“Nah, I didn’t hear anything.” Peter turned around and walked backwards. “Getting paranoid? Think we’re being followed?” He gave a crooked grin.
Another branch cracked.
Peter’s grin faded. He stopped and squinted into the woods. Then his eyes narrowed, and he set his jaw. “Follow me.” He left the path.
Jogging to keep up, Roland jumped over a log, dodged branches that Peter had pushed out of his way and let fly, and ducked under a massive web.
Peter led them into a cluster of pine trees and out, heading in a different direction. They passed a few large boulders and traipsed down a narrow path strewn with branches.
“You sure you know where you’re going? Just because your father’s a forest ranger doesn’t mean you can’t get lost.”
Peter glared.
A few minutes later, they stumbled onto a path fifteen feet above a glittering river. Rocky hills dotted with evergreens and verdant trees lined both sides. The rushing river roared so loudly it sounded more like a—
Roland shuddered.
A short distance down the stream a wide waterfall cascaded like a fluffy, white curtain over a rocky hill.
“Look.” Roland pointed.
One side of Peter’s mouth turned up. “That, my friend, is our destination. Come on.” He cut across the path and started down a steep slope.
Roland slid down after Peter, kicking up rocks and dirt, struggling to keep his balance.
Once at the bottom, Peter peered back up.
“Do you think we could’ve been followed?” Roland shouted to be heard over the roar of the rushing water. He stumbled up to Peter.
“Nah, no one could’ve kept up with us, not with the maze I took us through.” He gave a self-assured grin.
“Who would want to follow us, anyway?” Roland said. “Got any suspects?”
A wide and rocky path ran along the river. Peter crossed it, heading straight for the riverbank. “Mr. Reinhard comes to mind.”
“Mr. Reinhard? He’s a little odd, but why would he—”
“The box.” Peter tapped the duffle bag. “I’ve got a suspicion he’s after the box.”
“The box?” Roland grinned. “Now who sounds paranoid?”
“You have Reinhard for history, right? What’d you think about that homework assignment? He wants everyone to bring in something old. He even said like a box and something from a grandparent. He’s after it. I don’t know why but . . . Maybe when the key comes we’ll find out.”
“You think he’s after whatever’s inside?”
Peter shrugged. “Didn’t you say the box itself was worth some money?”
“Sure, but . . . How would he even know about the box? Has he seen it before?”
“Don’t know.” Peter followed the riverbank to the point closest the tumbling monster. He turned and shouted, “I think there’s more to Mr. Reinhard than meets the eye. Maybe I’ll have to start asking him some questions.”
“Yeah, right.”
“But not until I get the box to a safe place. Then no one will know where it is.”
“Unless we’re being followed.”
Peter shot another glare. “Come on.” He motioned Roland over.
Roland’s gut tightened. He had no desire to get closer to the waterfall. The thought of cold water rushing over him made him lightheaded and queasy.
Peter didn’t wait for Roland to join him. He tucked the duffle bag under his arm and picked his way along flat rocks in the river, moving closer to the fall. The white curtain poured down inches from him. Then he stuck a hand into it.
Roland blinked and Peter disappeared! Roland’s mouth fell open, and a breath escaped. Where’d he go? Did he expect Roland to follow? No way. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it.
Roland glanced back at the slope and up and down the riverbank. He combed a hand through his hair and waited. After some time, he sighed.
Peter wasn’t coming back. This was the hiding place.
Heart racing, Roland clutched the leather pack that hung from his shoulder and inched toward the water. Could he do it? If they were going to be friends, maybe Roland needed to trust Peter.
He took a few deep breaths, cleared his mind of all intelligent thought, and stepped onto a flat stone.
The rushing monster’s roar numbed his senses. He tried imagining he was someone else, some character in a video game.
Water sprayed his face, sending a shiver down his back . . . but it didn’t bother him.
Breathe. Take a step. Breathe.
He tried to convince himself that he wasn’t about to drown, he wasn’t about to lose control. Nothing bad would happen.
