Dunc and Amos and the Red Tattoos (3 page)

Dunc charged up a small hill and quickly sat down behind some oak brush. He was looking intently through binoculars.

Amos was out of breath from trying to keep up. “I … never … knew that … you … were … so interested in birds.”

“Sit down, Amos. You’re blocking my view of the infirmary.”

“What makes you think a ruby-throated hummingbird will land on the infirmary?”

“Amos. Help me watch our suspects. This is a great opportunity. From up here, we can watch all of them at the same time.”

“Oh. Suspects. I knew that. Really. I knew that.”

After about thirty minutes, Dunc stood up to stretch his legs. “So far all we’ve seen is Mr. Phillips raking leaves and the two counselors, Chuck and Adolf, working with kids. We’re not going to get anywhere at this rate.”

“This could be something.” Amos pointed toward the infirmary. “Adolf is talking to the doctor. Now they’re going into the infirmary.”

Dunc grabbed the binoculars just in time to see the two men go through the doorway.

“This could be it. We’ve got to get inside that infirmary.”

Amos laughed. “You’re not the only one who wants in. It’s the only way to get any rest in this place.”

A look came over Dunc’s face.

“What does that look mean?” Amos started backing away.

Dunc smiled. “I think I just thought of a way to get inside.…”

•
6

“This will never work. It isn’t logical. This guy’s a doctor. He knows when people are sick. They teach you that stuff in doctor school.”

“Trust me, Amos. This will work. Besides, you’re not supposed to be sick sick. Just a little sick. Come on.”

Amos walked slowly down the hill. “Why do I have to be the sick one? Why can’t I be the concerned friend?”

Dunc turned and put both hands on Amos’s shoulders. “I can’t be the sick one because I look too healthy. You know, pink cheeks, good color. You, on the other hand, are pale, thin, and kind
of yellow, and your face looks like it was hit by a train.”

“Yellow? I’m yellow? I look that bad?” Amos put his hand to his forehead. “Come to think of it, I haven’t felt so hot lately. I think I’ve got a fever. Maybe I do need a doctor.”

Dunc tried to hide a smile. “Come with me, Amos. I’m sure he can fix you right up.”

They stopped at the door in front of the infirmary.

Dunc whispered, “Now, don’t forget. You stay sick until I get a chance to look everything in here over for clues.”

By this time, Amos was holding one hand on his forehead and the other on his stomach. “I don’t see that as a problem.”

Dunc opened the door and poked his head in. Dr. Stevens and Adolf were shaking hands. Adolf took a step back when he saw the boys and growled at them.

“What are you two doing here? You should be with your activity leader. Failure to stay with your activity leader is five demerits!”

Dunc quickly pulled Amos inside the office.
“My friend here doesn’t feel well. Could you take a look at him, Doctor?”

Adolf headed toward the door. “We’ll discuss this later.”

Dr. Stevens was a small, thin man. He wore a white coat, and his round wire glasses kept sliding down his long nose.

“Help your friend up onto the table. I’ll just wash my hands.”

Amos started moaning. Kind of a low, sick animal moan.

“Don’t overact,” Dunc whispered.

“Who’s acting?”

The infirmary was a small building. The examining station was on one side, and the other side was used to store medical supplies. Small white boxes with red markings were stacked halfway to the ceiling.

Dunc began to look around the room. There was a license to practice medicine hanging on the wall. A large oak desk sat in the corner with papers piled on it.

“I don’t feel so good, Doc. I think it was something I ate.” Amos moaned.

Dr. Stevens shook the thermometer. “It usually is.”

While the doctor was busy examining Amos, Dunc edged around to the desk. The paper on top of the pile said something about a delivery date in Mexico. Dunc frowned, thinking, I wonder what a doctor from here would be delivering all the way to Mexico?

“Hey!”

A loud voice startled him. He jumped back and landed on the doctor’s black patent-leather shoes.

“My desk is off limits, son. Come over here to the waiting area and have a seat.” The doctor pointed at a chair.

“Do you know what’s wrong with him, Doctor? Is it serious?” Dunc eased into the chair.

The doctor studied Dunc’s face a few moments before answering. “Your friend doesn’t have a temperature. I can’t really find anything wrong with him.”

He handed Amos a slip of paper. “Take this to your cabin counselor. It gives you permission to lie down until you feel better.”

Amos sat up and smiled weakly. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll let you know if I make it.”

Outside the door Dunc said, “Wait here. I need to check on something.”

Amos leaned against the building for support. “Deserted in my hour of need.”

Dunc crawled under the window and inched up so that he could see inside. “Aha! Just what I thought.”

“What? What’s going on?”

Dunc crawled away from the window. “Dr. Stevens is hiding the evidence. I saw some kind of shipping order for Mexico on his desk. He must have been worried about it. He practically ran to the desk and stuffed it into his pocket.”

“Is that all? Here I am on my deathbed, and all you can do is talk about Mexico and evidence. Can’t you see I need to get some rest?”

