Travis was just dozing off when the quiet was broken by a cursing, angry Nish.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” Nish wailed. He sounded truly upset.
“What?” Travis shouted.
“My snow globe’s broken!”
Travis sat up. At the foot of his bed was Nish, crouching over his new equipment bag. The box his snow globe had come in was torn at his feet and the beautiful gift in his hands.
“What’s wrong?” Travis asked.
“Look!” Nish said, holding it up.
Travis stared at the snow globe. Only the snow inside wasn’t swirling. It wasn’t tumbling or falling.
It was doing nothing. More a solid snowball than a snowfall.
“What happened?” asked Travis.
“I dunno,” said Nish. “I just pulled it out and it was busted.”
Lars was already on his feet. He took the globe from Nish and rolled it over slowly in his hands. Nothing moved. “You must have shaken it awfully hard,” he said.
“I didn’t shake it at all,” Nish protested.
“Maybe it got shaken on the bus,” suggested Travis. “Or when they threw it on that trolley.”
“That’s probably it,” said Lars, nodding. “It got so badly shaken it crystallized.”
“What?” Nish asked, his face twisting into a puzzled prune.
“Crystallized,” repeated Lars. “Sometimes things that are in liquid can crystallize and turn solid. Kind of like ice–only it doesn’t need the cold.”
Nish looked baffled. But he seemed to accept Lars’s explanation. “I guess,” he said. “But I don’t want a broken one. I want a good one.”
Lars smiled. “You can have mine. I don’t care about it. I just like the equipment bag.”
Nish looked relieved. “You’re sure?”
“Sure. I’ll give you mine next time we’re back at the rink. It’s in my new bag. That’s where the rest of us put them.”
Nish took back the broken snow globe and stared at it. “What’ll we do with this one?”
“Put it in the drawer,” Lars said. “Maybe I’ll show it to someone and try to get a replacement.”
Nish nodded. Perhaps he didn’t understand crystallization, but he understood what he needed to know: that he would have a good, working snow globe to take home to his mother. Travis grinned slightly to himself. He knew Nish too well. If only the others knew what a big softie Nish was when it came to his mom. It was good of Lars to make such a generous offer–but then, that was typical of Lars, too. Always helping out. Always doing the right thing.
There was a loud rap on the door.
“You in there, Travis?” a voice called.
It was Sarah.
“Yeah, whadya want?”
“Muck wants to see us all down in the lobby–right away.”
The rest of the Owls were already hanging around the lobby. A few parents were there as well–only a handful had made the long trip–and Mr. Dillinger was organizing coffee. Muck was deep in conversation with a heavy-set, grey-haired man in a dark blue suit. Waiting to one side, both with Styrofoam cups of coffee steaming in their hands, were two other, powerful-looking men, also in dark suits.
Muck moved to the centre of the floor and cleared his throat. Everyone fell silent at once; they all wanted to know what was up.
“This here,” said Muck, again clearing his throat as he turned to the grey-haired man, “is Inspector Bronson of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. He’s going to fill you in on what’s been happening regarding the…incident.”
Inspector Bronson, ruddy-faced and smiling, rubbed his hands nervously as he took his place beside Muck. He introduced the two men who had come with him, also with the RCMP.
“This has been a complicated investigation,” said the inspector. “We’ve tried to co-ordinate matters, but it’s also involved the Coast Guard, City of Victoria Police, and the Department of Oceans and Fisheries. We’ve also been helped out by the good people at the Aquarium.
“I also want to thank you all for your valuable contribution. If you hadn’t sighted that body–”
“Two bodies,” a voice interrupted.
Travis turned sharply. It was Sam, her green eyes flashing with something very near anger.
The inspector’s red face turned even redder.
“Yes, well, of course,” he sputtered, the air before him raining with spittle. “But we’re conducting a murder investigation, miss. For the purposes of that, we are speaking of one deceased…Mr. Bradley Cummings.”
“The dolphin was murdered, too,” protested Sarah.
