Uncle Dave! I almost laughed out loud. I had been so caught up in being stealthy that I hadn’t recognized my own uncle.
I started to run to catch up with him, but then I stopped. The more I thought about the situation, the more strange it became.
Fact: Uncle Dave was broke. He had lost his job as an appliance-repair guy. That’s why he had moved in with our family a couple of months back.
“Uncle Dave’s going through a bit of a rough patch,” Mom had said. “But you guys will love having him around. He’s such a sweetie. A big heart.” Mom had a soft spot for her little brother. He was paying rent, I knew. But not much.
Fact: Uncle Dave had lots of time on his hands. He said he was at the library, updating his résumé, job hunting. But was he really? Or was he breaking into people’s houses and stealing their stuff?
Fact: I had seen Uncle Dave coming out of the car guys’ house. And by my very scientific process of elimination, I had already determined that they were the most likely suspects for the break-ins. Was he friends with them? Was he part of their gang? Or maybe he didn’t do the stealing. Maybe he was the one who sold the stuff. A partner. An accomplice.
Fact: Uncle Dave was young(ish) and fit(ish). He would have no trouble climbing through a window or breaking the lock on a door. He was strong. He’d carried Tom up to our room like he was a ten-year-old.
Fact: Uncle Dave had been acting strange lately. He stayed out late most nights of the week. He had stored a ton of boxes in the basement. God. All those boxes! Why had I never thought twice about all those boxes? I had assumed it was just his stuff from his old apartment. But I remembered him saying something once about his things being in storage. So what was in all those boxes? He’d better not be using our house to store stolen goods.
Fact: Our house hadn’t been targeted. Why not? Because Uncle Dave wouldn’t do that to his own family? I mean, good. Thanks, Uncle Dave, but still…
There were a lot of strikes against good old Uncle Dave.
I picked up my pace.
Now he was right in front of me, skulking along the street. Hauling those heavy, heavy bags. His head was down, like he was thinking.
Yeah, I hope you’re thinking about how you’re going to explain going to jail to your sister and her kids.
“Hi, Uncle Dave,” I said. Very casual. Not at all suspicious.
“Charlie! Dude, you surprised me there,” he said. He looked nervous. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m just out for a walk. Want me to help you with those bags? They look heavy.”
Uncle Dave pulled the bags closer to him.
“Nah, thanks. I got ’em. We’re almost home anyway.”
“So what have you been doing, Uncle Dave?”
“Not much, not much. Met up with a friend for coffee. Library. Job hunting. The usual.”
Riiiight. Job hunting at the car guys’ place. This was going to kill Mom.
When we got home, Uncle Dave bolted downstairs. Was it my imagination, or was he acting guilty? Or was he just being his usual slightly awkward Uncle Dave?
“Hi, Tom! We’re home,” I called up the stairs. “Dinner soon.”
“Great. I’m starving!” he yelled back.
I went into the kitchen to fix dinner. My specialty: frozen pizza and prepeeled baby carrots.
I wondered whether I should talk to Tom about Uncle Dave. But what did I actually know? So far I had no real proof. Tom is nicer than I am. He’d explain all my so-called facts about Uncle Dave away so they’d look more ridiculous than suspicious.
No, I decided to keep it to myself for the time being.
I’d wait until Uncle Dave went out that night. He went out almost every night. Volunteer work, he would say. Or meeting a buddy for beer. Upgrading his online job-hunting profile at the library. Hitting the gym. It was always something. Mom said it was good that he was getting out, that it was healthy.
But what if, instead of stacking cans at the food bank, he was casing houses to rob? What if he was pawning stolen property at one of those seedy shops downtown?
Not so healthy, Mom, I thought. Not so healthy.
I’d wait until he was out of the house, and then I would go down and check some of those boxes in the basement. That was my plan. It was the sort of no-brainer thing any detective would do.
And not feel guilty about doing it.