by Peg Kehret
“We can eat after we get there,” Kylie said. “Last year they sold cotton candy and ice-cream cones and caramel corn.”
“We are not eating junk for dinner,” Mrs. Perk said.
“Can we buy cotton candy for dessert?” Kylie asked.
“Cotton candy is pure sugar,” Mrs. Perk said.
“I know,” Kylie said. “That’s why I like it. Please, Mom?”
“We’ll see.”
“If they have pink and blue,” Kylie said, “I’m going to get pink, and I’m going to eat it without using my fingers.”
“Your face will be a sticky mess,” Megan said.
Kylie began to sing:
“Take, take, take a bite
Of my cotton candy.
Let it melt inside my mouth
Sugar tastes just dandy.”
Megan rolled her eyes as she put cat food and the jar of fresh water in her backpack. She would go straight to the field after school, to feed the cats and check on the kittens.
She was glad it was Friday. She looked forward to the weekend. Today she would have to hurry to the field and then hurry home to go to the balloon festival. Tomorrow and Sunday she could stay at the field and watch Mommacat and her babies. Maybe her friend Chelsea would be well and able to come with her. Tomorrow she planned to take Mommacat a can of tuna, for a special treat.
Shane Turner worked until noon on Friday. He left on his lunch break as if it were any ordinary day, but he knew it was not ordinary at all.
He walked toward his truck, knowing he would never return. He had worked his last hour for Colby Construction Company. His plan was now in progress.
After he ate, Shane drove fifty miles north to the bank he had chosen because they advertised “small-town friendliness.” He had opened a savings account there as William Bradburn soon after he began working for Brice. Each week after he cashed his paycheck at the bank where he was known as Shane Turner, he had deposited some cash in Mr. Bradburn’s account. With interest, he now had over two thousand dollars.
The teller recognized him, and that was okay because by the time his true identity was known, everyone would think he was dead.
“I need to close my account,” he said, “and also cash a check. I’m moving out of the area.”
The teller asked to see Shane’s driver’s license, because the check was so large. She copied down the number.
Shane smiled as the bank teller counted out thousand-dollar bills, put the cash in an envelope, and handed it to him.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Bradburn?” the teller asked.
“No, thanks,” Shane said.
He put the envelope in the pocket of his leather jacket and zippered the pocket shut.
He felt giddy as he walked to his truck. Imagine having seventeen thousand dollars in his pocket! Even when he robbed the bank in White Springs, he had carried away less than six thousand. Of course he didn’t get to keep that money because he got caught just four blocks from the bank. This time he was smarter; this time he would not get caught.
As soon as he was inside the truck, he locked the doors. He needed to be careful. There are a lot of dishonest people in the world.
Shane drove to his apartment, where he was supposed to meet a man who had answered Shane’s ad about a truck for sale. Shane would sell the blue pickup even if he had to come down in price. He had already told the prospective buyer that it had to be a cash sale.
While he drove, Shane mentally walked through the rest of his day. As soon as his truck was sold, he would take a bus to the airport, where the balloon festival was held.
When it was time for him to fly the hot-air balloon sponsored by Colby Construction, there would be a problem. The balloon would rise into the sky at dusk with the other balloons in his part of the demonstration, but instead of hovering over the runway for a short time and then landing again, as it was supposed to do, Shane’s balloon would keep going. It would not come back. Not ever.
He knew Brice would try to call him on the cellular phone that was in the balloon’s basket to ask what was wrong and to keep track of the balloon’s location. Shane, of course, did not intend to turn the phone on.
During scheduled balloon flights there was always a chase car at hand to follow the balloon on the ground. Tonight the chase car would not be there, since no flight was expected. After dark, the balloons at the festival gave demonstration rides, going up only a short distance and returning. The longer flights would be the next day.
By the time anyone on the ground could get in a car to try to follow the wayward balloon tonight, Shane would be over the top of Desolation Hill and out of sight. He would land long before the chase car could drive around the hill and spot the balloon.
Shane had practiced flying the same route several times in the past month. He had used the Colby Construction balloon, telling Brice he wanted to practice for the festival.
He knew the air currents; he knew exactly how much gas to give the balloon to get it high enough to go over the hill. The winds had been calm all week and no storms were predicted, so there was nothing to prevent him from taking off as planned.
His landing place wasn’t far, as the crow flies, but on the ground it was a slow, winding drive on a rarely used loggers’ road. The airport was at the edge of town, and the hills beyond, leading to the Cascade Mountains, were unpopulated.
With any luck even the flames, when he set the balloon on fire, would not be seen. The balloon might not be found for months, or even years.
Everyone would think his balloon had crashed. When Shane wasn’t found, he would be presumed dead.
Eventually the charred remains of the balloon and basket would be discovered—probably by hikers or hunters. By then, of course, Shane would be long gone to New Mexico, using his new name. He would search for a balloon to buy. He was ready to have his own business.
Filled with dreams of his life in New Mexico, Shane parked in front of his apartment and waited for the prospective truck buyer to arrive.
