Part One: Peter
Sunday March 20, 2005
“Don’t go anywhere, please, Peter,” said his wife, just as he was heading for the kitchen door. “Mart and Diana will be here any minute now.”
“They will?” Peter asked, perplexed. No one had told him that they were expecting a visit.
“Didn’t I mention that?” Helen frowned. “Sorry.”
He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, knowing that his wife would be far less vague when she started getting more sleep. It was difficult to remember, now, what it had been like the other times they had a month-old baby in the house. Memory was unreliable in that respect. Mercifully, he added to himself. If I’d remembered it like this, I don’t think I would’ve moved back in.
He turned his attention to the car that was pulling into the drive and was pleased to see that it was his son and daughter-in-law. After a short pause, their footsteps sounded outside the kitchen door.
“We’re here,” said Mart, opening the door and ushering his wife inside.
Helen moved forward to greet the pair, bestowing on each of them a kiss. “I’ll just make the drinks,” she added. “What would each of you like?”
“Nothing just yet, thanks, Moms,” said Mart, quickly. “Can we just talk about something first, please?”
“Of course,” Helen replied, herding the whole group into the living room. “Let’s sit down.”
Mart was fidgeting nervously and not meeting their eyes. He’s trying to stop his hands shaking, thought Peter. He’s so pale, too. Is that sweat on his brow? With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he said, “Whatever it is, you can tell us.”
“Yeah, I know that,” said his son, in a small voice. “It’s just hard to find the right words.”
If Mart, of all people, can’t find the words, Peter thought, in a panic, it must be something terrible! What on earth are they going to tell us?
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” asked Helen. “Is there something we can do for you?”
“I guess there’s no other way to put it,” Mart muttered. He turned worried eyes to one parent then the other and said: “Di’s pregnant. We’re having a baby.”
Peter’s stomach turned itself into a knot, and his lungs seemed to close up. His mind refused to come up with an appropriate answer, even if he had been able to get one out. He watched in horror as his wife patted Mart’s hand and said, “These things happen. Whatever you need, you know that we’ll be here for you.”
There was a look of such unbelievable relief on his son’s face, when he heard those words. It froze as his eyes met Peter’s own. Just wait until I get you alone, he thought. You won’t look so relieved then. Di was saying something to Helen, wanting to draw on her experience, or spend some time talking with her. The perfect excuse.
“Come with me, Mart,” he said, aloud. “We’ll see to the coffee.”
With a look of trepidation, his son rose and followed him into the kitchen. They were barely inside before Peter took advantage of the opportunity.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, in an angry whisper. “This is very irresponsible, Mart. How are you going to support yourselves? How are you going to keep up with your studies? You can’t expect Diana to work while you study. Where is the money going to come from?”
“I don’t know, Dad. We didn’t mean for this to happen; it just happened, okay? We haven’t even begun to make plans, yet.”
“It ‘just happened,’ did it?” he repeated, in disbelief. “Last time I checked, babies didn’t ‘just happen.’”
“I thought you might understand.” Mart sounded hurt. “We didn’t do this on purpose, Dad, I swear. We don’t even really know what went wrong. The doctor just said that it was one of those freak chances.”
Peter knew that he should calm down. If he was thinking rationally, he could have remembered that such a thing was possible. The fact that none of his wife’s accidental pregnancies could be attributed to freak chance, but to plain carelessness, may have tainted his view of the matter. Whatever the reason, he was seeing red.
“If you’d exercised a bit more self-control, you wouldn’t be in this mess,” he found himself saying. A voice inside his head pointed out exactly how unfair the statement was, but another one was following it before he had time to stop. “I don’t see what you can reasonably expect your mother and I to do about it. I’m sure you realise what a precarious financial position we’ve been in over the last year. Not to mention that we have our own baby to look after.”
“And that’s exactly why I thought you might understand,” Mart snapped. “If you try to tell me that you meant–”
He broke off as his mother entered, saying, “I’ll just see what’s keeping them. Is everything all right in here?”
