Don't Tell Anyone (3 page)

Balloon owners need a place to keep their equipment, and they have to purchase propane, pay a ground crew, and advertise for customers. That's why he had robbed the bank three years ago; he had been trying to get cash to buy a hot-air balloon.

Shane finally had enough money, right there in his wallet. All he had to do was cash the check. In two days it would be Good-bye, Colby Construction. Good-bye, brother-in-law boss. Hello, independence.

Shane got in his pickup and drove out of the parking lot. On his way home, he passed the field where the apartment complex would be built. He saw that Brice had put up a sign, announcing his plans.

Sometimes such signs created a flurry of protest from neighbors, but he was certain this one wouldn't.

Who would object to an apartment building here?

Twitchy Tail was the first to come for food the day Megan saw the sign. He was soon followed by Pumpkin. A bedraggled white cat, its long fur full of matts, also slunk out of the weeds. Megan hadn't seen that one before. She named it Slush, because it was the dirty color of melting snowbanks in the spring.

While she watched them, Megan fretted about the apartment building. Finally Mommacat, her sides still bulging, arrived to eat. When the cats finished eating, Megan rushed home, eager to talk to Mom and ask what she thought Megan should do.

The door to her mother's office was closed, the signal that Megan and Kylie were not to bother her unless it was a matter of life or death. It is, Megan thought grimly, but she didn't knock. She knew life or death for the cats was not what Mom meant.

She heard her mother's voice from the other side of the door, quoting some statistics.

Megan decided to see if Kylie knew how long Mom would be busy.

Kylie was in her bedroom. As usual, she was singing. No matter what Kylie did, she sang about it while she did it. What's worse, all the songs had the same tune: “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” She made up the words as she went along.

Listening to Kylie made Megan want to cover her ears and run the other way, but she headed for her sister's room.

Kylie's song floated toward her:

It wasn't too hard for Megan to figure out that Mom had offered to pay Kylie to clean up her room, probably as a way to be certain Kylie would not bother her while she talked to her client.

Megan sighed. You would think by the age of six, Kylie either would have outgrown this singing habit or would at least use more than one tune.

“Do you have to sing the same song over and over?” Megan asked crossly.

“All my songs are different.”

“The words are different but they're all the same melody: ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat.'”

“I
like
‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat.'”

“I don't. I'm sick of it.”

“You don't have to listen.”

Kylie lay on her stomach, reached under her bed, and dragged out a fistful of crayons. As she stuffed the crayons in the box she sang,

In spite of herself, Megan laughed. Although Kylie's songs
did
drive her crazy, she had to admire the way her sister could think up rhymes so quickly.

“How long is Mom going to be busy?” Megan asked.

Kylie shrugged. “A long time, I think. She said that after I clean my room I can watch our
Mary Poppins
video.”

That was a bad sign. Mom rarely let either of the girls watch a movie until dinner was over and homework finished. It must be a really important client, and Mom must expect the call to take a long time.

Megan decided to return to the field and copy down all the information from the sign. Maybe there would be a
phone number to call. She could tell whoever answered the phone about the cats.

She put a small notepad and a pencil in the pocket of her windbreaker. Then she filled a plastic sandwich bag with cat food and put that in the other pocket. Even though she had already fed the cats once that day, Mommacat needed extra food right now.

Kylie wandered into the kitchen. “Why are you putting cat food in your coat?” she asked.

“It's for some stray cats.” Megan started for the door.

“Can I go with you?”

“No.”

“I want to see the cats.”

“Not today,” Megan said.

Kylie's lower lip stuck out. “You never let me go anywhere with you,” she said.

That's because my ears get tired, Megan thought.

At the field, Megan refilled the food bowl and then went to the white sign. As she was copying the construction dates, a blue pickup truck pulled up to the curb beside her.

The man who was driving rolled down the window and called to her. “What are you doing?”

He looked about Mrs. Perk's age, with dark hair that was thinning in front. He wore a denim work shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

“I'm writing down what the sign says.” Megan mounted her bike as she spoke, uneasy about talking to a stranger. If he got out of the truck, she would ride away.

“Why?” he asked. He did not get out.

“It says someone plans to start building apartments here next week,” Megan said. “But they can't do that.”

“Why not?” he asked. “What's the trouble?”

“Some feral cats live in this field,” Megan said. “I don't want them to be killed when the land is cleared. I bring them cat food and water every day.”

The man frowned, clearly upset by what she said. “What kind of cats did you say?” he asked.

“Feral. You know, wild cats that live on their own. One of them is expecting kittens any day now. I'm going to call the company that put this sign up; maybe they will delay the apartment building until the cats can be caught.”

“Cats!” the man said, as if he had never heard of such an animal. He stepped on the gas and roared away.

Megan stared after the truck for a moment, puzzled by the man's odd reaction. Then she returned to copying the information from the sign. She had just finished when the blue truck returned.

Again the man spoke to her without getting out.

“It won't do any good for you to call,” he said. “They'll never pay attention to a kid.”

Megan was already worried about that. She was hoping Mom would call for her.

“I'll call the county building department,” he continued. “I work in construction, so I deal with problems all the time; I know who to ask for.”

“That would be great,” Megan said. “I'll ask my mom
to call, too, but I don't know when she'll have time to do it.”

