by Gwen Molnar
The day dragged on. He couldn’t read, of course, because he had to work and watch the door. There hadn’t been any visitors even remotely like the two he’d seen back in June. He was convinced the conspirators’ plans had changed and they weren’t coming back. Dr. Norman and the security staff thought so too, but asked Casey to stay till the middle of August, just in case.
Casey did get to see the surveillance camera video that evening. He’d made an appointment with the head of security, who worked out of the administration office, and was let into the building as it closed for the night. He took care not to be seen by Trevor, who was busy serving a customer who couldn’t make up her mind. Pretending to be looking at the tape to see if the suspects were on it, Casey was actually hoping to get a look at Trevor taking stuff from his desk. At one point there was a “whooshy” moment on the tape as someone’s arm whipped across the camera’s range. It could have been Trevor’s: it could have been anybody’s.
I’ll have to catch him in the act, Casey thought, deciding he’d better not accuse Trevor without proof.
The next day, Casey dabbed red marker on the back side of all the samples left on his desk. Then he set his plan into motion. The next time when he signalled for security to hold the crowd while he went to the washroom, he didn’t. He stood flat against the bend of the corridor leading to the washrooms and waited.
He saw Trevor dash across from the Gift Shop and scoop up a handful of fragments from Casey’s desk. Casey darted out and grabbed Trevor’s wrist. Trevor tried to wrench his arm free but Casey held on firm.
“Drop them, Trevor,” he whispered. “Drop them and bring back the others you’ve taken.”
“Yeah,” Trevor sneered. “Or what?”
“Or,” Casey said, “you’ll lose your job.”
“Your word against mine, Casey,” Trevor hissed, as he dropped the samples back on Casey’s desk. “Like who’s going to believe a know-it-all newcomer like you? I’ll just say you took the stuff yourself.”
“You want to take the chance?” Casey asked. “Just look at your palm.”
Trevor stared down at his open palm. It was a mass of red marks. Casey picked up one of the pieces Trevor had dropped and showed Trevor the red marking on it.
“You swear you’ll bring back the stuff you stole and I won’t call security. Otherwise I will, right now.”
Trevor was so furious he turned dark red. He was muttering to himself as he crossed to the Gift Shop and went in. Casey followed and saw Trevor take out a key from his pocket and unlock a side drawer of his desk. He reached in, gathered up a big handful of specimens, then walked over and dumped the pieces into Casey’s open hands. One fell. Trevor gave it a little kick with the toe of his right shoe, and walked away.
Chapter Fifteen
By the first week of August, Mandy was well enough to go for long walks after the museum closed. She and Casey covered every inch of Drumheller. Casey knew every dinosaur statue on every corner of the town. By the week before Casey was to leave, Mandy was well enough to bicycle again.
“Let’s explore somewhere new,” Casey suggested after work on his last Friday. The Tyrrell had closed early because there was to be a huge international reception that night. “We won’t go up any hills or down any valleys or anything, just follow a couple of side roads — see where they go. I’m really sick of seeing the same streets over and over.”
“Should be all right,” Mandy agreed. “Some of the guys I’ve met at the swimming pool live just east of town; the land’s pretty flat out that way. These guys bike in a lot so it can’t be all that far. I’m pretty sure I know how to get to their area and I’d like to see them; find out what they did all summer.”
“You lead the way,” Casey said.
In twenty minutes they were out of town; in twenty more they were lost. They were on a gravel road now. Casey was glad for all the gears on his bike; it made biking on the rough surface so much easier.
“This road’s tough going.” Casey was realizing how hard Mandy was having to pedal. “What say we push our bikes for a while.”
Mandy agreed and the two walked slowly down the road. The only sound was the crunch of the gravel.
“Look over there.” Mandy pointed to a field where several horses stood. “They look like Icelandic horses. See their long manes and see how short and sturdy they are?”
“I’ve never even heard of Icelandic horses,” Casey said. “I didn’t even know they had horses in Iceland.”
