Point of No Return (44 page)

“This is a little awkward, Karen. You're a student whom I trust and hold with great respect. For those reasons, I thought I'd talk to you before I called your parents.”

“Call my parents? But—why?”

Mr. Felegy handed her a computer printout. At the top, it said: Student
Council Finance Statement. Underneath were columns of figures related to how the student council had been spending its small budget. Karen recognized the form. As president she had to be familiar with it, but she couldn't imagine why Mr. Felegy was showing it to her. “You know this.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then perhaps you can explain that bottom line. The one that says ‘Miscellaneous Expenses.' ”

She looked down the page until she came to the phrase. Next to it was the figure “$347.00,” and in parenthesis it said, “(Karen Crosby).”

“I don't know what that means,” Karen said.

“Don't you?” Mr. Felegy asked. “It means that you personally spent $347 on something, but we can't find out what it was. There are no records in the student council files, except a receipt showing that you'd taken the money out of the account. Think, Karen. Why did you need the money?”

Karen worked through her memory of any time or reason she may have used money from the student council funds. “I had posters made for the charity car wash…the walk-a-thon…the fund-raiser for the trip to Chicago…”

“All of those expenses are accounted for elsewhere,” Mr. Felegy said.

Karen was at a loss. She couldn't remember spending as much as $347 on anything. Even if she had, she would have filed the receipts so that a strict accounting could be made. “I don't know, Mr. Felegy. Why did this come up?”

“The school is being audited by the district office and Mr. Laker pointed out that—”

“Mr. Laker?”

Mr. Felegy explained, “As school administrator, he's in charge of all the finances. You know that.”

“I know, but…did
he
bring this to you?” she asked.

“Yes. He said he didn't consider it a major problem, except that it seemed irregular. But
I
consider it a problem when $347 disappears from the student council funds and we don't know where it went.” He kept his gaze fixed on her.

“Mr. Laker keeps all this stuff on his computer?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Suddenly it clicked into place. Karen bit her nail and thought it through: Mr. Laker must have somehow juggled the figures on his computer. But did she dare say so to Mr. Felegy? Perhaps this was the moment of truth. What choice did she have?

“Karen, it's an awful lot of money and I certainly don't consider you irresponsible. But I need you to think very hard and tell me where you spent it.”

“I didn't,” Karen said, working up to her confession.

“Then who did?”

“I don't know, but it wasn't me,” she said. “Maybe nobody spent it. Maybe it was never there.”

Mr. Felegy looked at her quizzically. “Explain, please.”

“Well,” Karen began slowly. “I work on our computer at home with my dad. I've seen him do our finances. Last April, he pulled a joke on my mom by putting in the computer that she had spent $1,000 on groceries in one day.”

Mr. Felegy frowned and said, “Why are you telling me this story?”

“Because I think Mr. Laker put in a bogus figure to get me in trouble,” said Karen. There. It was out in the open.

Mr. Felegy pushed back from his desk and looked at her with a strained calmness. “Why would Mr. Laker want to get you in trouble?”

“Because I was going to get
him
in trouble.”

“Oh boy,” Mr. Felegy groaned. “I don't like the sound of
that
. You better tell me everything.”

So Karen did: from when Mrs. Stewart gave her the file until her conversation with Mr. Laker that morning. It sounded almost ridiculous even to Karen's ears, but it was the truth and it had to be said.

“These are serious accusations, Karen,” Mr. Felegy said after a long pause.

“I know.”

“Do you have any proof?” he asked.

Karen cringed. “I knew you were going to ask me that.”

“Well?”

“I
do
have proof,” Karen said. “Somewhere. I just can't find it.”

Mr. Felegy sighed. “Karen, you're putting me in a very difficult position. I've got a computer printout that shows you spent $347 that wasn't yours to spend, and you're telling me that Mr. Laker is on the ‘take' with our best printing company, but you don't have proof. Do you realize how this looks?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How do you suggest I proceed?” he asked.

