by Gwen Molnar
Casey nodded.
“Tell your parents they’re invited for an early supper.”
“Thanks so much” — Casey smiled up at him — “I’m sure my dad will be back by then and I know he’d like it a lot if he could check out my set-up here.”
“Well, I’ve got some letters to write,” said Dr. Norman, looking at his watch. “I’ll see you later.”
Casey walked back to the Normans’, got all his gear together, had a good supper, and went to bed early so he’d not have any trouble getting up to catch the 6:45 a.m. bus to Richford.
He got up as soon as his alarm rang, dressed quietly, and went down to the Normans’ kitchen.
He drank juice from the fridge and ate the cereal and muffins Mrs. Norman had left for him on the kitchen table.
“A note,” Casey said out loud. “I should leave a note.”
On a sheet torn from his notebook, Casey wrote:
Thank you both so very much for taking such good care of me.
I will do my very best to help you catch the men who are planning to rob the Tyrrell. See you in ten days.
Casey.
He put the note in the middle of the kitchen table. Then, with his backpack in place on his now healing back, he walked out the back door and down to the Drumheller bus depot.
Chapter Seven
“So, Casey,” Mike said as they walked down the school corridor toward their lockers, “how could you concentrate on a Math test when you’ve got all this summer business on your mind?”
“Easy,” Casey said. “Either I do well in all my exams or there’s no way my dad will let me take on that Tyrrell job. He’ll be home Saturday and will want a report on how I did.”
“You won’t have your results by then,” Mike said.
“No,” Casey agreed, “but I’ll have a good idea of how the tests went.”
“We’ll really miss you on the baseball team — you are one strong catcher.”
“I’ve been using one of those hard rubber hand things you squeeze over and over. It’s a great way to build your arm and hand muscles. Here, shake a paw.”
Mike grasped Casey’s hand and Casey squeezed hard.
“Yeow!” Mike shouted. “Let go!”
“See?” said Casey.
“See nothing, I feel,” Mike said, massaging his right hand with his left. “That’s a wicked grip you’ve got.”
“Yeah, and it’s going to get a lot wickeder over the summer. That’s something I work on when I’m watching TV.”
“I’m going to get me one of those squeeze things, so you watch out — by the end of the summer we’ll see who’s strongest.”
Mike’s locker door slammed as he said, “You hear about the party old prissy pants, Greta Maitland, is giving Friday night?” he asked. “We’re all invited to her family’s big house for supper and a dance. I can just see it. The girls will likely have to wear little white gloves and we’ll be expected to wear shirts and ties.”
“You have got to be kidding!” Casey was appalled. “Did they really say that’s what we have to wear?”
“Well, no,” Mike admitted. “But can’t you just imagine it?”
“All we have to do is make sure nobody wears a shirt and tie. There’s no way the Maitlands are going to kick out all the boys. Greta wouldn’t allow it — she likes boys too much.”
“I haven’t said that I was going to go yet,” said Mike. “Can’t we have some sort of year-end celebration of our own?”
“Okay by me. I don’t think I’ve been invited anyway,” Casey said.
“Yes you have,” Mike told him. “Greta got up in home room and invited the whole class.”
“But maybe nobody told me,” Casey said hopefully. “How about we head out to the Old Willson With Two L’s Place and party?”
“You been out there since that hate gang was turfed?” Mike wondered.
“No,” Casey said. “Have you?”
“No,” said Mike. “My folks heard about what went on there last fall and put it off limits.”
“Mine too,” said Casey. “But they wouldn’t have to know. We could take out a bunch of stuff to eat and an iPod and some wood for a fire. It’d beat the heck out of a party at the Maitlands’.”
“Who else will we ask?” Mike was warming up to the idea.
“Any guys who haven’t told Greta they’d be there,” Casey said. “We’ll ask around, subtle like. Not tell the others what we have in mind until we know they’re free.”
