In Too Deep (7 page)

Greg came along then, and to my delight he asked me right away if I was interested in making plans on Friday evening. I asked him what he had in mind, as if that would affect my decision. If he'd suggested that we sit in a farmer's damp field and watch a cow chew its cud I'd have been game.

“Come to my place for dinner, and then we'll figure out what we're going to do for the rest of the evening.”

I agreed happily, though I was a bit disappointed that we apparently weren't going to do whatever it was he'd had planned last Saturday. But then, maybe he was going to surprise me with that after dinner.

There was a surprise that night all right, but it wasn't what I was expecting! I got there at quarter to five and sat in the kitchen while Greg and his dad chopped vegetables for dinner.

“I hope you like stir-fry, Shelby.”

I assured Dr. Taylor that I did and offered to help, but he told me they had everything under control. That made me smile because I got picturing the vegetables getting unruly and needing to be subdued. Then I felt stupid for sitting there with a big grin on my face when no one else in the room knew why. If they noticed, though, they didn't mention it, and at least I didn't laugh out loud. That's happened more than a few times, when something has struck me funny. It's usually in a situation that's serious too, which has caused me problems more than once.

The absolute worst is when that happens in church. It's not as if you can just up and laugh in the middle of a sermon, and I don't mean to be irreverent or anything, but sometimes I'll get a thought that strikes me as hilarious. The best I can do under those circumstances is try to act as if I'm taken in a sudden fit of coughing, but even that draws cross looks from my mother.

And once, about a year ago, we were visiting my Great-Aunt Isabel and were sitting in her parlour. Well, she calls it a parlour, but if you ask me it's just a stuffy, depressing room where adults discuss really boring things.

Anyway, my great-aunt was looking especially severe, seated in the chair she always occupies in that room. I never fail to get the feeling that she thinks she's holding court, like some queen reigning over her loyal subjects. She talks in clipped syllables and looks down
her nose at you in a way that makes you sure she's finding fault with what she sees. It annoys her when other people try to have a fair share in the conversation too. She'll give them a look as if she can't quite believe their audacity in thinking
they
have something worth listening to when she, Queen Isabel, is there.

So, this particular day we were gathered in the parlour and being subjected to Aunt Isabel's longwinded talk, which was mostly about herself. It seems that's the topic that interests her most, and it centres primarily around her health. She proudly claims a lengthy list of ailments that all seem to end in “itis,” like arthritis and bursitis and the like.

And then she mentioned her husband, who passed away about twenty years ago. There's a picture of the two of them when they were young on the wall in a fancy oval frame, and you can see, even though it's a bit fuzzy, that he has the look of a man who's trapped.

“My late husband,” Aunt Isabel started to say, and then broke off when I burst out laughing. You see, it had just hit me that he was
really
late, late by a good twenty years, and that if she was what he had to come home to every day, I didn't blame him a bit.

Well, you can just imagine the looks I got. Mom nearly glared me into stopping, but then I caught Dad's eye and it seemed there was a twinkle there, which sent me into another fit of laughter.

Aunt Isabel cleared her throat, as if to regain command of the room, and gave me a haughty look. I pulled myself together and said I was sorry, which I wasn't.

“It seems you find something amusing about this, Miss Shelby. Perhaps you'd like to explain your merriment to the rest of us.”

I mumbled something incoherent about suddenly remembering a funny incident that had happened at school, and after a few more withering glances at me, Aunt Isabel went back to her story. I figured I was in for a big lecture on the way home, and Mom didn't disappoint me.

Drawing my thoughts back to the present I saw that Greg and his dad were finished chopping the vegetables. Dr. Taylor got an electric wok out of the cupboard and had just plugged it in when there was a knock at the door.

“There's our other guest,” Greg said, which was news to me. Before I had time to wonder who else was coming, he'd reached the door and swung it open.

To my complete shock and horror, there stood Amber Chapman!

