“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Well, maybe,” Frank asked. “We’re new to town.”
“I figured that,” the girl said. “We don’t get a lot of strangers here.”
“Not a lot of locals either, I’d bet,” Joe said. “This town doesn’t seem to have a very large population.”
“It used to be bigger,” the girl said. “My name’s Loraleigh. Like Laura Lee but spelled L-O-R-A-L-E-I-G-H. Loraleigh Mason. Do you guys have names?”
“Well, that’s Frank,” Joe said, pointing at his brother. “And I’m Joe. And this is Chet and Phil.”
“Glad to meet you,” Phil said.
“Likewise,” Chet said. “Is that beef jerky on the shelf over there?”
“Yes, it is,” Loraleigh said. “We’ve got lots of jerky. It keeps forever.”
“Yeah, that’s why we brought it along for dinner,” Joe said. “Every night. All jerky, all the time.”
Loraleigh’s face darkened. “I’ve heard about you guys,” she said.
“Huh?” Joe said. “We just got here.”
“What did you hear?” Frank asked.
“I can’t tell you,” Loraleigh said. “You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, we do,” Joe insisted. “Tell us.”
“Okay,” she said, meeting Joe’s steady gaze. “I’ve heard that you’re in a lot of trouble.”
“Trouble?” asked Frank.
“That’s right,” Loraleigh said. “And if you don’t get out of this town right away, you could be in big trouble.”
4 No Exit
Frank stared at Loraleigh in astonishment. “In trouble? Why?”
“Yeah, why?” Joe said. “Usually nobody hates us until we’ve poked our noses into a few places where we don’t belong.”
“Tell us more,” Frank said.
Loraleigh shrugged. “I can’t tell you any more than what I’ve said.”
“That’s not fair,” Chet said. “You can’t tell us something like that and then leave us hanging.”
Loraleigh ignored them and pulled a small cardboard box down from a shelf behind the counter.
“Would you like some mints?” she asked, holding the box out to the Hardys and their friends. “We have the chocolate-covered kind.”
“All right!” Chet exclaimed, his face breaking out in a radiant smile. “I love mints. I’ll take one package.”
“Great,” Joe said. “She’s already distracted Chet with food.”
Frank leaned across the counter. “Okay, you don’t want to tell us why we’re in trouble. But at least you can tell us about this store—and your town.”
“I might be able to do that,” Loraleigh said. “What do you want to know?”
“Well, why is the town called Morgan’s Quarry?” Phil asked.
“Because there’s a large granite quarry about two miles from here,” Loraleigh said. “The town was built around the quarry. The whole McSavage Corporation was built around the quarry. They had a major mining operation here for years, which they bought back around 1900 from a guy whose family started it. Their name was Morgan.”
“The McSavage Corporation?” Joe asked.
“Owned by the McSavage family,” Loraleigh told them. “The last McSavage owns that big house up on the hill. Maybe you noticed it.”
“As a matter of fact,” Frank said, “I noticed a mansion on a hill when we came into town.”
“That’s it—the McSavage mansion,” Loraleigh said. “He owns the quarry.”
“I bet he’s rich,” Chet said.
“Not exactly rich anymore, but okay,” Loraleigh said. “All of the granite was dug out of the quarry by the 1920s.”
“And the quarry was the only source of income for this town?” Frank asked.
“Pretty much,” Loraleigh said.
“So how has the town survived without the quarry?” Joe asked.
“Not well, but we make do,” Loraleigh said with a shrug.
“I’m not sure it has survived,” Phil said. “The population of the town appears to be small; the houses are neglected; you don’t have much stuff on the shelves. I’d say that this town is pretty much dead now that the quarry is gone.”
“Like I said,” Loraleigh told Phil, her brow furrowed, “we make do.”
“Okay,” Frank said. “I’ve got another question. Why is this store called Sugaree’s Shack?”
Loraleigh’s face brightened. “Sugaree was my great-great-great-grandmother. She was a young southern woman who moved north after the Civil War. She opened this store to sell groceries and tools to miners.”
