The Fossil Hunter of Sydney Mines

by Jo Ann Yhard

  “Sweetie, I’m bringing you up some juice,” her mother called from downstairs.

  Grace jumped into bed, pulling the covers up to hide most of her head. When her mother came in, she peered over the edge of the comforter.

  “Here you are, honey,” Grace’s mother cooed, putting the juice on the nightstand and sitting down beside her. “What about if I stay home? We could curl up on the couch and both have a sick day. I’ve got a Royal Winnipeg Ballet performance taped.”

  Ballet? No way! Her mom was in gushygooey mode. Grace felt like she was going to barf all over again.

  Grace peeked out from under her hair jungle. “I’m feeling a little better, Mom. You should go to work.”

  “Well, I’ll wait for a while and see how you do,” her mom said, looking disappointed. “Try to get some rest and I’ll check in on you in a little bit.”

  Great! Now she was trapped in her room. Every minute was agony.

  It was another two hours before her mom reappeared, all dressed for work. She sat down on the edge of Grace’s bed and patted the covers. Her nails were now a shocking coral colour.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice filled with concern. “Do you want me to stay with you? Eleanor said she’d cover the rest of my shift.”

  “No, it’s okay, Mom,” Grace said. “I’ll be all right. What if I call every hour or so and leave a message on your cell? That way you’ll know I’m fine.”

  Her mother stood up and ran her hands down the front of her pants, smoothing out the creases. “All right, Grace. I’m only ten minutes away if you need me. Are you sure you’re okay?” She reached down as if to brush Grace’s hair from her face.

  Grace burrowed deeper and let out a huge burp. “Oops, sorry! Yup, I’m sure. I’ll be fine.”

  Her mother frowned and pulled her hand away. Gushy-gooey mom had disappeared as quickly as she’d come. “Fine. Remember, every hour.”

  Grace waited to hear the car door, then raced to the window to make sure her mother had driven away. She quickly got dressed and attempted to brush her hair. “Ow, ow, ow!” she howled as she tried to yank her way through the knots. The brush got stuck in the tangled mass and it took five minutes of tugging and screaming to get it out again. Grace looked into the mirror and grimaced at her reflection. Beautiful! she thought. Fire-ant face and tumbleweed hair!

  Equipped with her flashlight, Grace opened the basement door and peered down into the pitch black. She reached over to flick on the light switch, but nothing happened. The light really was out. Stanley had been telling the truth about that.

  The damp smell of dirt and coal filled her nostrils as she descended into the darkness. This feels like fossil-hunting in the tunnels, she thought.

  Grace felt something brush against her arm.

  “Aaahhhh!” she screamed, jumping back and swatting at it. She swung the beam of light toward her arm, but she couldn’t see anything. It must’ve been a cobweb. Grace shuddered. Cobwebs meant spiders.

  She waved the beam back and forth as she tiptoed through the darkness, now looking for two things—the door and spiders.

  Thump!

  Grace froze on the stairs. That was no spider.

  Thump!

  What was it? She swung the beam in a wild arc around the room.

  Thump!

  The sound was coming from above her. Heart sputtering, she slowly tiptoed back up toward the kitchen. What if it was Stuckless here to kidnap her? Or worse?

  “Hello?” she croaked, terror squeezing her vocal cords. Hello? You’re saying hello to your murderer? Say something tough. Be fierce.

  “I, um, I’ve got my dad’s gun. It’s loaded!” She poked her head around the corner, eyes cemented shut. “And he, uh, took me to the firing range so I know how to use it!” she yelled. Open your eyes, you dork!

  Grace peered around the doorway into the kitchen. Nothing. She held her flashlight up over her shoulder like a baseball bat and slid on her sock feet across the hardwood floor, stealthily making her way to the living room.

  THUMP!

  Grace dove behind the couch. The sounds were coming from the direction of the window. She inched forward on her hands and knees and peered around the corner.

  Someone was there!

  Chapter

  15

  “CLIMBING IN THE WINDOW—BRILLIANT IDEA,” THE INTRUDER MUTTERED. “I probably broke my foot!”

