In Too Deep (10 page)

“She doesn't
have
to be nosy,” Dad said with a grin. “She just likes to.”

“I'm not
nosy
,” Mom insisted. “I'm just
interested
in my child. Is that so wrong?”

I was about to point out that some things are private, but before I got a chance to swallow my food, Dad spoke up again.

“Anyway, dear, I think you should know that your mother and I approve of Greg. He's a nice boy, just the kind of young fellow that we'd have picked out for you ourselves. Isn't that right, Darlene?”

Mom nodded, but I could tell she hadn't been completely distracted from wanting to dig information out of me.

I suppose they meant this to be reassuring. Of all the crazy ideas! What teenage girl wants to date someone that her
parents
would have picked out for her? If I didn't like Greg so much, it would have been enough to make me ditch him.

“He's a lovely boy,” Mom piped up. “Now you be sure to invite your young man over for dinner sometime soon.”

“A lovely boy!” “Your young man.”
It never ceases to amaze me that my folks can say things in such dumb ways — and without even realizing it.

“Speaking of dinner,” I snapped, “it sure would be nice to be able to eat mine in peace.”

“Well, Randall, it looks as though we're not good enough to be informed of the happenings in our daughter's life.”

“Now, sweetheart, I'm sure Shelby's just tired and hungry.” Dad always sticks up for me. Mom wasn't mollified, though. She picked up the dishes they'd finished with and went to the sink with her face all piled up in a pout.

“We do everything for that child. Everything. And then when I ask a simple question she shuts me out as if I'm nothing but a bother to her. I guess that's the thanks we get for trying to be good parents.”

“I guess so,” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“It wasn't
nothing
. Now what did you say?”

“I said I guess so.”

Mom's eyes had gone into a squint, and I could see she was trying to remember what she'd said first, so that she could find fault with me saying “I guess so.” She gave up after a minute and turned back to the sink with a shrug.

Dad shifted in his chair, and I felt sorry for him. He's always been the family peacemaker, and he hates it when there's any tension in the house. Thank goodness we don't have very many arguments. I don't think he could take it.

“Now girls,” he said with a heavy sigh, “let's not spoil the evening. Why don't we all take a drive, maybe pick up a movie and some treats?”

“Okay,” I said quickly, sure that Mom wouldn't agree with the suggestion. But she surprised me and told Dad that she'd have to finish the dishes first and then we could go.

I finished eating, took my plate to the sink, picked up the drying towel, and started helping.

“The meatballs were great, Mom. Thanks.”

She nodded stiffly without answering, and I saw that her face was all set and tight, as if she was on the verge of crying and holding herself from it.

It made me feel so bad. I suppose I could have been a bit nicer, even if she was prying. I guess if I was grown up and had a teenage daughter I'd probably want to know about special things that happened to her too.

“You were right about the smacking noise,” I said, concentrating on drying a plate. In my peripheral vision I could see her take a quick glance at me. A flicker of a smile crossed her lips but she pushed it down. It seemed she wanted to sulk a bit longer, which is what she usually does when something has upset her. I knew she was probably dying to know if Greg had asked me out, but when she's in that kind of mood she's too stubborn to ask questions.

I guess I inherited a bit of her stubbornness because I didn't say any more on the subject, even though I suddenly wanted to tell her all about it. We finished cleaning up the dishes and kitchen and then got our jackets and told Dad we were ready to go.

“Excellent!” he boomed with forced cheer. He talked non-stop in the same tone as we drove toward Nick's Flicks, one of our local movie stores.

We were about halfway there when we heard a siren. Dad had to pull to the side of the road to let the police car pass. I cranked my neck to see the officers in the front seat of the car, and they looked grim and excited all at once.

We don't have much crime in Little River, so the sound of a siren caught everyone's attention. Faces
started appearing in windows right away. Some folks came right out of their houses, and a few people even got in their cars and started off in the direction the police had gone.

I could tell that Dad was itching to see what was going on too, but he wouldn't dare follow the police. Mom would have wigged out and started a big lecture on minding your own business and not getting in the officers' way.

It turned out that we got to see a bit of what was happening anyway because the action was right on our route. The police cruiser had come to a stop at Broderick's Gas Bar and the officers were already inside. I got a glimpse of a pale face turned toward the men in uniforms.

I didn't know it then, but things were about to get a lot worse for Amber Chapman.

Curiosity was getting the best of me after seeing the police cars at Broderick's. I tried to push it aside and concentrate on picking out a movie but in the end I just went along with one Dad suggested. It didn't matter anyway, since I couldn't keep my mind on it once we were back home and it was playing.

When the phone rang halfway through the movie I jumped up to get it.

“Never mind stopping the show,” I told Dad as I saw him reach for the remote control, “I'll just catch up when I get back.” The truth was I had only a vague idea of the story line anyway. I grabbed the phone on the third ring, hoping it might be Betts calling to tell me the latest local news. Instead, it was Greg's voice that I heard after I'd said “Hello.”

“I'm at work,” he told me quickly. “The gas bar was
held up a little while ago and the police have taken Amber to the station to get a statement from her. Mr. Broderick wanted to go down there too, so he asked me to come in.”

“Held up? You mean it was robbed?” I was shocked. We've had a few break and enters in Little River, but this was the first time I'd ever heard of a business being robbed. “What happened?”

“Amber was working tonight when someone came in wearing a mask. He held a gun to her and demanded all the cash. I don't know much more than that about it.”

“A gun!” I could hardly believe it. “That's horrible. She must have been scared out of her mind.”

“Probably. She was already gone when I got here so I haven't talked to her. Mr. Broderick was anxious to get to the station and just gave me a quick rundown of what had happened.”

