Don't Tell Anyone (8 page)

“I have sixteen cents,” Kylie said.

“We don't even know if these kittens will be healthy enough to adopt,” Mrs. Perk said. “Did you call Feline Friends?”

“No,” Megan said. “I met a man who wants to save the cats, too, and he is going to call the property owner to ask him to help. He told me not to call Feline Friends until the owner is notified.”

Mrs. Perk frowned. “What man?” she asked. “Where did you meet him?”

“He was driving by when he saw me copying the information from the sign, and he stopped and asked what I was doing.”

“Megan, you know you shouldn't talk to strangers.”

“I was careful, Mom. He didn't even get out of his truck. He gave me his business card with his name and telephone number on it. He already got the county to put a hold on the building permit until the cats get moved.”

Mrs. Perk looked unconvinced.

Megan got the man's business card and handed it to her mother.

“Brice Colby?” Mrs. Perk said. “This is who's helping you?”

“Do you know him?”

“He and his wife belong to my book club. Our group met at their home twice last year.”

“He seemed nice,” Megan said, “and he offered to help.”

“You can count on Brice to get things done,” Mrs. Perk said. “If Brice Colby says he'll help you save those cats, you don't have a thing to worry about.”

That night as Megan tried to fall asleep she remembered Mom's words: You don't have a thing to worry about.

Not a thing, Megan thought as she stared into the dark, except the fact that I'm withholding information from the police about a driver who left the scene of an accident. Plus I have a note from the driver, saying she'll kill all the cats if I tell the police who she is.

Megan slept fitfully. She dreamed of car crashes, and of cats that multiplied until there were thousands of them, all wailing from hunger, and of strange notes written with red marker in a foreign language that she couldn't read.

At breakfast Mrs. Perk said, “Be sure you're home by four-thirty this afternoon. “We need to leave for the balloon festival by five, or we'll never find a place to park, and I want to eat dinner before we go.”

“We can eat after we get there,” Kylie said. “Last year they sold cotton candy and ice-cream cones and caramel corn.”

“We are not eating junk for dinner,” Mrs. Perk said.

“Can we buy cotton candy for dessert?” Kylie asked.

“Cotton candy is pure sugar,” Mrs. Perk said.

“I know,” Kylie said. “That's why I like it. Please, Mom?”

“We'll see.”

“If they have pink and blue,” Kylie said, “I'm going to get pink, and I'm going to eat it without using my fingers.”

“Your face will be a sticky mess,” Megan said.

Kylie began to sing:

Megan rolled her eyes as she put cat food and the jar of fresh water in her backpack. She would go straight to the field after school, to feed the cats and check on the kittens.

She was glad it was Friday. She looked forward to the weekend. Today she would have to hurry to the field and then hurry home to go to the balloon festival. Tomorrow and Sunday she could stay at the field and watch Mommacat and her babies. Maybe her friend Chelsea would be well and able to come with her. Tomorrow she planned to take Mommacat a can of tuna, for a special treat.

Shane Turner worked until noon on Friday. He left on his lunch break as if it were any ordinary day, but he knew it was not ordinary at all.

He walked toward his truck, knowing he would never return. He had worked his last hour for Colby Construction Company. His plan was now in progress.

After he ate, Shane drove fifty miles north to the bank he had chosen because they advertised “small-town friendliness.” He had opened a savings account there as William Bradburn soon after he began working for Brice. Each week after he cashed his paycheck at the bank where he was known as Shane Turner, he had deposited some cash in Mr. Bradburn's account. With interest, he now had over two thousand dollars.

The teller recognized him, and that was okay because by the time his true identity was known, everyone would think he was dead.

“I need to close my account,” he said, “and also cash a check. I'm moving out of the area.”

The teller asked to see Shane's driver's license, because the check was so large. She copied down the number.

Shane smiled as the bank teller counted out thousand-dollar bills, put the cash in an envelope, and handed it to him.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Bradburn?” the teller asked.

“No, thanks,” Shane said.

He put the envelope in the pocket of his leather jacket and zippered the pocket shut.

He felt giddy as he walked to his truck. Imagine having seventeen thousand dollars in his pocket! Even when he
robbed the bank in White Springs, he had carried away less than six thousand. Of course he didn't get to keep that money because he got caught just four blocks from the bank. This time he was smarter; this time he would not get caught.

As soon as he was inside the truck, he locked the doors. He needed to be careful. There are a lot of dishonest people in the world.

Shane drove to his apartment, where he was supposed to meet a man who had answered Shane's ad about a truck for sale. Shane would sell the blue pickup even if he had to come down in price. He had already told the prospective buyer that it had to be a cash sale.

While he drove, Shane mentally walked through the rest of his day. As soon as his truck was sold, he would take a bus to the airport, where the balloon festival was held.

When it was time for him to fly the hot-air balloon sponsored by Colby Construction, there would be a problem. The balloon would rise into the sky at dusk with the other balloons in his part of the demonstration, but instead of hovering over the runway for a short time and then landing again, as it was supposed to do, Shane's balloon would keep going. It would not come back. Not ever.

