by Gwen Molnar
And the bad? Bad that he’d done some dumb things and would have to pay for them with lots of hard work this fall; bad how the “contest” with Mike had gone — not well, he had to admit. They’d set up a two-out-of-three arm wrestling contest at the Snick Snack café. All the kids were there. Casey won the first round: Mike the second. It was all very exciting until Mike, in a swift, powerful move, pinned Casey’s arm to the table.
He won “hands down,” Casey thought, “arms down” anyway. Oh well.
Bad he’d missed the mid-August barbecue. Everyone said it was wonderful. Next year, he hoped.
A call from his mother broke Casey’s meditations.
“Will you give me a hand with these trays please, Casey?”
He rolled off the hammock and took a tray of cookies from his mother, who put another tray, with a big pitcher of iced tea and three glasses, on a table beside Mandy.
“Looks great, Mrs. T.,” said Mandy. You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.”
“Nonsense, Mandy,” Mrs. Templeton replied. “After the hospitality your folks showed Casey and showed us, it’s the very least I can do.”
As they drank their iced tea, Casey’s mother asked, “So, Mandy, what are the doctors saying about your throat? Will you be able to start swimming again soon?”
“Soonish,” Mandy told her. “I’ll work out a little in the local pool first. The doctors think I’ll be able to get back on St. Hilda’s swim team around Christmas, and early in the new year start to swim with Swim Calgary.”
“Terrific,” said Casey’s mother. “Now, I’ve got to get back to work — getting everything ready for Mother is a daunting task.” Her cellphone rang.
“This’ll likely be Mother.”
Mrs. Templeton flipped open her cell.
“Hello.” With a nod at Casey, she mouthed, “Your father.” She listened for a while, then said, “Oh really. Are you sure?” Another pause, “He’s right here, I’ll ask him.… Casey, Dad wants to know if you’d like to go to the Kellys’ cottage for Labour Day weekend? He has to stay in Ottawa so it’d be just you and me?”
“I’d love to go,” Casey beamed. What a way to end the summer, he thought.
“Yes, Colin,” his mother was saying, “Casey and I will fly down to Penticton and drive south to the Kellys’ from there. We’ll miss you. No, Mom’s not coming until the eighteenth, and, yes, Hank will be here till then. Bye for now.”
“Didn’t think that’d happen,” Casey said.
“Nor did I,” his mother replied, “but I have to tell you I’m going to welcome a nice peaceful break from all the goings-on around here.”
She leaned over to pick up the trays.
“I’ll bring them in later, Mom,” Casey said
“Okay,” his mom said. “See you, Mandy.”
“See you, Mrs. Templeton,” Mandy said.
They were quiet till Mandy said, “So, you’ll have that visit with Mary you were hoping for.”
“Yeah,” said Casey, “that is so cool. What about you, Mandy?” he asked. “You ever hear from that Sam guy?”
“Yeah, I heard from him,” Mandy’s voice took on a firm tone. “Apparently Lacy Lord dumped him for a swimming instructor; so he came crawling back to me. Correction. He tried to come crawling back to me. I just hung up on him.”
They were quiet again until Mandy said, “Amazing how that whole business at the Tyrrell worked out, isn’t it, Casey?”
“It really is.” Casey pulled a canvas captain’s chair nearer to Mandy. “No wonder that famous collector who put the plan into operation is so rich — he is one smart guy. To give his invitation to one of his men so the guy could get into the party and take the stuff he and his partner had already cased.”
“They know who the collector is,” Mandy told Casey. “My father says all the invitations were gone over and the one the thief used was identified. Word is going out to the palaeontological circles here and in the States to steer clear of him.”
“It’s no wonder that one-legged guy looked so stout.” Casey stood up and shoved a pillow under his T-shirt. “With a glass cutter and a suction cup to pull out, and all the other tools he had — and that huge padded bag for the cut glass and all the stuff he planned to steal. They figure he’d have left the tools, just like artifact poachers do once they get what they want; that way he could take as much as possible in his ‘stomach.’”
“And that other guy, the guard?” asked Mandy. “How did that work again?”
