I land on a seat. Try to get small. I think this: Could that be true? I do touch Moonie a lot. And I am real sweaty. But I am not stinky. I make sure of that. I even asked Shayleen if I was. I put my armpit up for her, and tell you what. If I stank, she would tell me. But Matt has me worrying. I think this: What if Mrs. Drinker never asks me to dog-sit again? Then there I am seeing some of that muck-green fog.
On the loop through town I watch for the Merrimack Pee Dee. The cruiser is there. Number 003. Lieutenant Baird’s car. So then I know. He is not at my house. Not yet.
Off the bus at the cluster stop I take a chance. Walk straight away for home. I don’t get far. A lacrosse ball stings me—back of my thigh. Kind of takes that leg out. I stop. Breathe out. Turn around. Another ball comes sailing my way.
I reach. I catch. I do one turn on one foot. Try to absorb that sting. And oh, man. That smarts. I look back at Lance and Matt. And Corey McSpirit, standing off to the side. I hold the ball up. I show it. Last thing I am going to do is throw it back. Give them another shot.
I say, “You dropped this.” Not quite true. More like somebody winged it. I set that ball down on the gravel. Right next to my big sweaty feet.
I say, “If you want it, it’ll be right here.”
I turn and head to the crumbledown. I don’t run. I walk. And nothing happens. I think this: Holy cow, Mason Buttle. You are getting smarter.
Inside the crumbledown Grandma greets me. She has a message. From Mrs. Drinker. I am worried this will be about my sweat. On her dog. But Grandma says, “She needs your help moving a big bag of dog food. She said you would know.”
I say, “Oh, right. Might be Moonie’s bin is empty. Might be Mrs. Drinker needs me to reach that.”
I think this: too high and dry.
I ask Grandma to hold off on making my banana shake. I say, “I’m going to run down there now. Get it off my mind. Because the lieutenant could be here. Any minute. And I can’t be thinking about both those things. So Grandma, if he shows up, give him the notebook. I’ll be right back.”
chapter 66
MY GREAT REACH
I am standing alone in the Drinkers’ garage. Looking up. Guess I did put that bag up pretty high. I open up that stepladder pretty much quick as I can. Gotta get this done.
Funny thing, me wanting to get back for a meeting with the lieutenant. First time for that. I got some hope about the writing piece from the Dragon. My true story about Benny Kilmartin.
I climb up. I reach high for the bag of dog food. Just have to slide it to me.
In comes Lance Pierson at the small side door. Matt and Corey behind him. They start looking through a bucket of lacrosse sticks and sports stuff. Lance spots me first. He says, “Oh great. Look. Buttle’s butt crack! Just what we want to see.”
I reach back. One hand. Tug up my pants. But I think this: I am busy here. Can’t worry about what’s behind me. I need to get this done. I grab the thick paper sides of the dog food bag. I grunt. Pull it toward me.
Matt pipes up. Sharp ring in his voice. He says, “Hey! What are you . . . what are doing up there?” I look down at him. He is all shifty feet. Funny thing, he looks scared for me to be on this ladder.
So I tell him, “I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m getting the dog food. I put it up too high. Made a mistake.”
Lance says, “Buttle, you are a mistake.” He snorts. Matt doesn’t laugh. Neither does Corey McSpirit.
I turn back to the shelf. Reach fingers around the bag again and don’t you know it, something bites me—and I mean with teeth. “Yow!” I pull my hand back. I take a look at my fingers. Three of them have bloody scrapes. In rows. They all sting like heck. More blood comes up. I wipe that on my shirt.
Lance says, “Ugh! Disgusting! Now I’m gonna barf.” He coughs.
But Matt shouts over him. He says, “G-get down, Buttle! Just get down!” He keeps shouting that at me. Waving his arms at me.
I can’t think what’s gotten into him. And now I see fake-puking Lance. He is giving Matt a weird look. Like he wonders the same thing. And Corey too. Whatever. I am going to get this bag down for Mrs. Drinker. And Moonie. I’m careful not to stick my fingers in the same spot. I grip the end of the bag and tug it. Once. Twice.
Matt says, “Leave it! Just leave it, Buttle!”