“They’ve had them there over a thousand years,” Mandy told him. “The Vikings brought them over and the strain has been kept absolutely pure. Once a horse leaves Iceland, it’s never let back in.”
“How do you know all that?” Casey asked.
“Saw it on a horse documentary on TV.”
“Well, I don’t know much about horses.” Casey nodded his head toward the opposite side of the road, “But that herd of cattle are Charolais; my uncle raises them up near Richford.”
“Really?” Mandy said. “I didn’t know what they were.”
They walked on in silence, slowing to stare when a red-tailed hawk landed on a fence post.
“It’s real nice out here, Mandy,” Casey said, “but do you have any idea where we are?”
“Not really,” Mandy said a little uncertainly. “That turn we took a while back — maybe we should have gone straight on instead.”
“See the old gate past that clump of trees up ahead?” Casey asked. “If there’s a house there, we can ask the people how to get back to town.”
The gate was locked and the house at the end of the driveway looked deserted.
“So, let’s head back,” Casey suggested. “Once we get to a better road there’s bound to be traffic, and we’ll signal someone for info on how to get to town.”
“Listen,” Mandy held up her hand. “Can you hear a car?”
“Yeah,” Casey said. “It’s on this road and it’s coming fast.” They just had time to scramble into the ditch when a dirty beige four-door zoomed past. It hit a bump in the gravel, flew up a few feet, crashed down, and stopped. The passenger door opened and a tall woman stepped out. A tall woman shouting in a man’s deep voice.
“You stupid idiot! I should have known better than to let you drive!”
Another woman got out of the driver’s side and said, also in a man’s voice, “Oh, quit griping. It’s not our car and I had to find out if I could really drive with this here fancy new leg.”
“I know it’s not our car, but it IS my back you about broke,” the passenger said.
“You didn’t break nothing,” the second woman said, and added, “God, my head is hot.” He grabbed off a blonde wig and threw it in the car window before they both got in again and drove toward the gate. The car stopped and the passenger got out to unlock the gate. She’d discarded her wig as well.
“My gosh!” Casey whispered. “It’s them. I saw that pair at the museum this afternoon and I didn’t rumble them. We gotta get back in one big hurry. If they’ve already got the stuff, they’ll be out of here, like fast.”
They got on their bikes and pedalled away from the house.
Just before the junction of the narrow road leading to the locked gate and a secondary road, Casey asked, “Right or left?”
“Right for sure,” Mandy said. “Then it’ll be right again when we reach the highway and we’ll be going west and back to town.”
Casey turned at the sound of a motor.
“Looks like our two friends. Let’s keep riding.”
The car slowed and stopped a few metres ahead of them. The window was open and the driver said, “What’re you two doing out here?” It was the voice of the former “passenger.”
“Heading back to town,” Mandy answered.
“That’s a long ride,” the speaker said as he got out of the car. Casey could see that the men had discarded their dresses and were in jeans and T-shirts.
“We’ll take you. We can tie your bikes on the ba
ck of the car.”
“No thanks.” Casey shook his head. “We’re out to get some exercise.”
“Get in,” said the man, opening the rear door.
“Like I said, no thanks,” Casey said firmly.
“You don’t hear so good,” said the other man who was still in the car. “He said, ‘Get in.’”
Mandy and Casey laid their bikes in the ditch and climbed reluctantly into the back seat.
Nobody said anything as the car drove off. At the first crossroads the car made a fast U-turn and sped back the way it had come.
“Hey!” Casey shouted. “We’ve got to get back to town!”
“You’re not going back to town, you dirty little spies,” said the driver. “We saw you coming out of the trees by our drive. Don’t know what you’re up to, but you saw too much.”
“Yeah,” the second man agreed. “You won’t get hurt if you behave yourselves, but we can’t have you blabbing about seeing us dressed as women.”
