Stolen Secrets

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  “Why would he do that?”

  Marion shrugged. “They said he was mumbling at them, real angry. Then he left, and they got away before he came back.”

  Cammy and Tracy aren’t my two favorite people on the planet, but I felt sorry for them. That would have given me nightmares forever.

  “The police have given the guy’s picture to the media,” Marion said. “I guess he was arrested before.”

  Cammy and Tracy had a new group of kids around them and seemed to be telling their story again and again.

  Chapter 16

  “Very good, Bryce,” Mrs. Ferguson said after I read my story. I don’t like writing as much as Ashley does, but I love getting up in front of the class.

  Ashton was next. He wrote about his pet ferret Freddy, which in real life had been run over by his older brother. I was there when it happened. Ashton tried to revive the poor thing, but it’s hard to give a ferret CPR. We buried him in Ashton’s backyard and put a cross over the little grave with an inscription, “Here lies Freddy, a faithful ferret.” Ashton said it was good alliteration.

  In his story, the ferret grew up to become president of “Ferretica” and was interviewed by Larry King. Everybody laughed at the wild things Freddy did, but I could tell Ashton still missed the animal.

  “Very nice fantasy, Ashton,” Mrs. Ferguson said. “It fits with what I asked you to do.”

  “Fantasy?” Ashton said.

  “Well, let’s face it—it pushes the boundaries of believability.”

  Ashton trudged back to his seat. “It could happen.”

  Next up was Jeff Alexander. Adults call him “inspiring” because he’s fighting cancer, but I just call him my friend. Last year he looked like any other kid in sixth grade. Now he has only a little hair, has to have someone help him carry his books to class, and is a lot thinner. A couple of years ago his doctors found some kind of tumor, and he went through chemotherapy and surgeries and stuff.

  But all these things just make it more fun to hear him talk, because he has a great sense of humor. His diary is published every month in the school newspaper. He talks about what it’s like to have cancer, but somehow every one of his columns makes you laugh.

  His story was titled “The Day I Found My Hair.” Instead of going through chemotherapy and losing his hair, his story was about a day he had chemo and grew more hair than he could handle.

  By the end of the story, he had grown so much hair that he had to shave his body every day, and he used the extra to power all of Colorado for one year. “I not only became a handsome spokesman for the Hair-Energy Commission, but I also provided the electricity for everyone’s hair dryers!”

  I slapped Jeff a high five as he sat down next to me and I was laughing so hard that I didn’t realize Ashley was at the front of the class.

  Chapter 17

  Sweat trickled down my arm as I looked out over the other kids’ faces. They were still giggling at Jeff’s story.

  Bryce may not get nervous in front of the class, but I sure do. I don’t know why. It was just a stupid story. I tried to act calm, which only made my paper shake. I hate when that happens.

  Everybody laughed when I did dumb things that held Dad up in my story. Mrs. Ferguson seemed perplexed. Every other story had shown kids (and ferrets) doing superhuman things—winning skateboard competitions, catching gigantic fish, and playing professional sports. My story was the only one where a kid actually messed up.

  When I got to the end and my dad hugged me, some kids gasped. Everyone knew what had really happened to him. Mrs. Ferguson just stared at her desk while I returned to my seat.

  Bryce smiled.

  Chapter 18

  On Thursdays, either Ashley or I go to the counselor at our church. Mrs. Ogilvie has been talking with us ever since Mom started going to Mountain View Chapel. A lot of people call counselors “shrinks” and think you have to lie on a couch or let them hook probes to your brain. But we just talk.

  Mrs. Ogilvie’s office is on the side of the church with the best view of the mountains. We started the session like we always do, with me picking out a piece of candy from a jar on her desk. That makes me feel like a little boy, but I kind of feel like that anyway, talking about my dad.

  Sometimes Mrs. Ogilvie tells stories about when she was a kid. Her father died when she was 10, and she says that affected her like nothing else.