“Yes, well,” the inspector began. A fleck of white foam danced ridiculously on his bottom lip as he fumbled for his words. The girls had clearly thrown him off. “The dolphin was killed, we have now ascertained, by fishermen’s nets. The animal pathologists at the Aquarium found rope burns on it. We believe that Mr. Cummings was engaged in some sort of effort to rescue the fish from the netting–”
“A dolphin’s not a fish!” Sam insisted.
“Whatever, miss,” the inspector smiled lamely. “Mr. Cummings was vitally involved in dolphin projects at the Aquarium and was known to go out often on his own in search of them.
“He was a card-carrying member of Greenpeace,” the inspector added, with a hint of a sneer as he mentioned the well-known environmental protection group, “and had been involved in disputes with drift-net fishermen in the past. He was a key leader in the fight to have them banned.”
“What happened?” asked Fahd.
“We don’t know exactly what happened, son, but what we believe happened is that Mr. Cummings came upon a fishing boat illegally using drift nets. Perhaps he tried to challenge them in some way. Some of these Greenpeace guys can be quite aggressive, you know.”
It was clear that the inspector had no use for Greenpeace. He spoke as if everyone in the room shared his opinion, though Travis doubted any did–with the possible exception of the two policemen standing by the doorway.
“We imagine there was a confrontation. We think it was settled with a gun.”
“But why shoot the dolphin, too?” asked Sam.
The inspector turned, blinking with surprise. He shrugged. “Perhaps to put him out of his misery. We don’t know exactly, of course. All we do know, and all we are investigating, miss, is that someone shot Mr. Cummings and killed him. Through the Coast Guard, we are now conducting a thorough search of the waters around the area in question. All fishing vessels will be searched.”
“You expect to find the weapon?” Muck asked.
“If we do, we’ll find the killer,” the inspector said smugly.
“Wouldn’t the gun be at the bottom of the ocean by now?” said Fahd.
“Not necessarily, son,” the inspector said, glad to have sensible questions from a sensible young man like Fahd. “Some fishermen believe in the law of the high seas. They might feel perfectly entitled to defend their property with firearms.”
“It’s hardly like Brad was out to torpedo them!” Sam shot back.
The inspector turned, staring hard, his colour rising again. He clearly did not like to be interrupted, especially with sarcasm.
“Where is his boat?” Sarah asked.
“Whose boat?” the inspector snapped.
“Brad’s.”
“We have found no vessel,” he said.
“Isn’t that a bit odd?” Sarah asked.
There was spittle again on the inspector’s lips, dancing as he blew out impatiently.
“It’s a very big ocean, my dear,” he said, as if speaking to a little child. “Things can get lost at sea. They can even sink. Perhaps they sank his boat after they shot him.”
“But why shoot the dolphin!” Sam demanded, all but stomping her feet.
Travis blinked several times, unable to believe his eyes. Maybe he’d lost his mind and was seeing things. Perhaps he was having a nightmare.
“What’s wrong with you?” a familiar voice whined.
Whatever it was, it was standing in the harsh light of the motel room’s bathroom door. It was wearing a floppy bucket cap with the Vancouver Canucks logo in the middle. It had mirror sunglasses on, sending Travis a reflection of himself, his mouth and eyes wide open in shock. It was wearing a thick smear of white sunscreen right down its nose and onto one cheek. It was carrying a small gym bag–again, Vancouver Canucks colours, Vancouver Canucks logo–and out of the top of the gym bag stuck a huge bottle of blue Gatorade, an opened plastic bag of long red licorice sticks, and the earphones to a portable CD player.
Over its shoulder it wore a gaudy orange-and-yellow towel–and apart from that nothing else!
Not a stitch.
“What’re you looking at?” the familiar voice whined from behind the sunscreen and mirror sunglasses.
Travis wasn’t exactly sure. The big mirror on the bathroom door played off the wall of mirrors over the sink, so that Travis was staring at not just one shocking, incredible sight, but at more than two dozen. More than two dozen buck-naked Wayne Nishikawas!