Mart nodded and left the room to rejoin his wife. The all-consuming anger that Peter had felt when talking to his son seemed to have been deadened. Helen barely glanced at him as she went about the routine of making the coffee.
“You might as well go into the living room and talk to them,” she said, without looking up.
Nodding, he did as he was told. The anger was subsiding rapidly, now, and he was beginning to feel sick.
“What were the two of you talking about when you were supposed to be making coffee?” Helen asked, when their visitors had left.
Peter started guiltily, suddenly aware that he was about to be in trouble. How was it that Helen could always tell when he’d done something stupid?
“If you were blaming him,” she continued, “you can get that idea out of your mind right now. I’ve spent a lot of time with Di over the past few months and I can assure you that they were planning on waiting for quite a few years to come. They’re both every bit as shocked as we were over Nicola.”
“But Helen,” he said, unable to help himself, “this is completely different. They’re just starting out and they’re still so young and he’s got so much that he needs to do at this time of his life. They should have thought about all of that before this.”
“Let me rephrase that,” she replied, smiling. “They’re both every bit as shocked as we were over Brian.”
His throat seemed to close up all over again and he almost choked.
“I think you should apologise to him,” she continued, ignoring his discomfort. “Imagine how he’s feeling right now. Just think of what Di’s parents are going to say. We’ll be lucky if they ever speak to us again.”
“We didn’t do this, Helen,” he said, but immediately regretted doing so.
“We’ll stand by Mart and Di, though, which will amount to the same thing in their eyes. We promised our support when they told us they were getting married. You will stand by them, won’t you?”
“Of course, I will,” he replied, feeling exhausted. “I’m just a little overwhelmed by this, right now. I just didn’t think that we’d have a grandchild less than a year after having our own youngest.”
“Neither did I,” said his wife, putting her arms around his shoulders. “I’m sorry I snapped at you: I guess I’m as shaken up as you are.”
He dropped a kiss on her forehead, before moving down to her lips. His hands travelled over her body, taking familiar paths.
“You’ll have to be a lot more careful, now, Peter,” she whispered to him, in a voice that he loved to hear, “otherwise our youngest might be born after our first grandchild.”
Peter’s jaw dropped open and he had nothing to say as his wife gently kissed his cheek and walked away.
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Peter hummed cheerfully as he pulled the picnic basket out of the closet. Saturday in the park, he thought as he hummed the tune. I think it was the fourth of July… or the twenty-sixth of March. He chuckled to himself and deposited the basket on the kitchen table. Now, what shall we take?
A quick search of the refrigerator produced a variety of sandwich fillings, some bread and a bottle of soda. Wine, he considered, would have been more romantic, but there wasn’t any in the house. He added some fruit from the bowl and began to prepare the food. He was just wrapping the finished products when his wife entered.
“What are you doing?” she asked, looking astonished.
“How about you and I have a picnic together in the park,” he said, wrapping an arm around her. “Just like old times. Remember the time at college, when we were both supposed to be in class?” He waggled his eyebrows, suggestively.
“Well, we can’t do that now,” she replied, to the meaning rather than the actual words. “No sex for six weeks after the baby’s born and it won’t be six weeks until a week from Tuesday.”
“We can still enjoy a picnic, though.”
“But Peter,” she protested, sounding exasperated, “it’s March. It’s too cold for Nicola to spend that long outside.”
“We’ll get a sitter.”
“You know very well that I need a lot more notice than that.” Helen frowned. “Anyway, I’d be uncomfortable the whole time and that wouldn’t do you any favours.”
“What are you saying, Helen?”
“I’m saying,” she replied, gently, “that as much as I enjoy picnics with you, now is not the time to indulge in them.”
He knew that his disappointment was showing. For reasons that he did not want to examine too closely, it had become very important to him to do all the things that they had been putting off for so long.
“Could I suggest a compromise?” she said, taking his hand. “Maybe we could have a picnic in the back yard. Nicola isn’t due to wake for at least an hour, Bobby’s at the Lynchs’ and we’re not expecting any visitors. We’d have the place to ourselves.”
