Danger at the Fair

by Peg Kehret

  Corey’s mouth fell open in surprise. There was the man with the shopping bag! The thief! Corey stared as the man lifted a wallet out of the tote bag of the woman who was trying to help the boy. The man dropped the wallet into his MADE IN THE U.S.A. shopping bag, exactly as he had dropped in the other woman’s purse, earlier. The couple, their attention focused on the crying child, never noticed him. Neither did any of the people nearby. The kid was having a first-class tantrum over his ice-cream cone.

  Corey leaped from behind the trash container. Waving both arms wildly and forcing unintelligible squeaks from his raw throat, he rushed toward the man with the bag.

  CHAPTER

  8

  THE BOY stopped crying, pointed at Corey, and yelled, “Mom! Look!”

  The helpful couple, who still did not realize they were the victims of a thief, looked at Corey in surprise.

  The man with the shopping bag took one look at Corey and said, “That’s him,” before he whirled around, and ran. He wove in and out between people, elbowing them out of his way and not caring who he bumped into.

  Corey rushed after him.

  The boy said loudly, “Let’s go home, Mom. I didn’t want that dumb ice-cream cone, anyway.”

  The victimized couple looked at each other, shrugged, and walked away.

  As Corey dashed past the woman and the boy who kept dropping his ice-cream cones, the woman put her hand on Corey’s shoulder, stopping him.

  “Is something wrong, little boy?” she asked. “Do you need help?”

  Corey pointed toward the man and tried to say, “Thief.”

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I can’t understand you. You’ll have to speak up.”

  Corey tried to leave but the woman clung to his shoulder, holding him back. By the time he could push her hand off and dart away from her, the momentary distraction had caused him to lose sight of the man.

  Where had he gone? Corey kept moving as he looked frantically for the thief. The man could not disappear into thin air.

  MITCH’S HEART thudded in his chest. He should never have let Joan talk him into this. He looked around for a trash can, planning to throw in the shopping bag, contents and all. If the kid caught up with him, there would be no evidence.

  Instead, he saw a fair security guard sauntering toward him. Mitch’s mouth went dry. That fool, Tucker! Not only did he miss the kid, he missed a guard, as well. He glanced upward at the platform where his brother was supposed to be keeping watch, wondering how his own flesh and blood could be so stupid.

  The guard kept coming. Mitch couldn’t turn back, not with that crazy kid after him. He didn’t want to pass the guard, either. Impulsively, he ran toward The River of Fear platform. He would give the bag to Tucker and let him dispose of the wallet.

  A flash of white above him made Corey look up. It was the shopping bag. The thief was halfway up the steps to The River of Fear.

  Corey charged after him. There was nothing at the top of these steps except The River of Fear platform. The thief would be trapped up there and the man who runs the ride could call for help. Corey climbed as fast as he could, keeping to the right because people who had just been on The River of Fear were coming down. He wished he could still speak, to tell them he was chasing a thief. If they knew, they would want to stay and watch.

  As he climbed, he heard the spiel and the roar of Whiplash Waterfall and the terrified screams of the people who were still riding. Too bad Nicholas wasn’t with him.

  On the platform above Corey, Mitch spoke rapidly to Tucker. “The kid’s after me; why didn’t you signal?”

  “I never saw him,” Tucker said.

  “I have to get out of here,” Mitch said.

  “Get on the ride. No one can see you in there.”

  “How long does it last?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “Just long enough for the kid to get a guard and be waiting when I get off,” Mitch said. He glanced nervously over his shoulder.

  “You could go down the back stairs,” Tucker said, “the ones I use for maintenance.”

  “Good. Where are they?”

  “You can’t get to the back stairs until the ride stops.”

  “I can’t wait!” Mitch stormed over to the edge of the platform, looked down, and stormed back. “The kid’s coming up.”

  “Why did you come up here?” Tucker asked. “Why didn’t you run into one of the buildings?”

  “I didn’t think he would see me come up here, but he did. I swear the kid has X-ray eyes.”