  That doesn’t sound like a murderer, Grace thought to herself. “Who’s there?” she demanded, leaping from behind the coach, flashlight ready.

  The intruder spun around. He still had one foot on the windowsill and as he turned he fell to the floor with a thud. “What the—?!” he hollered, staring up at her. “What happened to your face?”

  “Jeeter?” Grace lowered her flashlight. “You scared me to death! What are you doing here?”

  “I thought you could use some help.” He examined her face and hair. “I guess I was right—you don’t look so good.”

  “Thanks a lot. I thought you were my psycho neighbour, here to kill me. Why didn’t you knock?”

  “I tried that. And you didn’t answer the doorbell either.” He stood up, rubbing his ankle.

  “So you break into houses when people don’t answer the door?”

  “You screamed. I thought you were in trouble! But it was just you being your klutzy self, huh?”

  Grace scowled. “No, there was a—” she broke off. Hmm…he probably won’t think much of me screaming at imaginary spiders, she thought.

  “What?”

  “Never mind!”

  “Great,” Jeeter said. “Got anything to eat? I’m starving!”

  Grace led him into the kitchen. Jeeter searched the cupboards and pulled out a bag of chips. He ripped it open and popped a chip into his mouth. Grace laughed as his face scrunched up like he’d swallowed a tablespoon of salt. Holding the bag up, he exclaimed, “All natural guacamole soy chips? Yuck! You eat this stuff?”

  “Not really,” Grace answered. “My mom went a little psycho when Dad…. Anyway, she was on this total organic kick. It was torture. Lucky it didn’t last long. I think she hated that stuff more than I did.”

  Jeeter rifled through the rest of the food in her cupboards. “Unsalted cashews, pomegranate juice, banana chips, dried apricots…kill me now,” he groaned. “Okay, forget the food! Have you checked out your dad’s office yet?”

  “I was trying to do that when you broke in,” Grace responded. “C’mon.” She gestured for him to follow her.

  They stopped at the top of the stairs and stared down into the gloom. “You go first,” Grace said, nudging Jeeter’s arm.

  “Doesn’t the light work?” he asked, flipping the switch up and down.

  “Nope.” Grace clicked on her flashlight and passed it to him. “Here, take this.”

  Jeeter swung the beam in front of them and took a step.

  Creeeaaaak! The top step groaned in complaint.

  Grace followed cautiously. Suddenly, the flashlight beam caught a dark object hovering in front of their faces.

  “Aaaahh!” Grace screamed, burying her face in Jeeter’s back.

  “Grace!” he cried. “You’re pushing me!”

  “Spider!” she wailed, peeking over his shoulder. She wrapped her hands around his waist.

  Jeeter brushed the spider away with the tip of the flashlight. It scurried up the side of the wall and disappeared into the dark.

  “There, it’s gone,” he said over his shoulder. “How about loosening your death grip?”

  “Sorry,” Grace muttered.

  “Nothing to be scared of,” he said, continuing his descent. “They’re not poisonous, you know.”

  “I don’t like spiders!”

  “I figured,” he laughed.

  They slowly inched their way forward in the dark, the beam lighting a thin path through towering piles of boxes.

  When they reached Grace’s dad’s office at the far end of the basement, Grace eag
erly reached out and grabbed the doorknob.

  “Darn, it is locked!”

  “So where do you think your mom hid the key?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been racking my brain—and Mom’s, too. She has no clue where she left it!”

  “She’d likely put it someplace she thought would be easy to remember. Do you keep a key outside?”

  “Yeah, for the back door. In case we forget ours. I mean, in case I forget mine…I’ve done that a few times.” Grace scrunched up her face. “It’s under the flowerpot.”

  “Maybe she did the same thing down here.”

  They looked, but there weren’t any flowerpots in the basement. So they checked under buckets of paint, an old sled, totes filled with Christmas decorations, broken skis—even her ancient deflated kiddie pool. All they found were lots and lots of spiders.

  Then Grace noticed a bag of soil mix leaning against the wall. Hmm…soil goes in the flowerpots, she thought to herself. It’s worth a try. She lifted up the bag.