“It’s not the same.” He knew that he sounded childish, but was not able to stop. “I wanted to take you somewhere we wouldn’t normally go.”
“When was the last time we had a picnic in the backyard?” she teased. “Please, Peter. This is the best I can do at the moment.”
“Okay,” he sighed, dropping the last few things into the basket. “Why don’t you get the blanket and I’ll find us a nice spot.”
She reached up to kiss his cheek, before leaving the room. Peter hefted the basket and headed for the kitchen door. The sun was shining brightly, though a cold breeze was blowing through the trees. A quick tour of the back yard revealed the perfect place, sheltered from both the breeze and outside observation by thick shrubs. Since it was the middle of the day, the sun shone through to warm the little patch of bare ground.
“Peter?” he heard his wife call. “Where are you?”
“Here,” he replied, stepping out of the shrubbery and onto the lawn. “I found a spot.”
“In the garden?” she asked. “Really, Peter, what are you thinking?”
He took her hand and led her to the place, gently taking the blanket from her. He said, “See? It’s perfect. Sunny and out of the wind. What else could you want?”
He laid the blanket down and set the basket near one edge, taking his wife’s hand and drawing her downwards. After offering a moment’s resistance, she complied. With the air of a conjurer, Peter produced the soda and a pair of plastic wine glasses. He suppressed a frown as Helen adjusted the baby monitor and set it next to her.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of this departure from routine?” she asked, as he served their food.
“We don’t get out enough,” he replied. “I thought we needed more time alone together, especially away from the farm.”
She nodded, but said nothing. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, broken only by Helen’s compliments to his preparations. Now, how to make my next move? he wondered, watching her carefully. He trailed a finger up her arm, noting with pleasure the reaction his touch set off.
Through the monitor came the sound of Nicola stirring. Having lost Helen’s attention, Peter returned his to the food.
“Sounds like she’ll be waking soon,” said Helen with a deep sigh. She glanced at her watch. “It’s a little early, still. Maybe she’ll settle.”
She began eating hungrily, seeming determined to finish her meal in peace while she had the chance. After a few minutes, Nicola’s cries became more regular and Helen rose to leave.
“Thank you for the picnic, Peter,” she said. “It was lovely.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, trying to keep the dejection from his voice.
“Oh, and one thing,” she said, in a sweet voice. “Please, don’t make any decisions without first consulting me.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean, if you come home with a sports car, you’d better be prepared to sleep in it.”
“Right,” he said, with a nod. He was not sure, but he thought he saw her wink at him.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Peter whistled softly as he left the bank on his lunch break. It was a lovely day, neither too cool nor too warm, with fluffy white clouds making their way across the sky. His packed lunch would taste much better, he felt, if eaten outside. He was walking towards the town square when a voice hailed him from behind.
“My dear Mr. Belden,” exclaimed the unmistakable voice. “How fortunate I am to catch you.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bridgeman,” he replied, turning to meet the man. “Was there something I can do for you?”
“Yes, there is,” said the other man, reaching into his pocket. “I’ve been meaning to return this to your daughter for some time, but the opportunity has never arisen. She must have dropped it into one of the cartons of books that she was sorting the last day before she left my employment. It took me some time to find it, but I’m assured by the source of the books that the bracelet was not there when I purchased them, so it must be hers. I’m afraid that I have not made the effort to deliver it to your home and I did not wish to trust it to the postal service.”
“I would say not,” Peter replied, taking the delicate diamond bracelet from him. When did she get this? he wondered. Could those really be diamonds? It must have cost a fortune! I think that Jim needs a serious talking-to, if he thinks this is an appropriate gift for my daughter. He slipped it into his own pocket and raised his eyes. “Thank you. I’ll see that she gets it.”
With a smile and a word of thanks, Mr. Bridgeman was off about his business. Peter shook his head to clear it and resumed his walk. What does Trixie think she’s doing, leaving diamond bracelets with her former employers? he wondered, letting the small vein of anger spread to include his daughter as well. I don’t think that Jim is a good influence on her. I’ll have to talk to Helen about it. She’ll know what to do.
