Someone Was Watching

by David Patneaude

  Chris waited for a response. It wasn’t like Pat to be quiet for more than a minute at a time. Chris just needed him to say something halfway positive, like maybe there was something to it.

  “It’s possible,” he said finally. “I think it really is possible.” He frowned deeply. “But maybe it’s nothing. There isn’t much to go on; it could be just coincidence.”

  “I know,” Chris said, but he felt as if a weight had been lifted. Pat didn’t think he was crazy.

  “Why haven’t you told your parents?” Pat asked.

  “Because I didn’t think I had enough to tell them. I figured they’d think I was fooling myself, or they’d get their hopes up over nothing. Or they’d just plain get upset. I wanted to see if I could find out anything on my own.”

  “On our own, you mean.”

  “Yeah. I was hoping you could come; I may need a bodyguard, or at least a friend.”

  “You going to be disappointed if this doesn’t get us anywhere?”

  “What do you think? But there’s nothing I can do about that.”

  Pat sat back in his seat and let out a sigh. “But wouldn’t it be something if she were, Chris—still alive, I mean?” he said.

  “Yeah,” Chris said. “It would.”

  “So what do we do when we get there?”

  “I haven’t come up with a definite plan. Just play it by ear and be careful. Pretend we’re detectives without looking like we are. Clover and Bud live in an apartment attached to the back of their shop. I’ve seen it from the alley. If they’ve got Molly, she’d have to be there.”

  8

  The bus made one quick stop at the Greenwater Drug Store before proceeding through the little town. Chris and Pat were left standing on the sunny sidewalk in a swirl of dust and exhaust fumes. From a block away, The Cloverbud reached out to them like a magnet. Chris could feel its presence, and he knew Pat felt it, too. Without speaking, they started across the street.

  Chris felt conspicuous, even though he’d walked this same street dozens of times before. This time, it was different. This time, he wasn’t supposed to be here, and he had a feeling that it showed on his face.

  Pat grabbed Chris’s arm and pointed in the direction of The Cloverbud. “The van’s not there, Chris,” he said. “Isn’t that kind of weird?”

  “Why?” Chris said.

  “It’s a little early in the day for ice cream, isn’t it?”

  “I guess you’re right,” Chris said. But he could think of some other places the van could be—the alley behind the shop, for instance.

  They approached Cowbutter Cookies. The smells of fresh baking drifted down the sidewalk and filled Chris’s nose. He and Pat glanced quickly at each other, silently agreeing that the cookies smelled great. But they walked right past the open door and its tempting smells, right past the bookstore with its shiny book covers and posters displayed in the window, and stopped abruptly at the door to The Cloverbud.

  Chris’s stomach tightened up. It was closed. The same CLOSED sign that had been hanging in the window two days ago was still there. And it was hanging at the same odd angle. He looked at Pat, who was frowning and peering into the dark store.

  “Come here and look at this, Chris,” Pat said.

  Chris walked up to the big window and stared through cupped hands into the shadowy interior. The knot in his stomach got tighter. Everything was gone: all the jars and boxes and equipment, all the tables and chairs and stuff on the walls—gone. The only things left were the big freezer display case and counter where the ice cream was kept, and some built-in cabinets.

  “Have they left for the winter already?” Pat asked.

  “Not this early. Never this early—it’s still August. They always stay past Labor Day—usually till October.” Chris turned and looked at Pat. What next? he thought. The sun was hot on the back of his neck, but he felt cold.

  “Why don’t we try next door?” Pat said. “Maybe they can tell us something.”

  The sales clerk in the bookstore was a high school girl who didn’t know much about her neighbors.

  “I only saw them a few times after I started work here,” she told Chris.

  Something about her words didn’t sound right, didn’t sound like what he’d expected to hear. “When did you start?” Chris asked. He felt weighted down suddenly, but he smiled, trying to keep the conversation light, trying to keep her talking.