Karen closed her eyes and prayed for a miracle. “Let's get Lucy. Maybe she found the copies we made of the documents in his file.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

L
UCY WAS HAVING PROBLEMS
of her own. After lunch, she went to the
Odyssey Owl
office to make sure their next issue was coming together the way she'd hoped. Three of the
Owl'
s reporters—Mike, Sean Campbell, and Debbie Calhoun—were gathered around the table, talking in low, conspiratorial voices with Mrs. Stegner.

“What's going on?” Lucy asked.

Startled, they spun around.

Lucy approached them. “Come on, guys. What're you talking about?”

“A friend of yours,” Mrs. Stegner said.

“
Which
friend?” Lucy asked.

“Karen,” Mike replied, and handed her two sheets of notepaper.

Lucy looked down at the pages. The first was an accounting of the student council's funds. Highlighted in yellow was a column that said “Miscellaneous Expenses: $347.00 (Karen Crosby).” She didn't know what to make of it. “So?”

“Keep reading,” Mike said. He had a smile on his face, but it wasn't friendly. He seemed to be taking pleasure from Lucy's ignorance.

Lucy held up the other page. It was a plain sheet of paper with a note typed to Mike:

That's why Karen got called to the office
, Lucy thought. She was dumbfounded. This was the kind of thing that happened to big-city newspapers, not little school papers. “A news leak? A news leak in our school?”

“Interesting, isn't it?” Mrs. Stegner said.

“Well, Miss Crusading Truth-Finding Editor, can I do an article about it?” Mike asked.

“No!” Lucy snapped.

Mike gestured to Mrs. Stegner, Sean, and Debbie. “What did I say? She's going to cover for her friend.”

Lucy turned on Mike. “I'm not covering for anybody! For one thing, Karen wouldn't steal the council's money. For another thing, we don't have any of the facts besides this anonymous note and the treasury report!”

“Those are two pretty good pieces of evidence,” Debbie said. “What more do we need?”

“These aren't
facts
, they're circumstantial evidence.” Lucy appealed to Mrs. Stegner. “I'm right, aren't I? We can't write an article
speculating
about missing money and then suggest that Karen took it. Since when do we write about
any
of our fellow students like that? We're a school newspaper, not muckrakers!”

“What do we do then?” Mrs. Stegner asked.

“Nothing—until we get more information,” Lucy said.

“A cover-up!” Mike cried out. “If it wasn't Karen and you weren't in your do-as-Jesus-would-do phase, you'd jump all over this story. You'd have us running ourselves ragged digging out the facts!”

Mrs. Stegner nodded. “He's right, Lucy. I'm not sure you're being objective about this. Are you sure you're not protecting Karen?”

“I don't have to protect Karen. She wouldn't steal, it's as simple as that. But I'm not afraid of searching for the
truth
.”

“Newspapers aren't interested in only the truth, Lucy,” said Mrs. Stegner. “They're interested in reporting the
facts
—as they emerge. If a bank gets robbed, you don't wait until you have the whole
truth
of what happened, you report what happened
when
it happened.”

“But we don't even have all the facts, Mrs. Stegner,” Lucy said.

“Then
what do you do next
?” she prodded.

Lucy hesitantly answered, “We investigate the story and assemble more facts.”

“Right.”

“But we won't print anything until we have them all,” Lucy added as a qualifier.

“I'll go talk to Mr. Laker,” Mike said enthusiastically.

Lucy looked surprised. “Mr. Laker?”

“Sure, he's in charge of the school finances. He has to know about it.”

Lucy smiled knowingly.
Mr. Laker is the anonymous note-writer
, she realized. He's setting her up! She looked at the faces of her coworkers and knew she couldn't tell them. But suddenly it changed everything for her. “You're in over your head,” Mr. Laker had said to Karen.

The reporters took off with various ideas about tracking the story, leaving Lucy and Mrs. Stegner alone.

“It's hard for you,” Mrs. Stegner said sympathetically. “But this is what being an editor's all about.”