Nish smiled. “You coming with me?”
“Coming with you?” Travis said incredulously. “Where?”
“Wreck Beach, stupid.”
“Where?”
“The nude beach. I checked at the front desk. It’s just past the university–about a dozen blocks from here.”
“You’re not going like that?”
“What’s wrong with this?” Nish asked, twirling like a fashion model. “I’m dressed perfectly for Wreck Beach. Sun’s shining–perfect beach weather.”
“How you gonna get there?”
Nish turned and looked at himself in the mirror–hat, sunglasses, towel, sandals, nothing else…
“You plan to walk?” Travis asked, laughing. He could just picture Nish waddling down the street, bare cheeks wobbling behind him, cars honking and swerving, police sirens screaming.
Nish shook his head with pity for Travis. “I’m not that dumb, you know. This is how I’ll look when I get there. What do you think?”
“I think you’re crazy. They’ll never let you on–you’re a kid!”
“And kids can’t be nudists? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Nobody’s going to be there. It’s still spring, for heaven’s sake!”
“It’s warm out. Nobody’s going to freeze their pinkies off.”
Travis rolled his eyes. “It’s not your pinkie I’m thinking of.”
Nish wasn’t even listening. He was looping a big unbuttoned shirt over his shoulders and kicking around his dumped luggage for his bathing suit. He was getting dressed to go out–getting dressed to go out and get undressed.
“Are you coming?” he asked as he lifted the bathing suit on one sandalled toe.
“Not a chance, pal.”
Nish stepped into the suit, shrugging. “Suit yourself–but it’s the chance of a lifetime.”
“To see you naked? I’ve already seen enough of that to last a lifetime!”
Travis had no idea what would become of Nish. Nor did he much care. Some of the other Owls were gathering in the lobby, getting ready to strike out for the nearest McDonald’s and talking excitedly about the 3-on-3 tournament.
There was a buzz to this competition that Travis had never before experienced. At every other tournament, the Owls had talked about their own team, and other teams, and how they were doing, and who they might meet if they made it to the finals. But now that they were split into teams within teams, all the talk was about themselves. Gordie, Fahd, and Sam had two easy wins in the Canucks Division, and Derek, Liz, and Willie had won one and then been beaten badly in the Rockies Division.
Dmitri, Andy, and Lars were soon to play their third match in the Elite Division, after losing their second. This one would be against the Portland Panthers, who had already been beaten by Travis, Sarah, and Nish. Travis’s team was now 2–0, as was Jesse’s team, with Simon and Wilson.
The Owls’ excited chatter was brought to an abrupt end by a loud rumble of thunder. Travis looked out and saw that dark clouds were moving in fast. It amazed him how quickly the weather could change in Vancouver. A few minutes ago there had been bright sunshine–“beach weather,” Nish had called it–and now it looked like it was going to storm. What was it the motel manager had said to them the other day? “You don’t like our weather? Wait five minutes and it’ll change–I guarantee it.”
They decided they’d better head for McDonald’s before the rain hit, and were just on their way out when Sarah and Sam burst in, their arms filled with newspapers. They seemed very excited. Sarah was holding out the front page of the Vancouver Sun, tapping her finger hard against the headline.
“AQUARIUM SCIENTIST HAILED AS HERO.”
“They’re saying Brad gave his life for the dolphin!” she shouted.
Sam handed out copies with the front-page stories and photographs of Brad Cummings. There were quotes from his fellow workers, who all said Brad went out on the water every chance he got, searching for dolphins and warning fishing trawlers to stay away from spots where he’d seen them swimming.
There was talk of naming a park after Brad, talk of a special scholarship fund being set up at the university to encourage the study of endangered species. Travis read all the reports, and while he still felt terrible about what had happened to Brad–could barely stand to think of him rolling about in those waves with that hideous black hole in his chest–he felt proud of what Brad had been doing and happy that there were people who had appreciated his efforts. He was, indeed, a hero.
