The Hidden Valley Mystery
Page 7
Freddy crossed his legs. “I was standing in the driveway at the Parks and Rec centre, when the police led in Walt. They sat him in the back of a squad car with Johnny. I heard Walt bragging that Queen freed him, after all. When she smashed through the basement window, Walt pointed to the key Johnny had thrown to the far corner. He commanded her to fetch him the key in her mouth, and he unlocked the chain. But when Lou and Johnny ran back to get the dog, he pretended he was still locked up. As soon as he figured they were deep in the woods, he ran to the driveway, and whistled both dogs to come back. He locked them in the rear of the van, jumped in, and tried to take off.”
Mike shook his head. “Another double-cross.”
“That’s just what Johnny said, too.” Freddy brushed back the hair from his forehead. “But they didn’t know. Gunnar already took care of that possibility.”
Gunnar chuckled. “You remember, I told you how I undid the van door so Queen could later jump free?”
“No,” Tuan shook his head, “but that’s O.K.”
“Anyway, joker,” Gunnar continued, “I also let air out of all four tires. By the time Walt figured out why the wheels were wobbling and squeaking along the gravel, it was too late. He heard voices, and saw lights through the trees. He left the dogs locked in the rear and bolted up the hill behind the mansion on foot. But when he burst onto the road, the police at the barricade grabbed him.”
“And,” Freddy nodded, “with that black eye Lou gave him before, he looked even more suspicious.”
“But not half as bad as Lou,” Gunnar added. “That tumble down Dead Man’s Cliff really shook him up—plenty of scrapes and bruises as he slid, and a goose egg on the back of his head from hitting a fallen branch at the bottom.”
“Tell me about it,” Mike shivered. Vividly he still remembered his own terrifying skid down that cliff. Nothing could have been worse.
The cruiser doors swung open. One on either side of Gunnar, both policemen slid in.
“O.K., fellows,” said Officer Powchuk, turning the key in the ignition, “we’ll stop at the station for a few questions to write up my report. Then I’ll take you all home. Meanwhile Mrs. Lindstrom will phone your parents that everything’s under control.”
My parents! Mike thought. In all the excitement, he completely forgot about his mother. Earlier that evening, when he dashed out to meet Gunnar and Freddy, “Be home at 11:00, Mike,” she had called. Who knew what time it was now?
CHAPTER 18 – A Surprise
Three weeks had passed since Mike and his friends helped catch the counterfeiters. Mike had enjoyed his trip to the police station, answering questions amid the hustle and bustle and ringing telephones, and meeting the Chief of Detectives. Tuan liked the high-tech computer network. Most of all, Freddy and Gunnar wanted to see where criminals were locked up.
Officer Powchuk showed them down to the basement and an empty block of holding cells. “No point giving Lou, Johnny, and Walt a good look at your faces now,” he warned, “in case they get out on bail. Besides, you’ll see enough of them when you testify in court.”
Instead, Mike, Gunnar, and Tuan identified the men’s “mug shots” from police files. Two had criminal records: Lou for theft, and Walt for a string of petty swindles.
Hoping for a lighter sentence, Walt had confessed the whole story to Officer Powchuk. After his last term in prison, Walt claimed he was going straight and conned his way into a job tending Mr. Winston’s dogs. When he bumped into Lou again at the racetrack, the others cut him into their scheme. They wanted to use the mansion when Mr. Winston took his next business trip to Japan.
The brains of the operation was Johnny. He had sold computers and software in Mr. Winston’s downtown store and kept contacts in many other computer outlets. He hired Lou to steal the machines and later to make “deliveries” in his grey van. His counterfeiting had started small, by faking sales slips. A smooth talker, dressed like a businessman in suit and tie, he would “return” expensive stolen high-tech items to different stores for cash refunds. He also experimented with faked money orders and stock certificates, which he “printed” for other “clients”. It was Lou’s idea to try printing the money, their first crack at counterfeiting big-time.
“And not a very good one,” Officer Powchuk explained as they walked back upstairs. “Several banks had spotted the bills as counterfeit weeks ago.”
“How?” Mike wanted to know. “Did the silver smear off?”
“Yes, if you rubbed hard.” Officer Powchuk continued, “The real tip-off was the way the bills were trimmed—a millimetre too wide. A store clerk would never notice the difference. But once the money was deposited in the bank, and the teller closed out her till, these fake dollars caused the automatic bill counters to jam. By then, of course, it was too late to trace who’d passed the bad paper.”
“So,” Gunnar broke in, “if they had trimmed the bills more carefully, they might have gotten away with the crime.”
Officer Powchuk shook his head. “Not for long. Remember, we’ve also been investigating several recent break-ins. We would have caught Lou and Johnny that way.”
“What about Walt?” Mike wondered. “The other two chained him in the basement.”
Officer Powchuk pointed to the mug shots lying on his desk. “From his last term in jail, Walt is still on parole. Last week, he didn’t report to his parole officer. That violation alone can throw him back behind bars.”
Freddy whistled. “Crime sure doesn’t pay.”