It was clear that Amber hadn't expected to see me any more than I'd expected to see her. She was visibly startled, which gave me some satisfaction despite my dismay at seeing her in the doorway. It was the first time I'd seen her in the least bit ruffled.

Greg is usually pretty attuned to what's going on around him, but he didn't seem to notice the looks his two guests were giving each other. If anything, he had a pleased air about him.

“Come on in, Amber.”

She hesitated. For a second I thought she was going to turn around and leave, which I couldn't help but think would have been the best thing for everyone. But she didn't. Instead, she took a halting step through the doorway, as if she had turned into a robot and was moving in automation.

“You didn't tell me anyone else was coming,” she said to Greg in a flat voice.

“No, I didn't,” Greg admitted pleasantly, as though tricking dinner guests was an admirable thing. “I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

A nice surprise indeed! Putting two people who can't stand the sight of each other in the same room is rarely a good thing. But then, Greg didn't know how fervently we disliked each other.

Amber took another step forward, still looking slightly dazed. Dr. Taylor had joined them and was extending his hand as Greg introduced them.

“Good to meet you, Amber,” he said smiling, “we're glad you could come.”

She shook his hand and told him it was nice to meet him too, but there was about as much enthusiasm in her voice as you might expect from a dead fish.

“And you've already met Shelby Belgarden,” Greg continued on, oblivious to our mutual aversion toward each other. “She's a very good friend of mine, and I think the two of you will really hit it off.”

“
Do
you?” Amber asked in the coldest voice I've ever heard. Then she directed her gaze at me and said “Hello,” and her tone was even chillier.

All of a sudden I was the one who wanted to run out of there. Something as cold as her voice settled in my stomach, and in a flash I knew what it was. I hadn't
kept the story about how I'd set her up to take my watch quiet for the reasons I'd thought at all. The truth was that I didn't want Greg to find out about it.

I still had no doubt that Amber was the thief, but I knew deep down inside that Greg would never believe it without absolute proof. He'd take the same point of view that Mr. Lower had taken, and worse, he'd think I was wrong for having set the trap in the first place.

My insides churned, and I thought I was going to be sick. What if Amber brought it up? I was sure she'd tell the story in a way that put me in the worst possible light, and I'd have to sit there and face Greg's disapproval. She'd turn her act of theft into a victory of sorts, and I'd be the horrid person who had tried to frame her.

The worst thing was that there was nothing I could do about it. Amber seated herself at the table as Dr. Taylor tossed thin strips of raw chicken into the sizzling wok. I avoided looking at her, but even so I could feel her eyes on me and I knew they held nothing but contempt.

Greg was setting the table and didn't seem to notice how huge the silence in the room had grown. It was the kind of silence that seems to have a life and presence of its own, as if you could actually reach out and touch it. Mercifully, after what seemed an hour but could only have been ten minutes or so, Dr. Taylor announced that dinner was ready and brought two steaming bowls to the table. One held the stir-fry, the other rice.

I spooned small helpings of each onto my plate, wondering how I was going to force myself to eat. I'd managed to get down a few bites when Dr. Taylor made a comment that made my stomach contract even worse.

“Oh, Amber, did you know that our Shelby here is something of a detective?”

“Is she now?” Amber's voice was as polite as all get out, but there was a smirk on her face as she spoke.

“Oh, yes. In fact, she single-handedly figured out who was setting fires in Little River just a few months ago.”

“How clever of you, Shelby,” Amber looked directly at me, her eyes mocking. “And how is the sleuthing business these days?”

“Actually, it's a bit slow at the moment, but one can always hope for a big crime wave.” I spoke in a light, joking manner but knew I was crimson as I answered.

“There's been a rash of thefts at school lately, Dad.” Greg injected. “I'm sure that Shelby is right on top of it. I bet she's solving it in her head even as we speak.”

“Well, then, I feel safer already,” Amber's face was the picture of innocence, but I knew she was toying with me. It put me in mind of the way a cat will let a mouse start to escape after playing with it a little, only to recapture it for the kill.

