Something Suspicious in Sask (2 page)

Megan's cheekbones stuck out sharply above sunken cheeks. Her lips were dark purple like a bad bruise and, far from glowing, her pale skin resembled a bowl of oatmeal porridge. Dull.

The purple lips parted. “Uh, yeah,” Megan repeated. “Cliff, this is my grandma and my grandpa Jerry from Victoria. Gram and GJ, Cliff.”

“Welcome to Saskatchewan.” Cliff smiled and stepped forward to shake hands first with Gram and then with GJ. Then he glanced uncertainly toward Katie and Rusty. He turned to Megan.

“Uh,” Megan said, “and these are my uh, niece and nephew—er, no, they're my two little cousins, Kathryn and Russell.”

Katie rolled her eyes at Rusty. His thin red eyebrows lifted and his blue eyes twinkled in his freckled face. With a wink at Katie, he grinned a wide cheesy grin and stepped forward.

“Well, I guess you must be old Clifford,” he said. “Glad to meet you old man. Any friend of our ancient cousin Megan is a friend of ours.” Rusty shook a surprised Cliff's hand. “You can call me Rusty if you like, everyone else does. And Megan's other little cousin over there likes to be called Katie.”

Megan scowled.

“Where's your mother?” Gram asked.

Megan glanced at her watch. “Must be in the kitchen.”

“We honked and no one came to the door,” GJ told her.

Megan's eyes flicked toward Cliff and away. Two creases appeared between her eyebrows. “Said she'd be back before four—wanted to be home when you arrived.” Megan started toward the house, dragging her backpack across the dusty driveway. She stopped on the small outside porch to kick off her shoes. Seconds later the screen door slammed behind her.

“Margaret must have the radio on,” Cliff tried to reassure Gram. “She wouldn't have heard you.”

The door swung open again. “She's not here!”

Megan called. She slipped her bare feet into a pair of shiny pink flip-flops.

Cliff ran toward the truck. “I told her not to finish haying that field by herself! The windrower keeps breaking down.”

“If you're going to look for her I'm coming too,”

Gram scrambled into the passenger seat, and GJ squeezed in beside her.

By the time Cliff started the engine Katie and Rusty had climbed over the tailgate into the truck box and settled with their backs against the cab. Megan remained near the porch, her long, thin arms crossed over her sunken chest. She watched them go, bouncing toward the nearest field. Suddenly the truck skidded to a stop and backed up in a swirl of dust.

“Hop in!” Cliff called. “We might need you.”

“Yeah? What for?” Megan stepped back.

“Megan, please, just get in,” Cliff pleaded.

Megan glanced from Cliff, to the house, to the truck box. Then her shoulders slumped and she climbed in obediently. She sat down, her arms behind her, draped awkwardly over the tailgate. Her wide, watery blue eyes stared straight at Katie.

Katie squirmed uncomfortably. She tried to avoid Megan's eyes. But when Megan continued to stare, Katie decided to stare right back. That's when she realized her cousin wasn't seeing her at all. Megan's eyes were blank and empty, looking at absolutely nothing.

Katie turned to Rusty, a question in her eyes. He shook his head sadly.

2

Aunt Margaret was not hard to find. How could anything be hard to find on this land where you can see forever? Katie twisted around and leaned over the truck's side to see where they were going. Wind blew hot and dry in her face, and the wide truck tires stirred up clouds of dust. She squinted into the distance, her eyes streamed gritty tears.

Beyond a bright green field and a sunshine yellow one, a tall red tractor perched high above a sea of golden grass. Cliff drove straight toward it. They rode alongside a slough filled with brown and broken stalks of cattails. Dozens of red-winged blackbirds perched on the stalks like tiny sentinels with scarlet patches on their shoulders. Standing in the murky water was a post that supported an object the size of a rural mailbox. Its thick cylindrical walls were made of tightly woven straw. The inside looked hollow.

Katie wondered what it was. She turned to ask Megan, but one glance at her cousin's blank stare and she changed her mind.

The truck bumped to a stop near the tractor, and Katie clambered over the side. She landed in tall golden grass. Or maybe it was hay—yes, this must be the hay field Cliff mentioned.