Sam was in tears reading one of the papers. It was a story about Brad’s mother and how Brad had always cared for her and how, ever since he was a little boy, he had cared more for wild creatures than for anything else. There was even a picture of a young Brad, aged thirteen or fourteen, feeding one of the killer whales at the Aquarium, and Sam clutched the newspaper picture to her heart as if she were about to faint.
“Listen to this!” shouted Data, who had wheeled over and picked up a copy of the Vancouver Province.
Just then there was a tremendous clap of thunder and a roar as the rain burst outside. Travis was glad Sarah and Sam had come along with the papers. They’d saved them from a soaking.
“‘COAST GUARD FOLLOWING LEAD IN CUMMINGS MURDER,’” Data read, almost having to shout over the rain drumming on the motel windows. “‘The Canadian Coast Guard has stopped and searched more than twenty fishing boats and trawlers in the past two days in an effort to find more details on the death of Bradley Cummings, twenty-seven, the marine biologist who was found floating off Victoria Harbour Monday with a bullet hole in his chest.
“‘The RCMP Forensic Division in Vancouver has tentatively identified the murder weapon as an old-fashioned .303 Lee Enfield rifle, a war weapon once popular with deer hunters.
“‘According to sources, the Coast Guard has interviewed at least two witnesses who reported hearing a shot, or several shots, fired in the vicinity Monday morning. Numerous fishing vessels–Canadian, American, Japanese, and Russian–were reportedly fishing in adjacent waters at the time.
“‘officials hope to find the weapon involved. A rifle, however, is easily lost to deep waters, and the Coast Guard is aiming its investigation more at interviews and possible eye-witnesses.’”
“Let’s hope they find the murderer,” said Wilson.
“I still can’t understand why they’d shoot the dolphin, too,” said Sam.
“You care more about a fish than a person?” asked Simon.
“It’s not a fish. It’s a dolphin. And of course I care about Brad–I just don’t understand why they’d do that to a dolphin.”
“It was caught in their nets,” suggested Data, “and that’s how they get rid of them. It was going to die anyway. Brad must have heard the shot and come after them. Or maybe he saw them do it. And then they shot him
.”
“I hope they catch them,” said Liz.
“So do I,” said Sarah.
“What the hell is that?” howled Derek, staring in the direction of the glass front door.
The Screech Owls all turned at once. The door opened, wind and rain bursting in as if someone had turned a fire hose on the motel entrance.
And with the wind and rain came a strange wet creature. It put its back to the door, pushing hard to close it. The latch caught, shutting the storm outside, and the room filled with silence. Silence but for the huffing and puffing of the creature who had burst in.
It wore a soaked bucket hat that hung so limp over the creature’s face they couldn’t see its eyes. There was something white smeared down its nose and cheeks. There was an unbuttoned shirt, wet through and clinging like paint to the heaving chest of whatever was beneath it. There was a bathing suit, halfway down the creature’s hips, heavy with water and threatening to drop. There was a dripping sports bag, a half-finished bottle of blue Gatorade sticking out past the dangling earphones of a portable CD player.
“Nish?” Sam ventured.
Travis said nothing. He didn’t need the creature to speak to know what it was.
The creature was shaking and shivering right in front of them. Its teeth were clicking together. It was moaning.
“Where were you?” Sarah asked.
The soaking wet bucket cap came off, revealing a very wet Wayne Nishikawa. He wiped the back of his arm across his face, smearing the white sunscreen from ear to ear.
“Nowhere,” he mumbled through chattering teeth.
“You weren’t looking for that nude beach, were you, Nish?” Sam demanded loudly.
Everyone started laughing.
“None of your business!” Nish practically spat.
“Whadya see, Nish,” Andy teased, “barenaked…ducks?”
Nish scowled in Andy’s direction. He shook himself like a big dog and started to walk towards the corridor leading to his room. His sandals squished as he stepped, large, wet footprints mapping his progress.
The Complete Screech Owls, Volume 3 Page 26