He knew Brice would try to call him on the cellular phone that was in the balloon's basket to ask what was wrong and to keep track of the balloon's location. Shane, of course, did not intend to turn the phone on.

During scheduled balloon flights there was always a
chase car at hand to follow the balloon on the ground. Tonight the chase car would not be there, since no flight was expected. After dark, the balloons at the festival gave demonstration rides, going up only a short distance and returning. The longer flights would be the next day.

By the time anyone on the ground could get in a car to try to follow the wayward balloon tonight, Shane would be over the top of Desolation Hill and out of sight. He would land long before the chase car could drive around the hill and spot the balloon.

Shane had practiced flying the same route several times in the past month. He had used the Colby Construction balloon, telling Brice he wanted to practice for the festival.

He knew the air currents; he knew exactly how much gas to give the balloon to get it high enough to go over the hill. The winds had been calm all week and no storms were predicted, so there was nothing to prevent him from taking off as planned.

His landing place wasn't far, as the crow flies, but on the ground it was a slow, winding drive on a rarely used loggers' road. The airport was at the edge of town, and the hills beyond, leading to the Cascade Mountains, were unpopulated.

With any luck even the flames, when he set the balloon on fire, would not be seen. The balloon might not be found for months, or even years.

Everyone would think his balloon had crashed. When Shane wasn't found, he would be presumed dead.

Eventually the charred remains of the balloon and basket would be discovered—probably by hikers or hunters. By then, of course, Shane would be long gone to New Mexico, using his new name. He would search for a balloon to buy. He was ready to have his own business.

Filled with dreams of his life in New Mexico, Shane parked in front of his apartment and waited for the prospective truck buyer to arrive.

An hour later, as the new owner of the blue pickup drove away, Shane added eighteen hundred dollars to the envelope in his pocket. One more part of his plan had gone exactly as he had envisioned it.

Shane thought how close that girl and her wild cats had come to ruining all of his plans. If he had not been able to keep her quiet about the cats, the apartment project would have been delayed. Without that huge project to generate money for Colby Construction, a missing fifteen thousand dollars would likely be noticed.

Shane was positive that if Brice had known about the cats, he would have delayed the apartments. Brice and Ruthann treated their own pets like members of the family. Shane had no doubt that Brice would have postponed clearing that field, even if it meant a financial loss. He shook his head at his brother-in-law's stupidity.

Shane looked at the time. Two o'clock. The bulldozer driver should be nearly done. By five o'clock the field would be leveled, so it didn't matter what Brice would have done. Brice would never know about the cats.

Shane smiled at his own brilliance. He had kept the girl from telling. He had prevented her from ruining his plans. By now the field was cleared and her precious cats were in Kitty Heaven.

Lacey's little sister was waiting for her when Lacey got home from school on Friday. “I did what you told me to do,” Danielle said. “I paid for the lipstick and told the store manager I was sorry and would never take anything again.”

“Good for you,” Lacey said. “What did he say?”

“He said he'd drop the charges. I don't have to go to juvenile court.” Danielle grinned. “You were right,” she said. “It's better to face up to a mistake than to run away from it.”

Too bad I don't take my own advice, Lacey thought. It was two days now since the accident, and she was more nervous and upset about it than she had been the day it happened.

She might still get caught; the cops had all sorts of ways of tracking people down. She remembered a news report of how a broken filament from a headlight had alerted investigators what kind of car to look for.

The longer it was between the accident and the time they found her, the worse it would be for her. She knew that. She knew she should do what Danielle had done and face up to her problem—but she couldn't make herself do it.

Only a fool would risk losing a college scholarship and a
job and an opportunity for a good life if she didn't have to. If she kept her mouth shut, there was a good chance no one would ever know about her role in the fatal accident.

The trouble was, she felt like such a creep. Even if she never got caught, she still felt like a creep.

I was involved in that woman's death, Lacey thought, and I don't even have the decency to tell her family that I'm sorry. Can I live with that for the rest of my life?

Megan hurried out of school on Friday afternoon, hopped on her bike, and headed for the field. Although she knew the balloon festival would be fun, she wished she didn't have to go home early. She wanted to watch the kittens.

When she was a block away, she saw a large flatbed truck parked at the front edge of the field, near the sign. For a second, she thought maybe Mr. Colby was waiting for her in a different kind of truck. Then she saw a big yellow bulldozer on the far side of the truck.

Megan's heart, and her feet, pumped faster.

Just as she reached the field, the bulldozer's engine started. She flinched at the sudden loud noise.

A man sat in the cab part of the bulldozer.

“Hello!” Megan called, as she rode toward the bulldozer. “Hello! I need to talk to you!”

The machine's large steel treads crawled away from the flatbed truck, rolling forward and under like metal conveyor belts as they moved the bulldozer toward the edge of the field that adjoined the freeway on-ramp.