Lucy nodded sadly. “I won't betray my friend.”

There was a knock at the door. Mr. Felegy opened it and peeked in. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said as he stepped fully into the room. Karen followed him, looking lost and helpless.

“What can I do for you?” Mrs. Stegner asked.

“It's what
Lucy
can do, actually,” Mr. Felegy said. “We were wondering if she found the mysterious copies that Karen needs right now.”

“Copies?” Mrs. Stegner asked.

“I haven't found them,” Lucy admitted quietly. She spread her arms to Karen, as if to say,
What can I do?

Karen turned to Mr. Felegy. “I don't blame you if you won't believe me, but…I didn't take the money, Mr. Felegy.”

Mr. Felegy shook his head. “Karen—”

Karen interrupted him: “At the council meeting tomorrow, I'll…I'll resign as president.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

J
OE
D
EVLIN GAVE HIS
friends a few parting punches on their arms—just to remind them who was boss—and ducked into the woods. He followed the path through the bare trees like he always did at this time of day. He had to get home in time for dinner. His mom got very angry when Joe was late. And Joe knew it was dangerous to make his mom mad.

The fallen leaves crunched under his leather boots. He liked the sound. It made him feel powerful, as if he were destroying entire cities under his feet like Godzilla in those Japanese movies. He marched on through the woods, oblivious that he was being watched.

The trees suddenly gave way to a clearing and, a few yards beyond, Joe heard the creek pouring over the time-worn stones. The wind kicked up, so he tugged the zipper up on his leather jacket. He made his way to the large tree that had conveniently fallen to bridge one side of the creek to the other. He had crossed it so often that he didn't think twice about whether or not it was safe. He jumped on and strolled ahead.

When he reached the halfway point—identified by a rotted branch that stuck out of the side of the log—he heard a noise. It wasn't any of the familiar sounds he took for granted—the snapping of old bark from the tree, the creek gurgling below, birds singing somewhere in the forest—that made him stop and listen. This one was different. Joe waited and it came again: It was the unmistakable sound of someone clearing his throat.

Joe turned around quickly and saw Matt standing on the bank behind him. Something rustled in front and he looked to see Jack positioned on the bank ahead.

“Oh, it's you,” he said.

“Yeah, it's us,” Jack answered.

Joe took a step forward but halted when Jack raised his hand. In it was a whip. Jack flicked his arm and, in turn, snapped the whip. It cracked loudly, scattering the birds in a nearby tree. Jack smiled, impressed with himself.

Joe squinted his eyes in a way he thought looked vicious. “Nice whip. Are you boys playing
Indiana Jones
this week?”

Matt cracked his whip, too, and Joe nearly lost his balance on the log from the fright. “My dad is a collector.”

“I'm happy for him,” Joe said sarcastically.

“We've been thinking about it, Joe,” Matt said. “We decided that we're sick and tired of you bullying Oscar.”

“Am I supposed to care about what you think?” Joe said.

“You oughtta care right now. Because you're not coming off that bridge until you promise to leave Oscar alone,” Jack said.

“Oh, yeah? What're you going to do if I refuse?”

Both boys cracked their whips.

Joe sneered at them. “You're pretty tough when it's two against one.”

“And
you're
pretty tough when it's you and seven other guys against Oscar,” Matt said. “Funny, but you're not so tough now.”

“What're you going to do, whip me?” Joe challenged them.

“Worse than that,” Matt said. “We're going to give you a bath.”

“What?”

Jack continued, “If you don't promise to stay away from Oscar, you're going into the creek.”

Joe nearly laughed at them. A dunk in the creek was nothing to him. “You think a little bit of water scares me?”

Jack cracked the whip at Joe. Joe flinched and took a step backwards. “Watch it with that thing!”

“You probably don't care about the water yourself,” Matt informed him. “But that leather jacket and those leather boots won't enjoy it very much. Water ruins leather, doesn't it?”