An hour later, as the new owner of the blue pickup drove away, Shane added eighteen hundred dollars to the envelope in his pocket. One more part of his plan had gone exactly as he had envisioned it.
Shane thought how close that girl and her wild cats had come to ruining all of his plans. If he had not been able to keep her quiet about the cats, the apartment project would have been delayed. Without that huge project to generate money for Colby Construction, a missing fifteen thousand dollars would likely be noticed.
Shane was positive that if Brice had known about the cats, he would have delayed the apartments. Brice and Ruthann treated their own pets like members of the family. Shane had no doubt that Brice would have postponed clearing that field, even if it meant a financial loss. He shook his head at his brother-in-law’s stupidity.
Shane looked at the time. Two o’clock. The bulldozer driver should be nearly done. By five o’clock the field would be leveled, so it didn’t matter what Brice would have done. Brice would never know about the cats.
Shane smiled at his own brilliance. He had kept the girl from telling. He had prevented her from ruining his plans. By now the field was cleared and her precious cats were in Kitty Heaven.
Lacey’s little sister was waiting for her when Lacey got home from school on Friday. “I did what you told me to do,” Danielle said. “I paid for the lipstick and told the store manager I was sorry and would never take anything again.”
“Good for you,” Lacey said. “What did he say?”
“He said he’d drop the charges. I don’t have to go to juvenile court.” Danielle grinned. “You were right,” she said. “It’s better to face up to a mistake than to run away from it.”
Too bad I don’t take my own advice, Lacey thought. It was two days now since the accident, and she was more nervous and upset about it than she had been the day it happened.
She might still get caught; the cops had all sorts of ways of tracking people down. She rememb
ered a news report of how a broken filament from a headlight had alerted investigators what kind of car to look for.
The longer it was between the accident and the time they found her, the worse it would be for her. She knew that. She knew she should do what Danielle had done and face up to her problem—but she couldn’t make herself do it.
Only a fool would risk losing a college scholarship and a job and an opportunity for a good life if she didn’t have to. If she kept her mouth shut, there was a good chance no one would ever know about her role in the fatal accident.
The trouble was, she felt like such a creep. Even if she never got caught, she still felt like a creep.
I was involved in that woman’s death, Lacey thought, and I don’t even have the decency to tell her family that I’m sorry. Can I live with that for the rest of my life?
11
Megan hurried out of school on Friday afternoon, hopped on her bike, and headed for the field. Although she knew the balloon festival would be fun, she wished she didn’t have to go home early. She wanted to watch the kittens.
When she was a block away, she saw a large flatbed truck parked at the front edge of the field, near the sign. For a second, she thought maybe Mr. Colby was waiting for her in a different kind of truck. Then she saw a big yellow bulldozer on the far side of the truck.
Megan’s heart, and her feet, pumped faster.
Just as she reached the field, the bulldozer’s engine started. She flinched at the sudden loud noise.
A man sat in the cab part of the bulldozer.
“Hello!” Megan called, as she rode toward the bulldozer. “Hello! I need to talk to you!”
The machine’s large steel treads crawled away from the flatbed truck, rolling forward and under like metal conveyor belts as they moved the bulldozer toward the edge of the field that adjoined the freeway on-ramp.
The driver, intent on steering the machine, kept his eyes straight ahead.
This can’t be happening, Megan thought, as she dropped her bike in the weeds and ran toward the bulldozer.
The engine noise rumbled like thunder.
“Stop!” Megan shouted. “Stop!”
The driver still did not look at her.
He can’t hear me over the roar of the bulldozer, Megan realized.
When the front edge of the bulldozer’s treads crossed the sidewalk, the machine paused. Then the driver backed the dozer into position so that its scoop would come down right along the edge of the sidewalk.
Halfway between the bulldozer and the other end of the field, Megan saw the drainpipe. Its opening was only a few feet from the sidewalk. Megan’s stomach felt as if she had swallowed a brick.
Would the scoop fill the drainpipe with dirt as it passed, trapping Mommacat and the kittens inside the pipe? Or would the frightful noise as the bulldozer approached drive Mommacat to try to carry her kittens to safety? If so, they would never make it.
Megan raced toward the bulldozer. Her worst fear for the cats was about to come true.
“Stop!” she screamed. “You can’t do this!”
She reached the bulldozer just as the driver pulled a lever that lowered the scoop to the ground. She saw that the driver wore earphones to protect him from the constant noise of the huge machine. It didn’t matter how loud Megan shouted; the driver would never hear her.
She ran in front of the bulldozer and stopped about ten feet before the scoop. She waved her arms frantically. Even though she knew the driver could not hear her, she continued to yell, “Stop! Stop!”
The driver shifted another lever. The bulldozer’s blade dug into the dirt, then started to push it forward.
Megan jumped up and down, desperately flailing her arms. She saw the driver glance up; he had an astonished look on his face. She knew he had seen her.
The bulldozer quit moving. The engine stopped. The driver stood up, removed his earphones, and leaned out of the cab.