  “I found it!” she cried, holding up a metal key. She carried it over to her dad’s office door and slowly inserted it into the lock—it fit perfectly. She turned the key and the door clicked open.

  Grace flicked the switch and light spilled out from the open door. As she stepped inside her dad’s office, she felt an emptiness in the bottom of her stomach. She wasn’t prepared for the sadness that overwhelmed her. Teetering stacks of papers and books covered every surface. Dad never was one for filing stuff, she thought to herself fondly.

  “Whew, what a mess!” Jeeter’s voice snapped Grace out of her reverie.

  He plopped down in her dad’s chair, shoving aside a stack of books.

  “Don’t touch that!” Grace motioned for him to move. “I’ll do it.”

  “Sorry, Grace,” Jeeter said. “I’m trying to help, remember?”

  “I’m sorry I snapped,” she sighed. “A little jumpy, I guess.”

  Grace and Jeeter examined reams of files and papers; topographical maps of Sydney Mines, Florence, and Point Aconi; and endless photos of fossils over the next hour. One whole stack of files related to the strip mines and the protests. Another pile contained information on the tar ponds project, mostly newspaper articles about the failed cleanup attempts and costs.

  Grace’s dad had done some consulting for one of the bidders on the project and had followed it closely, even after the company he’d worked for had lost the bid. But most of the data he’d been collecting just looked like stuff from the newspaper or downloaded from the internet. There was nothing top secret, that was for sure. Most of it had to do with a company called Sandstar Environmental Corporation, which had won the contract.

  “We’re not getting any closer to finding the answers!” Grace said in disgust.

  “Be patient,” Jeeter replied. “You’ll figure it out.” He leaned over and touched her arm.

  “You should understand,” Grace sniffed. “All this is just making me sadder. It feels like I can hardly breathe most of the time—like there’s a boulder on my chest. It’s no use!”

  “I know it’s hard,” Jeeter said. “You miss him.”

  Grace nodded. “If only something would work out…” She shuffled through another stack of papers. “Forget it—there’s nothing here!” Disappointment washed over her.

  “Wait!” Jeeter stood up, waving a piece of paper at her. “There’s something here with Stanley’s name on it.”

  It was a page ripped from a memo pad with a handwritten note:

  “What does it mean?” Jeeter asked as he leaned over her shoulder.

  “I don’t know. Stanley always complained he was broke. What if he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to and my dad found out? Like cheating on his expenses? I mean, Point Aconi, that’s where my dad was…but this doesn’t look like Dad’s handwriting.”

  Brrrinnngg!!!

  The phone rang upstairs. Grace had forgotten to call her mom like she’d promised. Great, more trouble, she thought. She stuffed the note in her pocket and raced up the stairs, grabbing the receiver just as the phone was about to go to voicemail. “Hi, Mom—”

  “Grace, it’s me, Fred. Listen, I have something really important to tell you, but we have to meet in person. You’re gonna go nuts. I couldn’t believe it myself. I mean, I knew there was something weird going on, but I never thought he’d—”

  “Fred—slow down! What are you talking about?”

  “I had to use the pay phone ’cause I can’t find my walkie-talkie. It’s Jeeter. He left school. I was worried he would go to your place. Whatever you do, don’t let him in. You can’t trust him!”

  Grace heard the basement door close behind her and turned slowly to see Jeeter walking toward her. She was glued to the spot, afraid to move.

  “What’s wrong?” Jeeter asked, a puzzled expression on his face.

  Grace’s eyes locked with Jeeter’s as Fred’s voice whispered urgently in her ear, “Grace, did you hear me? Jeeter’s dangerous!”

  Chapter

  16

  “GRACE?” FRED WHISPERED AGAIN.

  “Sure, Mom. See you then.” Grace felt numb as she clicked the phone back in its holder. “That was Mom,” she lied. “She’ll be home any minute. You’d better go.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jeeter said, walking towards the door. “Call me tonight if you want…”

  As soon as he closed the door behind him, Grace’s casual stance disappeared and she ran to turn the deadlock into place. She let out the breath she was holding and leaned her head against the frame. What was going on?

