Something Suspicious in Sask (4 page)

It sounded like a hiccup.

Megan's blue eyes blazed with quick fiery anger.

Katie choked on her next word. It was meant to be
black
. “Bu-uu,” she said. Like a burp.

Megan shook her head sadly, turned away and scooped up an armload of clothes. She stormed over to her dresser where she balanced on one foot, tried to hook her bare toes under a drawer handle and stumbled back.

“Want me to open it for you?” Katie asked, dumping her own stuff on the floor. Oops—did that count as a question?

Megan growled.

“I'm going to assume that means yes,” Katie said.

She walked boldly over, slid open the drawer and stepped quickly out of the way. Megan dropped all the clothes inside, spread them out and squashed them down until she could close the drawer.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“No problem.” Katie glanced around the room. Megan's bed was near the one small rectangular window, closed up tight. Its shade was up and sunlight streamed in. Already Katie was covered in a fine layer of perspiration, and she wondered how Megan, still wearing her black jeans, could stand this heat.

Pushed up against the wall on the far side of the room was a small folding cot with yellow flowered sheets, a matching pillow and a light creamy blanket.

“I guess that's for me,” Katie observed.

“Whatever,” Megan mumbled. She flopped on her bed and picked up a book.

Katie squinted at the front cover, stepped closer, and was surprised to see it was an Agatha Christie novel. “So, do you like mysteries?”

“Question,” Megan growled and pulled the book closer to her face.

Katie swallowed. “Oh, yeah, sorry.” She resolved to keep quiet, to not say another word. So she was taken by surprise when the words slipped out anyway. “Hey, Megan, thanks for sharing your room. I bet we're going to have fun.” Her words hung in the air like icicles.

Megan's cold blue eyes glared over the top of her book. “Do you even know how to stop talking?”

A chill ran down the back of Katie's neck. She picked up her stuff and dumped it on the cot. She grabbed her novel, notebook and pen, and left the room. That was enough bonding for one day.

5

Katie padded barefoot down the steep wooden staircase. She had almost reached the bottom when she became aware of quiet voices in the kitchen below. She paused. Although they were barely above a whisper, Katie recognized Gram's, GJ's and Aunt Margaret's voices. She waited, listening, thought she heard the word “airport,” but couldn't be sure, so crept down one more stair. It creaked beneath her foot.

The voices stopped. Katie continued down the stairs. “What's going on?” she asked, surprised to see Rusty seated at the table too.

No one seemed inclined to answer, and when the phone rang Aunt Margaret flew out of her chair as if she'd been stung. “I'll get it in my office,” she said, giving Katie a nervous glance on her way past.

From her position, Katie could see into the tiny office tucked behind the kitchen, a room that had once been the pantry. Aunt Margaret ran to the desk and stopped abruptly. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the phone. It rang again, and she snapped it up.

“Yes?” she whispered.

She listened, then pressed a hand to her forehead.

“Who is this?”

Intrigued, Katie stepped closer.

“Katie, come on in and join us,” GJ called. “Let your aunt talk on the phone in peace.”

“But…” Katie glanced at GJ and back to Aunt Margaret, who was working her way around her desk to the chair. She sank into it, white-faced, the phone clutched tight against her ear.

“Katie, don't be so rude.” Gram's chair scraped across the floor as she stood up.

Katie hesitated. Something was wrong. She knew it. Deep inside herself she knew it. She could never understand why, but she always got this same strange feeling, a sense of curiosity, a need to delve deeper, when there was a crime being conceived, a mystery in the making. Even if Rusty and Sheila made fun of her when she tried to explain, she always knew.

But what could she say? The main reason her grandparents had brought her and Rusty and Sheila along on this trip was to keep the three of them out of trouble for the summer. No mysteries allowed. No getting into trouble, no causing worries for Gram and GJ. They had all promised. Even if Sheila had deserted them, the promise still held.

Aunt Margaret replaced the receiver and buried her face in her hands.

“Katie?” Gram walked toward her, looking bewildered.“Sorry, I felt a little weird for a minute there. Dizzy.