  She thought for a moment. “I don’t remember, exactly,” she said, “but it was a few weeks before school got out—around the middle of May, I guess.”

  “So when was the last time you saw them?” Pat said. His question was offhand, casual-sounding, but Chris could tell by the pitch of his voice that he was on edge—that he wanted an answer.

  The girl hesitated for a moment, looking half-annoyed, but then she glanced at Pat’s face and decided to continue. Her only real customers—a young couple going through a table of books in the far corner of the store—weren’t ready to be waited on, anyway. “A week,” she said, finally. “About a week.”

  “You saw them a week ago?” Pat said.

  “No, a week after I started” she said. “The last time I saw them—her, at least—was maybe a week after I came to work. He—Bud—was around here a while after that—probably another couple of weeks or so.”

  Chris felt suffocated now, as if somebody were sitting on his chest. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And you haven’t seen them since?” he said.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Are they friends of yours?”

  “They were,” Chris said. “We were hoping to see them again.” He was still hoping to see them again—now, more than ever.

  “The Cloverbud’s been closed since June?” Pat said.

  “Closed tight,” she said. “And there’s nowhere else to get ice cream around here.”

  “Where’d they go?” Pat asked. His casual tone was gone.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Who does?” Chris asked.

  “I don’t know that, either,” she said. “But somebody should.”

  Chris was about out of questions—except one. “Does anybody know why they left?” he asked. “Right at the beginning of summer, I mean?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Sony,” she said.

  “That’s okay,” Chris said, starting for the door.

  “Thanks,” Pat said.

  “Sure,” she said. “Hope you find them.”

  Chris and Pat drifted back outside. The smell of fresh cookies still hung in the air.

  “They were gone by the middle of June,” Pat said.

  “That’s what I figured, too,” Chris said. But why? And where? “Let’s go into Cowbutter,” he said.

  “I’m not really hungry,” Pat said, looking agitated.

  Chris knew the feeling. He was having a hard time keeping his own emotions under control. “Me, neither, Pat. But if anybody knows anything about what’s going on, Helen and Frank will. She even writes a column for the newspaper.”

  But it was Helen’s husband, Frank, who would give them their next bit of news. Just as short and blocky as Helen, he stood behind the counter smiling at them as they walked into the little store. “Chris!” he bellowed, his voice filling the room. “Helen told me you were in Saturday. Nice to see you.” He looked at Pat. “And I see you brought your bodyguard. When are you going to quit growing, Pat?”

  “Not for a while, I hope. There aren’t many small guys playing college football.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Frank said. “You’re already out of the small category.” He looked back at Chris. “What can I do for you guys?” he said.

  “How about a half dozen assorted,” Chris said, laying a five-dollar bill on the counter. Maybe they’d be hungry later. “Can you tell me something?”

  “I’ll try, Chris. As long as it’s not a weather forecast or a prediction on how the Packers are going to do this year.”

  “Nothing th
at tough. At least I don’t think so. I’m just wondering if you know when Bud and Clover are getting back.”

  Frank looked at Chris curiously.

  “I, uh, borrowed a fishing book from him a while back and I just want to return it,” Chris said quickly. He wondered how truthful that sounded. He didn’t think he was a very good liar.

  “They’re not getting back,” Frank said. “Not this year, anyway. They had to leave early. Real early. Sometime in June, I think it was. Clover was gone even before that—before Memorial Day, I recall.”

  “Why?” Pat asked.

  “Clover’s mom took sick, I guess. Couldn’t manage on her own, anymore.”

  “They couldn’t bring her up here?” Pat said.

  “Guess not. They didn’t say much about it.”

  Chris could feel sweat trickling down his back. What did all this mean? Should he be glad they’d left town? Did it mean they’d gotten nervous about something? Or was Clover’s mom really sick? Just how far should he let his imagination prowl?

  “Do you know where they went—where Clover’s mom lives?” Chris asked.