By Thursday they knew. Every other boy in the class had told Greta they’d be at her party.
“Still want to go to the Willson place if it’s just the two of us?” asked Mike.
“I do if you do,” Casey said. “I’ll bring my new iPod. And I’ll bring a litre of Coke and some chips and a dip.”
“I’ve got two albums you haven’t heard, and I’ll bring doughnuts,” said Mike.
“We’ll need wood for the fire.” Casey was remembering how he’d burned up everything he could find in the house trying to keep Mr. Deverell and himself warm the night he went there last fall.
“I got wood,” said Mike.
“Sounds good.” Casey figured it could be fun. “Now all we have to do is get that English exam over tomorrow afternoon and — CELEBRATION TIME!”
***
“Mom,” said Casey as he headed out the back door, “I don’t know how late I’ll be.”
“Be home fifteen minutes after Greta’s party’s over. You know your father’s rules,” his mother said. Casey winced. His mother just assumed he was going to Greta’s, and he hadn’t told her the truth.
“But Dad’s not here,” Casey told her. “What say you set some new rules — just for tonight?”
“Sure.” His mother smiled. “Be home twenty minutes after the party’s over.”
“Oh, Mom.” Casey hitched on his backpack. He knew his mother wouldn’t question him about the backpack; he never went anywhere without it.
“You don’t have to wait up,” he said from the open door.
“I’ll wait up,” his mother replied. “Have fun.”
Casey and Mike didn’t talk much as they crossed the field to the Old Willson With Two L’s Place. Was Mike thinking the same thing he was? wondered Casey. That this might not be the single smartest thing they were doing ? But the night was warm and the sky was still light and it would be fun to see the old place again.
“You bring any matches for the fire?” Mike asked.
“No,” said Casey. “Didn’t you?”
“No.” Mike stopped. “A lotta good this wood I’m carrying’s going to do. Shall I pitch it?”
“Maybe there’ll be matches there,” Casey said, but he didn’t believe it. “Maybe other people have been using the old place like we used to before.…”
“Yeah, before those Hate Cell guys almost finished off old Deverell and you both almost froze to death. I’ve heard. I’ve heard.”
“Well, don’t remind me.” Casey did not want to remember the last time he’d hiked across this field to the old house and found Mr. Deverell unconscious, almost covered by snow, and with a huge gash in his head.
“You did bring a flashlight?” Mike asked.
“Sure,” Casey reassured him. “If we can’t have a fire, we can prop the flashlight in the fireplace. It’ll be better, really. We won’t have to worry about sparks flying around.”
“Sure no signs of life out here,” Mike said as they climbed the sagging fence round the Willson property when they found the high gate locked. “We’ll have a great time on our own.”
“Sure.” But Casey was anything but sure. They were near the house now. The evening sun should have been reflecting from the windows. There was no reflection.
“The windows are boarded up,” Casey said.
“Hope the door isn’t,” Mike said as they turned the corner of the house.
“No boards,” Casey said, not sure if this was good or bad. “Maybe it’s locked.” He led the way
up the front steps and tried the door handle. The door swung inward and as it did a siren wailed louder and louder and louder.
“Ohmygosh,” Casey yelled, “let’s get the heck out of here!”
They did. They fairly flew across the field back to the edge of town, their backpacks thumping, their hearts pounding.
When they could talk again, Mike stopped, dropped the wood from his backpack in a heap and asked, “What now?”
Casey thought a minute.
“Now we go to Greta Maitland’s fancy end-of-school-year party.”
“We do?” asked Mike. “We never said we’d come.”
“We never said we wouldn’t,” Casey replied. “Nobody’s going to care if we show up.”
Chapter Eight
The bright lights on the Maitlands’ front porch looked welcoming, but all the curtains were drawn.
“I can’t hear any music.” Mike stood listening. “Can you?”
“No,” Casey said, ringing the doorbell. “They’re probably still eating. I sure hope so,” he added, “and I sure hope there’s some left for us.”
