by Dayle Gaetz
Already Katie was busy scouting around. Nose hovering close over the ground, she searched the grass for clues. For once she had left her notebook behind, along with her backpack. Sheila had told her she would have enough to worry about on this first ride without any extra weight or straps on her back. Katie stopped, studied something that lay in the brown grass, then straightened up and reached into the back pocket of her jeans. She pulled out a tiny notepad with a small pencil stuck through its coil binding. Flipping it open, she started to write.
Sheila marched over to Katie. “What are you writing?”
“I found a cigarette butt.” She whipped a small plastic bag from her other back pocket and scooped up the butt. “C’mon, let’s see what else we can find.”
Sheila felt a sudden surge of interest. Maybe Katie was onto something. Her dad didn’t smoke anymore. He used to when she was little, but he quit because Mom told him cigarette smoke was bad for children’s lungs.
Working together, the girls searched the full length of the ridge. In one spot the grass was trampled down as if someone had sat there. On the flattened grass they found several more cigarette butts and a matchbook with the name of a Calgary restaurant printed on it. They picked each item up with a plastic bag, careful not to touch it. Sheila felt like a crime-scene investigator, like the ones she sometimes saw on TV.
They walked down a gentle slope toward the stream and across the muddy ground near the water’s edge.
A row of aspen trees, their wafer-thin green leaves trembling in a slight breeze, lined the bank. “Look!”
Katie said.
A set of wide tire tracks led up to the aspens and sank deeper into the soft mud to form a V shape.
The tracks swung in a semicircle to the right, formed a second V, then headed straight for the grassy slope.
Two swaths of flattened grass led up and over the low ridge.
Sheila watched in dismay as Katie collected a sample of the mud and a twig from an aspen tree.
“What’re you kids doin’ here?” a gruff voice yelled.
Sheila jumped. Several feet behind them stood a rail-thin old man. Narrow slits of blue eyes stared intensely out beneath bushy white eyebrows. His pure white hair stood up straight on top of his head as if he never bothered to comb it. Spiky gray whiskers protruded from his jutting chin.
“Well?” he demanded. “Who are you?”
“Who are you?” Katie demanded right back. “And what are you doing here? This is Sheila’s dad’s land, not yours.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up, and he narrowed his blue eyes to study Sheila more closely. “You Sheila?”
She nodded.
“How come you don’t look like your pop?” he snapped.
Sheila tried to think of an answer that made sense, but was saved when the boys ran up.
“Hey, Wendell!” Huntley said. “What happened? Looks like there’s nobody down at the development.”
Wendell Wedman turned to Huntley. “How should I know? Guess they got scared off after the shootin’ an’ all. Can’t say as I blame ’em, and good riddance if you ask me.”
“Do you live here?” Katie asked, looking at a brown van halfway up the slope behind them and partially hidden by aspen trees.
“As a matter of fact, I’m stayin’ here for the summer. Chris asked me to keep an eye on them guys and call him if they stray off their own land. So you might call me the night watchman for the Triple W.” He chuckled. “And you could say two of those Ws belong to me. Time was, I used to call myself Double W.”
“Or Dub-Dub for short,” Rusty grinned.
Wendell gave him an odd look.
“So, then, what did you see on the night of the shooting?” Katie asked, her pencil poised above the little notebook.
Wedman’s face seemed to close up. He looked away. “Nothin’ much.”
“Did you see a truck?”
“Could be.”
“Was it an old, blue pickup?”
“Couldn’t say for sure.”
“Did you see anyone up on the ridge?”
“Could be.”
“Wendell, you told me you saw a truck,” Huntley said. “Did you see anything else?”
Wendell rubbed his fingers through his white hair until it stood up even higher than before. He shifted from one foot to the other. “Saw your pop,” he said to Sheila.
“You saw him before the shooting?” Katie asked.
“Naw. The shooting woke me up from a sound sleep, darn near gave me a heart attack. Dog started barkin’ like he’d gone mad. When I looked out he was runnin’ for his truck.”