  “Let’s put the kid on the ride.”

  Mitch’s face relaxed into smile. “You’re a genius, Tucker. It must run in the family. And once he’s on it, in the middle somewhere, where he can’t be seen or heard, you can stop the ride. Keep him inside for awhile until Joan and I get away from here.”

  “No problem,” Tucker said. “This ride breaks down all the time; no one will think anything of it if I say it needs repair again.”

  “Get the other people off first. We don’t want anyone helping him.”

  Corey clambered onto the platform. The thief stood on the far side. Corey went straight to the ride operator, mouthing the word, “Help!”

  “What’s wrong, sonny?” the man said. “Calm down now and tell old Tucker your problem.”

  To the right, a string of boats emerged from the main, enclosed part of the ride and stopped beside the platform. A group of shrieking, laughing people got off and started down the steps.

  “Help,” Corey repeated.

  “Wait a minute,” Tucker said. “I can’t hear you.”

  Corey gripped Tucker’s arm until the people were gone. Then he pointed at the man with the shopping bag and tried to say, “Thief.” He wondered why the thief just stood there, with his back to Corey, looking down at the fairgrounds. Didn’t he realize that Corey had followed him up the steps?

  “Come over here, sonny,” Tucker said, “where I can hear you better.” He stepped closer to where people board the ride.

  Corey followed. “Thief,” Corey rasped again, as he pointed at the man.

  The last customer went down the steps. The thief still looked away from Corey.

  Tucker bent so that his face was level with Corey’s. “Now then, sonny,” he said, “what is it you want to tell me?”

  Corey tried again to say, “Thief.”

  “Thief?” Tucker said. “Is that what you are saying? Thief?”

  Corey nodded and pointed at the man’s shopping bag.

  “He steals things and hides them in the bag?” Tucker said.

  Corey’s head bobbed up and down vigorously. Someone finally understood him.

  “You are a brave boy to chase a thief by yourself,” Tucker said.

  Corey grinned, glad that someone appreciated his courage.

  “Get on with it!” The thief strode toward them across the platform.

  Corey stayed close to Tucker.

  “This boy claims you’ve been stealing, Mitch,” Tucker said. “It isn’t nice to steal things. Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

  The two men grinned at each other.

  How did he know the thief’s name? Corey wondered. Why was the thief smiling? An uneasy feeling spread through Corey’s insides. It was odd that the thief had just stood there while Corey talked to Tucker and odd that Tucker called the man by name and odd that both of them were smiling. Too odd.

  He should not have followed the thief up here; he should have let that boy’s mother help him or he should have found a guard. Corey took a step away from Tucker but Mitch quickly blocked his way.

  Tucker turned some knobs on the control panel. The volume on the spiel boomed louder.

  The stairs were the only escape route but Mitch stood between Corey and the stairs. Corey looked around him, forced a wide smile onto his face, and waved, pretending that someone had just joined them on the platform.

  When Mitch turned to see who Corey was waving at, Corey made a dash for the
steps.

  As Corey darted past Mitch toward the top of the steps, two strong hands clamped down on his shoulders.

  “Hey!” Corey squeaked.

  Mitch spun Corey around, lifted him like a rag doll, and dropped him into one of the boats. Even if Corey had been able to make a sound, it happened too fast for him to say anything.

  Corey landed with a thunk in the bottom of the boat. As he sat up, he saw the thief put his arm on Tucker’s shoulder.

  “Nice try, kid,” Tucker said, “but you can’t trick Mitch Lagrange that easily.”

  They laughed while Tucker pulled a large lever.

  The River of Fear ride started. The boat Corey was in sped forward past the left end of the platform and into the enclosed part of the ride. Corey knelt at the bottom of the boat, clutching the sides.

  Seconds later, he began his death-defying descent down Whiplash Waterfall.

  CHAPTER

  9

  “GRANDPA?” Ellen whispered. “Are you here?”

  Tick. Tick. Tick. Ellen had never noticed before that the clock on her bedside table made such a loud noise. She tried to ignore it, concentrating on the pencil and paper in her hands.