Across the street, the prestige car lot was receiving a delivery. The anger dissipated, as if it had never been there. What I wouldn’t give for one of those, he thought, eyeing the sleek lines of the new Jaguar. A moment later, he remembered Helen’s warning about impulse purchases. On second thought, I don’t think I’d give up a good night’s rest, even for a car like that. He resolutely turned his head away and continued to the park, finding a seat in dappled shade and opening his package of food. His mind, unoccupied, returned to the previous train of thought.
It was almost as if the beauty of the day had been spoiled by the contents of his pocket. Try as he would, the thought of the bracelet would not leave him. There was no one nearby; he would not be noticed if he took a closer look at it. He set down his food and drew it out.
It looks genuine enough, he decided, after examining the settings. That reckless boy, spending so much money on something that she can’t even take proper care of. I think I’ll put it in the safe deposit box, with her ring. I’ll tell her that I’ve got it the next time she visits. She’s still much too young to be wearing things like this and he’s much too young to be buying them for her.
A man was walking towards him with a purposeful step. Peter picked up his sandwich and used the action to cover the fact that he had slipped the bracelet back into his pocket. With a sinking heart, he recognised one of the least likable of the bank’s employees, a young man with his eye on the top job.
“Peter,” he called, as soon as he was near enough. “Glad I found you. There’s a situation that you need to be aware of.”
Could it not have waited ten minutes? he silently wondered. Aloud, he said, “What is it, Corey?”
“Nothing to do with bank business,” the other man replied, with a sneer. “You’re not important enough to get this sort of treatment for bank matters.”
“Then what is it?” asked Peter, feeling his face crease into a scowl. “What situation?”
For the second time in less than half an hour, he was confronted with a man pulling something unwelcome out of a pocket. This time, he was handed a sheaf of papers. How did he get these out of the bank? he wondered. How did he get them in the first place? These are confidential!
“I don’t understand,” he said, flicking through them. “What situation do you mean?”
The sneer returned, full force. “The situation of your re-employment,” said Corey, pulling the papers back and sliding them into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I know that you’re not on the level, but I’m willing to let it go – if you make it worth my while.”
“You’re mistaken,” said Peter, trying desperately to keep his voice firm. All thought of the bracelet was forgotten. “I don’t know what you’re talking about and I’m certainly not going to make anything ‘worth your while,’ as you put it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like to finish my lunch.”
“Suit yourself,” said the young man. “This isn’t the last you’ll hear of this.”
I’m sure it won’t be, thought Peter, his appetite gone. I just hope this isn’t as bad as it seems.
Part Two: Bobby
Sunday, December 26, 2004
From his position in the kitchen, raiding the cookie jar while everyone else was still feeling over-full, Bobby could hear most things that happened in the living room. He thought, as the sharp knocking started on the front door, that you would have to be deaf to miss it if you were within about two hundred yards.
“Coming!” he heard his mother call. Her footsteps were crossing the living room, but the knocking continued. He heard the door open, but his mother’s quiet greeting was lost to him.
“I am Miss Carlton, Matthew Wheeler’s aunt,” the visitor announced, her voice sent shivers up his spine. “I wish to speak to the mother of the child that Matthew’s adopted son is corrupting.”
“You mean, Jim’s girlfriend?” his mother said, in a voice he didn’t quite recognise. “I am her mother.”
“You?” The voice held disgust.
“Moms?” he heard Brian say from somewhere nearby. “Is everything okay?”
Bobby could hear his brother approaching the front door, despite their mother’s assurance that everything was fine. He finished the cookie he was eating and considered whether he’d like another.
“I have already had an interview with Matthew,” the woman continued, “but he fails to see my view. Now that I’m here, I wonder whether the boy is entirely to blame. I suppose,” (there was a strange pause, the meaning of which Bobby could not decipher), “the girl, ahem, encouraged him in his filth. I’m not sure that I could trust you to do what has to be done in this situation.”
