“That’s good,” I said. Then, realizing that might have sounded insensitive, because Eric and Rachel’s dad had passed away, I added, “I mean, that your mom won’t come in here.”
Rachel gently touched the handle of a rake, as though she could still feel her dad’s presence. “It’s all right, Cody. I know what you meant.” She sighed and leaned the rake against a wall, making sure she put it back exactly where it had been.
“Umm,” I said, clearing my throat. “Do you want to see all the golf balls we found?”
She smiled at me. “Sure.”
We left the shed and walked around to the rear of the building. I peeled back a beach towel, revealing the hundreds of balls. “Not a bad haul, huh?”
“Wow!” she said. “Look at them all.” She ran her fingers over the dimpled balls, stopping and picking up a bright pink one.
I leaned over and watched her spin the golf ball. “That’s a good one,” I said. “No smiles.”
“No smiles,” she repeated. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, sorry. Some golf balls have dents on them, from the clubs hitting them. And those dents look like smiles—like a happy face.” I found an older ball with a cut on it and showed her.
“And balls with . . . with smiles like this,” she pointed at the golf ball I was holding, “are worth a lot less, I suppose.”
I nodded. “A driving range might still use them,” I said. “But I doubt a golfer would pay for a ball with a lot of smiles.”
Rachel dug her fingers through the damp mass of golf balls, stopping to examine the yellow ones, the orange ones, and the ones with interesting company logos. “We should clean these,” she said, “before my mom comes home.”
I agreed that that was a good idea, so we dumped all the golf balls on the lawn and scrubbed them with a push broom and some environmentally friendly car-washing soap that Rachel found in the shed. We both worked frantically, because we didn’t want any neighbours to see us. Plus, there was always the chance that Rachel and Eric’s mom might come home early from work. Then we’d really have some explaining to do. Not that there was a logical way to explain why several hundred golf balls were scattered on the lawn.
It was almost noon by the time we gathered all the golf balls up again, collecting them in two plastic milk crates. The balls looked like new, and it was a shame to cover them, but we still hid them under an old tarp and dragged the crates to a corner of the shed.
Rachel put a plastic gas can in front of the boxes. “I don’t think anyone will find them in here,” she said.
“Yeah,” I agreed, “they’re hidden pretty well.”
We both stood in the middle of the shed for a minute, not saying anything. Rachel kept looking around, like she was assessing the remaining available space.
“You know,” she finally said, “there’s actually a lot of room in here.”
“I guess so,” I said with a shrug.
“In fact, there’s enough room here to hide something pretty big.” Rachel stared hard at me for several seconds, then added, “Do you know what I mean?”
I nodded automatically, before realizing what she was getting at. “Yeah,” I said grinning, “this is plenty of room.” I’d already made up my mind that I wanted to recover the statue, but I sure didn’t think my friends would want to get involved in another nutty nightmare.
“I mean,” she said, “if we were to find something and then had to hide it for a while.”
“Something like a statue?” I said.
“Something exactly like a statue,” she said.
“The thing is,” I said, “Eric was pretty freaked out—thinking it was a body, and all—so I doubt he’ll want to go back there.”
Just then, Eric appeared in the doorway of the shed. He looked sweaty, and his clothes were a wrinkled mess.
“Did you guys stash them in there?” he asked. He rubbed his still-puffy eyes and squinted into the dark space.
“Yeah, but we cleaned them up first,” Rachel said.
“They look a lot better now,” I added.
Eric nodded. “Cool. Maybe we’ll get more money for them that way.”
“I’d take anything for them,” I said. “They make me nervous, and I just want to get rid of them.”
Eric looked over his shoulder, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that sunken statue. And I know you guys are going to argue with me, but I really think we should go back there and get it.”
Rachel looked at me.
I looked at Rachel.
“I’m serious,” Eric said. “I know it’s just a stupid hunk of metal, and I know we’ve caused enough trouble this summer already, but I want to go back and get it. I really do. And I can’t do it alone.”
I guess he wasn’t as freaked out as I thought he was.
Eric continued, “You’re both probably thinking that it’s not bothering anyone down there, and that we should just leave it alone, and so forth. But there’s something fishy about that statue. It’s wrapped up and hidden on the bottom of a lake. Hidden.” He repeated the word for effect.
I said, “We were thinking the—”
Eric cut me off. “Bottom line, someone took that statue from somewhere and dumped it. And we should recover it and give it back to the owner. Who knows, maybe we’ll even get a reward for returning it.”
I nodded.
“Okay,” Rachel said.
“Sure, it’s kind of stupid to risk going back and—” Eric suddenly stopped talking. “Huh? Are you both actually agreeing with me?”
“Well, yeah,” I said.
“We already decided that we had to go back and get the statue,” Rachel added.
“Then why didn’t you dummies say something right away?” Eric whined.
“You seemed to be on a roll,” I said.
Rachel laughed.
“Ahrrr,” Eric groaned. Then he turned around and headed for the house. “I’m getting something to eat.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were in the house and eating the grilled cheese sandwiches Rachel made for us—they were really good, by the way. And while we enjoyed our lunch, we were also brainstorming ways to get rid of our illegal catch.
