Chapter 73

We walked right by the police station, where TV news vans were parked with tall antennas and satellite dishes pointed to the sky. I wanted to go in and ask if it was true. Could I have been wrong about Cammy and Tracy?

Bryce pecked me on the shoulder and motioned to the other side of the street. Cammy and Tracy hurried along, talking loudly. Bryce and I moved behind the corner of a building and watched.

Tracy turned and said something. Then Cammy grabbed her arm and pulled her into an alley. Bryce nodded to the other side of the street. We hustled across to a small church, pressed our backs against the brick wall, and inched closer to the alley.

“For the last time,” Tracy said, “I didn’t tell that Timberline kid anything. I said we didn’t make it up.”

“You swear?”

“Yes! I told you I’d stick with our story. You know I didn’t want to tell those reporters anything, but you made me.”

“You liked the attention as much as I did.”

“Yeah, and now that guy is in jail.”

“He’d be there anyway,” Cammy said. “He’s a drunk!”

Bryce and I ducked behind the concrete steps of the church as Tracy and Cammy walked toward the railroad tracks.

Bryce pulled out his recorder and smiled. “Maybe strike three was just a foul tip.”