  Frank thought while he put some cookies in a bag and placed Chris’s change on the counter. “Not really, Chris. Come to think of it, they never said exactly. Down south somewhere. Someplace warmer, I know. I got the feeling it was a small town like this. A resort area or a place with vacation homes. They run the same kind of business down there in the winter. You know, an ice cream store and the truck and everything.”

  Chris ran his hand through his hair. This wasn’t getting any easier. What to do next? There still wasn’t anything to go on. “So how can I get their mailing address to send Bud the book?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. The post office might have it, but I’m not sure they’d give it to you. Or Carol Sweeney over at the real estate office might help. She handles the leases for this building.”

  “Leases?” Pat said.

  “Yeah,” Frank said. “We—all the businesses here—lease our spaces. A lease is kind of like a rental agreement. When you fill one out, you have to give the realtor a lot of information about yourself.”

  Chris thought for a moment. He wasn’t sure if this was good news or bad, but it did explain how Bud and Clover got out of town so fast: they didn’t own their store. “The apartment in back—where they lived—was leased, too?” he said.

  “All of it,” Frank said. “A package deal.”

  “You think they’ll be back in the spring?” Pat asked.

  “You boys have your curiosity up today, don’t you?” Frank said. He shook his head thoughtfully. “But I really don’t know. Neither of them talked much before they left. We thought maybe they were having family problems, but they didn’t say anything to us about it. To tell you the truth, Helen made quite an effort to find out what was going on, and even she couldn’t come up with anything. Other than Clover’s mom wasn’t feeling well, that is.”

  Chris looked at Pat and saw something in his eyes that gave him some encouragement, that backed up the feeling he was having that something wasn’t right. He picked up the bag of cookies and his change and started for the door.

  “Thanks,” he said. He stopped just inside the doorway and turned back. “One other thing.”

  “Sure. I’m not exactly busy here this morning.”

  Chris knew what he wanted to say, but couldn’t get it out. “The day Molly disappeared—” he managed, finally, and then stopped, searching for the right words. “The day we lost Molly—thanks for helping look for her.” He couldn’t say the word drowned—not now, he couldn’t.

  “It was nothing, Chris.”

  Chris opened his mouth to say something but was stopped by Frank’s upraised hand.

  “I mean it,” Frank said. “I felt completely worthless out there that day. I would’ve done anything to really help.” Visibly upset, he slammed the cash register door closed.

  “Did you see Bud or Clover there?” Chris asked quickly. Now Frank looked confused. “I mean, were they helping, too?”

  Frank thought for a long moment, staring at the floor, scratching the bald spot on the crown of his head. When he looked up, there was a question—not an answer—in his eyes.

  “Chris’s counselor thinks it’s a good idea to have all this stuff clear in his mind,” Pat said quickly.

  “Oh? I suppose it is,” Frank said distractedly, rubbing his chin and staring off into space.

  Chris waited for him to go on.

  “They weren’t there,” Frank said finally. “I remember now, as soon as we heard about the trouble, I went over to get them because I knew they’d want to help. But the truck was gone, and the place was closed up. They had a CLOSED sign on the door. Must have both been out making their rounds in the truck. Or maybe one of them was in the truck and one was somewhere else. It was a slow day, as I remember it. And I don’t recall seeing them anywhere else. It was late when I got back here.”

  “Right,” Chris said. “Thanks again.”

  “You bet. Hope it helps. We’re real sorry about your little sister.”

  Thanks,” Chris said. He hurried from the store, took a quick left, and headed down the sidewalk, breaking into a jog.

  “Where to?” Pat asked, falling in step next to him.

  “The post office. Maybe they’ll tell us something.”

  But Mr. Armstrong at the post office couldn’t help. “They asked us to stop delivery as of June fourteenth,” he said, checking his records, “and left no forwarding address.”

