by Dayle Gaetz
Rusty stopped in the doorway. “What are we looking for?”
“Can’t you guess?”
“Not a clue.”
“Actually, that’s exactly what we’re here for.”
“What? A clue? To what?”
“To who left that wire out in the field. I can’t believe it was an accident, because who would be so stupid?”
“Oh, I don’t know…Megan comes to mind. That girl is totally out of it.”
“Cliff thinks it was Scott.”
Rusty shrugged. “Yeah, but I can’t figure out why.
I mean, if Scott did it, it wasn’t a mistake. But why go to all the bother?” He shook his head. “I’m sure it was Megan, and she just forgot to pick it up.”
“But why would Megan have wire out in the hay field? Why would anyone?”
As Katie’s eyes adjusted to the light, she saw rows of tools hung neatly against the walls, each on its own bracket. Bigger items like shovels, hoes and pitchforks hung on lower brackets while smaller tools such as trowels and pruners were arranged above. Printed neatly in black felt pen above each tool was its correct name. There was one empty bracket: “Wire Cutters.”
On the floor at the far end of the shed stood a large coil of barbed wire, fastened neatly so it wouldn’t come undone. A smaller coil of chicken wire lay crookedly on a wide shelf above, its loose end stuck out in sharp jagged spikes beyond the shelf edge.
“Look at that,” she whispered.
“Wow! Wire! In an equipment shed!” Rusty said.
“On a farm! Will wonders never cease?”
“Don’t be a dope, Rusty. Can’t you see it’s the only thing that’s not properly put away? As if the last person to cut wire off the coil wasn’t the usual, freakishly tidy person who normally uses this shed?”
“Or someone who was in a hurry?”
“Exactly. Someone who didn’t want to get caught.”
“Caught at what? Being messy? I may be wrong, but I don’t think messiness is a crime, even in such a neat province as Saskatchewan.”
“Well, but look how the wire is cut, it’s all crooked and jagged.” She ran her fingers over the thin wire mesh. “And this is the same kind of wire that jammed the cutter bar, I’m sure of it.”
“So?”
“So…” Katie glanced at Rusty. He stared back as if she had lost her mind. Her shoulders slumped. Rusty was right. Someone cut a piece of chicken wire crookedly from a coil and didn’t put the coil back as neatly as it should be. Big deal.
Nevertheless, if whoever cut the wire was in a big hurry, maybe Cliff was right. Maybe it was Scott and he didn’t want to be seen. Or, maybe it was Megan and she didn’t care. Katie could prove nothing.
“Let’s go.” Rusty stepped outside. “We’re wasting our time here.”
Katie sighed and followed her cousin. They darted along the driveway through a living whining blizzard of mosquitoes, more now that the heat of day had lessened. At the trailer they dashed inside and slammed the door. “Why does anyone want to live in this place?” Rusty asked.
“Who knows? Maybe it grows on you.” Katie’s bunk was the bottom one at the back of the trailer. The top one had been Sheila’s, but Rusty took over after Sheila’s defection. Katie pulled open the drawer beneath her bunk, scooped up all the clothes she might need and stuffed them into her backpack. She slid her notebook from under the mattress and flipped it open. Grabbing the pen tucked inside she wrote.
Suspicious goings-on:
fire—how did it start?
Aunt Margaret’s accident—was it sabotage?
Cliff sees Scott around the farm
Aunt Margaret fired Scott for stealing—what?
Jagged chicken wire—is it a clue?
When she had more time she would fill in the details. Now she slung her pack over her shoulder and started for the door. “I’m getting my mystery novel from the truck.”
Rusty jammed a pair of jeans into his backpack. “Wait for me. I need my sketchbook.”
A few minutes later, following her aunt’s instructions, Katie reached the top stair and swung around to her left. She took a deep breath and started down a hallway lit only by a small rectangular window at one end.
Second door, right side, she reminded herself. She paused in front of a heavy wooden door. It was open an inch. Should she knock? Her arms were filled with her backpack, notebook and novel, so she decided to call Megan’s name instead. But then she heard Megan mumble something that might have been “Come on in.”