  When I first started going, I worried she would ask personal questions, but she just gets me to talk. A lot of times she’ll ask, “How did that make you feel?”

  This week I talked about Boo Heckler, because the week before he tried to bully me. I told her a little about Gold Town, but I didn’t tell her everything.

  Before the hour ended—it always goes really fast—she asked me what I knew about the attack at school.

  I told her I didn’t know the girls but that everybody seemed scared. “Ashley and I hate that we can’t ride our ATVs to school.”

  Mrs. Ogilvie smiled. “That would dampen my day too.” Then her face scrunched up, the same way it did when I told her about how we found out my dad had died.

  “Something wrong?” I said.

  “I know the young man who’s been accused,” she said. “His parents used to come to this church. They asked me to talk to Danny right after his . . . well, I just can’t imagine him doing something like that.”

  It was the first time I had heard anyone use his name. “Danny what?”

  “Ingram. He’s such a bright young man. He’d spend hours at the Garden of the Gods, drawing the rock formations, climbing them.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Mrs. Ogilvie closed her notebook and smiled. I figured she couldn’t say. “Let’s just say his parents have been worried.” She pulled out a calendar and scheduled my next visit for three weeks later. “I’m going to be away next week at a conference in Chicago. Can I bring you back anything?”

  I thought about the restaurant in Chicago that serves the best barbecued-pork sandwich and coleslaw. Dad used to take us there. But I shook my head.

  Chapter 19

  When Mom got back from the church with Bryce, she asked him and me to get some meat from the freezer below Sam’s office in the barn. Sometimes it snows a lot and we can’t get out of our house for days, so they always keep a good supply.

  Bryce noticed the muddy footprints first. They went inside and up to Sam’s office.

  “Did you lock the door after you were done in there?” I said.

  “Of course. I always lock it.” But I could tell that Bryce was nervous. Sam gets ticked when he finds the door unlocked.

  Bryce led the way up the stairs and tried the knob. It turned.

  “What if someone’s in there?” I whispered.

  “We’ll surprise them,” Bryce said. “Be ready to run.”

  Bryce burst in, yelling at the top of his lungs. There was no one in the exercise room. He turned on the light to the bathroom. Nothing. The door to Sam’s office was open a crack.

  Bryce raised his voice. “Have the squad cars pull around the back.” I was sure he wouldn’t fool anyone. Bryce thinks his voice is a lot lower than it really is.

  Bryce kicked the door open, and it banged off the water cooler in the corner. Nothing seemed out of place, except for the small refrigerator underneath Sam’s desk. It stood open and empty. Sam kept it stocked with soda, fruit, and his special coffee beans. (In the morning his office smells like one of those big bookstores.) A garbage can had been turned over, and the bag was missing.

  “Who would steal sodas?” I said.

  Leigh’s boyfriend, Randy, had been around, but would he steal something from Sam’s office?

  “What about Boo?” I said. “He must know where we live.”

  A sick look came over Bryce’s face.

  We ran to tell Mom about the break-in, and she phoned Sam. He said he was on his way home and not to call the police.

  “Why not?” Bryce said.

  Mom wi
ped her hands on a towel. “I have to get the meat.”

  Chapter 20

  After Sam got home, I dogged him to the barn with a flashlight and showed him the muddy footprints. Pippin and Frodo followed us into the yard, bristling and barking. Ashley stood at the back door and called them inside.

  Upstairs, Sam inspected his office and the refrigerator. He agreed that whoever it was had loaded things up in the garbage bag. “I had a couple of sandwiches in there too,” Sam said.

  “Why didn’t you want to call the police?”

  He stroked his whiskers, which cast a shadow on his face, even though he had shaved in the morning. Sam’s hair looked a little grayer these days, and his eyes seemed tired.

  Before he could answer I said, “Is it the same reason you don’t want us talking about what happened at Gold Town?”