“Your dog has a truck?” Rusty asked.
Wendell frowned. “Chris was running, the dog was barking,” he said slowly and clearly for Rusty’s benefit. As if to demonstrate, a big, shaggy, black dog came bursting out of the trees, barking loudly. “Hush now, Rebel,” Wendell ordered and the dog sat down obediently.
“Wasn’t it dark out?” Katie asked.
“Sure was, it was the middle of the night!”
“Then how could you tell it was Sheila’s dad?”
“Simple. The moon was hangin’ above them mountains. I recognized his hat. That white feather of his showed up clear as day.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Huntley asked.
Wendell shrugged. “Don’t want to cause trouble. Happens I like Chris Walton. Can’t say the same for the Coutts.”
“What coots?” Sheila asked.
“The ones set on wreckin’ this place, Glen and Marla Coutts. They’re a husband-and-wife team who won’t be happy until this entire province is plastered in golf courses, houses and shoppin’ malls.”
“Glenmar Development,” Huntley said. “Get it? ‘Glen-Mar.’”
Sheila’s stomach twisted. This man, Wendell, liked her dad and didn’t like Glenmar Development. So, if he said he saw Dad up here the night before last, then it must be true. “Let’s go riding,” she said and walked away.
10
That evening they sat around the picnic table on the patio outside the kitchen, eating barbecued ribs and corn on the cob. There were a lot of chewing and swallowing noises, but no one spoke. It seemed to Sheila that they were each mulling over worries of their own. For sure she was.
When they returned from their ride that afternoon, she had made Katie promise not to ask Dad any questions, not so much as one. Katie had nodded tersely and hobbled off to soak in a hot bath. It seemed like Katie still wasn’t speaking to her, but Sheila didn’t care. As long as Katie kept her mouth shut, she couldn’t pester Dad with questions.
Rusty was having trouble staying awake. He sat very still on a big soft pillow and leaned his elbows on the table. His eyes kept drooping shut, but he still managed to eat his share of the food.
Huntley simply stared at his plate and ate slowly, as if he felt sick or sad or something. He had been quiet for hours. Maybe he finally figured out that Sheila wasn’t talking to him. All good.
For her part, Sheila tried to avoid looking at her dad. In spite of making Katie promise to be quiet, she could barely keep her own mouth shut. In her mind she kept hearing Wendell’s words. I recognized his hat. That white feather of his showed up clear as day.
At the same time she couldn’t forget what her dad said in his e-mail to Adele. I’m off now, onto the range. There are some things I need to take care of. And that was right after he told Adele he had figured out a “surefire” way of keeping Glenmar Development off her land.
Sheila wanted to ask where he went and what this surefire method was, but how could she? He would know right away they had been snooping in his e-mail. “We met Wendell Wedman today,” she said.
Chewing and swallowing ceased. Everyone stared at her, mouths gaping, mouths shut tight, butter dripping from chins. Eyes shifted to her dad. He had been gazing toward the mountains, but now he turned slowly to face Sheila. His eyes looked cloudy. “What?”
She had gone that far, now she had no choice
but to go on. “We rode out to see the development and we met Wendell Wedman.”
“Oh. Good. I was a bit worried when he wasn’t there last night. I’m beginning to think it was a mistake to let him stay in that spot. And he never checks his cell-phone messages, so I was going to ride out and check on him later. How is the old fella?”
“Fine.” Sheila tried to leave it at that but somehow the words in her mind slipped out of her mouth on their own. “He says he saw you up there the night before last.”
“What?” Dad looked surprised. “He’s crazy! I was nowhere near the south fence. I took Pita and rode in the opposite direction, up to the open range. Some of the ranchers have been losing cattle to a wolf pack up that way, so I thought I’d take advantage of an almost full moon to ride up and check on our herd.”
That made perfect sense. Sheila started to feel better.