“By the way, that's a very pretty watch you have on.”

“Thanks, Amber,” I mumbled. There was
no way
I was going to be able to eat another bite, and I didn't know how I could explain that to Dr. Taylor without seeming rude.

“You came to Little River from somewhere out in Alberta, am I right, Amber?”

I could have hugged Dr. Taylor for changing the subject!

“Yes.”

“What part of Alberta?”

“Just a small town northwest of Edmonton.” Amber seemed uncomfortable to have been asked about her home.

“Like in the Whitecourt, Valleyview area?”

“You know Alberta quite well,” she smiled. “Have you spent time there yourself?”

If Dr. Taylor noticed that she'd avoided answering his question, he didn't show it.

“Spent a few years out west in my youth,” he nodded. “Of course, that was a
long
time ago. I'm a bit surprised I can remember back that far.”

“You don't seem that old to me. Why, you can't be any older than my —” Amber stopped without finishing her sentence and turned suddenly to Greg. “Could I have a little more rice, please?”

Greg passed the bowl, and I wondered if he'd noticed that there was still rice left on her plate from the
first serving she'd taken. It was obvious she'd been about to let something slip and had tried to cover it up with this sudden and unnecessary request.

As the conversation drifted into other neutral topics I found myself relaxing a little and I managed to eat the food I'd taken. Still, it was without any enjoyment. Dr. Taylor is a great cook, but tonight's dinner could have been cardboard for all the pleasure I got from it.

The minute the table had been cleared and the dishes done I told Greg that I wasn't feeling well and was going to have to leave. There was just no way I could take another second of waiting and wondering if Amber was going to bring up the incident at school. She might tell Greg when I wasn't there, but at least I wouldn't have to face him.

“That's a shame, Shelby,” Dr. Taylor sympathized. “Let me give you a drive home.”

“Thanks, but I think the walk and fresh air will help.”

“Amber and I will walk with you,” Greg offered.

“That's okay,” I mumbled, thinking that the way he'd said “Amber and I” made it sound as if they were a couple. “I wouldn't be very good company right now.”

“Well, I'm afraid you're stuck with me,” Amber said, joining me at the door. “I have to be at work at seven, so I'm going that way now too.”

I could have kicked myself for taking the cowardly way out when I realized she was leaving anyway. I'd just given up the evening with Greg for nothing. And there I was, stuck walking home with the person who'd just ruined everything for me.

We walked without speaking for a good ten minutes, and if it had been up to me it would have stayed like that all the way. But Amber stopped suddenly and turned to face me.

“Are you going out with Greg?” Her question startled me.

“Not exactly,” I admitted slowly, wondering why she was asking.

“He's a cool guy.” She spoke as if I wasn't there.

I didn't know what to say to that. Was she telling me that she was interested in him? As if she'd read my thoughts, she spoke again.

“If you set me up the other day because you thought I was after Greg, you were wrong.”

“
What
?” The idea was preposterous! As if I'd framed her because I was jealous.

“Well, whatever your reason, and I have no idea what it might be, though I've been trying to figure it out, you're on the wrong track. I'm not a thief.”

There was something in her face, a kind of angry determination that cut right into me. I looked at her, trying to see past the words, when suddenly her
expression crumpled. Amber Chapman, the girl who'd been nothing but cold and aloof since the first time I'd seen her, started to cry!

I reached out and put a hand on her arm.

“I'm sorry,” I said, feeling helpless, “I really am.” I knew in that moment that I'd been wrong, that Amber was not the one who was stealing things at school.

“It's not even that,” she cried softly. And then, between wrenching sobs, Amber spilled out the whole story that she'd been trying so hard to keep inside.

By the time we got to Broderick's, which is just a few blocks from my house, Amber had grown silent again. I couldn't help but wonder if she already regretted telling me about her situation. When I thought about it, it was really strange that she'd confided in me, considering all the unpleasantness that had occurred between us. Maybe she figured that if I was a friend of Greg's there must be something good about me.