“Our job will be done by tomorrow morning,” said the driver, “then we’ll be gone. Someone will likely find you one of these days. In the meantime,” he turned the car sharply into the drive and through the open gate, “in the meantime, you’ll be our ‘guests.’” He cruised toward the low, weathered house.
“And don’t try anything,” the other man said. “You may have noticed we’re bigger than you, and we really know how to hurt people.”
He sat in the car as the driver opened the door, grabbed Mandy’s arm, and pulled her out. Making a lunge for the open door, Casey felt a huge hand grab his shoulder and squeeze.
“Yeow!” Casey shouted.
“I said not to try anything.”
The hand squeezed harder as the car door was slammed shut from the outside by the man holding Mandy. Casey heard a “click.”
“The doors are locked now,” said the man in the front seat.
A dozen questions flashed through Casey’s mind.
What’s the first guy going to do to Mandy?
How are we going to warn Dr. Norman about tonight’s break-in?
What are we going to have for supper?
Will we ever be found?
What is Dad going to say about me getting into trouble again?
Why aren’t I being taken into the house with Mandy?
The last question was answered first as the man who’d taken Mandy came out the front door and walked to the car. The man in the front seat clicked open the doors. Casey was grabbed roughly by the arm and dragged outside. He tried to pull away but the man’s grip held firm.
“This way, kid,” he said, hauling Casey, who was wriggling frantically to get free, toward a shed behind the house. The man opened the door and pushed Casey onto the floor and slammed the door with his foot.
“Pull out your shoelaces and hand them up.” Casey did as he was told. “Now lie down on your stomach and put your hands behind your back.”
The floor was covered with dirty straw. It smelled musty and Casey sneezed twice. He felt a shoelace cut into his wrists. The other one was whipped around his ankles and pulled tight. With his head flat on the floor, all Casey could see of the man was his black shoes.
“You may think,” the man said, knotting the shoelaces, “there’s no lock on this door, but just to save you the trouble of trying to get out, I’ll tell you there’s a couple of brackets out there for a two-by-four I’m putting across the door. So you’re in here till you’re found, and that ain’t gonna be soon.”
The door slammed shut again and Casey heard a thump as the two-by-four dropped into the brackets. Sitting up wasn’t easy; Casey had to roll over onto his back, tuck his ankles under his body, and force himself up.
Light poured through cracks in the wall of the long, narrow, windowless room. At the far end of the room was a manger; on the walls hung assorted pieces of tack.
Casey pulled at the shoelace but it only cut deeper and deeper into his wrists.
I gotta analyze this, he thought.
Point 1. I have to free up my wrists first.
Point 2. I have to undo the lace on my ankles.
Point 3. I have to put the laces back in my shoes.
Point 4. I have to get out of here.
Point 5. I have to …
He stopped as he heard the sound of a car backing up.
Point 5. I have to get Mandy free.
Point 6. We’ve got to let Dr. Norman know that tonight is the night for the break-in. That we’re okay and he shouldn’t be distracted looking for Mandy and me.
Casey knew he had to find something to cut the lace. He made himself focus on each piece of tack, on every inch of the wall. There was nothing with a serrated edge or a sharp one.
Finding he could stand if he kept his knees bent, he hopped to the manger and, backing up to it, put his tied hands over the rim and felt among the dried-up straw and oats. Nothing. As he dragged his wrists back, the shoelace caught on the rough edge of the manger.
“Worth a try,” he said, rubbing the lace back and forth. He couldn’t see if it was fraying, but he figured it might if he kept at it and pulled his wrists apart at the same time. At first, as the wood scraped the skin from his wrists, he felt like screaming at the pain.
“Something’s giving,” he said to himself. “I don’t feel the wood anymore.” He rubbed the lace furiously back and forth. His hands flew part. He rubbed his wrists, then bent to free his ankles. Blood from his wrists ran down his hands and onto the lace, making the knots slippery and hard to undo.