“Well,” said Casey, “the first time I heard the two men talking in the Hoodoo, the lame one was telling the other how he’d got to know several of the museum guards. I gather he got to know one of them, a guy who lived alone, pretty well; knew where he lived and everything. On the morning of the robbery, they parked near his house, called him over as he left for work saying they’d give him a ride. Instead, they knocked him out, drove to the back of his house, used his key to get in, locked the guy in the basement, and took one of his fresh uniforms.”
“They were busy boys that day,” Mandy said, moving her chaise out of the sun.
“You know it!” said Casey. “They used the guard’s house as a base that whole day. Got dressed in their women’s wear and came to the Tyrrell from there to double-check what they wanted to steal.”
Casey shook his head. “I still can’t believe I totally missed them.”
“Then,” said Mandy, “they went to the country where we were to clear out their rented house.”
“And put us out of action,” Casey added.
“I hear they stole a kid’s car after you and Mad Dog sprayed their windshield.”
“Right,” Casey said. “The kid stopped to pick them up. They overpowered him and drove him to the guard’s house.”
“Where,” Mandy and Casey said together, “they locked him in the basement with the guard.”
“That’s where they got ready for the party,” Casey said. “Talk about masters of makeup. The guy who played the guard? He plucked his bushy eyebrows to be the woman and added a moustache to be the guard. With the guard’s hat on, I didn’t recognize him at all, and the other guards must have thought he was one of the extra guards hired for the night.”
“But you knew his shoes, I hear,” said Mandy.
“I knew his shoes,” said Casey. “I really knew his shoes. I’d had time to examine them when he was tying me up on the floor of the horse shed. They had a different sort of stitching around the sole.”
“Did you ever hear what they used to knock out that guard?” Mandy asked.
“Dad told me it was a very powerful solution of sleeping medication. He didn’t wake up until the next morning.”
They lay there in companionable silence. Casey was so happy Mandy had come for a day’s visit. Before Casey had come home, he and Mandy had planned to spend time together when they could. No romance here, they agreed, but very good friends who’d shared a summer neither would forget. So many exciting happenings.
For me, Casey was thinking, the very best thing is the museum giving me lifetime ownership of the tooth Mike and I found. It will still be in the museum collection, of course, but it will have my name on the card beside it. To think, our two pieces are the whole tooth after all — except for a tiny bit they say we’d never have found anyway.
Casey looked up to the bright blue sky through the green leaves of the giant elm tree. High among the branches, the leaves of one small branch were bright yellow. Fascinated, he watched as one golden leaf detached itself and floated down in easy circles. It landed on his chest. Casey looked at it. He picked it up. He looked back up at all the other leaves on all the other trees.
They too will all become golden, he thought. They too will all flutter down and land on something. They too will all have to be picked up. By me. He shook his head and looked up again at the blue and the green, and the gold. Might as well enjoy the view till then.
About the author
Poet, painter, and writer of ch
ildren’s fiction, Gwen Molnar is the author of three poetry collections for children, I Said to Sam, Animal Rap and Far Out Fables, and Just Because, A Collection of Light Verse and Nonsense, as well as three Sebastian first chapter books, an early chapter book, No Presents Please, the first Casey Templeton Mystery, Hate Cell, and Hazel’s Rainbow Ride, with Barbara Hartman as illustrator. She lives in Edmonton, Alberta.
From the Same Series
Hate Cell
A Casey Templeton Mystery
Gwen Molnar
Casey Templeton has recently moved with his family to the southeastern Alberta town of Richford. While out one night, he makes a frightening discovery — a sophisticated office filled with computers, a printer, and racist posters and flyers! Richford is harbouring a cell of vicious white racists who are targeting everyone they deem “alien.” Casey leads an investigation into a warped world where hate is marketed on the Internet and innocent people are preyed on by bigots and bullies blinkered by their own prejudices.
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Copyright © Gwen Molnar, 2014
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.
All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Editor: Dominic Farrell
Design: Courtney Horner
Epub Design: Carmen Giraudy
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Molnar, Gwen, author
Old bones / Gwen Molnar.
(A Casey Templeton mystery)
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-4597-1404-5
I. Title. II. Series: Molnar, Gwen. Casey Templeton
mystery.
PS8576.O4515O43 2014 jC813’.54 C2013-908368-5
C2013-908369-3
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and Livres Canada Books, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.
Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.
J. Kirk Howard, President
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