White water fell in thick streams inches from his face, spraying him. He sucked in a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and pushed forward.
Liquid ice pounded his head. Panic clutched his mind.
He took another step. And another. With his arms extended, reaching into nothingness, he forced himself to keep going. Reaching, stepping, reaching—
A hand latched onto his and yanked him.
He stumbled forward, still alive. The water stopped its assault, and he stood on a flat ledge of stone in a deep cave . . . behind the waterfall.
He did it. He never wanted to do it again, but he did it!
Peter laughed and shouted, “Whoooh! You passed the test, brother.” He shook his hair like a wet dog and sidestepped farther down the stone ledge and well into the cave.
Roland followed, eyes glued to the pool behind the waterfall, the water that could’ve drowned him if he had taken a wrong step.
The ledge ended at a flat, dry cave about ten feet wide and fifteen feet deep. Light streamed in through the waterfall and from cracks overhead. Lit candles sat in holes and natural shelves in the walls of the cave. Shadows danced by the light of their flames. A deeper crevice held a rock shelf, two round tree stumps near it.
“Wow, this is cool.” Roland’s teeth chattered. He shook his hair and wiped wet strands from his forehead.
Peter lit another candle and set the lighter down. Then he pulled the duffle bag from the wet garbage bags and opened it. “Me and Dad brought the tree stumps in for chairs.” He reached a hand out to Roland. “Toss me a towel. They’re in your pack.”
Roland unzipped the bag and pulled out soft, green towels that smelled like flowers. “So, this is the hiding place, huh?”
“Yeah.” Peter worked the transmitter out of the duffle bag and placed it on the table-sized rock shelf. Sitting on a tree stump, he fidgeted with the transmitter. “But I’ll put the box in a more secret place.”
“Not here?”
“No. You have to go down there to get to it.” Without so much as a glance, he flung an arm out and jabbed his index finger in the direction of the pool. As if it were no big deal.
Roland stopped drying his hair. “Down there? What’s down there?” He peered into the water.
While troubled by the waterfall, sand and rocks showed clearly through greenish waters deep as a swimming pool.
Peter kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks. “Come and see. Toby found the place. He loves water . . . in an obsessive sort of way.” He frowned, staring into space for a second, and then snapped back. “You have to swim about five feet down. There’s an opening in the rocks. Swim through that, and you’re in a small cave inside the hill. Maybe it’s not a cave so much as a crack. It’s pretty narrow. But if you climb up a bit, it’s dry and there are all kinds of places to stash stuff.” He stuffed his socks into his shoes and stripped off his shirt.
“I’ll wait here.”
“Come on. Where’s your sense of adventure?” Peter slapped Roland’s arm. “Don’t tell me you can’t swim.” He grabbed the plastic bag that held the antique box and ran his fingers along the seal.
“I’m not going.”
Peter huffed. “Alright. I’ll be back.” He plunged headfirst into the pool. By the time the water calmed, there was no sign of him.
Several minutes l
ater, Roland gave up staring at the water, waiting for Peter’s return, and turned to the candles in the wall. They reminded him of a church shrine, of candles set before statues of saints.
Who was the saint Caitlyn had mentioned? Elizabeth?
Roland’s soul stirred, so he decided to pray.
“Saint Elizabeth?” he forced himself to say aloud, his gaze flitting from candle to candle. Was he looking for a sign? “I, uh, I think I’m in a bit of a mess at home. I—”
Water splashed in the pool.
“That ought . . . to do it,” Peter said between breaths. His hair hung like brown seaweed in his face. He pulled himself out of the water and shook his head, spraying water everywhere. “The perfect hiding place.” He grinned. “No one will find it now.”
“Yeah, as if the whole world’s looking for it.”
Peter climbed to his feet and grabbed a towel. “Well, Dad’s probably waiting by the receiver at home, so let’s test the transmitter. I need to run a wire for an antenna. Come on. We have to go back out.”
“Back out?” Roland tensed. “We have to go back through the waterfall?”