I don’t know what he’s thinking. I’m the tallest. Not like he can reach. And the bag is heavy. And besides, I put it here. It should be me who brings it down.
I get it to the edge of that shelf and heft it to my shoulder. Same second, something slides off the shelf. Drops down in front of me. Skims me. Happens quick. Something long and flat is all I see. It hits the floor. I try to look. But all of a sudden I got kibble spilling down the front of me. Pinging. Bouncing. Onto the floor of the Drinkers’ garage. Then I know it. I have a rip in this bag. I go grabbing at it. Try to hold the rip shut with my bloody fingers. I come down that ladder. Get that bag settled quick onto a low shelf.
I lean down to see the thing that fell.
Matt hollers, “Buttle! Don’t! No! Leave it! Leave it!”
I am looking at a wooden handle. I touch that first. And I know this thing. Know it well. I pick it up. I look at the blade. The row of teeth.
The handsaw. Mine.
I think, Wow. Been missing this for . . . like . . . two whole apple seasons. Or more? And the lieutenant . . . he asked me questions. Like . . . did I throw this away . . . somewhere . . .
Mrs. Drinker comes into the garage. She says, “Hey, guys! Why all the shouting?” Moonie follows. He trots past her. Wags his whole self when he sees me. His nose finds the kibble. He starts cleaning that up.
But Matt is pointing a shaking finger at me. He is pale. Looks like he can hardly breathe. His words scrape up and out. He says, “He . . . he needs to get out of our garage!”
Mrs. Drinker says, “What? Matty?” Then she looks at me. Blood on my shirt. “Oh! Mason! You’re hurt. You’re hurt!”
I mean to tell her I am okay. But I cannot make the words. She rushes to me. Sees I’m holding the handsaw.
She says, “Mason!” She looks confused. And I am confused. She says, “W-where did this come from?”
I point up. Over my head. To the high shelf.
Matt cries, “No! No, it didn’t!” He is shaking his head like wild.
Mrs. Drinker stares at her boy. Mouth open. She holds a tight fist to her chest.
I look around that garage. Tell you what. Everyone looks frozen.
I am pretty frozen too. Something is happening here. Everybody knows what. Everyone but me. I am begging myself inside of my brain, don’t be stupid, Mason. Don’t be stupid. You need to get this.
But I don’t. I can’t.
Lance is chin low. Hunched and still.
Corner of my eye I see Corey McSpirit by the small garage door. Tears pouring down his face. He is slow. Silent. He is backing himself out that door. His hand in one pocket. Then the square flash of his phone.
Just one thought comes: This handsaw must have got into the Drinkers’ garage by way of nothing good.
chapter 67
THE LIEUTENANT’S PUZZLE
Mrs. Drinker comes to me. She takes that saw. Throws it on the low shelf. Like a log onto a fire. It clatters. Bounces. I put my hands on my ears.
She covers her face. Bends forward. Her body shakes. She is squeaking. Crying. She says, “No.” She says that over and over again.
Matt cries, “No, Mom!” I look at his face. White. Scared. He says, “Stop! Stop it! Mom!”
Mrs. Drinker shakes her head. She cries, “My god, Matty! Oh. Matty! What did you do?”
And then I just know. Something I do not want to know. I push back on it. Hard.
I say, “Oh no. He could not. They could not . . . No. It’s all right. It’s all right. No. No.”
And I can’t stop. And soon all I am saying is the same thing Mrs. Drinker is saying.
No. No. No.
Then I see the cruiser pull into th
e Drinkers’ driveway. Blue and white. Sick blur. I see the officer. I see Corey McSpirit go to him. Feels like I am right beside him. I see the side of Corey’s wet face. I see what he says. So clear. So slow.
Corey says, “They. Told. Me. They. Did. It.”
I push words out of my throat. I say, “They couldn’t have meant it! How could they know such a bad thing would happen? You can’t know what you don’t know!”
The officer comes closer. There is another cruiser in the driveway. My eyes go wild. Like they are shooting side to side in my head. I see all around inside the Drinkers’ garage. All the walls are blurs and smears. White flashes of windows. Dark streaks in all the corners. I can’t stop it. I see swishes of people. Some moving. Some close. Closer.
I say, “But they are kids! We are all just kids!”