The truck doors flew open and all three adults ran toward the tractor. Katie followed more slowly, stepping lightly on hay that grew sharp and prickly under her bare feet. The tractor was one of those weird-looking ones she had seen lined up for sale in every little town they had passed through since leaving Alberta's ranchland. Its big back tires had heavy tread like a normal tractor, but the front ones were small and smooth.

They were attached to the frame by two weird arm-like projections that bent at the middle like elbows. The machine perched above the hay field like a huge, mechanical grasshopper.

When she reached the side of the tractor and looked up at the cab, Katie realized her mistake. The small wheels were actually at the back of the machine. In front of the big tractor tires was a wide attachment that resembled an over-sized lawn mower blade, the kind used to cut the grass in parks back home. Printed in neat white letters on it were two words:
Harvest Header.

“Margaret!” Gram dropped to her knees.

Katie crouched beside her. Just visible beneath the tractor was a pair of brown leather boots.

“Mom?” a metallic voice echoed from underneath.“Margaret.” GJ put his hand on the red metal side and bent to peer underneath. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” the voice hesitated, “but I'm sort of stuck.”

On her knees, Katie crept closer. Attached to the boots, a pair of jean-clad legs lay on top of hay stubble between the two high front wheels. Not much else showed of Aunt Margaret other than a scrap of green plaid shirt. Her arms were lost somewhere up under the header.

“Is your arm caught?” GJ called.

“No, Dad, don't worry. The sleeve of my shirt got hung up under the cutter bar. It's all tangled in there, and I can't pull it loose.”

“We need a couple of jacks,” Cliff sounded agitated. “We'll have to lift the windrower.”

Katie turned and squinted up at him. His face was black against the bright sun behind him. “What's a windrower?”

Cliff shifted his weight from one leg to the other and didn't seem to hear Katie. But Megan, who was leaning against the truck bumper hugging her arms around her bony body, rolled her eyes impressively. She stepped quickly out of the way when Cliff started toward the truck at a run.

“I'm going to get a jack, some rope, and…”

“Why don't I just wriggle under and cut her sleeve loose?” Katie asked.

But no one answered; they were too busy worrying about Aunt Margaret and making hasty plans.

“I'll go with you.” GJ hurried toward Cliff. “I've got a good jack in my truck, and we'll need some blocks. I think…”

Gram jumped up. “Katie's right!” she shouted, her voice loud in the still air.

Both men stopped as if they had slammed into an invisible wall. They swung around, mouths open in identical, round circles of surprise.

“There's room for someone small like Katie to squirm under and cut Margaret's sleeve free. If you're going to do any jacking up, you'd better wait until my daughter is out of there!”

Cliff rubbed his hand over his whiskers and glanced at GJ, who nodded agreement. “It's worth a try,” he said.

“I don't suppose anyone has a pair of scissors?”

Gram asked.

For a silent moment everyone looked at everyone else. Then Rusty said, “Here, take my Swiss Army knife.” He pulled the closed knife from his shorts' pocket and handed it to Katie.

“Be careful, Katie,” Gram said.

Katie lay down on the sharp remains of cut hay. It felt like a thousand sharp sticks poking into her back as she wormed her way between the big wheels and wriggled up close toward the header beside her aunt. A horde of mosquitoes must have been hiding in the hay, because suddenly they were everywhere, landing on her face and bare arms and legs. She did her best to ignore them. “Hi, Aunt Margaret,” Katie said to the plaid-clad shoulder. “I bet you were glad to hear us coming.”

“You're not kidding! If I had to lie here much longer I'd be nothing but one massive mosquito bite.”

“So, do you do this sort of thing often around here?”

Aunt Margaret laughed. “Only when I'm expecting company. It's my way of avoiding cooking.”

“Well, I hate to break the bad news, but all this rescuing is gonna give everyone a huge appetite.”

Aunt Margaret made an odd sound in her throat and muttered something about Megan.

“Which sleeve is caught?” Katie asked.

“The left one, closest to you. If you can wriggle just a little farther forward you should be able to reach up and cut it loose.”

Katie opened the knife and, holding it in one hand with her arms over her head, inched forward using her heels and bent knees. Her right hand found Aunt Margaret's left arm and she wrapped her fingers in the cotton shirt fabric.

