Stolen Secrets (3 page)

Chapter 6

Sam phoned the police,
but I thought I saw him hesitate as he dialed. Was he afraid of something?

Since we didn’t know whether the man had a gun, Sam said we shouldn’t follow him. When the police got to the gym, an officer in a dark blue uniform with the words
City of Red Rock
on a patch on his sleeve took a flashlight and looked behind the building. He seemed young for a police officer and eager, like a pup who thinks he’s being taken for a walk. I mean, the officer didn’t wag his tail—he just had that look.

“Saw footprints,” the officer said when he returned, “but he could be anywhere.” He pointed to the interstate in the distance. “If he makes it there, he could hitch a ride to Denver or Colorado Springs.”

Sam said the man was wearing a green jacket, had brown hair to his shoulders, and wore jeans and hiking boots. I hadn’t seen all that.

“Think this is the guy who assaulted those girls?” I said.

The officer scratched his cheek. “Possible, son.”

He radioed in the information and asked for a tracking dog. Sliding behind the wheel of a squad car that said
Proud to Serve
on the door, he thanked us for our help. “If you see anything else suspicious, give us a call.”

Chapter 7

Bryce and I waited for the bus
at the end of our driveway. The sky was dark, like our moods. We had searched through the newspaper but found only a tiny story about the attack.

We weren’t happy about not being able to ride our ATVs. We always rode them unless it was raining or had snowed a few feet. The news said it might snow, like it does a lot here in April. If it did, we wouldn’t feel so bad.

When we got on the bus I could tell some kids were surprised to see me. Marion sat near the back.

“Find out anything?” I said.

She pulled out a sheet of paper with several names on it. “These kids live near town and probably walk.”

I leaned over and read. Most were eighth graders, but there were a few in Bryce’s and my grade, seventh, and a couple of sixth graders.

“Somebody said the girls died last night,” Marion said.

I could barely get my breath. “Died?”

The kids in front of me turned around, and Marion made a face. “Shh,” she whispered. “I heard the guy tried to kidnap them and when they wouldn’t get in his car, he ran over them.”

That hadn’t been in the paper or on the radio.

A police cruiser sat outside the school, and the drop-off area for kids getting rides was packed. Inside, a poster directed everyone to the auditorium. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

When everyone got there, the principal, Mr. Forster, walked stiff-legged to the microphone. He has a kind face and light brown hair, blue eyes, and a goatee. He limps—Marion said he’d been probed by aliens—and each time he saw me in the hall he said hello and remembered my name. When Bryce and I first moved to Red Rock, he had told us how sorry he was that our father had died and that he would do anything he could to make our years at the school good ones.

“Good morning, students,” he began. “As most of you heard, two of your classmates were attacked yesterday as they walked home from school. I want you to know that you are all safe, and we’ll make sure you remain that way.”

Teachers stood along the walls, watching over us like mother hens.

“You will see a police officer here throughout the day,” Mr. Forster continued. “He’s here for your protection.”

Someone raised a hand and asked if the police had caught the guy.

“No, but the students are at the station trying to identify him.”

So much for their having been run over.

“Who are they?” someone said.

Mr. Forster frowned. “We’re not saying. I’m sure you can understand how tough this has been for both of them.”

When the assembly was over, everyone moved to their lockers like zombies. I don’t usually feel this way, but I couldn’t wait to get to band.

Chapter 8

Our band director,
Mr. Scarberry, was late, so kids were chattering all over the place. One said the two girls had been beaten up and had lots of bruises. Others said they knew who the girls were but weren’t allowed to tell. Skeeter Messler, who has a thing for my sister, handed Ashley a fresh tulip. It looked like one of the flowers that grew outside the building.

“I’m glad it wasn’t you,” Skeeter said.

“Thanks,” Ashley said, looking like she was trying to smile.

I knew she hated the attention, but the guy just couldn’t help himself. He treated her like a princess. I wanted to shake him and say, “Hello? This is Ashley! She burps and picks broccoli out of her teeth!” But I knew that wouldn’t stop him. He seemed in a trance every time he was around her.

Mr. Scarberry finally walked in with a cup of steaming coffee and said hello to each section of the band. As usual, he opened his black book and called roll. When he came to Tracy Elliot’s name, he stopped, put the pencil to his tongue, made a mark, and moved on.

Everybody knew Tracy was a party girl. She was last chair in a long line of clarinets, even behind Skeeter, who was affectionately called Squeaker by the other woodwinds. Tracy hung around with an eighth grader named Cammy Michaels, and their parents let them stay all day at the bowling alley, the arcade, or the Chapel Hills Mall in Colorado Springs. I guessed they were the ones who had been attacked.

Chapter 9

Usually you heard people laughing
and telling jokes in the cafeteria, but at lunch it felt like someone had replaced our Twinkies with lima beans. Kids whispered. Soda cans popped and paper bags crackled.

“I knew it,” Marion said, pulling from her brown bag an apple she said had been grown organically. “Cammy and Tracy do everything together.”

“Still think they’re dead?” I said, knowing Mr. Forster wouldn’t lie about their being at the police station.

Marion shrugged. “They have to notify the next of kin before they can tell us. I say the guy took off with them.”

Hayley sat next to me.

“This guy could be an alien,” Marion said.

Hayley rolled her eyes.

“Seriously, I’ve read about people being abducted right out of their houses and taken up to spaceships. I’ll bet the girls don’t even remember half of what happened. . . .”

As Marion continued, Mr. Forster walked in. I stood and he nodded. “Ashley,” he said.

“Mr. Forster, people are talking about Cammy and Tracy.” He didn’t seem surprised. “I’ve heard everything from them being beaten up to them actually being dead.”

He shook his head and chuckled. “I met with the victims this morning. They’re shaken up, of course, but I expect they’ll be back at school tomorrow.”

“So it
is
Cammy and Tracy?”

Mr. Forster looked at his watch. “Lunch is almost over, Ms. Timberline.”