  “If you can hear me, Grandpa, I need your help. I got a message today and I have to know if it is from you. If it is, could you please send me some sort of sign?”

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Ellen waited, hardly breathing. Surely, if Grandpa could hear her, he would grant her request. He would let her know, somehow, that he was there.

  “I love you, Grandpa, and I miss you. We all do. It would help us a lot if you could send me a sign, to let me know you hear me.”

  The pencil was still.

  Ellen sighed, opened her eyes, and looked at the clock. Six-fifteen. She had been trying for nearly half an hour without success. She pushed her chair away from her desk and stood up. Prince, Ellen’s dog, woke up, stretched, and came over and sat beside Ellen. He lifted one paw, the way he did when Ellen told him to shake hands.

  Absentmindedly, Ellen reached down to shake Prince’s paw but as her hand closed around his foot, she stopped. Grandpa had taught Prince that trick. When the rest of the family had despaired of ever teaching Prince anything more than “sit” and “stay,” Grandpa had worked with him day after day until Prince finally caught on. Whenever Grandpa came to visit, Prince always ran to him and shook hands.

  Was that the sign? Had Grandpa told Prince to shake just now, or had Prince merely held up his paw to get Ellen’s attention?

  Feeling unsteady, Ellen put one hand on her dresser for support. She immediately pulled back when she realized her hand had inadvertently landed on the silver elephant that Grandpa gave her for Christmas last year.

  “His trunk is up,” he had told her, “which means he’s holding good luck. Good luck for you.”

  Ellen thought she had never seen anything so exquisite. The lines in the elephant’s hide, the tiny tail, the eyes—everything was perfect. She had worn it daily, until the accident. She had not worn it since. Why was her hand drawn to it now?

  “Ellen! Dinner’s ready.” Ellen jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice.

  My nerves are shot, she realized, as she headed toward the kitchen, with Prince at her heels.

  “I certainly didn’t think Mrs. Warren would keep Corey and Nicholas at the fair this late,” Mrs. Streater said, as she dished up salad. “They’ve been gone since nine this morning.”

  “You know how boys are,” Mr. Streater said. “They probably begged to go on every ride.”

  “When I saw them, they looked like they were having a great time,” Ellen said. “They didn’t even stay to watch the sheep show.”

  “Do you know what Corey told me last night?” Mr. Streater said. “He said the reason he wanted to go on the rides was so he could scream a lot.”

  “I warned him about that, with his bad throat,” Mrs. Streater said, “but I don’t think he was listening. He was going on about some gruesome ride he plans to invent.”

  Ellen rolled her eyes while Mr. Streater chuckled.

  “I thought they would be home in time for dinner,” Mrs. Streater said.

  “Corey will not be hungry after a day at the fair,” said Mr. Streater. “Remember how much he ate last time?”

  “When I saw him,” Ellen said, “he had a big plate of curly fries.”

  “Julia Warren doesn’t usually let Nicholas eat a lot of fatty food,” Mrs. Streater said. “I hope she didn’t let those boys go off on their own.”

  “You worry too much,” said Mr. Streater. “Enjoy the quiet while you can; Corey will be home soon enough and then we’ll have to hear every detail of his day at the fair. Twice.”

  “Mrs. Warren was with them in the sheep arena,” Ellen said.

  “Good.”

  Although Ellen tried to reassure her mother, it increased her own nervousness to listen to her mother’s worries. The later it got with no sign of Corey, the more Ellen wondered if she should tell her parents about the message.

  What if Corey wasn’t home yet because he was in terrible trouble?

  “Have some lasagna, Ellen,” Mrs. Streater said. “It’s Father’s veggie recipe.”

  Ellen took the pan her mother handed her. Veggie lasagna. Grandpa’s favorite meal—the only recipe that he personally ever prepared.

  Ellen chewed the noodles, tomato sauce, cheese, and spinach. Was this a sign from Grandpa? Mom had not made veggie lasagna in months. Why did she choose tonight?