Katie took a quick breath and pushed the door open with her foot.
“Haven’t you heard about knocking?” Megan snapped. On the floor near her bed she paused in the midst of a sit-up, legs bent, spine curled forward. She pulled something away from the far side of her face, something small, held in one hand. At the same moment there was a faint beep.
Katie stopped in the doorway. “What was that?
Was that you? Have you got a cell phone? Do you always do sit-ups when you’re on the phone?”
“If you don’t exercise you get fat.” Megan looked Katie up and down. “You should know that.” She did two more sit-ups. Her backpack lay deflated on the floor. Clothing was scattered over her bed. Black jeans, black shirts, a black leather jacket and a pile of underwear. All black.
“Have you been away?”
Megan scrambled to her feet. “None of your business. What are you, the question police?”
Katie swallowed. Wasn’t this going to be fun? She and her cousin, bonding? Okay, maybe she didn’t start things off exactly right. She made a mental note not to ask any more questions. “Don’t tell me, let me guess what your favorite color is.” She tried to laugh.
It sounded like a hiccup.
Megan’s blue eyes blazed with quick fiery anger.
Katie choked on her next word. It was meant to be black. “Bu-uu,” she said. Like a burp.
Megan shook her head sadly, turned away and scooped up an armload of clothes. She stormed over to her dresser where she balanced on one foot, tried to hook her bare toes under a drawer handle and stumbled back.
“Want me to open it for you?” Katie asked, dumping her own stuff on the floor. Oops—did that count as a question?
Megan growled.
“I’m going to assume that means yes,” Katie said.
She walked boldly over, slid open the drawer and stepped quickly out of the way. Megan dropped all the clothes inside, spread them out and squashed them down until she could close the drawer.
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
“No problem.” Katie glanced around the room. Megan’s bed was near the one small rectangular window, closed up tight. Its shade was up and sunlight streamed in. Already Katie was covered in a fine layer of perspiration, and she wondered how Megan, still wearing her black jeans, could stand this heat.
Pushed up against the wall on the far side of the room was a small folding cot with yellow flowered sheets, a matching pillow and a light creamy blanket.
“I guess that’s for me,” Katie observed.
“Whatever,” Megan mumbled. She flopped on her bed and picked up a book.
Katie squinted at the front cover, stepped closer, and was surprised to see it was an Agatha Christie novel. “So, do you like mysteries?”
“Question,” Megan growled and pulled the book closer to her face.
Katie swallowed. “Oh, yeah, sorry.” She resolved to keep quiet, to not say another word. So she was taken by surprise when the words slipped out anyway. “Hey, Megan, thanks for sharing your room. I bet we’re going to have fun.” Her words hung in the air like icicles.
Megan’s cold blue eyes glared over the top of her book. “Do you even know how to stop talking?”
A chill ran down the back of Katie’s neck. She picked up her stuff and dumped it on the cot. She grabbed her novel, notebook and pen, and left the room. That was enough bonding for one day.
5
Katie padded barefoot down the steep
wooden staircase. She had almost reached the bottom when she became aware of quiet voices in the kitchen below. She paused. Although they were barely above a whisper, Katie recognized Gram’s, GJ’s and Aunt Margaret’s voices. She waited, listening, thought she heard the word “airport,” but couldn’t be sure, so crept down one more stair. It creaked beneath her foot.
The voices stopped. Katie continued down the stairs. “What’s going on?” she asked, surprised to see Rusty seated at the table too.
No one seemed inclined to answer, and when the phone rang Aunt Margaret flew out of her chair as if she’d been stung. “I’ll get it in my office,” she said, giving Katie a nervous glance on her way past.
From her position, Katie could see into the tiny office tucked behind the kitchen, a room that had once been the pantry. Aunt Margaret ran to the desk and stopped abruptly. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the phone. It rang again, and she snapped it up.
“Yes?” she whispered.
She listened, then pressed a hand to her forehead.
“Who is this?”
Intrigued, Katie stepped closer.