There is a tug in my guts. I close my eyes. I am dropping. I am gravity. Going down. And I want to go. I want to be low. Then I am wrapped in huge arms. Bigger than my own.
Strange sound in my ear. I hear the voice say, “Mason. Oh my god, Mason. I am sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The arms grow tighter. The voice goes to a whisper.
Who? I try to think. Who has this voice? I know it. But not this way. I know something hard. But this is soft. I open my eyes. The lieutenant. He has me. Like a cradle.
Then I know it. I’m getting sick. I turn to let it out. He holds me while it all comes up. He won’t let go.
I choke and I tell him, “They didn’t know. They couldn’t know.”
I wrap my fingers tight on his arm. I grip his sleeve.
I can hear me. Like some huge wounded wild thing. I hear me crying.
I say, “Nobody! Nobody meant to kill Benny Kilmartin!”
chapter 68
ONE WEEK GONE
The Drinkers are gone. I’m standing in their garage. I wonder if anything good has come of these days. We are one week gone from finding the handsaw. Word is probably going around: Mason Buttle is not the one. He played no trick. He made no mistake. Seems like all of this should feel better.
But tell you what. It’s kind of like everything is still sad. I still feel it. Gray cloud over Merrimack.
Ms. Blinny helps. Lets me spend long days in the SWOOF. First day back she told me, “I have put extra time in my day. Time just for you, Mason Buttle.”
I told her I could go tell it to the Dragon. She shook her head no. She sat down with me. She put her dry hands on top of my sweaty ones. She said, “Mason, you can tell this story to me.”
So I did that. As best I could.
Now I’m staring at that greenish stain on the Drinkers’ garage floor. The spot where I puked. Seems like I should get that off of there. Moonie follows me into the Drinkers’ laundry room. I make a bucket of suds. Find a brush. I get started. Gross job. But the dog makes me smile. He tilts his head at what I’m doing. Looks at the brush like it might be a toy. I have to talk him out of that. I scrub and I think.
Funny thing. The lieutenant has been by the crumbledown. About every day. He even brought me a present. Brand-new handsaw. He will need to keep that old one. Probably for quite a while. And he took away the notebook and my Dragon pages. He read all that. Read it right about the same time I was here in this garage finding my old handsaw. That’s what he said. Then he got the call to get down to the Drinker house. He said what I wrote fills him with understanding. Truths. He said, “I should have listened better, Mason.”
He said something else. Sticks in my brain. He said, “Good families will help their children accept responsibility.” He said that’s all he can really say to us about the whole thing now. And Uncle Drum said that kind of means it’s not really our business anymore.
Except for this: We love Benny Kilmartin. And we hear things. Calvin read me the newspaper. Told about a break in the investigation. That was finding the handsaw. And it said the lieutenant feels grateful. But he still needs cooperation from several more Merrimack families. Calvin read, “There are individuals who have information.”
We know who it means. Drinkers and Piersons.
I remember what Grandma said. She didn’t hesitate to have me talk with the lieutenant. Well, pretty sure it is not the same for the Drinkers or the Piersons. We hear some things about them. Building up walls. Not stone walls like the one I built with Benny’s dad Andy. Wall of people. Lawyers. Uncle Drum explained that part. He said they will get advice on how to keep the trouble away from their kids. He said the first thing they will do is not let their kids talk to the lieutenant. Another thing Uncle Drum said is this: The lieutenant has an impossible job.
Could be he is right.
Tell you what. The Drinkers sure did scoot right out of Merrimack. That is why I am here taking care of Moonie. Not sure for how long. Just know they are getting settled elsewhere. Elsewhere is what Mrs. Drinker said. Puts a fly in my head thinking about the day that Moonie will move away. But I’ll take care of this dog same as I always have. Until they come for him.
One thing I told Ms. Blinny is how I think about everyone every day. She says that seems about right. Normal. It is what any person would do. I’ll tell you who I feel bad about. Corey McSpirit. That’s who. He had that secret in him. Not sure for how long. He is cooperating.