  “I was in the mood to cook this morning,” Mrs. Streater said, “so I made a double recipe and froze some.”

  This morning. It can’t be a sign from Grandpa, Ellen thought. The lasagna was made this morning, before I got the message, before I asked for a sign. I’m getting crazy, thinking about this.

  She tried to eat but nothing tasted good. “May I be excused?” she said and, when her mother nodded, she left the table and went back to her bedroom. She wandered aimlessly around for awhile, looked out the window, and finally picked up a magazine. She glanced at the cover and realized it was the magazine that Grandpa had bought a subscription to, as a treat when Ellen got all As on her report card. She put it down, refusing to let herself think that the magazine was a sign telling her that Grandpa was here.

  She took the message out of her pocket and read it again. It is for you to know that the smaller one faces great danger. He will pay for his mistake. It is for you to know that the paths of destiny can be changed and the smaller one will need your help to change his. You will know when it is time. Do not ignore this warning.

  Maybe, instead of trying to contact Grandpa, she should try to contact any of the spirits, just as The Great Sybil had the first time. Maybe the message was from Ellen’s guardian angel. Or maybe it was from some other spirit.

  Once again, Ellen picked up a piece of paper and pen. She sat at her desk, with the window shade down and the lights off. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply several times, and whispered, “Loving spirits, do you have a message for me? I come to you in love and friendship, asking for help to protect my brother.”

  She waited a few moments and then spoke again. “If Corey will need my help, spirits, please send another message and tell me when.”

  The pen jerked into action, rubbing the paper violently. It lasted barely two seconds. By the time Ellen could react, it was over.

  She opened her eyes. The paper held a single word, printed in large capital letters that slanted to the left: URGENT.

  The first message had said, “You will know when it is time.” The second message seemed to say, the time is now.

  The back of Ellen’s neck prickled. It was no longer important to her who the messages might be from. What mattered was that Corey needed help, and he needed it now.

  Trying to act calm, Ellen returned to her parents and said, “Something strange happened and I want to tell you about it.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Streater, alerted by the tone of Ellen’s voice tha
t this was no ordinary discussion, stopped what they were doing and paid close attention.

  Ellen started at the beginning, and told every detail of her time with The Great Sybil. When she got to the part where The Great Sybil asked if she had recently lost a loved one, Mrs. Streater said, “Oh, Ellen.”

  Mr. Streater said, “What hogwash! I’m surprised you would take such nonsense seriously.”

  “I thought the message might be from Grandpa,” Ellen said, “so when I got home, I tried talking to him. I asked him to let me know if he was sending a message. I thought, if Grandpa’s spirit is here, he could give me some sign.”

  Mr. Streater stood up and began pacing back and forth while Ellen continued.

  “As soon as I asked for a sign,” Ellen said, “Prince came over and put up his paw to shake hands. Grandpa taught him that trick. I didn’t say, ‘shake,’ or give Prince any signal; he just did it on his own.”

  “Now, Ellen . . .” Mr. Streater began but Ellen continued to talk.

  “Then I came downstairs and we had veggie lasagna for dinner, Grandpa’s recipe. And when I looked around for something to read, I picked up the Earth Watch magazine that Grandpa gave me a subscription to and it seems like those could all be signs that Grandpa sent the messages.” She didn’t mention the elephant. It was the last gift Grandpa gave her and perhaps the most important sign of all but she didn’t want to talk about it.

  “Those were not signs from Grandpa,” Mr. Streater said firmly. “They are only proof that a person lives on in the memory of his loved ones because of what that person did when he was alive. Grandpa will always be a part of your life and you’ll think of him every time Prince shakes hands or you eat veggie lasagna or read your magazine or go to the zoo or do any number of other things that you and Grandpa did together.” He put his hands on Ellen’s shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. “They are memories,” he said, “Not supernatural signs.”

  “But what about the messages?” Ellen said. “The first one might have been some trick that The Great Sybil did but the second one came when I was alone in my room.”