Joe glanced around at the dusty shelves. “This place kind of looks like it’s left over from just after the Civil War.”
“Actually,” Loraleigh said, “it was rebuilt in the 1920s.”
“Was anything in this town built after the 1920s?” Frank asked.
“Not much,” Loraleigh told him. “Like I said, the mine ran out of granite. There hasn’t been much money in town since then.”
Joe patted his pocket. “Hey, maybe I’m the richest guy around. Want to sell me some of your most expensive goodies?”
“The richest guy in town, although not that rich,” Loraleigh informed him, “is Bill McSavage, the one who lives in that mansion on top of the hill.”
“How has the McSavage family managed to keep some of its money if they haven’t had a granite quarry since the 1920s?” Chet asked.
“They made some good investments,” Loraleigh said. “Now, can I sell you something?”
“I’d like this compass,” Phil said, pulling a box off one of the shelves. “It’s nicer than the one I brought along.”
“And I’d like this jerky,” Chet said, carrying two cartons over to the counter.
“Think that’s enough to hold you?” Joe asked.
“I’m not sure,” Chet said. “Maybe I should get more.”
“I’ll take this map,” Frank said, pulling a folded piece of paper from a stack at the edge of the counter. “It’s a map of this town, right?”
“That’s right,” Loraleigh said. “Of course, that map was made in 1924.”
“That’s okay,” Frank said. “Looks like nothing has changed much since then.”
“I was born after that,” Loraleigh said flirtatiously, staring Frank directly in the eye.
“That’s true,” Frank said with an embarrassed grin. “I guess that was a pretty important event.”
“My parents thought so,” Loraleigh said.
“Are you from around here?” Joe asked.
“Sure am,” Loraleigh said. “My house is three doors down, where the road forks toward the McSavage family mansion. I live with my father. He owns this store. My mother died a couple of years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Frank said.
“Thanks,” Loraleigh said. “But accidents happen. She liked to ride horses and was thrown by her favorite. Doc Harrison tried to save her, but she couldn’t do it.”
“Doc Harrison,” Chet repeated. “You mean Rhonda?”
“That’s right,” Loraleigh said. “You’ve met her?”
“She’s taking care of our friend Biff,” Joe said.
“Your friend couldn’t be in better hands,” Loraleigh said. “Doc Harrison has been taking care of people in this town since the early seventies.”
“When she came back from Vietnam?” Frank asked.
“That’s right,” Loraleigh said. “Rhonda grew up in this town and came back as soon as she finished her tour of duty. Everybody was very proud of her. Of course, I wasn’t around then.”
There was a jingling noise from over the front door. Loraleigh raised her eyes expectantly. The door popped open and in walked a heavyset middle-aged man with thick black hair. He had an amiable smile and a potbelly that pushed his red flannel shirt out over the belt on his jeans.
“Hi, Bill,” Loraleigh said. “What can I do for you?”
“Oh, I just need a few supplies,” Bill said, with
a folksy drawl. “Got any bags of fertilizer, hon?”
“In the back room,” Loraleigh said. “Like always.”
“Thank you, Loraleigh,” Bill said with a smile. “Who are your friends? I don’t think I’ve seen them around before.”
“I’m Frank.”
“And I’m his brother, Joe,” Joe added.
“I’m Chet,” Chet added.
“And I’m Phil,” Phil said. “Glad to meet you, Mr....”
“McSavage,” Bill said. “Bill McSavage.”
Frank’s eyes widened. “McSavage? You mean you live in that mansion on top of the hill?”
“That’d be me,” Bill said. “But it’s not that big a deal. The house has been in my family for over a century. I work a little farm up there, and a couple of hired hands help me with it.”
“Well, we’re glad to meet you, Mr. McSavage,” Joe said.
“If you boys have time, come on up and see me and my place,” Bill said. “Always nice to have some young people visit. Now, Loraleigh, do you think you could help me fetch some fertilizer?”
