Stolen Secrets (6 page)

Chapter 18

On Thursdays,
either Ashley or I go to the counselor at our church. Mrs. Ogilvie has been talking with us ever since Mom started going to Mountain View Chapel. A lot of people call counselors “shrinks” and think you have to lie on a couch or let them hook probes to your brain. But we just talk.

Mrs. Ogilvie’s office is on the side of the church with the best view of the mountains. We started the session like we always do, with me picking out a piece of candy from a jar on her desk. That makes me feel like a little boy, but I kind of feel like that anyway, talking about my dad.

Sometimes Mrs. Ogilvie tells stories about when she was a kid. Her father died when she was 10, and she says that affected her like nothing else.

When I first started going, I worried she would ask personal questions, but she just gets me to talk. A lot of times she’ll ask, “How did that make you feel?”

This week I talked about Boo Heckler, because the week before he tried to bully me. I told her a little about Gold Town, but I didn’t tell her everything.

Before the hour ended—it always goes really fast—she asked me what I knew about the attack at school.

I told her I didn’t know the girls but that everybody seemed scared. “Ashley and I hate that we can’t ride our ATVs to school.”

Mrs. Ogilvie smiled. “That would dampen my day too.” Then her face scrunched up, the same way it did when I told her about how we found out my dad had died.

“Something wrong?” I said.

“I know the young man who’s been accused,” she said. “His parents used to come to this church. They asked me to talk to Danny right after his . . . well, I just can’t imagine him doing something like that.”

It was the first time I had heard anyone use his name. “Danny what?”

“Ingram. He’s such a bright young man. He’d spend hours at the Garden of the Gods, drawing the rock formations, climbing them.”

“What happened to him?”

Mrs. Ogilvie closed her notebook and smiled. I figured she couldn’t say. “Let’s just say his parents have been worried.” She pulled out a calendar and scheduled my next visit for three weeks later. “I’m going to be away next week at a conference in Chicago. Can I bring you back anything?”

I thought about the restaurant in Chicago that serves the best barbecued-pork sandwich and coleslaw. Dad used to take us there. But I shook my head.

Chapter 19

When Mom got back from the church
with Bryce, she asked him and me to get some meat from the freezer below Sam’s office in the barn. Sometimes it snows a lot and we can’t get out of our house for days, so they always keep a good supply.

Bryce noticed the muddy footprints first. They went inside and up to Sam’s office.

“Did you lock the door after you were done in there?” I said.

“Of course. I always lock it.” But I could tell that Bryce was nervous. Sam gets ticked when he finds the door unlocked.

Bryce led the way up the stairs and tried the knob. It turned.

“What if someone’s in there?” I whispered.

“We’ll surprise them,” Bryce said. “Be ready to run.”

Bryce burst in, yelling at the top of his lungs. There was no one in the exercise room. He turned on the light to the bathroom. Nothing. The door to Sam’s office was open a crack.

Bryce raised his voice. “Have the squad cars pull around the back.” I was sure he wouldn’t fool anyone. Bryce thinks his voice is a lot lower than it really is.

Bryce kicked the door open, and it banged off the water cooler in the corner. Nothing seemed out of place, except for the small refrigerator underneath Sam’s desk. It stood open and empty. Sam kept it stocked with soda, fruit, and his special coffee beans. (In the morning his office smells like one of those big bookstores.) A garbage can had been turned over, and the bag was missing.

“Who would steal sodas?” I said.

Leigh’s boyfriend, Randy, had been around, but would he steal something from Sam’s office?

“What about Boo?” I said. “He must know where we live.”

A sick look came over Bryce’s face.

We ran to tell Mom about the break-in, and she phoned Sam. He said he was on his way home and not to call the police.

“Why not?” Bryce said.

Mom wiped her hands on a towel. “I have to get the meat.”

Chapter 20

After Sam got home,
I dogged him to the barn with a flashlight and showed him the muddy footprints. Pippin and Frodo followed us into the yard, bristling and barking. Ashley stood at the back door and called them inside.

Upstairs, Sam inspected his office and the refrigerator. He agreed that whoever it was had loaded things up in the garbage bag. “I had a couple of sandwiches in there too,” Sam said.

“Why didn’t you want to call the police?”

He stroked his whiskers, which cast a shadow on his face, even though he had shaved in the morning. Sam’s hair looked a little grayer these days, and his eyes seemed tired.

Before he could answer I said, “Is it the same reason you don’t want us talking about what happened at Gold Town?”

Sam glanced around the room. “I just don’t think we should involve them. Not yet. It’s probably some kid. Whoever it was could have taken the ATVs or computers. Strange.” He locked the barn on our way out and put a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll sic the hounds on them if they come back.”

If Ashley was right and this whole thing was Boo Heckler’s work, he was sure to be back.

Chapter 21

I tried to get some rest
after school Friday with the sleepover coming up that night, but I couldn’t. Sometimes reading helps, but I was so gripped by the book I was reading that it kept me up. That and Pippin and Frodo barking.

Mom drove Bryce and me to the elementary school later that afternoon. Parents and leaders had a pre-sleepover meeting, complete with pizza and sub sandwiches. The kids would arrive in an hour.

The principal, Mrs. Genloe, had several things planned. The kids would eat when they arrived at six. At seven, a clown would perform (which made Bryce roll his eyes). Mrs. Genloe said the clown had trained pigs that did tricks. Then Mom would tell her story. “And we have a special presentation on safety by a surprise duo,” the principal said. “With all the talk about the assault, we don’t want to brush this under the rug.”

“What about the bonfire?” somebody asked.

Mrs. Genloe frowned. “Because of the assault, we won’t be having our annual bonfire.”

Between 9 and 11 the climbing wall, an inflatable jumping castle, dodgeball, and other games would be set up in the gym. At 11, the kids would have a scavenger hunt throughout the school, with prizes awarded. Each class had selected a video to watch at midnight. Then it would be lights-out.

Just before six, we got our assignments. Bryce would be with the third-grade boys.

I was the last helper to get an assignment. Mrs. Genloe took me aside. “We have a fifth grader we’d like you to keep an eye on.”

“Just one?”

“Wally is a little slower than the rest and has been known to wander. It would help if you’d stay with him until midnight. Can you do that?”

I looked out the window at a little boy with thick glasses. He wore a Colorado Rockies jersey, a pair of Avalanche sweats, a Broncos hat, and a smile a mile wide. His full backpack bounced as he walked. I wondered if Mom had told Mrs. Genloe that I might want to be a special ed teacher when I grew up.