I guess I must be hungry.” She rubbed her stomach.

Gram took her by the arm and led her to the table. “Dinner is ready. We'll eat just as soon as your aunt is finished on the phone.”

Minutes later Aunt Margaret emerged from her office. She attempted a smile but her lips trembled and she turned away. Katie glanced at Gram to see if she noticed it too, but her grandmother was busy at the stove.

Aunt Margaret stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Megan!” she called, and waited. “Dinner!” When there was no answer, Aunt Margaret went to help Gram dish up the food.

Fried chicken, potato salad, green salad and fresh bakery bread was piled on the table, and everyone dug in. The adults chatted and laughed about the good old days when Aunt Margaret, Katie's mom and Rusty's mom were kids.

“Where's Cliff?” Rusty asked when there was a lull in the conversation. “Doesn't he live here too?”

“Not exactly. He usually has breakfast with us because he starts work so early, but he has his own kitchen,” Aunt Margaret explained. “This house was built for a big family, and we didn't need all the space, so years ago your Uncle Al and I converted some of the back rooms into a separate suite. Cliff seems happy there.”

Katie studied Aunt Margaret. For the third time her aunt's eyes slid over to the clock on the microwave then to the wall phone. She took a small bite of potato salad. When the phone rang, her fork fell from her hand. It bounced off her plate and clattered onto the floor. She didn't seem to notice. She leaned forward as if to get up, but then changed her mind and sat very still, her fingers on the table edge.

The phone rang again. She cringed.

GJ, sitting beside Aunt Margaret, bent to pick up her fork. “Maybe you should answer your phone,” he suggested.

“No!” she snapped.

GJ's jaw fell.

“Oh, Dad, I'm sorry.” Aunt Margaret placed a hand on his arm just as the phone rang for the third time. “It will be someone trying to sell me something. They always phone at dinnertime.”

On the fourth ring, the answering machine in the office picked up. Two seconds later there was a rumble on the stairs, and a second after that Megan burst into the room. “Why didn't you answer the phone?” she demanded.

“I'm tired of telemarketers,” her mother said. “I already got one call this evening, and there are usually at least two or three.”

“But it might be important!” Megan screeched.

Aunt Margaret remained calm. “If it is, they'll leave a message.” She hesitated, then added, “I'm not sure why you're so worried, honey. Your friends always call on your cell phone anyway.”

Megan swung around and stormed into Aunt Margaret's office. In a flash she was back. “No messages!” she shouted and strode to the sink. She grabbed a glass, filled it with water and turned to glare at her mother. “That stinks!” she said.

“You're not kidding,” Rusty said. “What's wrong with the water around here anyway? It tastes like mud.”

Megan rolled her eyes. “I'm not talking about the water. Doesn't anyone listen to me? I'm talking about the phone. It stinks that my mother doesn't bother to answer it anymore.”

The room grew so quiet they could hear mosquitoes beating at the window. Aunt Margaret stared speechlessly at her daughter. Gram pressed her lips together and looked at GJ who frowned back, shaking his head. Katie's eyes flicked from one to the other around the kitchen. Rusty bit into a chicken leg.

“Megan…,” Aunt Margaret began.

Megan's thin body slumped against the counter.

“I'm sorry, Mom. It's just…I feel so…I don't feel so good.”

You don't look so good either, Katie almost said, but the tension in this room was too strong. She couldn't force herself to speak.

“You're probably hungry,” GJ said. “You look as if you haven't eaten in a month.”

“Come, sit by me.” Gram smiled invitingly and patted the empty chair. “Have something to eat.”

To Katie's surprise, Megan nodded. She sat down and piled green salad onto her plate. When Megan started to eat, Gram slipped a piece of chicken next to the salad and followed it with a thick slice of multigrain bread. Megan didn't object. She nibbled on the chicken, ripped the bread in two and swallowed a few of the crumbs, then returned to her salad.