  Sam glanced around the room. “I just don’t think we should involve them. Not yet. It’s probably some kid. Whoever it was could have taken the ATVs or computers. Strange.” He locked the barn on our way out and put a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll sic the hounds on them if they come back.”

  If Ashley was right and this whole thing was Boo Heckler’s work, he was sure to be back.

  Chapter 21

  I tried to get some rest after school Friday with the sleepover coming up that night, but I couldn’t. Sometimes reading helps, but I was so gripped by the book I was reading that it kept me up. That and Pippin and Frodo barking.

  Mom drove Bryce and me to the elementary school later that afternoon. Parents and leaders had a pre-sleepover meeting, complete with pizza and sub sandwiches. The kids would arrive in an hour.

  The principal, Mrs. Genloe, had several things planned. The kids would eat when they arrived at six. At seven, a clown would perform (which made Bryce roll his eyes). Mrs. Genloe said the clown had trained pigs that did tricks. Then Mom would tell her story. “And we have a special presentation on safety by a surprise duo,” the principal said. “With all the talk about the assault, we don’t want to brush this under the rug.”

  “What about the bonfire?” somebody asked.

  Mrs. Genloe frowned. “Because of the assault, we won’t be having our annual bonfire.”

  Between 9 and 11 the climbing wall, an inflatable jumping castle, dodgeball, and other games would be set up in the gym. At 11, the kids would have a scavenger hunt throughout the school, with prizes awarded. Each class had selected a video to watch at midnight. Then it would be lights-out.

  Just before six, we got our assignments. Bryce would be with the third-grade boys.

  I was the last helper to get an assignment. Mrs. Genloe took me aside. “We have a fifth grader we’d like you to keep an eye on.”

  “Just one?”

  “Wally is a little slower than the rest and has been known to wander. It would help if you’d stay with him until midnight. Can you do that?”

  I looked out the window at a little boy with thick glasses. He wore a Colorado Rockies jersey, a pair of Avalanche sweats, a Broncos hat, and a smile a mile wide. His full backpack bounced as he walked. I wondered if Mom had told Mrs. Genloe that I might want to be a special ed teacher when I grew up.

  Chapter 22

  The third-grade class was a blast. Out of 23 kids, only 12 had made it through No TV Week without watching (or so they had said). Everybody wore a name tag with their room number. I helped pass out the pizza. One boy, Darrel, said he didn’t like pizza, so his mother had packed carrots and celery. I ran to the cafeteria and found an untouched sub sandwich. Darrel’s eyes grew round as hot air balloons. When I gave it to him, I figured I had made at least one friend for the night.

  Red Rock Elementary is a flat, one-story brick building half the size of the middle school but twice as confusing. It kind of looks like the Pentagon, with five entrances for the different grades. In the middle is a combination library/auditorium, where special speakers talk to the kids. The fenced-in playground is outside a back door, and you have to walk outside across the playground to get to the gymnasium.

  You’d think it would be easy to figure out where to go, but if you’re not careful, the hallways are like a maze, with curious trails that lead to dead ends and doors that open to spooky unused rooms.

  I’ve worked in the church nursery, so it wasn’t hard to figure out that the adult leaders wanted me to blend in and help. When they asked me to get something, I asked Darrel to point the way.

  After the clown came, one of the adults said I could take a break. What a relief! I hate clowns. I wandered down the hall to wait for Mom and noticed the technology room. The computers were awesome.

  I sat at a computer hooked up to the Internet and put my fingers over the keys. I remembered the guy on Sam’s answering machine. He had said a lot of things I didn’t understand, but one thing stood out. “Sam . . . have to get used to that.” What did he mean?

  I typed in Samuel Timberline on a search engine, and a bunch of things came up. A water well survey in Louisiana, a bus route in Texas, a magazine with features about the sawmill industry, but no Sam Timberline—as in stepfather of Ashley and Bryce.