“At last,” he said, turning to pick up the pieces of the other shoelace. He tied the frayed ends back together and put the laces in his shoes.
“Okay, Point 4. Get out of here.”
Taking in every part of the cobwebby walls, Casey walked slowly around the room, concentrating on the side with the door. He stopped and stared. Level with his chest he saw the point of a nail. Three inches below was the point of another nail. Five feet along and parallel with the first two nails were the points of two more nails.
“They’ve got to be the nails holding up the brackets for the two-by-four. Okay. Now how can I pound them out?”
He took off his high-top sneakers and banged on one of the nail points. It went right into the rubber and left his shoe hanging on the wall. He looked around. An old bridle hung by a buckle. Part way down the bridle was a tarnished circle the size of a large coin. Casey gave it a pull, but it was riveted on. He pulled the bridle free and took it over to where his shoe was hanging. Holding the bridle with the metal disc over the top nail point, Casey hit it with his shoe. He looked. Light shone through the nail hole. Another wallop with his shoe on the metal over the lower nail point and he heard one end of the two-by-four crash to the ground. He pushed at the door, but it wouldn’t open. He used the same technique on the other two nails and heard the two-by-four fall to the ground.
Casey opened the door and rushed for the house.
Inside there wasn’t a sound or a sign of Mandy.
“Mandy!” he shouted running from room to room. No answer. “Mandy?” Casey stopped and listened. Still no sound. “My God,” he said, “What if they’ve kidnapped her?”
Casey began opening doors. “Mandy,” he yelled as he found the basement stairs behind the first door. “You down there?” He almost slid down the steps to a cellar, completely empty except for a large furnace.
“She can’t be in there; door’s too small.”
A door from the kitchen opened to a pantry, empty except for a half case of red wine on a waist-high freezer. The wine was so heavy Casey almost dropped the box as he set it on the floor. Fearing what he might find in the freezer, Casey hesitated, then pulled up the lid. In the freezer were a few frozen dinners.
Outside the bathroom, another door opened to a large linen closet, its shelves stacked with bed linen and towels. On the floor, a heap of soiled clothes moved as Casey was about to shut the door. Casey tore at the heap.
“Oh, Mandy.”
> Bound and gagged, Mandy was struggling to get free. The cord around her wrists was so tight her hands were almost marble white.
Casey took out the gag.
“My gosh, Mandy, those guys are monsters.”
“It was awful under there,” said Mandy, her voice hoarse. “I couldn’t get free, and I thought no one would ever come for me.” This was a scared side of Mandy Casey hadn’t seen before. Casey quickly undid the cords that tied her wrists and ankles and rubbed the deep pressure marks.
“Where did they put you?” Mandy asked Casey. Her voice had a real rasp to it.
I pray this won’t be another setback for Mandy, thought Casey.
“In a horse barn out at the back,” Casey told her. “Tell you all about it later. We have to find a phone.”
“I heard them talking on one,” said Mandy, as they went from room to room.
“Must have been a cell,” said Casey, “there’s no phone here.”
“We have to find a way to tell Dad,” said Mandy. “Wonder how near the next farm is?”
“We sure didn’t see another house along this road,” said Casey. “Let’s go past the gate, and back to the road where our bikes are. I don’t think you’re up to riding back to town, but we have to alert the museum somehow.” All that boring effort sitting watching people come into the museum, he was thinking, all for nothing.
They’d barely reached the gate when, from far to the north, they heard a droning and saw a small plane low above the horizon.
“I’ll bet that’s the crop duster,” said Casey, pulling Mandy back toward the house. “It usually makes several passes. Get three sheets.” In the pantry, Casey pulled out four wine bottles; Mandy followed him out to the road with a load of sheets.
“We’ll make an S.O.S.,” yelled Casey, grabbing a sheet from Mandy.
In minutes, they’d spread the three sheets side-by-side along the road, weighing down the corners with field stones. Casey cracked off the top of two wine bottles with a rock and handed one to Mandy.