All the excited chatter between Gram, Aunt Margaret and GJ had ended with the arrival of Megan. Now, in the uneasy silence, the sounds of chewing and swallowing seemed to bounce off the walls. Katie could hardly wait to get away. She needed to find a quiet place to sit and fill out her notebook.

6

Half an hour dragged by before Katie, clutching her notebook and a tall glass of water, escaped to a white wicker chair on the screened porch. She was so thirsty she drank most of the water right away, and then she placed the glass on the small wicker table beside her.

Although the sun still beat down mercilessly on the flat dry prairie, it had dipped lower in that great huge sky. The porch was deep in shade, but the evening air hung hot and thick around her. Not a breath of wind stirred across the dusty driveway, not a whisper through the screened windows.

The house cast its long shadow over the driveway, its gabled roof pointed at the burnt-out field like a fat arrowhead. To Katie's right, the travel trailer, GJ's silver truck and the black farm truck were all in shade. A movement to her left caught her eye.

A long shadow, the shape of a man's head and shoulders, moved across the dirt, growing steadily bigger until Cliff himself appeared around the corner of the house. Dressed in clean jeans and a white cotton shirt, he crossed in front of her and climbed into the black truck. A minute later, he headed down the driveway followed by a trail of dust.

Katie opened her notebook and scanned the notes she had jotted down earlier about the fire, the accident, and so on. Right now she couldn't think of anything to add, so she flipped to a clean page.

She wrote
Saskatchewan
in big letters across the top. Then she sat quite still, staring straight ahead at minute squares of thread-thin screening, at puffs of dust that filtered through, at mosquitoes that bounced off the screen. Finally she looked down at her notebook and started to write, pausing often to tap her pen against her chin.

Chicken wire in the hay field—what's that about?

Sabotage? Could be Scott—need to meet him.

Carelessness? Who else but Megan? She has
recently misplaced her brain.

A freak accident? Cliff or Aunt Margaret—
overworked & underpaid.

Speaking of “freak,” what about that Megan?

Why'd she freak-out when I went into her room?

She knew I was coming, didn't she? Why were
all those clothes piled on her bed? Did they come
from her backpack? Maybe she was going some
where and changed her mind. Maybe she just got
back from somewhere. Maybe she was running
away. Why?

Does Megan even know what she's doing? She
looks like a walking skeleton—does she seriously
think she's fat?

Something's bugging Aunt Margaret—some
thing or someone. That was no telemarketer
who phoned tonight. A.M. was scared.

How do I know?

She acted nervous even before she answered
the phone. That means she's had calls before.
Probably lots of them at the same time of day,
that's why she didn't answer when the phone
rang later.

So:

Is someone threatening her?

Who? Scott? Possible, don't know, need to
meet him. NOTE: Cliff would say it's Scott, if he
knew about the calls. Does he?

Megan? Maybe, who knows? NOTE: Megan
could have used her cell phone—Hey! Maybe
that's why she freaked-out when I walked into
her room, maybe I interrupted her in the middle
of a threatening phone call.

Problems with Megan theory:

Wouldn't A.M. recognize her own daughter's
voice?

Maybe not, if Megan whispered. Maybe that's
why Megan freaked-out again when A.M. didn't
answer the phone, because, how do you make a
threatening phone call if no one answers?

Why would Megan threaten her own
mother?

Don't know, maybe Rusty's right, maybe she's
out of her mind.

Either that or she's trying to tell her mother
something.

I figure it has to be a revenge thing (Scott),
or an out-of-her-mind thing (Megan), because
A.M. doesn't have anything worth threatening
about, like money. GJ says farmland isn't worth
a whole lot these days, so I guess she's stuck here
for the rest of her life. Megan too.

Ugh! No wonder she's depressed.

I'm depressed too. That's because I don't know
anything. I haven't found one real clue.

Now that I think about it, I haven't found a
real crime either.

Bummer.

This is to going to be the longest, boringest,
hottest, buggiest week of my entire life. I feel like
I've been here a week already, and this is only the
first day! How will I ever survive? I wish Sheila
was here.