“Katie, come on in and join us,” GJ called. “Let your aunt talk on the phone in peace.”
“But…” Katie glanced at GJ and back to Aunt Margaret, who was working her way around her desk to the chair. She sank into it, white-faced, the phone clutched tight against her ear.
“Katie, don’t be so rude.” Gram’s chair scraped across the floor as she stood up.
Katie hesitated. Something was wrong. She knew it. Deep inside herself she knew it. She could never understand why, but she always got this same strange feeling, a sense of curiosity, a need to delve deeper, when there was a crime being conceived, a mystery in the making. Even if Rusty and Sheila made fun of her when she tried to explain, she always knew.
But what could she say? The main reason her grandparents had brought her and Rusty and Sheila along on this trip was to keep the three of them out of trouble for the summer. No mysteries allowed. No getting into trouble, no causing worries for Gram and GJ. They had all promised. Even if Sheila had deserted them, the promise still held.
Aunt Margaret replaced the receiver and buried her face in her hands.
“Katie?” Gram walked toward her, looking bewildered.“Sorry, I felt a little weird for a minute there. Dizzy.
I guess I must be hungry.” She rubbed her stomach.
Gram took her by the arm and led her to the table. “Dinner is ready. We’ll eat just as soon as your aunt is finished on the phone.”
Minutes later Aunt Margaret emerged from her office. She attempted a smile but her lips trembled and she turned away. Katie glanced at Gram to see if she noticed it too, but her grandmother was busy at the stove.
Aunt Margaret stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Megan!” she called, and waited. “Dinner!” When there was no answer, Aunt Margaret went to help Gram dish up the food.
Fried chicken, potato salad, green salad and fresh bakery bread was piled on the table, and everyone dug in. The adults chatted and laughed about the good old days when Aunt Margaret, Katie’s mom and Rusty’s mom were kids.
“Where’s Cliff?” Rusty asked when there was a lull in the conversation. “Doesn’t he live here too?”
“Not exactly. He usually has breakfast with us because he starts work so early, but he has his own kitchen,” Aunt Margaret explained. “This house was built for a big family, and we didn’t need all the space, so years ago your Uncle Al and I converted some of the back rooms into a separate suite. Cliff seems happy there.”
Katie studied Aunt Margaret. For the third time her aunt’s eyes slid over to the clock on the microwave then to the wall phone. She took a small bite of potato salad. When the phone rang, her fork fell from her hand. It bounced off her plate and clattered onto the floor. She didn’t seem to notice. She leaned forward as if to get up, but then changed her mind and sat very still, her fingers on the table edge.
The phone rang again. She cringed.
GJ, sitting beside Aunt Margaret, bent to pick up her fork. “Maybe you should answer your phone,” he suggested.
“No!” she snapped.
GJ’s jaw fell.
“Oh, Dad, I’m sorry.” Aunt Margaret placed a hand on his arm just as the phone rang for the third time. “It will be someone trying to sell me something. They always phone at dinnertime.”
On the fourth ring, the answering machine in the office picked up. Two seconds later there was a rumble on the stairs, and a second after that Megan burst into the room. “Why didn’t you answer the phone?” she demanded.
“I’m tired of telemarketers,” her mother said. “I already got one call this evening, and there are usually at least two or three.”
“But it might be important!” Megan screeched.
Aunt Margaret remained calm. “If it is, they’ll leave a message.” She hesitated, then added, “I’m not sure why you’re so worried, honey. Your friends always call on your cell phone anyway.”
Megan swung around and stormed into Aunt Margaret’s office. In a flash she was back. “No messages!” she shouted and strode to the sink. She grabbed a glass, filled it with water and turned to glare at her mother. “That stinks!” she said.
“You’re not kidding,” Rusty said. “What’s wrong with the water around here anyway? It tastes like mud.”
Megan rolled her eyes. “I’m not talking about the water. Doesn’t anyone listen to me? I’m talking about the phone. It stinks that my mother doesn’t bother to answer it anymore.”