“What’s the matter with you? Are you crazy?” he said. “Get out of the way!”
Megan rushed to the side of the bulldozer and looked up at the man. “You aren’t supposed to clear this field,” she said.
“Is that so? Then why did I get a call telling me to be sure it gets done today?”
“There’s been a mistake,” Megan said.
“There’s no mistake. This is the corner of 148th and I-90, and I’m supposed to clear it.”
“But you can’t!” Megan said.
“Look,” the driver said. “I’m sorry if this field is where you like to play. I’m sorry if you don’t want an apartment building to go up here. But I don’t make those decisions; all I do is drive my ‘dozer. I promised I’d have this land leveled by five o’clock this afternoon, and I’m already three hours late getting started because I got held up on a different job.”
“There are cats living in this field,” Megan said. “The clearing is not supposed to be done until the cats are caught and moved to a new place.”
“Cats?” The driver looked at her as if she had started speaking a language he didn’t understand.
“Feral cats. One of them has a litter of new kittens.”
“I don’t know about any cats. All I know is I’m supposed to do a job here this afternoon. So you need to stay out of my way where you won’t get hurt, and let me get on with it.”
Megan took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “If you start clearing this field,” she said, “I will call the television hot-line number for breaking news.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell the TV reporter that you are bulldozing a field that is not supposed to be cleared, and that your bulldozer is killing all the cats. The cameras will be here within minutes.”
“Whoa,” the man said. He took off his cap and scratched the side of his head.
“Do you really want to be on the ten o’clock news in a story about how you murdered a litter of baby kittens?”
The man climbed down off the bulldozer. “Maybe I should call my boss and double-check this job order,” he said. “Mr. Colby didn’t set this up himself the way he usually does. Someone else called me.”
“Mr. Colby?” Megan asked. “From Colby Construction? Is he your boss?”
“That’s the one.”
Relief flowed through Megan. “Mr. Colby will tell you not to clear this field,” she said. “He’s helping me save the cats. He even got the county to withhold the building permit on these apartments for a month.”
The driver looked skeptical. “I find that hard to believe,” he said. “No contractor would deliberately hold up his own building permit, cats or no cats. Why would he do that?”
“So there would be time to move the cats to new homes before the land gets cleared.”
“You don’t need a building permit in order to clear the land.”
“You don’t?” Megan said.
“No, you don’t,” the driver said. “Besides, Brice Colby is the one who’s building these apartments. If he wants to postpone construction, all he has to do is wait.”
“Are you sure Colby Construction is building these apartments?”
“That’s who called and told me to get over here today. But I’ll call Mr. Colby and get his okay before I continue.”
Megan followed the man to the flatbed truck and waited while he unlocked it and took out a cellular phone. He dialed, then asked for Brice Colby.
After a pause he said, “This is Dale Burrows. I’m supposed to be clearing for the Evergreen Apartments this afternoon, and I have a problem on the job site. I need to talk to Brice as soon as possible.” He gave a phone number.
He hung up and told Megan, “His office is going to page him on his beeper and ask him to call me.”
She hoped Mr. Colby called promptly. She was supposed to be on her way home by now. Mom would not be happy if Megan was late today.
“I’m going to put out the cats’ food and water while we wait,” Megan said.
Carrying his cell phone, the
bulldozer driver followed her. He watched while Megan filled one dish with cat food and the other with fresh water. “How many cats are you feeding here?” he asked.
Megan held up one finger for each name. “Pumpkin, Slush, Twitchy Tail, Claws, and Mommacat. That’s five, for sure, but there may be some I haven’t seen. Plus the kittens. I don’t know yet how many of those there are.”
As they talked, Megan glanced around to see if anyone might be watching. She hoped whoever had left the note didn’t think she was telling this man about the accident.
“Do you want to see the kittens?” she asked.
“Why not?” the driver said.
She knelt and peered inside the drainpipe. “There they are,” she said, “but don’t try to touch them.”
The driver looked into the drainpipe. “They’re tiny,” he said. “How old are they?”
“They were born yesterday. As soon as they’re six weeks old, I’m going to find homes for them.”
“Do you come here every day?”
Megan nodded.
“You remind me of my daughter,” the driver said. “When she was your age, she was always feeding some stray cat, or trying to save a baby bird that fell out of its nest, or begging me to pick up a lost dog that was running alongside a busy street.”
“Would your daughter like to have one of the kittens when they’re ready for adoption?” Megan asked.
The cell phone in his pocket rang. He took out the phone, pushed a button, and said, “This is Dale. Oh. Can you verify that I’m supposed to clear the land today for that apartment building on the corner of 148th, by the freeway? There’s a kid here who claims the project’s been put on hold until some wild cats get moved out of the field.” He covered the phone and said to Megan, “She can’t reach Mr. Colby. She’s going to ask someone else.”
Megan’s nervousness returned. What if Mr. Colby had not told anyone else about the cats? What if the woman in the office came back and told the driver to proceed with bulldozing the field? What would Megan do then?