“Be glad to,” Loraleigh said. “Come on back here.”
When Loraleigh and Bill disappeared into the back room, Joe turned to Frank and frowned. “I think we’d better get back to see how Biff’s doing. I’m worried about him.”
“Yeah,” Frank said. “I don’t care what Rhonda says. I think maybe we should think about getting outside help. Get him to a hospital. At least get his leg x-rayed so we know what the situation is.”
“Do you think Rhonda has a phone?” Joe asked.
“Everybody’s got a phone,” Chet said.
“Not us,” Frank answered, referring to the cell phone they had brought, which was dropped and broken.
“Not necessarily,” Phil said. “A small percentage of the population of this country lacks phone service.”
“Do they have bathrooms at least?” Joe asked.
“Not always,” Phil said.
“And on that cheerful note,” Frank added, “let’s go back to Doc Harrison’s place.”
The four boys left Sugaree’s Shack and strolled back across the street to Rhonda’s house. Inside, Rhonda was deep in conversation with Biff.
Biff looked up at his friends with a bright smile. He appeared not to be in any pain. “Rhonda’s been telling me some interesting stuff,” he said. “Man, you should hear some of her stories.”
“We’d love to,” Frank said, “but I’m not sure we’ll have time. We talked, and we want to get you to a real hospital. I hope you’re not offended, Rhonda.”
Biff furrowed his brow and spoke before Rhonda could utter a word. “Hey, Rhonda’s as good as any doctor at any hospital!”
“But she doesn’t have the equipment to do as good a job on your leg as a real hospital would,” Frank said.
“They’re right, Biff,” Rhonda said. “If you get in touch with the hospital in Brighton, they could probably prescribe the best course of treatment. Maybe you should go.”
“Could we use your phone?” Joe asked.
“It’s right over there,” Rhonda said, pointing. On the nightstand next to the bed was an old-fashioned phone, one with a rotary dial instead of push buttons.
“Wow, I haven’t seen one of these in years,” Joe said. He dialed 0. “This will get me the operator, right?”
“It should,” Rhonda said. “We’re connected with the office in Brighton.”
There was a ringing sound on the line, then a woman answered. She asked if she could help Joe, then abruptly the line went dead.
“I was cut off,” Joe said. “Is something wrong?”
“I heard something about a storm that was supposed to come through today,” Rhonda said.
“A storm?” Joe asked. “We didn’t see any storm.”
“Well, you know, storms can be highly localized,” Rhonda said. “This time of year a thunderstorm could easily occur between here and Brighton, but we couldn’t see it from here or on the trail.”
“Oh, terrific,” Joe moaned. “We’re going to have to walk all the way to Brighton.”
“Don’t be silly. Somebody must have a car we can borrow,” Frank said, ignoring Joe’s whining. “Rhonda?”
“I’m afraid mine’s on the fritz,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for a part for weeks. Bill McSavage has a truck, but I doubt he’d let you use it. Other folks have cars, but they need them.”
“So walking to Brighton may be our only alternative,” Joe said. “Let’s grab our backpacks and go.”
“Hey, are you guys deserting me?” Biff asked.
“We’ll be back as soon as possible,” Frank said. “Maybe with a medevac helicopter, if that’s the only thing that can reach this place.”
“They’ll probably send an ambulance,” Rhonda said. “Good luck.”
“Seems like you’re in good company, Biff,” Frank said. “Come on, guys. Let’s hit the trail.”
Frank waved an arm at Joe, Chet, and Phil. They walked toward the door.
“Hope you get me a helicopter,” Biff called after them.
“We’ll do our best,” Frank said. He opened the door, and the group walked out onto the street.
The Appalachian Trail seemed like the best and fastest route to Brighton. Frank led the way back to the place where the trail up to the main trail began.
A tall man in a jacket stood next to the path. “Where do you guys think you’re going?” he asked.
“Up to the Appalachian Trail,” Frank said.
“Yeah,” Joe added. “We’re heading to Brighton to find medical help. Our friend broke his leg.”