  Grace spent the afternoon in her room, trying to make sense of the flurry of thoughts flying through her head. What was Fred talking about on the phone? Was Jeeter really dangerous? Or had Fred’s jealousy just got the best of him? And why hadn’t Fred just said what he wanted to on the phone?

  It wasn’t until Grace heard her mother’s car door slam that she remembered her other problem—her face. She flew to the bathroom mirror, hoping for a miracle. No such luck. The fire-ant-like trails of scratches were as red as ever. She had to hide them!

  She rummaged through her mom’s gazillion bottles of beauty products and makeup stuff, looking for a disguise. What could she use? She plucked a jar from the back of the drawer and read the label: Blue Algae Soothing Sea Mask. Hmm…she thought, soothing…and blue. That should do the trick. She scooped it out in handfuls and slathered the entire jar over her face. Perfect! She was a lovely shade of blue—and there wasn’t a scratch in sight.

  She bounded down the stairs to confront Mother the Inquisitor.

  “Good heavens, Grace! What on earth is the matter with your face?” her mom asked the second she saw her.

  “It’s for breakouts.”

  “You mean pimples?” her mother asked, her eyebrows raised. “I’ve never noticed any on you.”

  “I get them all the time.”

  “Well, I brought us a treat since you were stuck inside all day. Fish and chips—I know how much you love this stuff!” Her mother smiled, holding up two bags of takeout. “I was guessing your flu would be over by now?”

  Grace didn’t have the heart to tell her mother that fish and chips had been her dad’s favourite takeout, not hers. Grace had always ordered chicken fingers.

  They ate in silence. Grace did her best to choke down the slimy fish and chips. The odd drop of blue algae sea mask didn’t add much to the taste, either.

  The rest of the evening passed pretty much without incident, if you didn’t count Grace’s mother’s constant glances at her blue face or her annoying “Are you planning on wearing that stuff all night?” comments every half-hour. Unfortunately, Grace had no choice but to keep the mask on. Her mother was in the gooiest of her gushy-gooey moods and was stuck to her like tree sap.

  By the second hour of the Royal Winnipeg Ballet her mother had taped, Grace was getting a bit worried. Her face had started tingling—and not in a good way.

  “Y
ou know,” said Grace’s mom during a particularly boring part of the ballet, “since you’re worried about your complexion these days, maybe I can help a bit with something else.” She held up one of Grace’s hands. They both looked down at her stubby chewed-off nails. “How about a little manicure?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my nails, Mom.” Grace snatched her hand back. “I’m no ballerina and I never will be.”

  Her mother frowned and withdrew back to her side of the couch. Neither one spoke for a while.

  Meanwhile, Grace’s face was getting hotter by the minute. She was squirming so much her mother was bound to notice something was up. This blue stuff had to come off, like, now. She opened her mouth to spurt out some lame excuse to escape when her mother beat her to it.

  “Now I know what’s different about you tonight, Grace. Aside from your under-the-sea hue and that awful hairdo. Your hat’s missing—that thing is usually glued to your head. I miss seeing it. Where is it?”

  Shoot! She hadn’t thought of her mom noticing that. “Um, well, I’m not sure,” Grace mumbled, trying to think of a good answer. “I think I might’ve lost it,” she blurted out. Not a good choice.

  Her mother froze, a stunned look on her face. “Lost it?” she finally said. “You lost it?”

  “Well, not really. It’s got to be around somewhere,” Grace said, backpedalling. She couldn’t say that Jessica had it—that would open a whole new can of worms.

  Her mother’s voice rose. “But it can’t be gone. That was the last thing your father ever gave us—I mean you.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll find it.” Grace reached out and awkwardly patted her mom’s shoulder. Why was her mom so upset? It was her hat, after all.

  Her mom buried her head in her hands. “How could you be so irresponsible?”

  “Sorry.” Grace’s heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach. It seemed like she couldn’t do anything right these days.

  Her mother leaned her head on Grace’s shoulder. “Heavens, I don’t know what came over me.” She reached for a tissue and blew her nose, mumbling into her hand.