“Did you take a rifle with you?” Katie asked.
Sheila glared at her, but Katie didn’t notice, or pretended not to notice, and added, “I mean, if you thought there were wolves, you would take a rifle, wouldn’t you?”
“As a matter of fact I did.”
“Did you shoot anything?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Then what?”
Dad frowned. Sheila could see he was getting annoyed, and she glared at Katie more fiercely. When that didn’t work she tried to find Katie’s shin with the toe of her running shoe, to give her a warning kick. But Katie must have tucked her feet under the bench in anticipation.
“What do you mean?” Dad asked.
“Did you put the rifle back when you were done?”
“Of course! It would be irresponsible to leave a rifle where someone else could come across it.”
Tension around the table rose. Sheila hoped Katie would have enough sense to keep quiet now.
Amazingly, she did. But Sheila’s dad continued anyway. “The thing that really worries me, though, is that my other rifle is missing, and Ben insists he hasn’t used it. It’s not like either of us to leave a gun unaccounted for.” He looked sternly at each of them in turn. “If any of you kids see that rifle, I want you to promise not to touch it. Just come and find me or Ben.”
“Or Ryan?” Sheila asked.
Her dad nodded. “Yes. Ryan is very responsible around guns.”
After dinner Sheila hoped her dad would ask her to go riding again, so she was disappointed when he stood up and carried his dishes to the kitchen. Her spirits lifted when he returned and stuck his head out the door. “Will you kids please clean up the kitchen? I’ve got work to do.”
He closed the door again and disappeared in the direction of his office.
As soon as he was gone, Katie whipped out her notebook and started to write. Sheila leaned across the table, trying to read upside down. Katie looked up, gave her a withering look and placed her left arm in front of her book.
“Remind me never to ride a horse again as long as I live,” Rusty moaned. “Every muscle in my body aches!” He rested his head on his folded arms and closed his eyes.
Huntley stood and picked up the dirty plates. Sheila felt like tripping him. Why did he always have to be the perfect kid?
Sheila fell asleep exhausted that night. When she jerked suddenly awake, her room was dark, not a glimmer of moonlight at her window. She stared into the blackness, her heart beating too fast. Had she heard something? Or was she dreaming?
The noisy clatter of a truck starting up lingered in her mind, but was it real or unreal? The sound was mixed with her dream. She was out near the development, looking at those tire tracks, when Wendell Wedman came swooping down the hill in his van, headed straight for her. That’s what made her wake so suddenly. Or was it? Her thoughts were clouded, her eyes were heavy, she couldn’t stay awake.
Next time Sheila heard an engine, she opened her eyes to a room filled with early-morning sunlight. There was a crunch of tires on gravel at the front of the house. The engine shut off, a door slammed, then another. She glanced at Katie, but all that showed of her was a lumpy sheet. Sheila slipped out of bed and scrambled to get dressed.
11
Sheila started down the stairs barefoot. She stopped at the sound of a voice. More than one, hushed, as if the speakers did not wish to be overheard. The front door closed with a quiet click.
“This way, gentlemen,” her dad said.
Footsteps moved along the hall toward the kitchen.
Sheila crept down the remaining steps. Clutching the bottom post with one hand, she leaned out to see around the grandfather clock. The back of her dad’s head was almost hidden by two men who followed close at his heels. They both wore RCMP uniforms.
Sheila’s heart leapt. Her breath caught in her throat. How did Dad get downstairs so fast? How did he know the police were here? They never did knock on the door.
“I just made some coffee. Would you like some?” Dad’s voice drifted down the hall, barely audible.
The two men mumbled something that might have been yes. Mugs clinked, the carafe clunked on the counter, the fridge door opened and shut. Then all three men shuffled down the short hall to her dad’s office. The door closed.
Sheila swallowed. She wished Katie were awake. Katie would tiptoe right down that hall, put her ear to the office door and listen to every word.