The door opened wide and Greta’s father, in a pair of very tight jeans and a red-checked flannel shirt, turned back into the hall and shouted, “Hey, Greta, your lost sheep have arrived!”
“Come in, boys,” he said softly, ushering them inside. “Am I glad to see you! Greta went upstairs in a sulk; couldn’t believe anyone would refuse to come to her party. I swear she was ready to send everyone home.”
“So,” Greta said reprovingly, as she stood on the stair landing, “you finally deigned to come to the party I’ve been working on for weeks. Well, Dad and I.” She sounded mad, but Casey could tell she was very relieved to see him and Mike.
“Sorry we’re late.” Mike was looking around. “Where IS the party? It’s quiet as a morgue.”
“Everyone’s in our video theatre; it’s sound proof,” Mr. Maitland said, not in a boastful way like Greta would have said it. “Greta, take your guests’ packs and show them down.”
Ungraciously, Greta reached for Mike’s pack.
“Smells like doughnuts — didn’t you think there’d be enough food here?” She hung Mike’s pack in a large hall closet; taking Casey’s, she noticed the neck of a big bottle of Coke sticking out. “And you brought your own drink? I have to think neither one of you has ever been to a real party. Come on.”
Nobody even turned around as Greta slid open a pocket door and motioned Casey and Mike to some empty seats. She sat beside Casey and whispered, “It’s Friday the Thirteenth.”
“Yeah, I know,” Casey whispered back. “Great!”
He looked around the miniature movie theatre with its huge screen, and real semi-reclining theatre seats with arm recesses holding cartons full of popcorn. The sound was fantastic.
In a tense, silent part of the film, the sound of the sliding door being pushed open brought all heads around.
“Bryan!” Greta shouted, almost falling as she hurried back to get him. Greta led Bryan to a seat beside her. She sat there watching Bryan instead of the movie.
“Ah ha!” Casey said to himself. “I’ll bet Greta’s going to be in a much better mood now.”
She was. Her face glowed with happiness and she left Bryan’s side only when the film was over and her father called her to cut the huge cake on the dining-room table.
Interested to hear how Bryan had got along at his new school, Casey said, “I’ve missed you, Bryan. How did it go down east?”
“Fine,” Bryan said. “Really good. And the best part is I’m back on the Internet.”
“But you’ve been banned from using the net for two years.”
“Oh heck,” Bryan said. “That was here. Down there, the school has computers everywhere you look and who’s going to know I’m online?”
“I think you’re taking a big chance.” Casey looked troubled. “Outside your parents, the police, and the lawyers, only my mother and I know about your Internet hate connections and the trouble they got you into. I can’t believe you’d take a chance on getting caught.” He shook his head and went on, “I’ll bet the school knows you’re forbidden to use the net. They’re not dumb. Someone’s going to be snooping around and if you do get caught … well, I don’t know exactly what will happen to you, but it ain’t going to be good.”
“Enough with the lecture, Casey,” Bryan said, “with my father’s connections, I can’t see me getting into serious trouble. Besides, I’m not into that stuff anymore anyway, so forget I told you and don’t squeal on me to your father. And don’t play the heavy with me just because your dad beat mine in the mayor’s race.”
He walked away toward Greta, who was saving the first piece of cake she’d cut for him — a corner piece with lots of icing.
Casey shook his head sadly. Bryan’s starting to sound just like his father, and that’s a bad sign, he thought as he joined a group around the table.
“Nice to see you, Marcia,” he said. He meant it. He didn’t have a crush on Marcia any more, and besides, she and Terry were an item, but he still liked her. “Hi, Terry. Kevin.”
“Heard about your summer job,” Terry said. “We were hoping you’d be around for baseball and hockey camp.”
“I was hoping so, too,” said Casey. And he was. Richford was famous for its hockey winter and summer, and its summer hockey camp was the best in the province. He loved baseball too, and was looking forward to being the team’s first-string catcher. “The job at the Tyrrell could end any day, so I might be back really soon.”