“Miss Carlton,” said Helen, “if you have come here to insult me or my daughter, I’d be obliged if you would leave. I find your insinuations highly offensive. I trust my daughter and Jim to do the right thing, but I don’t see how it’s any of your business if they haven’t, or even to judge whether that is the case.”
Go Moms, thought Bobby, biting into the second cookie. With a regretful glance, he replaced the lid and returned the jar to its proper place. That’ll teach the old hag.
“If that is your attitude,” said the visitor, “I will take my leave.”
For a moment, he thought that was the end of the matter. The door closed and the sharp footsteps receded into the distance. All was silent in the living room and he was about to make his escape when the sound of a quiet sob came to his ears.
“It’s okay, Moms,” he heard Brian say, softly. “She’s a nasty old woman that no one likes. Please, don’t let her upset you.”
“I can’t seem to help it,” she replied. “I’m okay, really.”
All of a sudden, Bobby felt guilty about stealing cookies. Gleeps! I hope she’s all right, he thought, dusting the crumbs off his shirt. I hope she doesn’t catch me, either.
Saturday, February 12, 2005
“Moms!” said Bobby, stomping down the stairs. “There’s nothing to do. Can I go somewhere, please?”
“Hush,” she replied, as Nicola let out a startled wail. “I’m trying to get your sister to sleep. Why don’t you go outside and play with Reddy?”
“Aw’right,” he said, stomping out through the kitchen. “But if he doesn’t want to play, I’m coming right back.”
He caught the screen door just before it slammed and started looking around for his dog. The Irish Setter was hunting around in the garden, a thing that was liable to get him into trouble, even if Moms had not been doing any gardening lately.
“Here, Reddy,” called Bobby, trying to coax the dog into playing with him. “Here, boy! I’ve got your ball.”
“Ruff,” barked Reddy, sounding rather irritated. He continued to scrounge around in the flower beds, oblivious to Bobby’s calls.
Bobby threw the ball, aiming for just in front of the dog’s nose. It was the sort of thing that would normally catch his attention, but today it had an unexpected result. Reddy’s ears pricked up and he bounded off into the shrubbery, barking madly. Bobby watched in amazement as his dog hunted up and down for something or someone. Finally, he tired of the exercise and returned to the yard, picking up his ball and dropping it at Bobby’s feet.
Weird, he thought, shaking his head. Without giving the matter another thought, he began their game.
Monday, March 21, 2005
“Can you go right in to the living room, Bobby, and take Nicola with you?” asked his mother as he arrived home from school. “She’s fretting, but I really need to get this done.”
“Sure,” he replied. He dumped his belongings on the kitchen table, ignoring the exasperated look his mother gave him, and picked up his sister. “Let’s go in the living room.”
He switched on the television, flicking through the channels until he found something he thought was suitable. “You’ll like this,” he told her, leaning her against his chest and settling down to watch.
The noises from the kitchen subsided and Moms entered the room. From the corner of his eye, he could tell that she did not particularly like what he was doing.
“Thank you for doing that, Bobby,” she said, sitting on the sofa near him.
“No prob,” he answered.
“There’s something that I need to talk to you about.”
“Can it wait, Moms?” he asked, without looking up. “Nicola and I are watching Sesame Street.”
“Really, Bobby,” she replied, “Nicola’s far too young for that yet – and aren’t you rather too old?”
“Look, Nicola,” he said, pointing to the screen. “Here’s Telly on his pogo stick. Isn’t that so cool? Can you see him bouncing? Look, Moms, she likes it.” He looked up into his mother’s face, seeing for the first time that there was something serious she wanted to say. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
“There’s something you really need to know,” she said, in a tone of voice that he was horrified to recognise.
“Who’s having a baby this time?” he blurted out. The look of surprise on Moms’ face was totally unexpected. “Hey! Did I say something wrong?”
“Another detective is exactly what I need right now,” she replied, to his bafflement. “You’re right, Bobby: Di and Mart are having a baby.”