The tall man scowled at them. “Well, you can’t take the trail—the trail is closed.”
“What!” Frank exclaimed. “This is an emergency!”
“Yeah,” Joe said. “Our friend is injured.”
“Too bad,” the man said. “There’s been a storm. The trail is blocked. Also, the road out of town to Brighton. There’ve been flash floods. Nobody can leave Morgan’s Quarry until the road and path are clear.”
5 Shelter from the Storm
“Oh, come on,” Joe said reasonably. “We didn’t see or hear any storm. And we were on the trail just a few hours ago.”
“Storms come up fast,” the man said. “And I don’t like it when people question my authority.”
“Who exactly are you?” Frank asked.
The man pulled an identification card out of his leather jacket. “I’m Paul Brickfield, sheriff of this area.”
“You’re in charge around here?” Joe asked.
“That’s right,” Brickfield said. “And I received a call an hour ago saying that all roads out of town are closed. We can’t let you go back to the trail. It’s too dangerous.”
Phil gave Sheriff Brickfield a curious look. “We really didn’t notice any storm.”
“Yeah,” Chet said. “The weather was perfect when we were on top of the mountain.”
Sheriff Brickfield gave Chet a stern look. “So, are you meteorology students?”
“Um, no, not really,” Chet said.
“I’m not a meteorology student, either,” Frank said. “But this whole storm business sounds pretty bogus to me.”
“Well, if you boys try to go up this path, my deputies will chase you off,” Sheriff Brickfield said with a smug grin.
“Say, Sheriff, when the roads are clear how about taking our friend to Brighton? He needs to get to the hospital,” Joe said.
“We’ll see, when the roads are safe to travel,” the sheriff answered with a slight smirk.
Joe turned to the others. “Let’s go back into town. Looks like we’d better spend the night here, the way Rhonda suggested.”
With a shrug of resignation, Frank led the group back into town. They stopped briefly at Rhonda’s house to let Biff know he wouldn’t be leaving right away. He didn’t seem to mind. The group then went next door to Mrs. Hibley’s house, which had brightly colored flowers in the window. Joe went to
the front door and knocked.
A very elderly woman looked out, a suspicious but not unfriendly expression on her face. “Can I help you, young men?”
“Yes,” Frank said. “We need a room for the night.”
“Oh, you must be the hikers I heard about,” she said. “Come on inside. My name is Grania Hibley.”
Joe glanced at Frank. “Looks like news travels fast in this town.”
“I have a wonderful room with four bunk beds,” the woman said. “Would you like that?”
“I’d like any place I can lie down and rest my sore feet,” Chet said.
“Then this should be perfect,” Mrs. Hibley said, leading the hikers into a large room. The walls were lined with bunk beds like those in a dormitory, though it looked as if no one had stayed there in a long time.
“This house used to be popular with the young miners who worked in the quarry,” Mrs. Hibley said. “Of course, that was a long time ago. I was just born then.”
“This will be fine,” Frank said. “Should we pay you now or before we leave?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Mrs. Hibley said. “You boys can settle up with me tomorrow. Just come in and have supper with me in half an hour. Then you can have a nice sleep.” She left the room with a smile, closing the door behind her.
Before the boys followed her out to the dining room, they washed up. “Looks like we’re stuck in Morgan’s Quarry for the night,” Joe said, lathering his hands.
“And maybe longer than that,” Frank added. “Sheriff Brickfield didn’t look happy to let anybody go on that trail.”
“If it’s just a storm,” Phil said, “it should clear up by tomorrow.”
“Maybe,” Frank said.
“Something got you suspicious?” Joe asked.
“I’m not sure,” Frank said. “There’s just something about this whole town.”
“Yeah, I’m sensing something’s wrong big time,” Joe said. “But maybe we’re just hungry. Let’s go eat.”
“I’m in favor of that,” Chet said, and led the way to the dining room. It had been a long day.
• • •
The End of the Trail Page 3