Okay, but Sheila could do the same thing by herself, couldn’t she?
Just then a hand touched hers on the post. A quick, light touch and then it was gone. Sheila stifled a scream. She looked up, expecting to see Katie, but it wasn’t her friend’s face that gazed down at her, it was Huntley’s.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped.
“Same as you,” Huntley whispered. “I couldn’t sleep, I was worried about Chris, then I heard a car outside so I got up and looked out. It’s the police.”
“I know, they’re in Dad’s office.”
“Want to go listen at the door?”
Sheila almost said no, she did not need Huntley’s help. But just moments ago she was wishing Katie were here so she wouldn’t feel so horribly alone.
Huntley simply stood there, waiting for her answer and looking as miserable as she felt. If she told him to mind his own business, would he?
Maybe. But, then again, maybe this was his business too. If her dad was involved in something bad, then his mom was probably part of it too. “Okay,” she whispered and they tiptoed down the hall together.
They pressed their ears to the office door.
“Where were you last night?” asked a police officer.
“Right here.”
“You mean right here in this house?”
“No, I mean right here in this office. I slept in here because I’m worried about that missing rifle. I figure if someone got in once, they might come back.”
“And just who might that be?”
“I lay awake half the night thinking about that. No one around here would be careless enough to not lock up a rifle after use.”
“Are you sure you didn’t use it yourself?”
“Of course I’m sure. When I take a gun out, I always return it as soon as I get home. I lock it up before doing anything else.”
“I see.” The officer sounded like he didn’t believe a word. “So you haven’t seen the missing rifle?”
“No. I had this one out the same night as the shooting. As I told you before, I took it with me out to the range where wolves have been reported.”
“I see,” the same cynical voice said. “And exactly where did you say these wolves are?”
“North of here, on the open range. They’ve been killing our cattle.”
“Who, besides you, has access to the gun cabinet?” a deeper voice asked.
“Only Ben, my foreman. He sometimes needs a rifle for the same reason I do, to scare predators away from the herd.”
“And Ben wasn’t using this other rifle on the night in question?”
“No, he was here. I asked him to stay in the h
ouse with Huntley.”
“Huntley?”
“Huntley James. The boy who’s staying with me while his mother is in Calgary.”
“I see,” the first voice said. “And Huntley’s mother would be Adele James, the owner of the land in question?”
“She is.”
“Well, Mr. Walton, this time we brought a search warrant. We got it early this morning, after the fire. I’m afraid we’ll need to search your house and property. We’ll be taking the rifles in question at this time. You might want to get those kids out of bed upstairs before we search their rooms.”
Chairs creaked as the men got to their feet. Huntley pulled at Sheila’s sleeve.
But Sheila didn’t move. She wanted to hear the answer to the question she hoped her dad would ask. He did.
“What fire?”
“Haven’t you heard? There was a fire over at the development last night. One of the buildings was destroyed and the fire chief believes it was arson. I don’t suppose you were up that way around three o’clock this morning?”
“I told you, I was right here.”
“Alone?”
“If you’re asking whether I have an alibi, no, I don’t.”
“Mr. Walton, if you don’t mind waking those kids up, we’d like to begin our search now.”
Sheila and Huntley fled to the kitchen.
A moment later the office door opened and closed. Her dad walked into the kitchen, rubbing one hand over his stubbly chin and studying the floor at his feet.
“Hi, Dad!”
His head jerked up. “Sheila! Huntley! I didn’t know you were awake!”
Sheila had pulled the fridge door open and stuck her head inside. She reached for the orange juice. Huntley opened a drawer, looked inside and closed it again. “Yep,” he said, “yep, we’re up all right.”
Sheila shut the fridge door. “Were you working in your office all night?”
“I…Listen, kids, there’s something I need to tell you. Come sit at the table.”
Sheila’s heart pounded so hard it hurt as she crossed to the table and sat down. She clutched the jug of orange juice in both hands. Was her dad about to confess?