“Amos, stop that! You’re not sick. We made it up. Remember?”

“I ought to know if I’m sick or not. And I’m sick. Help me make it to the cabin.”

“Okay, okay. Lean on me. I’ll take you to the cabin. But you’re not really sick—it’s just
psychosomatic
.”

“I knew it probably had a big name. If I don’t live through the night, I leave all my personal belongings to you. Take extra good care of my goldfish.”

Dunc started to explain that
psychosomatic
was a word, not a disease. That Amos’s sickness was all in his head. But he changed his mind. Instead, he led Amos up the hill to the cabin and tucked him in.

•
7

“Has he left yet?” Dunc whispered.

“Not yet.”

“Keep watching.”

They were lying flat on their stomachs under the caretaker’s small cabin. Dunc was watching the back steps while Amos kept an eye on the front.

“I’m not so sure I should be under here,” Amos said. “I might get sick again.”

“You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“You keep saying that. And I keep winding up doing weird things.”

Dunc turned and looked at Amos. “We’re here because we have to narrow down our list of
suspects. The only time Mr. Phillips is sure to be gone is during mealtime. As soon as he leaves we’ll take a look around. Simple.”

“So simple, I’m getting cramps in my elbows.”

“Every good detective has to learn to deal with adversity.”

“And that’s another thing. Stop using words that are bigger than you are.” Amos scooted back. “There he goes! Amazing. I can’t believe anybody would hurry to eat in this place. This guy is actually running.”

They inched out from under the back of the cabin. Dunc brushed the dirt off his clothes. “We’ll do it just as we planned. You keep watch, and I’ll take a look around.”

The inside of the cabin made World War II look good. Clothes were thrown everywhere. Trash was all over the floor. It was hard to walk across the room without stepping on something.

Amos closed the door behind them. “Ugh! Something smells like it had a bad time in here.”

“Get over to the window and watch. We don’t want to get caught.”

“Now he thinks of this.”

“Amos.”

“I’m watching. I’m watching.”

Dunc picked up one piece of trash after another. “This is going to be harder than I thought. This guy is a pig.”

Amos glanced out the window. “Uh-oh. He’s coming back. Quick—hide.”

Dunc dived under the bed without seeing where Amos went.

The front door opened. Mr. Phillips walked to his dresser and put something in a drawer. He looked in the mirror. Picked at his teeth. Then he turned and went back out the front door.

Dunc crawled out from under the bed. “All clear. You can come out now.”

“Amos?”

“Amos? Where are you?”

A muffled noise came from the closet.

“Humm-mee.”

“Amos, are you in there?” Dunc jerked open the closet door.

“Help me.”

Amos was sticking headfirst in a narrow, dirty clothes hamper. His feet were waving wildly in the air.

“How did you manage?… Never mind. I’ll have you out in a minute.”

He pushed on the hamper until it tipped over. Then he held on while Amos crawled out backward.

Amos peeled some dirty clothes off his head. “At least I know where that awful smell is coming from.” He pointed at the hamper. “Year-old socks. Gross.”

“I think we may be getting somewhere, Amos. I saw Mr. Phillips put something in the dresser.”

Dunc pulled open the drawer. Inside was an ink pad and stamp. It was in the shape of a strange red flower.

“Great,” Amos said. “I get gassed by socks that can stand on their own, for a stamp that makes a red flower.”

“That’s not all. Look at this.”

Under the ink stamp was a photograph of
some guys in army uniform standing in front of a bunch of tents. Dunc took it out.

They were all there: the doctor, Phillips, Adolf, and Chuck.

“What does it mean?” Amos asked.

“I don’t know. But we sure are going to find out.”

•
8

It was raining. The exercise field could have been used for a mud bog rally. All the boys were moved inside the dining hall for arts and crafts.

“What
is
this thing?” Amos held up a tangle of blue, red, and yellow plastic strings.

“It’s supposed to be a key chain. Kind of a souvenir,” Dunc said.

“These guys are sick. Who would want a souvenir of this place? Two minutes after I leave here, this place is forgotten, never to be thought of again or even mentioned under penalty of death.”

Dunc was busy writing on a small pad of paper. “Maybe you could give it to your mother.”

“Yeah, right. ‘Here, Mom. Thanks for spending all that money to send me to camp. I brought you a deformed key chain.’ ”

Amos quit trying to weave the plastic strings. “What are you writing?”

“I’m trying to make some sense out of the clues we’ve found. Here’s what we have so far: a gum wrapper, a threat, a suspicious handshake, something being shipped to Mexico, an ink stamp of a red flower, and a picture.”

Dunc looked up. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’m glad we finally agree on something.”

“Seriously, Amos. We’ve got one week—”

“And counting the minutes.”

Dunc made a face. “As I was saying. We’ve got one week left to put all of this together. I’ve heard rumors. If that money isn’t found, Wiggleston is going to be fired.”

Chuck walked over to their table. He resembled a large baboon. His bottom lip stuck out two inches farther than his top, and his arms swung as he walked.