Chapter 26
Peter had whistled while he walked, feeling good about hiding Grandpa’s box, but halfway home through the forest, his mood fell like an acorn from a tree. Roland had stopped talking, communicating only with nods and glances and an occasional yeah. His comments came delayed. So Peter gave up trying to talk and resigned himself to the fact that Roland either didn’t trust him or didn’t want to return to their house.
It didn’t surprise him when Roland said he had to go home and, after a few furtive glances at their house, dashed across Forest Road and disappeared into the woods.
Peter trudged into the house. Toby sat in the rocker in the living room, rocking and gazing intently at the dust universe in the slant of light that snuck in through the half-drawn curtains. Mom rolled out biscuit dough in the kitchen. And Dad read a newspaper at the table.
After raving with Dad about the success of the transmitter, Peter lugged himself up to his room. He gave the bedroom door a shove, and it swung open . . . with ease.
Stepping into the room, something caught his eye. His box of Power Rangers sat atop another box inside his open closet. A box of clothes took the Power Ranger’s spot, next to the Star Trek box.
Who would’ve been messing with that stuff? Toby couldn’t reach it. Maybe Mom needed something.
He crept further into the room.
One of his desk drawers stuck out a couple of inches.
His skin crawled. He always kept the desk drawers closed. Now the dresser was a different story. With all the clothes packed in them, they never closed.
He made a casual glance at his dresser and did a double-take.
All the drawers were closed.
“Mom!” Peter tore from his room and bounded down the stairs. Before he made it to the kitchen, he skidded to a stop.
Aunt Lotti and Mr. Reinhard sat together in a booth. Aunt Lotti wore a-a-a skirt. And her hair. What happened to her three-inch, dark roots? Her hair, streaked blonde, fell in loose curls around her shoulders looking pretty as a model’s. She leaned toward Mr. Reinhard, whispered something and laughed.
Did he just touch her hand?
Peter’s brain screamed. No way. Mr. Reinhard and Aunt Lotti? No way.
Chapter 27
Roland had taken his time strolling home down the lonely path through the woods, listening to bug songs, keeping an eye peeled for coyotes, and reflecting upon what he would say to Nanny. He hoped he wouldn’t have to say anything, and that he could sneak inside and up to his bedroom unnoticed. But as he crept down the hallway, Mr. Digby called his name, and his hope fizzled.
Shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, he forced himself into the kitchen to meet his doom.
Mr. Digby sat at the kitchen table, hunched over a steaming bowl of soup. The wrinkles in his forehead looked deeper, his cow-like eyes more tired, and his cheeks more hollow than usual. His eyes grazed over Roland a full thirty seconds before he spoke. “You know, you got your nanny all worked up and worried over you.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Roland’s stomach churned.
Mr. Digby shook his head. “Jarret’s been doting on her and tryin’ to figure where you been. Feedin’ her worry, if you ask me.”
Roland’s eye twitched. Has he now?
“This ain’t like you. We never need worry over you. Where you been, boy?” Roland once believed that Mr. Digby had a singular focus on landscaping and other exterior things. He had recently come to suspect, by a certain look Mr. Digby got when speaking of Jarret, that he knew more about the family affairs than he let on. He saw the interior. He gathered motives.
“I, uh, I stayed at a friend’s house. I tried to leave a note.” Roland glanced at his boots. “I tried to call, but I guess it was too late. I- I’m sorry, sir. I messed up.”
Mr. Digby nodded, pushed the bowl of soup away, and scraped his chair back. “Well, I’ll go tell her you’re here. Better stay put.”
“Uh . . .” Roland’s stomach flipped. “Think I could talk to her tomorrow? I’m tired.”
He stopped in the kitchen doorway. “Suppose that’d be all right.”
Roland exhaled.
“I’ll just let her know you’re here. You eat?”
“Not hungry.”
Mr. Digby disappeared down the hall, and Roland dashed for the stairs.
A trace of light from the kitchen shone on all the doors in the dark upstairs hallway except the first one. Jarret’s door lay hidden behind the corner at the top of the stairs.
