Chase
When Allie Jo showed me the phone message from Sophie’s parents, I felt like stripping off my bow tie, which Dad had carefully done for me, sliding out of the vest, and heading back upstairs. I almost said so, too, but one look at Allie Jo and I knew she was counting on me. Besides, we still have to decide what to do about Tara.
As we jostle down the hall to the shuttle bus, Clay hooks up with us and starts talking to Tara. Good luck, dude.
I lean over to Allie Jo. “There’s something’s wrong with the way her uncle acts. Why doesn’t he talk to your dad instead of bothering you?”
She glances at me real quick and talks out of the side of her mouth. “Because he knows I’ve seen her.”
“So?” I say. “If he thinks you know something, why doesn’t he call the police? He said they were involved—right?—but I haven’t seen any.”
“He doesn’t want to scare her,” Allie Jo says. She has an answer for everything.
“When people lose their dogs, they put up signs, they tack up pictures, put notices in the newspaper.” I try to think of what else they do. “They offer rewards.”
Allie Jo stops walking. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” One hand goes on her hip. People flow around us. “What do you think she’d do if she saw a sign on a telephone pole with her picture on it?”
“She’d run—”
“Exactly.”
“Wait. I mean she’d run because she’d know it wasn’t safe to stay.” And right then an idea pops in my head. “Maybe she’s inherited millions of dollars and this creep of an uncle is after her so he can control the money.” I rub my chin. “It makes perfect sense.”
We lag behind the others. She shakes her head. “No, it doesn’t. He’d be glad she was gone. He could pretend she was dead and have the money all to himself.”
“Maybe that’s his plan! That’s why he doesn’t want the police involved! He doesn’t want anyone to know she’s alive—that’s why he kidnapped her before.”
Allie Jo walks faster. I have to quicken my pace to keep up with her.
Just as we join the others, Tara turns around from up ahead as Clay heads back to the front desk.
Allie Jo says, “Or maybe he’s just her uncle come to take care of her.”
The bus lumbers over brick roads, rocking me gently. I zonk out. After what seems like only a minute, Allie Jo jabs her elbow into my side.
“You were snoring!” She and Tara laugh. “Get up!” Allie Jo exclaims. “We’re here.”
We spill out of the bus and join hordes of people streaming up the hill. I’ve noticed that even when you don’t live in a place, you find yourself scanning faces as if you’d see your friends. I don’t know anyone, of course, but Allie Jo’s like a celebrity making her way through the crowd. Hello, So-and-So. Hey, there! How’re you doing? Now, if she could only get that queen wave down, she’d be set.
Dad will be here later, interviewing people and taking pictures.
I sidle up to Tara. She’s very quiet and a little stiff. “You okay? You seem a little tense.” Then I think how we’re walking by all these tents—oh, man, way too much time with Allie Jo.
Tara lowers her voice. “There are many people here. I can’t track all of them, and the heat messes up their wakes.” She rakes her fingers through her hair.
“Their wakes?”
“The trails they leave behind.” Her eyes flit over the crowd, then back to me. “In the sea—”
Something inside me clicks into place.
“What’s all this whispering?” Allie Jo crashes into the middle of us, looping one small arm around each of our backs.
I shake myself out of it. “We’re feeling kinda tents,” I say.
Allie Jo nods. “Don’t be tense. You’ve just gotta—” Then she lifts her chin and smiles. “Oh! Good one, Chase.”
Yeah, I still got it.
Chef sets us each up with a platter on which he’s put fancy, miniature paper plates with one-pancake servings. Because of my cast, I hold my platter on the palm of my left hand, and I feel like a butler. Pancake, Madam? Sir? They go like hotcakes. Oh, too much. I crack myself up.
Allie Jo sticks to Tara, and I keep an eye on her too. I had become still when she talked about the sea. It seemed so real, so true; I felt it in my bones.
I’ve been over this a hundred times since last night and I still haven’t figured it out. One thing is sure, though: her name isn’t Pamela. I’ve thrown it out there a few times and she never once reacted; I don’t think she’d be able to control her reflexes that well. My head snaps when people say cheese, and I’ve probably heard a million cheeses today with all the picture snapping.
Her uncle’s definitely lying about her name.
Mr. Jackson gives us a break before lunch. I’ve passed out so many blueberry pancakes that I need to get away from that sweet smell before I barf.
“Let’s go to Books ’n’ Such,” Allie Jo says. “I want to put my name in for a free book.”
Tara watches as Chef opens the refrigerated trailer. He’s getting ready to turn over for lunch, the big item being shrimp cocktail. “I’ll stay here,” Tara says.
Chef grins. “She’s my best shrimp taster.”
Tara smiles. I can tell she feels comfortable in the bubble of our tent. Allie Jo and I push our way through the surge of people. It’s as crowded as a skating rink, where you have to wait for an open space to come by and jump into the flow.
We swim upstream toward the book booth, but before we get there, I pull her over to the side of a tent.
“We gotta talk about Tara,” I say.
Allie Jo frowns. “I know—we have to find her uncle.”
“What?” I say. “No!” Then I remind her how he’s lying about her name. “He’s lying about something else too.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I just get a bad feeling from him.”
Allie Jo shakes her head. “He’s her uncle, and if she’s sick, she needs him. She needs to be with family.” She casts her head down. “I know she said she was Selkie, but maybe that’s something she needs to believe since her parents died.”
“Well, my mom’s gone and I haven’t turned into Bigfoot.”
She looks up at me. “But your mom didn’t die; she just left. That’s a big difference.”
Fire ignites in my heart. “Yeah, that’s right. Who cares when your mom just leaves.” I sneer. “It makes every holiday easier, one less present to buy. No sappy Mother’s Day stuff to do.” I twist my head and get in her face. “Maybe your mom should leave and find my mom and they could make a club.” I laugh scornfully. “What should they call it? You got any good jokes for that?”
Her big, green eyes become pools of water. “Why are you being so mean?”
“Because you act like it’s no big deal my mom left.” I feel my teeth showing as I talk.
“It is a big deal,” she says, one tear slipping down her cheek. “That’s why we have to find Tara’s uncle.”
I press my lips together. I see her tears, but I’ve got a bigger point to push. “Don’t you see? Her uncle’s lying about something.”
She shakes her head. “She needs him.”
“He looked kind of seedy to me, like a guy with no money.”
Allie Jo looks at me with slit eyes. “What difference does it make if a person’s poor? That doesn’t mean they’re hotel rats.” Her tears evaporate. “That doesn’t mean they’re seedy.”
“Yeah, but—”
“But nothing.” She wipes her eyes and says, “I’m going to the book booth.” Folding herself into the crush of people, she disappears without a backward glance.
I jut my chin out. If she’d let me finish my sentence, I would’ve reminded her of what Tara said about the guy trying to make money off her, and how she cried when she talked about him. Even if she is living in a fantasy world, something’s not right—something besides her head, I mean.
If I see that guy, I’m gonna ask him a bunch of questions. My brain cells explode with them on the spot, thanks to having a reporter for a dad: What’s her real name? Why are you looking for her? Where are you from?
It occurs to me that Smith is a very common name. He might as well have called himself John Doe. A new question forms in my mind: Who are you, Mr. Smith? Who are you really?