The Hidden Valley Mystery (9 page)

Freddy whistled. “Crime sure doesn’t pay.”

“Right,” Officer Powchuk agreed. “A few more years in jail might hammer that idea into their heads. Meanwhile,” he picked up his cap, and led the boys to the door and the waiting cruiser, “you sure helped wrap up this case. The Metropolitan Toronto Police owe you a big thanks.”

Before they climbed in, one by one, Officer Powchuk shook their hands. “You know, you fellows also took some dangerous risks. In future, you can give us tips, but leave the actual detective work to us. We want you alive to receive your citations at the Police Citizen Awards ceremony next month. That should make your parents proud.”

Mike sighed and lay back against the rear seat. He knew exactly how his mother would react—more attempted hugs and kisses!

* * * * *

On Wednesday afternoon a month later, Mike sat happily in the back seat of his father’s car. He unrolled his certificate and read again, “For Bravery and Good Citizenship in Assisting the Metropolitan Toronto Police”. Beside him, on the warm upholstery, he had folded his blue suit jacket. As the car turned, the sun glinted off the new silver pin studding the lapel.

“Hey, Dad,” Mike tapped his father’s shoulder. “Didn’t you make a wrong turn? You’re headed downtown.
Theo
Lazo’s house is east from here.”

“Is that right?” Mr. Steriou loosened his brown tie against the heat, but kept driving south. “Well, maybe this is the way we should go.” He crossed into the left lane.

“No, Dad,” Mike protested.

Mrs. Steriou twisted to face him, her cheeks so pink with pride and the heat, they almost matched her silky dress. “It is early, Mike.
Thea
Elenie does not serve dinner until after 6:00. We’ll go for a little drive.”

“A drive?” Mike squawked. He didn’t like wheeling up and down streets, just staring at buildings.

“Besides,” Mrs. Steriou continued. “Your father and I must stop for a little shopping.”

Shopping!
Mike bit his lip and slumped down in the back seat. There was no use arguing, especially with his father in the car. He lay his head back and thought about his adventures this summer. It wouldn’t be long before school started again. Oh well, at least that meant he could go camping with the Scouts soon.

“Here we are,” Mr. Steriou pulled into the narrow parking lot beside an old, two-storey building. “Mike, you might as well stretch your legs a bit. Come into the store with us.”

Mike slid across the seat and opened the door. “Where are we, Dad?” he asked.

“A place your
Theo
Lazo and I used to come, years ago. My cousin runs the business. We’ll just go in and say, ‘Hi.’“

Mike chuckled. His father and mother had a million cousins. Every Greek they met seemed to be some relative. They strolled to the front of the parking lot and rounded the building’s corner.

“What kind of—” Mike stopped. He stared up at the sign:
Nick’s Sporting Goods.
He caught his breath.

“Hurry up, Mike,” his mother grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the door. “Why stand there on the sidewalk?”

Mike followed his parents into the long, high room. From floor to ceiling, rucksacks, tents, boots, coal-oil lamps, ropes, netting, fishing rods—you name it—hung on the walls or crowded the counter top and many display tables. Anything anyone ever needed to enjoy the outdoors was here.

“Hey, Nick! Nick! How are you?” Mr. Steriou opened his arms.

From the back of the store, strode a man with a black moustache, wearing a red T-shirt and baggy green pants. His muscular arms carried some sort of roll. “Hey, Georgio, Effie, good to see you again. So,” he stepped in front of Mike and grinned, “this is the fine boy who makes you so proud.” He winked at Mr. Steriou. “He looks like a good camper, too. Mike, congratulations!”

Mike stared. Could he believe his own eyes? In the man’s outstretched arms was what he had wanted so long—a genuine
Explorer
sleeping bag.

“Yes, it’s for you, Mike,” Mr. Steriou laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Our present for our brave son, with some help from cousin Nick, of course.”

“We are so proud of you,” Mike felt his mother’s plump arm hug his waist.

Instead of pulling away, he turned to face her. To his surprise, tears were shining in her eyes.

Mrs. Steriou sniffled and glanced at her shoes. Pulling out a white hanky, she dabbed her eyes. When she looked at Mike again, she smiled. You see,” her free arm hugged him tighter. “I said if you were a good boy, St. Nicholas might come early. Well, Mike, he did!”

THE END

About the Author

Susan Ioannou is a widely published Canadian poet, essayist, and fiction writer, winner of the Okanagan Short Story Award. For many years, she served as Associate Editor of
Cross-Canada Writers’ Magazine
and led creative writing workshops for the University of Toronto, Ryerson University Literary Society, and Toronto Board of Education. Her other books include:

CHAPBOOKS
Spare Words,
Pierian Press
Coming Home: An Old Love Story,
Leaf Press
Who Would Be a God?
(with Lenny Everson), Passion Among the Cacti Press
The Merla Poems
, Wordwrights Canada
 
POETRY
Clarity Between Clouds
, Goose Lane Editions
Where the Light Waits
, Ekstasis Editions
Looking Through Stone: Poems about the Earth,
Your Scrivener Press
 
FICTION
A Real Farm Girl
, Wordwrights Canada
Nine to Ninety: Stories across the generations
, Wordwrights Canada
 
NONFICTION
A Magical Clockwork: The Art of Writing the Poem,
Wordwrights Canada
Holding True: Essays on Being a Writer,
Wordwrights Canada
 
WEBSITE
www3.sympatico.ca/susanio