“Just cut the sleeve right off at my elbow,” Aunt Margaret said. “You'll never free it from the cutter bar.”

“Okay, but don't forget to tell me if I slice into your arm.”

“Don't worry, you'll hear me loud and clear.”

It wasn't as easy as it sounded. Katie bunched up the cotton and struggled to work the knife tip through. But there wasn't much room to move and she couldn't see what she was doing in this confined space with her arms stretched above her head. The knife tip refused to break through the fabric. Katie held her breath. What if the knife slipped? What if she stabbed Aunt Margaret's arm? She could slice into an artery, blood would spurt everywhere.

Katie was suddenly way too hot, her face damp with sweat. A frightened little squeak slipped from her throat.

“Katie,” Aunt Margaret said calmly. “Take a deep breath. Don't worry, you can do this, you won't cut me. Besides I'm a tough old bird.”

Katie took her aunt's advice. She paused, took a long deep breath, let it out, and tried again. One quick slice and the knife slipped through the shirtsleeve. After that she sliced and hacked, holding the material away from her aunt's arm as she worked her way around the sleeve. Mosquitoes whined in her ears and tickled her face with their landings. But there was nothing she could do about them, except work a little faster.

At last the sleeve came free. “Ahh.” Aunt Margaret pulled her arm to her side. “Let's get out of here!”

The minute they were both standing up, free of the windrower, Aunt Margaret engulfed Katie in a grateful hug. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

“Anytime,” Katie said, pulling away. “But what happened?”“It's the strangest thing.” A confused look came over Aunt Margaret's face. Confusion and something else. Worry? She glanced in Megan's direction and then back to Katie. “It seems a piece of chicken wire got left in the field. It was hidden in the hay, and I didn't spot it until too late. I was trying to free it from around the cutter bar when my sleeve got caught up.”

“Oh, Margaret, you had us so worried.” Gram stepped up to wrap her arms around Aunt Margaret.

She placed her hands on Margaret's shoulders and took a half step back to study her daughter's face.

“But I don't understand how wire could get left out here. I'd think you would all be very careful about things like that.”

“I don't know, Mom.” Again she glanced over at Megan, who stared back at her, unflinching. “I can't imagine anyone here being so careless. That harvest header is an expensive piece of equipment, and we can't afford to damage it.”

“Just say it why don't you?” Megan's shout made everyone jump.

Megan looked at Gram. “My mother thinks it's my fault.” She swung around and stomped away, parting the hay in front of her as she went.

“I don't understand.” Gram turned to Aunt Margaret.

Aunt Margaret bit her lip. “Let's talk about it later, Mom.”

Cliff walked to the front of the header and crouched low for a closer look. “It's chicken wire all right,” he said, getting to his feet. “But it can't be Megan's fault.

I warned you we hadn't seen the last of Scott.”

“Who's Scott?” Katie asked.

3

Cliff pulled off his baseball cap and ran his fingers through straight sand-colored hair that flopped lazily over a forehead beaded with sweat. His blue eyes swept past Katie and sought out Aunt Margaret.

Why didn't he answer her? Why did he study Aunt Margaret as if asking permission to continue?

“Who-is-Scott?” Katie repeated.

Cliff stuck his cap back on and pulled it low on his forehead. His face was flushed from heat that hung over the field like a thick quilt. Slowly his eyes moved to Katie. “Scott used to help out around here, but we had to let him go.”

“Why?”

Cliff hesitated. Again his eyes glanced over to Aunt Margaret. She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

Cliff's gaze shifted to the ground where he studied the toe of his workboot. When he answered, it was in a half-whisper, as if he hated to speak badly of anyone. “Your aunt caught him stealing.”

Finally Aunt Margaret spoke up. “Scott's a young fellow, who just graduated from high school,” she said. “I hired him to help out with the seeding in June.” She glanced over Katie's shoulder. Frown lines appeared on her forehead and her lips tightened. “He seemed like a nice enough boy. I couldn't believe he would steal from us.”

Katie turned to see what her aunt was looking at. Thin as a fence post and topped by a tangle of hair that blended perfectly with the hay, Megan stepped carefully in her pink flip-flops, following the path of flattened hay made by the truck tires. Her bone-thin arms flapped uselessly at her sides like two broken wings.