“Gleeps!” he cried. “That’s so cool, Moms! Did you hear that, Nicola? I’m gonna be an uncle and you’re gonna be an aunt. I wish I could’ve been an uncle when I was your age!”
His mother gave him a strange look, but said nothing.
Wednesday, March 26, 2005
The telephone was ringing as Bobby came down the stairs for breakfast. He could hear his mother answering, just before he heard her calling his name. Maybe there’ll be something interesting happening this week, after all, he thought, considering the two previous dull days of his spring break.
“Coming!” he cried, racing across the last remaining distance. He took the phone from his mother’s outstretched hand and said, “Hello?”
“Dude!” came Terry’s voice through the receiver. “You’ve got to save us! Can we come to your place, right now?”
“Sure, if it’s okay with Moms,” he replied. Not bothering to cover the receiver, he asked, “Hey, Moms, can Larry and Terry come over this morning?” Receiving her permission, he continued the conversation. “Yeah, it’s fine. She says you can stay to lunch, too. When will you be here?”
“As soon as we can get out of here,” said Terry. “Do you want to call Todd and invite him, too?”
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Bobby replied. “See ya.”
A few minutes later, the invitation had been issued and he was sitting down to breakfast with his mother. For some reason, his dad had left the house already. Bobby did not know why and was not particularly interested, either.
“Hey, Moms,” he said, around a mouthful of scrambled egg, “is it okay if me and Larry and Terry and Todd go for a walk, or something? If they want to, I mean.”
“So long as you tell me where you’re going and what time you’ll be back,” she replied. “And please don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“Sorry, Moms.”
He lapsed into silence, which was shortly broken by the arrival of the other three boys. They knocked loudly at the front door, all talking at once while Bobby raced across the house to let them in.
“You’re all here,” he cried, leading them to the kitchen.
“We saw Todd and picked him up on the way,” Larry explained. “Hey, Mrs. Belden. Thanks for letting us come over. Our mom is still kinda upset about Di and things are a bit tense at home, if you know what I mean.”
“A bit tense?” asked Terry. “Dude!” Words to express the inadequacy of that statement apparently failed him.
Bobby finished shovelling the last of his breakfast into his mouth and dumped his dirty dishes by the sink with a crash. “So, let’s get going,” he said, heading for the door. “See ya, Moms. We’re just going for a walk.”
“You still need to tell me where you’re going and when you’ll be back,” she reminded.
“Oh, yeah,” Bobby frowned. “Where are we going?”
“Ten Acres,” said Terry. “We’ll be back in time for lunch.”
“Dude,” said Bobby in a soft voice. “I don’t think so.”
“Ten Acres,” Terry repeated. “We’ll be back by twelve-thirty, Mrs. Belden.”
Ten minutes later, the four had left Crabapple Farm for the Frayne property. As they had walked, Bobby had muttered to himself about the situation, but had not dared to suggest they change their plans. They neared the summerhouse and he stopped dead in his tracks.
“No,” he said, frowning at Terry. “I promised Trixie. It’s bad enough that we’re even here, without going in there.”
“It’s been months,” he replied. “She never told us there was anything wrong here. She just forgot that she had to tell us we could come back.”
“That, or she just wanted the mystery to herself,” added Larry.
“What mystery?” demanded Bobby. “We haven’t seen a single mysterious thing. There is no mystery.”
“Then, there’s no reason why we can’t go in,” said Terry, heading for the door. He crawled through the old arbour, which was looking in even worse condition than the last time they had visited. “Hey! There’s a new lock on this. We can’t get in.”
“Here, let me see,” said Larry, pushing his way past. “I bet Trixie did this. She doesn’t want us to find out what’s going on.”
“There is no mystery,” repeated Bobby, dragging each word out. “We’ve spent the last five months looking for clues and we haven’t found a single one.”
“Hey, that’s not right,” said Terry. “We found heaps of stuff.”