“I wonder what the quickest way is to sell hundreds of golf balls,” I said.
“Maybe,” Eric said between bites, “we could place an ad in the paper.”
“We can’t put an ad in the paper!” Rachel said, almost knocking over her chocolate milk. “That will draw Scolletti’s attention for sure.”
I suddenly had a better idea. “What if we asked a driving range—a driving range far from Sultana—if they wanted to buy used balls? They could then either sell them, or use them on the range.”
“Perfect,” Eric said. He turned to reach for the phone book on the counter, when the phone began to ring.
CHAPTER
4
WE ALL FROZE.
I mean, there was nothing unusual about the phone ringing; I just think we all had a bad feeling about this call.
Eric slowly took the cordless phone from the charger stand and pressed the talk button. “Hello?”
Rachel and I could tell from Eric’s face that something was up.
“Turn on the speaker,” she whispered to her brother.
Eric nodded. He pressed another button on the phone and placed the device on the table so we could all hear.
“I said, is this Eric Summers?” It was a male voice with an unfriendly tone—almost rude.
“Yeah, who’s this?” Eric said, taking on an equally impolite tone.
The caller paused, then said, “You should stay away from the golf course—from Smoke Lake. It can be . . . a dangerous place.”
Eric looked across the table at me and mouthed, “Scolletti?”
I shrugged, not sure who it was. The voice was a man’s. No accent. No strange diction. Maybe it was Scolletti, or maybe it was some other guy. If Eric kept him talking, we might be able to identify him.
“I guess that’s good to know,” Eric said. “But I don’t golf.”
“I’m not talking about golfing,” the caller said. “I’m talking about the property.”
“But if I don’t golf,” Eric fired back, “why would I even go there?”
“And make sure your friend understands too,” he said, sounding agitated.
“Who?” Eric asked, knowing he meant me.
“Your friend,” he growled.
“Yeah, but which friend?” Eric said. “I’m a popular guy, and I have a lot of friends.”
“I’m talking about Cody Lint.”
“He’s not my friend anymore,” Eric said, grinning at Rachel and me. “He owes me four dollars and won’t pay me back. But if you leave your name and number, I can get him to call you, if you want to give him a message.”
Silence.
I thought he’d hung up, and I was about to say something, when he spoke again. “Listen to me, smart mouth,” his voice hissed through the tiny speaker on the table. “If I find out either of you punks has trespassed on that property, you’ll wish you were never—”
Rachel switched off the phone.
We knew what the caller was going to say, so there was no reason to let him finish. And it felt kind of good to cut him off mid-sentence.
“Scolletti?” Eric asked again.
“That would make the most sense,” I said. “But I’m not sure if that was him. The voice was kind of the same, yet different.”
“Maybe he disguised it?” Rachel suggested.
“Yeah,” Eric said. “Maybe he was talking through a rag or something?”
I shrugged.
“Or maybe he was pinching his nose?” Eric continued. “That’s what I would do. It always works when I’m trying to prank you.”
“What are you talking about?” I said. “That never fools me. You just sound like you have a cold.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Really.”
“Anyway,” Rachel said, getting us focused again, “whoever that was obviously knows you guys were there last night.”
I nodded. “Yet he didn’t call the cops. Instead, he decided to call some eighth graders and threaten them. Why would he do that?”
“Probably because he’s guilty of something,” Eric said.
“But what?” I said.
“Well, for one thing,” Rachel said, “he’s probably responsible for that statue being at the bottom of Smoke Lake.”
“That’s why we need to take it from him,” Eric grumbled. “He’s obviously done something illegal.”
“This is getting out of hand fast,” Rachel said. “I’m suddenly not so sure we should get the statue—not if some nut is already watching the place.”
She was right, of course. That phone call should have scared us all into staying far away from the golf course—for good. But it didn’t. I was more determined than ever to get the statue. I got out of the chair and paced back and forth in front of the stove. Eric’s verbal duel with the mystery caller had gotten my adrenaline going. I suddenly felt like I had a lot of energy—like I could move a mountain, or a statue.
I stopped and looked at my friends. “Let’s get the bronze tonight.”
Eric grinned.
Rachel shook her head. “Are you kidding, Cody? This is a lot more serious than just trespassing. The guy on the phone sounded like he could be . . . big trouble.”
Eric turned to his sister. “But so what? Look, Rachel, we’ve been in big trouble for most of the summer. But because we always do the right thing in the end, everything always works out. Admit it.”
“Now you must be kidding!” she shot back. “If we use that logic, we can do the right thing right now and just call the police. Right?”
“No we can’t,” I said quickly. “We can’t tell the police we trespassed, or that we stole a bunch of golf balls. And we certainly can’t say there’s a statue at the bottom of Smoke Lake.”
Eric jumped in and said, “If we went to the cops now, we would either be laughed at or arrested.”
Rachel shook her head some more, but I could tell she was coming around. “I don’t like it. We only have one week of summer holidays left, and it would be nice if we could just stay out of trouble. For once!”