“Try to be back for the mid-August barbecue,” said Marcia. “If you thought last year’s Halloween party was cool, you’ll be amazed at this party. And as mayor, your dad’ll be front and centre.”
“I’ll sure try to be there,” Casey assured her.
***
“What a party!” Mike sighed. They’d thanked Greta and Mr. Maitland and started home.
“The movie was great, the food was wonderful, the music was sensational,” Casey agreed. “And Greta may be a pain in the butt, but her old man sure knows how to throw a party.”
“You figure he did most of it?” Mike asked.
“Look — Greta’s mother’s in Europe and Greta sure as heck didn’t get all that food and have that room set up for dancing with all the blinking lights and buy all those good prizes. I’m telling you, Mr. Maitland did it all. He must love his daughter a lot, or …”
“Or he feels real sorry for her awful personality and is trying to make people like her in spite of herself.”
“Whatever,” said Casey. “I think we had an even better time there than we would have had on our own at the Old Willson Place.”
“You figure?” Mike asked.
“I figure,” Casey said, with conviction.
Chapter Nine
“You’ll need these.”
Casey put the pile of clean underwear his mother handed him into his big duffle bag.
“I bought you some new socks, too,” his mother continued. “I forgot them in the family room. I’ll go get them; I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
He walked around his bed to where his father, who’d just got home, was standing, his outstretched hand holding a bright blue plastic folder about three inches square and a narrow dark blue one.
Casey knew what they were. He’d got the same ones yesterday when he’d opened an account at the Bank of Montreal in Richford, but there was no way he’d disappoint his dad by telling him.
Casey opened the blue folder and whistled. In the “Balance” column, the total listed was $200.00. Yesterday, when he’d opened the account, the total in the Balance column was $12.00. He opened the cheque book. His name and address were printed on a set of plain, pale-green cheques. Yesterday, he’d ordered cheques with a cowboy in the background and his name and address printed on a saddle logo. Hoping his order for the cowboy cheques hadn’t already been sent in, he said, “Thanks, Dad.”
“I arranged your account from
Ottawa. Can’t be making money and not have a record of it,” said Chief Superintendent Templeton. “I suggest you put every cent you make into your chequing account first, then draw out what cash you need.”
“Sounds good,” Casey agreed, “and I’ll pay you back that $200.”
“That’s all right,” said his father. “We’ll be saving a lot more than that not having to feed you all summer. But you’re going to have to pay the Normans for your room and board. It’ll take a big whack out of what you make, but that’s the way it’s done.”
Casey didn’t think the Normans were going to make him pay for staying with them — after all, it’d been Dr. Norman’s idea — but he said, “Right, Dad, I’ll talk to the Normans.”
“Any idea how much you’ll be making?”
Casey went over to his desk, picked up a piece of paper and handed it to his father; it was a letter from Dr. Norman confirming the amount Casey would be paid.
“This came when you were away,” he said.
“So you’ll earn twice the Alberta minimum wage? Couldn’t expect any more than that,” his father said. “Know yet what the set-up of your observation post will be?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty well finalized, but Dr. Norman wants to talk the plan over with you when you and Mom drive me down to Drumheller tomorrow. But, basically, I’ll be busy sizing small pieces of rock, including stones and semi-precious stones, for sale in the Museum Gift Shop, and categorizing bones and bone fragments at a table across the room from the entry turnstiles. Every time anyone comes in, a little light will come on at my table. I’ll look directly at whoever is coming through the door and go back to my work until the light flashes again.”
“Sounds like a well-thought-out plan,” his dad said. “But how do you alert security?”
“I’ll press a button that’ll buzz in the security office,” Casey told him, adding, “it was my idea about the light.”
“Good thinking.” His dad nodded. Then he said something else, which really surprised Casey. “We’ll miss you.”