  “Isn’t that unusual?” Chris asked him. He was feeling frustrated, but also more and more as if there really was a reason for his suspicions. And part of him was relieved that Clover and Bud were gone. What if he’d already found them and there was no Molly? His search and all his hope would be finished.

  “I guess it is odd,” Mr. Armstrong said, “but it happens. Sometimes people don’t particularly want their junk mail following them across the country.”

  The boys walked back outside into the bright sunlight. Pat offered Chris the bag of cookies. He took one, biting into it absentmindedly.

  “What do you think, Pat?” Chris asked.

  “I think we better go to the real estate office,” Pat said.

  Chris nodded and they started walking down the sidewalk again.

  “I also think there may be nothing to this, but things smell a lot fishier now than when we left home this morning. Bud and Clover are acting like they’ve got something to hide,” Pat said.

  “Or someone,” Chris said. Not so easy to say, but it was what he was hoping for, what he was praying for: that she wasn’t at the bottom of the river. That Bud and Clover had taken her. That she was still alive. “But why? Why would they do it?” he asked Pat.

  “Who knows?” Pat said. “But I’ve heard of it happening. It could have happened to Molly. Let’s hope so.”

  They came to the end of the block and crossed the street to the real estate office. Carol Sweeney was sitting at a cluttered desk, looking through a thick book and making notes on a yellow tablet, when they walked in.

  She looked up at them and smiled, her blue eyes twinkling behind thick glasses. Carol had sold Chris’s mom and dad their summer house many years before. “Hi, Chris. Hi, Pat. How are you guys doing?” she asked. “I didn’t realize you were in the market for some real estate.”

  “Hi,” Chris said.

  “Hi, Mrs. Sweeney,” Pat said.

  His polite young man routine, Chris thought. Well, maybe it would help. But how was Chris going to ask for the information he wanted? Pat gave him a little time to think about it.

  “Yeah, we’re looking for some property, Mrs. Sweeney,” Pat said. “You know, something in keeping with our social status. An acre of waterfront, say, with a six-bedroom house, fireplaces, hot tub, pool, and a ski boat and float plane moored to the dock. You got anything like that?”

  “I might,” Carol said with a straight face. “How much money do you have?”
<
br />   Pat turned his front pockets inside out and came up with a handful of change. “Looks like about ninety-three cents.”

  “I don’t think that will quite do it,” Carol said.

  “How about if I throw in a cookie?” Pat said, holding the bag out to her.

  “It’s a deal,” she said, digging through the bag and pulling out a chocolate chip cookie dipped in chocolate. “I can’t resist these things.”

  Chris decided that he’d come right to the point. Sort of. “Carol, do you know anything about Clover and Bud?” he said. “Where they went, I mean, and whether they’re coming back or not?”

  “Those are good questions, Chris,” she said, studying his face. “But I’m afraid I don’t know the answers. This year’s an option year on their lease, which means they have until the end of August to let us know if they’re going to renew. I haven’t heard anything yet. As far as where they went, I don’t have any idea. I barely talked to them before they left.”

  Chris’s disappointment must have shown. “Did they owe you some money or something, Chris?” Carol asked.

  Chris felt his face grow warm. “No, uh, I…I think maybe Molly left her bear in The Cloverbud the last time we were there. I’d like to get it back for my folks to have.” He might as well try out a new story.

  “Oh. That’s too bad,” she said, sounding as if she meant it. “I’ve been through the place a couple of times since they left, though, and there’s nothing there. You’ve probably seen how empty the shop is, if you looked through the window. The apartment’s the same—completely vacant. There’s no place for a bear—or even a toy mouse—to hide. Maybe Molly left it somewhere else. Or Clover and Bud didn’t know whose it was and gave it away.”

  “Or threw it away,” Pat said. “Do you think they’d have anything left in their garbage can?”

  Chris looked at him, wondering where he was going with this.

  “After—what’s it been—two months?” Carol said. “I doubt it, but it’s possible, I guess. They have a small dumpster in the alley, if you want to take a look.”