at the retirement village with two boys from Marcus’s class on the very day the diamond was discovered in the sock monkey.
“Everything you’re saying is circumstantial,” Marcus countered. “You still need facts. The truth of the matter is that you’re just guessing.”
“Truth? Grow up, Marcus. There is no truth. There’s just the story: The story that people hear first, the story they hear most, and the story they like the best. If you can get two out of those three to be your story, that becomes the truth.”
“You don’t really mean that?”
“It’s the way of the world, Marcus,” she said. “Now, the story people hear first is usually the one they hear the most. And the story I tell will be the best.”
Marcus slumped back against his desk, defeated. “They’re just kids,” he said again.
“I know, Marcus,” Andrea said. “And we can protect them. We will protect them. I promise.” She leaned forward then, cupping his face in her hands. “But to do that, I have to be first.”
Marcus was quiet for a long time.
“Okay,” he finally said. Then he started telling her everything she wanted to hear.
BUCKLE OUT
Truman the Custodian was moving slower today than he had yesterday, and it was close to dark before the coast was clear. By the time Tommy Bricks finally emerged from the woods, it had started to rain.
Five minutes after he slipped into the storage room, it was coming down hard. At first Tommy didn’t mind. He’d found a can of Coke perched on the riding mower. It was still pretty cold. And though it was too dark to do any homework or sketch, he was warm, dry, and out of the storm.
But then the rain started coming down harder, and harder still. And that got Tommy thinking.
It’s never going to let up. Not the rain. And not his father’s rage. It’s going to get worse. If nothing else, the other night proved that.
It wasn’t the beating. Tommy had been on the end of his father’s belt before. Well, that end of it.
The other night had been different, though. Because right before his mom showed up and stopped him, Harlan Bricks was turning the belt around.
A Drop of Hope Page 14