I realized she had a good point, so I kept my mouth shut. I also felt kind of dumb still pacing around the kitchen, so I sat down at the kitchen table again.
Eric softened his tone and said to his sister, “That statue has to be important to someone, Rachel. And we can return it to them. In one hour—tonight—we could sneak onto the golf course and get the statue out of the lake. Then, when we get it back to Sultana, we can take our time and figure out where it came from.”
Rachel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay,” she said finally, “but let’s plan the whole thing carefully. I don’t want to take any chances with whoever that nut was.” She pointed at the phone again. “He sounded mean.”
“You’re right,” I said to Rachel. “It was tricky enough getting the golf balls last night. Trying to haul a two-metre-long metal statue out of the lake is going to require some extra planning.”
Eric found a pen and a piece of paper and pushed them across the table to me.
Rachel shook her head at Eric’s laziness.
“What?” he asked. “Cody’s printing is neater.”
“Sure,” she said.
Now that we had decided we would go back to Smoke Lake to get the statue, we had to figure out a way to do it. The way I saw it, we had two problems. First, we had to find the statue again—and that could take a long time, because we didn’t have the beacon from the lost dive light to guide us anymore. Second, if we found the statue, we had to somehow get it to the wagon. And since we’re on the subject of the wagon, I should explain that our wagon is not your typical little red wagon with plastic wheels. Our wagon is as big as my bed and can easily carry a refrigerator, with its thick rubber tires. And if a person were lying in the box, you’d never see them because of the thirty-centimetre-high sides.
But first we had to solve the problem of hauling the bronze out of the water and across fifty metres of grass.
My neighbour, Mr. Jelfs, had an old rowboat in his backyard, but just getting it onto Smoke Lake would be as complicated as getting the statue into a wobbly boat, so I crossed out the word boat on my paper.
“Can’t we just tie a rope to it and drag it out along the bottom?” Rachel suggested.
Eric nodded. “The bottom is mostly slimy silt and mud. That might work.”
I leaned back in my chair and thought about that. It was actually a logical way to get the statue out. And the only equipment we would need would be a rope—a really long rope.
“Suppose we do find Ironman down there again,” Eric said. “And suppose we can pull him to shore. How are we going to get him to the wagon? That’s a long walk with a hundred-kilogram chunk of metal—even for three people.”
“Good point,” I said. “If we drag that thing across the grass, it’ll rip up the fairway like a plough. And then Scolletti will have all the trespassing evidence he needs.”
We needed to load the statue onto something, move it across the grass, and then put it on our wagon.
“What about a sled?” Rachel wondered out loud. “You know—a toboggan. Do you think the statue will fit on that long wooden sled you have, Cody?”
I nodded. I was sure it would. In the winter, we used to pile six or seven people on it and race down the hill near the riverbank. I had always tried to time my climb back up so I could sit behind Rachel. Sure, she’d be wearing a thick snowsuit, but it was nice to put my arms around her waist and hold her tight as we bumped across the snow.
“—After supper,” Eric said.
“What?” I tried to return to the present.
“I said, take the empty wagon with you. When you get home, throw the sled on it. Then bring both back here after supper.” Eric sighed and pin
ched the bridge of his nose, like he was talking to a dummy.
“Oh, okay,” I said. “Great.” I quickly wrote down sled. Then, still flustered, I underlined it twice.
Real smooth, Cody.
When I got home, I immediately began scrounging around Dad’s garage for rope. I couldn’t find one super-long length, but I did find three different pieces—a tow-rope, a water ski rope, and an anchor line—and tied them all together to make an impressive, but ugly, hundred-metre length. I stuffed the rope inside my wetsuit and put it back on the wagon. Next, I fished the sled out of the rafters and put it on top of the gear already in the wagon.
We’d decided to go with the same story again—that Eric and I were going to camp out in Eric’s backyard. That was easy-peasy for the two of us, but Rachel had more of a challenge. She would have to sneak out of the house at midnight and then slip back into her bedroom when we all returned.
After checking the wagon to make sure I didn’t forget anything, I pulled it behind the garage. Then, walking to the back door of the house, I turned around several times to make sure the wagon was out of sight. Satisfied no one could see anything from the driveway, I went inside the house and began vacuuming the carpets and mopping the kitchen floor. Those were my chores for the day, and I made sure I did an extra good job. I didn’t want an argument later when I asked to sleep over at Eric’s again.
The whole time I was cleaning, my brain kept bouncing between thoughts of the sunken statue, Scolletti, and that mysterious phone call. I didn’t know why the statue had gotten to me; I didn’t even know if it depicted a man or a woman, or a boy or a girl. And we had no real evidence against Scolletti, but it sure felt like he had something to do with the statue being down there, and it sure felt like he didn’t want anyone to find it . . . ever.
Well, it was found now, and it was about to come out.
With my chores completed, I went upstairs, had a quick shower, and put on clean shorts and a clean T-shirt. My sleeping bag was already in the tent at Eric’s, so I was pretty much ready to go. Now I just had to wait and hope my parents would be okay with me spending another night at Eric’s.
In Too Deep Page 3