“Poor Mr. Broderick,” I thought aloud. “He's such a nice old guy. Who would do something like that to him?”

“I don't think that thieves are generally all that interested in whether the person they rob is nice or not.”

“I suppose not. Still, Mr. Broderick is well loved in this town. Maybe it was someone passing through, someone who didn't know him.”

“Could be. But he said the person was on foot. That makes it sound like a local did it.”

“Or the getaway car was parked out of sight so the license plate number couldn't be taken.”

“That's possible. But there are ways to hide a license plate.” Greg seemed distracted all of a sudden. “And walking really increases the chance of being caught before you get away. Look, I've got to go now. There's a customer coming in.”

We said goodbye and I went to fill Mom and Dad in on the latest news. They were as surprised as I'd been to learn that the police we'd seen earlier had been responding to a robbery. Mom laid aside her counted cross-stitch work and told Dad she was going to see Mrs. Broderick.

“I don't think she should be alone right now,” she explained. “She's probably feeling a bit scared and unsettled by this whole thing. I'll go over and stay with her until her husband gets back from the police station.”

Mom is like that. Most people who might think of going over to the Broderick's house at a time like that would only be doing it to see what they could find out. Not Mom. She was genuinely worried about the older woman and wanted to make sure she was okay.

Shortly after that there was a knock at the door and I found Betts standing there, her eyes all lit up with excitement.

“Did you hear?” she gasped rushing into the kitchen. “Broderick's gas station was robbed a while ago.”

She was clearly disappointed when I told her that I already knew about the robbery. Betts likes to be the first one to know about things. I guess it makes her feel important to tell news to someone who hasn't heard it yet. I'm not sure why that is, but it explains why it's so hard for most folks to keep a secret. Mom always says that if you can't keep a secret yourself, it shouldn't surprise you if the person you told it to can't keep it either.

I learned the truth in that a few years ago. I learned it the hard way, too.

One of our teachers at school had given us an assignment to teach us about being entrepreneurs. We had to come up with our own moneymaking projects, carry them out, and then write up a financial report.

Everyone had different ideas of what to do. Some kids organized car washes and yard sales and stuff like that. Others sold tickets on different things. Mine was a ticket draw too, but a bit different from the ones where you just put all the slips of paper in a bag and haul one out.

What I did was fill a big old jar that Mom found for me with all sorts of candies. It took a lot to fill it, and I had to count them, which took forever because I kept losing track and had to start over. Anyway, when I was done, I sold tickets where people guessed how many candies there were in the jar. The winner would be the person who came closest to the actual number.

Well, Betts wasn't going to buy a guess, because we figured it would look suspicious if she happened to win, seeing as she's my best friend and all. And because of that, she kept pestering me to tell her how many candies the jar held.

I finally gave in and told her, then swore her not to tell a soul. The very next day, when I had my display set up outside the cafeteria, Molly, who was a friend of ours, came along and bought a ticket. Her guess was the exact number in the jar.

I was suspicious right away, because I knew she'd been over to Betts's house the night before. I cornered Betts and after a bit of badgering she admitted that she'd told Molly.

When I asked her why she did it, she just said that Molly had insisted that she wasn't interested in buying a ticket, so it had seemed safe to tell her.

As cross as I was with Betts, I had to admit that none of it would have happened if I hadn't told her in the first place. The whole thing was a big mess then, because I couldn't give it to Molly even though she had the right number. I talked it over with Dad and he suggested I toss in a few more candies so that her answer wouldn't be right. That seemed almost like cheating, but I reminded myself she'd cheated too. I put in some more jellybeans, and when the tickets were all sold there was another answer closer to the new total.

You'd think that a person who'd done what Molly did wouldn't have anything to say about it, but she was furious. She came to my locker after school and demanded to know why she hadn't won. I asked her what made her so sure her guess was right, and after stammering and stuttering she walked away. That was pretty much the end of our friendship.

Now when I'm tempted to tell anyone something I don't want spread around, I remind myself of the candy jar and I keep it to myself.

Of course, that's not the same thing as news like the holdup at Broderick's. A story like that will fly around with lightning speed.

It was the turn the story took that was the real surprise.

I got to school at the usual time on Monday morning and went to my locker to get the books I needed for morning classes. There was a buzz of talk all around me, but I was looking for my math textbook and not paying any particular mind to what was being said.

Kelly MacDonald's locker is next to mine, and she was the one who made sure I got the news, leaning her head close as if she was sharing a big secret. The truth was there was nothing secret about the story that was rushing from person to person that morning.

“Did you hear about Amber Chapman?”

“You mean the robbery? Yeah, I heard it.”

“Well, I can tell you, I'm not a bit surprised,” she whispered breathlessly. “Now maybe they'll get her for all the missing stuff at school too.”

My confusion over what she'd said must have shown on my face, because she continued without prompting.

“You
do
know that the police are going to charge Amber with the robbery, don't you?”

“What?” I was stunned. “The robbery at Broderick's?”

“That's right.” Kelly looked smug. “They're searching the area around the gas station right now, to see where she hid the money. As soon as they find it, she's toast.”

“At least that will be the end of her snooty ways at school,” Brianne Daniels chimed in from behind Kelly. “I can't even stand the sight of her, going around as if she's too good for everyone else, when she's nothing but a thief.”

I extracted myself from the conversation with a weak comment that I had to find Betts before class. Walking away I felt a huge knot growing in my stomach. Could I have been wrong about Amber? My thoughts raced, going back and forth from my earlier suspicions to the certainty I'd felt in her innocence after the night we'd talked.