“Don't have her call. It's better to let one person handle it. I'll take care of it; don't worry.”

He drove off again, and this time he did not return.

Megan was glad to have an adult concerned about the cats, but she wished she knew his name. How would she know what the people at the building department said?

What about the property owner and the company who would be building the apartments? Someone should talk to them, too, and ask them to wait until the cats were rescued. She wished the man in the blue truck had not been in such a hurry.

Shane slammed his fist against the steering wheel as he drove away. Of all the rotten luck! Just when everything was going his way, some kid finds a bunch of cats living in the field. That's all he needed–some animal lover calling Brice and carrying on about homeless cats.

What if the media found out? He could imagine the headlines and the TV pictures of pathetic cats hiding in the weeds. Groups of picketers with
SAVE THE CATS
signs would show up, and some nut would chain himself to the bulldozer.

Shane pounded his fist on the wheel again as he imagined the scene. Then he took a deep breath, as he had been taught in the anger-management class the judge had made him take. He congratulated himself for thinking fast. He
was sure the kid believed him when he said he would call the building department. All he had to do was keep her quiet for two days. That shouldn't be too hard.

Once the land was cleared, it wouldn't matter how many cats used to live there. It would be too late to save them, and too late for the kid to keep the Evergreen Apartments from being built.

Lacey Wilcox gaped at her sister Danielle in astonishment. “How could you?” she demanded. “After what happened to Ben, how could you possibly steal anything?”

“I didn't think I'd get caught,” Danielle mumbled.

“You didn't think, period.” Lacey angrily slapped some peanut butter on a slice of bread, as if it were the sandwich's fault that her thirteen-year-old sister had been caught shoplifting.

“It wasn't really my fault,” Danielle said. “My friends dared me to do it.”

“Of course it was your fault.” Lacey put the sandwich in her lunch bag, added a banana, and opened the cookie jar, hoping there might be a couple of Oreos left from the package she had brought home last night. No such luck.

“Mom's going to hit the roof,” Danielle said.

“I don't blame her. Where was your brain?” She put the packed lunch in the refrigerator, ready to take to school the next morning. She took out the last can of soda. Honestly, she couldn't believe how her family ate everything she bought. She had put a six-pack of soda in there yesterday.

“Do you think I'll have to go to Juvenile Court, like Ben did?”

“Probably.” Lacey rummaged in her shoulder bag for her car keys. “If you do, don't be a dope and smart off the way Ben did. Don't pretend it wasn't your fault. Just admit you were wrong, apologize, and promise you won't ever do it again.” She headed for the door.

“Will you stay until Mom and Dad get home and tell them for me?” Danielle asked. “Please?”

“Sorry,” Lacey said. “I have to go to work.” Lacey started the engine and checked the gas tank. The needle was still above
empty
; she could buy gas after she got off work.

“Maybe I'll run away,” Danielle said.

“Running away won't solve anything,” Lacey said. “It would only get you in worse trouble.”

“If I ran away, I wouldn't have to tell Mom and Dad.”

“Look, Dani,” Lacey said. “You goofed big time, but it isn't the end of the world. If you say you're sorry and mean it, you'll get another chance. I'll see you tonight.”

Danielle's lip quivered, as if she would burst into tears any second. I can't help her with this, Lacey thought. She has to deal with it herself.

Lacey popped open her soda and took a sip as she drove off.

Sometimes Lacey thought she was the only one in her whole family who had any sense. At seventeen, Lacey was the fourth of five children and the first who planned to finish high school.

Her two older sisters both ran off with their boyfriends when they were sixteen. One got married and had two babies before she got a divorce at age nineteen. Now she worked as a maid in a motel. The other sister got hooked on drugs, moved to Los Angeles, and had not been heard from for over a year.

Lacey's brother, Ben, was currently in the county jail, serving six months for robbing a gas station. He had started shoplifting when he was ten and worked his way into bigger crimes. He was only two years older than Lacey, and this was his second time in jail.

And now Danielle. Lacey had talked to Dani about finishing school and making something of herself. Sure it was hard, especially when no one else cared whether you did it or not.

Lacey had started baby-sitting when she was twelve and saved every nickel she made. Then she got jobs weeding flower beds and raking leaves. By the time she was sixteen and could get a driver's license, she had saved enough money to pay for a car.

True, the car was fourteen years old and no beauty, but it enabled Lacey to get a real job, making decent money. Four evenings a week and all day on Saturday, Lacey was the hostess at Grogan's Restaurant. It was a nice restaurant, not a burger joint, where she got a share of the tips in addition to her salary.

Except for gas, car insurance, and her contributions to the family food supply, she saved her wages for college. No one in Lacey's family had ever gone to college, but she was going.

In two weeks she would graduate from Woodrow Wilson High School as valedictorian with the highest grade-point average of anyone in her class. She would receive a two-thousand-dollar academic scholarship from the Jefferson Foundation, and she had already been accepted in a work-study program at the community college. She would take nine credits each quarter and keep her job at Grogan's. All the years of hard work were about to pay off for Lacey.

Lacey sipped her soda, then put the can on the seat beside her. Danielle made her so angry. She mimicked her sister: “It wasn't really my fault.” Whose fault was it, then? Nobody else put that lipstick in Dani's pocket.