The Merrimack Gazette doesn’t say the names. But it tells a story. It said the police believe two boys sawed on the rung of that ladder. Two means Matt and Lance. The paper said it started off as a prank. But then one boy went back. He did a lot more cutting. One boy means Matt. Might be he stayed around. In the orchard. Might be he saw Benny fall. Might be he was the last to see Benny alive. Then he took away evidence. Well. That evidence was my handsaw. Guess I left it out there in the orchard. By the tree fort. Wish I didn’t.
Tell you what. I think on how bad I felt about not having the answers for the lieutenant. Bet you Corey felt double bad about keeping that secret inside. So Calvin and I already said it. If Corey comes back to school we will try to be his friends. We will sit by him on the bus.
I’m finished. Got my puke spot pretty well cleaned up. I rinse it all away. Chase the suds to the drain in the floor. Moonie and I watch the foam go down. His head tilts. Dog eyebrows twitch. Makes me smile.
I go in to wash up. I am welcome to hang out in the Drinker house. But tell you what. Doesn’t feel right. There is the silence now. And I don’t like the new-house smell here as much as I used to. I don’t like that awful garage where it happened. I get Moonie out of here as much as I can. Hate to leave him alone at night. But I make sure I come back to him first thing in the mornings. I come right after school too.
I put the bucket away in the Drinkers’ laundry room. Leave it like I found it. I turn to Moonie. I say, “Wanna go apple picking, boy? Do ya? Let’s go get a basket.” I clap my hands. He jumps. And we get out of there.
chapter 69
FAMILY PLAN
I do not know what is up with Grandma. But she asked me to bring in this basket of apples. First time in a long time. And she told all of us to be at the table for a family meeting. Four o’clock sharp this afternoon. First time ever for that. She said, “Come with clean hands.”
So here we are. Uncle Drum. Shayleen with her box of vanilla wafers. Grandma and me. And Moonie settling down by the legs of my chair. Grandma hands around paring knives and peelers. Tell you what. I didn’t even know we had so many of them. That’s what comes of not being allowed in the kitchen.
Well, she picks hers up. And an apple too. Deep red Rome. She starts taking the peeler to it. Then she gives us a look like we better get at it. And we do. Even Shayleen, who has been looking at her peeler like it fell off some alien ship.
Grandma says, “We have a big pan to fill before anyone gets supper. We’re making a crisp. And while we work, I have a few things for us all to think about.” She takes a swallow. The peeler jingles in her hand. She says, “We’ve had hard times. Those kept coming for a while there. We were a bit knocked down. But now we have just gotten ourselves out
from under an enormous weight. Lieutenant Baird has moved his investigation away from this family. With that put right . . .” Her voice squeaks a little. She says, “I think this is our time to ask ourselves to make some changes.”
Then she tells how the Buttle farm belongs to family. Always has.
She says, “It is handed down to the next generation. We have had our share of losses. But we had two children. Drum and Mason’s mom, Amy. With Amy gone, her part of the farm goes to her boy. So here at this table we have the two people who will inherit this house and land.”
I forget to peel. I have never thought about living anywhere besides here. But I never thought about it being half mine either.
Grandma catches me sitting still. She nods at my hands. Gets me peeling again. Shayleen starts to sniffle. She puts down her peeler. Blots her face in her elbow. She sneaks a vanilla wafer. Like Grandma won’t see that. Drum just keeps peeling and paring. Doesn’t take his eyes off what he’s doing.
Grandma says, “So, my men, you’ll be partners in this place. But for now, it’s mine. And Drum, that means no more selling off this land. I appreciate that you were managing things as well as you could. I’m glad there has been money. But you cannot go on shrinking a pie that doesn’t belong wholly to you. That cannot be your job. And I can’t force you to be an orchard man.”
I think this: But he is an orchard man. I just know it.
Grandma says, “If apples are not your passion, fine. But you need a steady job, and much shorter days at the diner. Now, I have my plan. I’m going to start baking again. Small scale. Just as much as I want to put out for sale. No orders. It’s the end of the season. But there are plenty of baking apples out there still. Now is a good time for me to try. So, Mason, I will be needing a good apple picker.”
I say, “I can do it. I will love that.”
She says, “And I’ll be providing after-school care here. It’s just one girl. She’ll get off at the cluster stop with Mason. So there’s a little more cash coming in, and a little more life happening around here.”
The Truth as Told by Mason Buttle Page 18