The room grew so quiet they could hear mosquitoes beating at the window. Aunt Margaret stared speechlessly at her daughter. Gram pressed her lips together and looked at GJ who frowned back, shaking his head. Katie’s eyes flicked from one to the other around the kitchen. Rusty bit into a chicken leg.
“Megan…,” Aunt Margaret began.
Megan’s thin body slumped against the counter.
“I’m sorry, Mom. It’s just…I feel so…I don’t feel so good.”
You don’t look so good either, Katie almost said, but the tension in this room was too strong. She couldn’t force herself to speak.
“You’re probably hungry,” GJ said. “You look as if you haven’t eaten in a month.”
“Come, sit by me.” Gram smiled invitingly and patted the empty chair. “Have something to eat.”
To Katie’s surprise, Megan nodded. She sat down and piled green salad onto her plate. When Megan started to eat, Gram slipped a piece of chicken next to the salad and followed it with a thick slice of multigrain bread. Megan didn’t object. She nibbled on the chicken, ripped the bread in two and swallowed a few of the crumbs, then returned to her salad.
All the excited chatter between Gram, Aunt Margaret and GJ had ended with the arrival of Megan. Now, in the uneasy silence, the sounds of chewing and swallowing seemed to bounce off the walls. Katie could hardly wait to get away. She needed to find a quiet place to sit and fill out her notebook.
6
Half an hour dragged by before Katie, clutching her notebook and a tall glass of water, escaped to a white wicker chair on the screened porch. She was so thirsty she drank most of the water right away, and then she placed the glass on the small wicker table beside her.
Although the sun still beat down mercilessly on the flat dry prairie, it had dipped lower in that great huge sky. The porch was deep in shade, but the evening air hung hot and thick around her. Not a breath of wind stirred across the dusty driveway, not a whisper through the screened windows.
The house cast its long shadow over the driveway, its gabled roof pointed at the burnt-out field like a fat arrowhead. To Katie’s right, the travel trailer, GJ’s silver truck and the black farm truck were all in shade. A movement to her left caught her eye.
A long shadow, the shape of a man’s head and shoulders, moved across the dirt, growing steadily bigger until Cliff himself appeared around the corner of the house. Dressed in clean jeans and a white cotto
n shirt, he crossed in front of her and climbed into the black truck. A minute later, he headed down the driveway followed by a trail of dust.
Katie opened her notebook and scanned the notes she had jotted down earlier about the fire, the accident, and so on. Right now she couldn’t think of anything to add, so she flipped to a clean page.
She wrote Saskatchewan in big letters across the top. Then she sat quite still, staring straight ahead at minute squares of thread-thin screening, at puffs of dust that filtered through, at mosquitoes that bounced off the screen. Finally she looked down at her notebook and started to write, pausing often to tap her pen against her chin.
Chicken wire in the hay field—what’s that about?
Sabotage? Could be Scott—need to meet him.
Carelessness? Who else but Megan? She has recently misplaced her brain.
A freak accident? Cliff or Aunt Margaret— overworked & underpaid.
Speaking of “freak,” what about that Megan?
Why’d she freak-out when I went into her room?
She knew I was coming, didn’t she? Why were all those clothes piled on her bed? Did they come from her backpack? Maybe she was going somewhere and changed her mind. Maybe she just got back from somewhere. Maybe she was running away. Why?
Does Megan even know what she’s doing? She looks like a walking skeleton—does she seriously think she’s fat?
Something’s bugging Aunt Margaret—something or someone. That was no telemarketer who phoned tonight. A.M. was scared.
How do I know?
She acted nervous even before she answered the phone. That means she’s had calls before.Probably lots of them at the same time of day, that’s why she didn’t answer when the phone rang later.
So:
Is someone threatening her?
Who? Scott? Possible, don’t know, need to meet him. NOTE: Cliff would say it’s Scott, if he knew about the calls. Does he?
Megan? Maybe, who knows? NOTE: Megan could have used her cell phone—Hey! Maybe that’s why she freaked-out when I walked into her room, maybe I interrupted her in the middle of a threatening phone call.