  I went to another site where you could look up phone numbers and addresses and typed in our home number. The computer stared at me like I had digital bad breath. Finally, it came back with an error message. I typed in Sam’s office phone number, and the same message popped up. I typed in our address and the message said, “No information for that listing.”

  Strange.

  I typed in our nearest neighbor’s information, and it popped up like lightning. Every house around us came back with complete listings. Every house except ours.

  I heard applause in the auditorium and shut down the computer. I hoped the clown was finished.

  Chapter 23

  Wally clapped and giggled at the clown—Ding-Dong—whose big trick was to pull balloons out of his nose by pushing a button that made a doorbell sound. He then blew the balloons into animal shapes and passed them out.

  Ding-Dong tripped on his oversized shoes and fell. I thought Wally was going to split his sides laughing. The rest of the kids clapped politely as Mrs. Genloe helped Ding-Dong up. The clown pulled her down with him, and Ping-Pong balls fell out of his hat. He held up a sign: Ding-Dong’s Ping-Pongs.

  Finally, a whipped-cream pie came out, and the kids whooped. I could tell Mrs. Genloe knew the drill by the way she moved away from it, but the kids thought it was real. When Ding-Dong slipped again and let go of the pie, Mrs. Genloe ducked and the beloved gym teacher (wearing a plastic bag over his clothes) took the pie full in the face. The kids laughed wildly, pointed at him, and screamed when he shook his head like a dog and sent whipped cream flying.

  Wally rolled on the floor and stomped his feet. His face turned red.

  Ding-Dong brought out his trained pigs that had been on some late-night show doing tricks. I felt bad for Mom having to follow an act like this, but that’s show business.

  Mrs. Genloe had everyone stand and stretch after Ding-Dong gave a final ring of his bell and left. Then she introduced Mom as a successful author who lived in the area. She mentioned Bryce—who wasn’t there—and pointed me out. Wally looked up at me like I was some kind of a celebrity.

  I got nervous. Mom didn’t have orange hair, balloons coming out of her nose, whipped-cream pies, or dancing pigs. She just had a few pages in her lap.

  Chapter 24

  The room got really quiet when Mom began, especially after the laughing and squealing over the clown.

  “I want to read a scary part of a new story I’m working on for kids,” Mom said. “The main characters are twins, and they live right here in Red Rock.”

  Kids looked at each other, and the one Ashley was watching pointed at me and nodded.

  “This chapter is called ‘Underwater.’”

  As soon as she started, I realized this was really our story about being chased by robbers near Gold Town. She made the reservoir into a river and changed lots of stuff, but I knew where
the idea came from. When the car went into the water, you could’ve heard whipped cream dripping from the gym teacher’s face. A couple of kids put their hands over their eyes.

  Mom and Sam had told us we couldn’t tell anyone about that weekend, how our SUV had plunged into the water and we almost drowned. Now Mom was telling it in a story! That didn’t seem fair, but something about it also felt great.

  There was a lot more screaming in the real crash, and the dad in Mom’s story had time to give the kids instructions and tell them when to hold their breath, but the whole thing made me scared again. You don’t survive an event like that and not have it affect you big-time.

  The water was just about up to their chins when Mom put the pages down and said, “That’s as far as I’ve gotten.”

  The kids wailed that it wasn’t fair to leave them hanging, so Mom smiled and pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. “Well, this is one of the drafts I threw away, but if you’d like.”

  Chapter 25

  By the time Mom finished, she had the twins on a rock in the middle of the river. Even the teachers and parents seemed to hang on every word. Mom stopped without saying if their father made it out of the car with their little brother, but I could tell if Mom ever had it published it would be a hit.

  Someone raised a hand. “Is that true?”

  Mom smiled. “That’s the fun of making up stories. It doesn’t have to be true. But if it feels like it could happen, and if it touches you somewhere down here—” she put a hand over her heart—“you know it’s a good story.”