“Right,” Officer Powchuk agreed. “A few more years in jail might hammer that idea into their heads. Meanwhile,” he picked up his cap, and led the boys to the door and the waiting cruiser, “you sure helped wrap up this case. The Metropolitan Toronto Police owe you a big thanks.”
Before they climbed in, one by one, Officer Powchuk shook their hands. “You know, you fellows also took some dangerous risks. In future, you can give us tips, but leave the actual detective work to us. We want you alive to receive your citations at the Police Citizen Awards ceremony next month. That should make your parents proud.”
Mike sighed and lay back against the rear seat. He knew exactly how his mother would react—more attempted hugs and kisses!
* * * * *
On Wednesday afternoon a month later, Mike sat happily in the back seat of his father’s car. He unrolled his certificate and read again, “For Bravery and Good Citizenship in Assisting the Metropolitan Toronto Police”. Beside him, on the warm upholstery, he had folded his blue suit jacket. As the car turned, the sun glinted off the new silver pin studding the lapel.
“Hey, Dad,” Mike tapped his father’s shoulder. “Didn’t you make a wrong turn? You’re headed downtown. Theo Lazo’s house is east from here.”
“Is that right?” Mr. Steriou loosened his brown tie against the heat, but kept driving south. “Well, maybe this is the way we should go.” He crossed into the left lane.
“No, Dad,” Mike protested.
Mrs. Steriou twisted to face him, her cheeks so pink with pride and the heat, they almost matched her silky dress. “It is early, Mike. Thea Elenie does not serve dinner until after 6:00. We’ll go for a little drive.”
“A drive?” Mike squawked. He didn’t like wheeling up and down streets, just staring at buildings.
“Besides,” Mrs. Steriou continued. “Your father and I must stop for a little shopping.”
Shopping! Mike bit his lip and slumped down in the back seat. There was no use arguing, especially with his father in the car. He lay his head back and thought about his adventures this summer. It wouldn’t be long before school started again. Oh well, at least that meant he could go camping with the Scouts soon.
“Here we are,” Mr. Steriou pulled into the narrow parking lot beside an old, two-storey building. “Mike, you might as well stretch your legs a bit. Come into the store with us.”
Mike slid across the seat and opened the door. “Where are we, Dad?” he asked.
“A place your Th
eo Lazo and I used to come, years ago. My cousin runs the business. We’ll just go in and say, ‘Hi.’“
Mike chuckled. His father and mother had a million cousins. Every Greek they met seemed to be some relative. They strolled to the front of the parking lot and rounded the building’s corner.
“What kind of—” Mike stopped. He stared up at the sign: Nick’s Sporting Goods. He caught his breath.
“Hurry up, Mike,” his mother grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the door. “Why stand there on the sidewalk?”
Mike followed his parents into the long, high room. From floor to ceiling, rucksacks, tents, boots, coal-oil lamps, ropes, netting, fishing rods—you name it—hung on the walls or crowded the counter top and many display tables. Anything anyone ever needed to enjoy the outdoors was here.
“Hey, Nick! Nick! How are you?” Mr. Steriou opened his arms.
From the back of the store, strode a man with a black moustache, wearing a red T-shirt and baggy green pants. His muscular arms carried some sort of roll. “Hey, Georgio, Effie, good to see you again. So,” he stepped in front of Mike and grinned, “this is the fine boy who makes you so proud.” He winked at Mr. Steriou. “He looks like a good camper, too. Mike, congratulations!”
Mike stared. Could he believe his own eyes? In the man’s outstretched arms was what he had wanted so long—a genuine Explorer sleeping bag.
“Yes, it’s for you, Mike,” Mr. Steriou laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Our present for our brave son, with some help from cousin Nick, of course.”
“We are so proud of you,” Mike felt his mother’s plump arm hug his waist.
Instead of pulling away, he turned to face her. To his surprise, tears were shining in her eyes.
Mrs. Steriou sniffled and glanced at her shoes. Pulling out a white hanky, she dabbed her eyes. When she looked at Mike again, she smiled. You see,” her free arm hugged him tighter. “I said if you were a good boy, St. Nicholas might come early. Well, Mike, he did!”
THE END
About the Author
Susan Ioannou is a widely published Canadian poet, essayist, and fiction writer, winner of the Okanagan Short Story Award. For many years, she served as Associate Editor of Cross-Canada Writers’ Magazine and led creative writing workshops for the University of Toronto, Ryerson University Literary Society, and Toronto Board of Education. Her other books include:
CHAPBOOKS
Spare Words, Pierian Press
Coming Home: An Old Love Story, Leaf Press
Who Would Be a God? (with Lenny Everson), Passion Among the Cacti Press
The Merla Poems, Wordwrights Canada
POETRY
Clarity Between Clouds, Goose Lane Editions
Where the Light Waits, Ekstasis Editions
Looking Through Stone: Poems about the Earth, Your Scrivener Press
FICTION
A Real Farm Girl, Wordwrights Canada
Nine to Ninety: Stories across the generations, Wordwrights Canada
NONFICTION
A Magical Clockwork: The Art of Writing the Poem, Wordwrights Canada
Holding True: Essays on Being a Writer, Wordwrights Canada
WEBSITE
www3.sympatico.ca/susanio