Roland tiptoed past it.
It creaked open.
Roland winced. If only he had been quieter.
“Ah, there’s my dear brother.”
The sound of Jarret’s voice chilled Roland to the bone. He continued down the hall, pushed his bedroom door open, and glanced back. “What do you want, Jarret?”
A crooked grin stretched across his face. “It’s late. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming home.”
Remaining expressionless, Roland turned away. “It’s not that late.” As he crossed the threshold into his bedroom, a shuffling sound came from the hall. He swung his bedroom door shut, but Jarret’s palm smacked against it.
The door flew open, the knob cracking the wall.
Jarret leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and peered at Roland through cold, dusky, scrutinizing eyes. Frizzy curls framed his angular face. Stubble—When did he start shaving?—grew on his chin and upper lip. Under his arm, nearly hidden by the loose sleeve of his white nightshirt, he held a book. What was he up to?
“What do you want?” Roland said.
“I thought we could talk.” Jarret straightened and stuffed the book under his other arm.
“About what?”
“About your hiding place.” He stepped into the room, making Roland step back.
“My hiding place?” Roland’s heart skipped a beat. Had he followed them through the woods? Had they lost him before reaching the waterfall?
Jarret pushed past Roland, set the book on the nightstand, and stretched out on the bed.
Roland shook his head, disgusted at the intrusion. He went to the dresser and pretended to search for something in the top drawer while peeking in the mirror to see the book.
White cover . . . black and red design . . . He had taken a volume of Papa’s Archaeology Encyclopedia set, the ones no one had permission to remove from Papa’s study. Ever.
“So, where’ve you been hiding?” Jarret watched Roland in the mirror. “It’s not like you have friends. Do you really have one? Where’d you stay?”
“Why do you need to know? So I found some place more comfortable than the basement.”
Jarret grinned. “Yeah, about that . . . You’re gonna forget about that. Understand? In fact, you’re going to forget everything you overheard me say the other day. I think you misunderstood me.” He adjusted
the pillow, his gaze fixed on Roland.
Roland faced him and folded his arms. “I misunderstood you? So you don’t want to take my place on the trip? You’re going to leave it alone? I’m going on the trip, and you’re not?”
Jarret sat up and bored holes through Roland with his eyes. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, still staring. A faint grin flashed on his lips, but he scowled as he approached. He stopped so close that Roland could smell cigarette smoke on his breath. “Trip to where?”
“Uh . . .” Roland backed into the dresser. What was Jarret’s game?
“It doesn’t matter.” Jarret made for the door. “Now be a good brother and don’t go making up any lies.” A glare. “Or you’ll be sorry.” A smile. “Goodnight.”
When the door clicked shut, Roland exhaled and collapsed onto his bed. He picked up the book and ran a hand over the gold letters and the red circle on the cover: Archaeology in the Near East. It was Papa’s archaeology book all right. Disgusted, he got up to return it.
With the book tucked under one arm, he shuffled to the bottom of the steps. Nanny hummed “Georgia on My Mind” somewhere nearby. Not wanting to be seen with the book, Roland darted around the corner and—
The two of them collided in the hall.
She gasped.
The book slipped from Roland’s hand and plopped onto the floor.
A basket of spring-fresh laundry fell from Nanny’s grip.
Roland flung out his hands and caught it.
“Oh, my dear boy!” She smacked her chest. “There you are. I was going to check on you. I have your laundry here and . . .” She hugged Roland over the basket then, frowning, reached for the pink curlers in her gray hair.
Roland handed her the laundry basket, and they both dropped their gazes to the book on the floor.
“You don’t know how . . .” She squinted at the book. “. . . I’ve worried . . .” She stepped toward the book and shifted the laundry basket to one side. “. . . about . . .”
Roland squatted and snatched the book. “I’m putting it away. It was, uh . . .”
“Isn’t that one of your father’s special books?” Her eyebrows slanted over her worried eyes. “The ones that aren’t supposed to leave his study?”
Roland West, Loner Page 14