“Heaps of old junk and stuff that’s probably been like that forever,” said Bobby. “Mart’s old tennis shoes in the boathouse; candy wrappers behind Reddy’s doghouse; footprints near the chicken coop; scratch marks on a tree near the boundary with Ten Acres; metal filings near the Bob-Whites’ clubhouse; straw down near the mailbox; strange little plastic things in the garden. None of it’s important. Just cause we don’t know how it got there doesn’t mean it was a clue.”
“Don’t forget the T-shirt we found on the bicycle trail,” said Terry. “That was a pretty good one, I thought.”
“No, it wasn’t,” said Todd, suddenly siding with Bobby. “It was Regan’s. He lost it there himself and he was pretty mad when he found it we’d got it and hadn’t given it back.”
“How were we supposed to know it was his?” asked Larry. “And how did he lose it, anyway?”
“We should have known because it had his name on it,” said Todd. “He wouldn’t tell me how he lost it.”
“Some detectives we are,” muttered Bobby. “Trixie would’ve figured out whose shirt it was. She would’ve figured out how he lost it, too.”
“I don’t care how he lost it,” said Todd, beginning to walk away. “If we can’t get in, there’s no point in being here. Let’s get outa here.”
“Wait,” said Terry. While the others had been talking, he had moved slightly away, struggling through the undergrowth. “Look in here.”
“Just tell us what you see,” said Todd. “Some of us don’t have laundry services, ya know.”
“Yeah,” muttered Bobby, thinking of the new rule in the Belden household, which meant that he had to sort his own dirty washing.
“Remember last time we were here, there was just a chair and a whole lot of junk?” The other boys voiced their agreement. “Now, there’s some kind of equipment in here.”
“Hey, let me see that,” said Bobby, new rules forgotten. “Gleeps! What is all this stuff?”
“Got me,” said Terry, “but it looks pretty good. It kind of reminds me of the stuff the man had when he upgraded our security system last year. Those things look like those lights you use when you have outside cameras at night.”
Soon, all four were crowding around, pushing each other aside as they tried to see through the grimy window. Their shadows added to the natural dimness of the interior, blotting out all detail of the objects they were trying to see. Finally, they had all seen as much as they could.
“I think we should get out of here,” said Bobby, suddenly. “I don’t think Jim and Trixie did this. Whoever owns this stuff will probably come back.”
Even as he spoke, the four could hear the sounds of someone entering the old driveway in a vehicle. With looks of alarm, they each started to move in a different direction.
“This way!” Terry pointed to the side of the summerhouse opposite the door. “Hide!”
They scrambled into the undergrowth and huddled against the side of the dilapidated building as the car drew to a stop. A door opened and shut, followed closely by another. Footsteps moved towards the summerhouse door.
“It’s a mistake coming here in daylight,” said an unfamiliar female voice. “It’s an even worse mistake coming here together. Someone will see us.”
“We don’t have a choice,” said a gruff male voice. “We need the stuff right away and the boys are busy. No one around here knows me anymore and, no offense, but you don’t look the same. Anyway, who’s going to know that we’re doing anything wrong? I tell you, no one comes up here. Frayne doesn’t deserve to own this land; he doesn’t give a stuff what happens to it.”
“What does it matter whether he deserves it?” she replied, over the sound of the key being inserted in the lock. “Very few of us get what we deserve.”
“But, M–”
“Shut up and get inside,” the woman hissed. “I thought I heard that stupid mutt barking. If he finds us here, we’re sunk.”
From that moment, the voices became so muffled that the boys could not understand what was being said. For ten minutes, they sat still, waiting and listening to the scraping and thumping noises inside the tiny building. As the minutes passed, each of them made stealthy movements, trying to stretch aching legs and arms without making enough noise that they would be heard. Finally, the two intruders emerged.
“You’d better get these things up to Winter Rock,” the man said, as the door was pulled closed. “I’ll oversee things in Sleepyside for now.”
“Right,” she said. “Can I drop you anywhere on the way?”
“Take me to the bank,” he said, laughing in a manner that drew chills up and down Bobby’s spine. “I’ve got some business to discuss with my old friend Peter Belden.”