The next morning, I get up early even though it’s Saturday. I stuff my pants and a flashlight under my hoodie and creep down the stairs on tiptoes. Sneaking outside into the toolshed, I take care not to let the door bang shut, and then flick on my flashlight. A dull circle of light shines from it.
Geez, Dylan! Why did you have to run down the batteries?
Groping around in the dim light, I find a rag, dip it in the turpentine, and begin rubbing the center of the paint blob. After a few seconds, I shine the fading light on the spot and break into a sweat. The blob has spread. I scrub harder and check again, but this time, it’s grown almost twice its size. Panic fills me. I look out the dusty window to see if anyone is up in the house yet. All the rooms are still dark.
Grabbing the turpentine again, I find a different spot on the rag, this time rubbing even harder. I flash the ever dimming light on the stain and see, at long last, it’s starting to fade.
I heave a sigh of relief. Wetting my cloth again, I rub and rub until the colour of the pants begins to shine through.
The flashlight dies.
Ah, Dylan!
I put the can back on the shelf and hide the rags in a dark corner where I hope no one will notice them. Mom probably won’t be coming into the shed until spring, so I can deal with them later. Checking again to make sure no one is up in the house, I slip out and close the door. Something thuds in the shed, but I don’t have time to see what. Sneaking back into the house, I shove my pants in the washer.
A flash of light blinds me. I turn to see Dylan glaring at me, his finger on the light switch.
“Kira, what were you doing outside?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.
“Oh, nothing much,” I say, adding more laundry and pouring soap into the machine.
He stands still for a moment, his finger resting on his bottom lip. “Hmmm ... something’s really suspicious.” He watches me for a bit. When I ignore him, he saunters to the family room and clicks on the TV to some cartoon.
I turn on the washer, gently lower the lid, scrub my hands, and then set about making breakfast.
I’m mixing up pancake batter when I hear Mom’s slippered footsteps entering the kitchen. “Oh, what’s this? You’re making us breakfast this morning … and doing laundry?”
“Mm-hm,” I mumble, pasting on a phony smile, thankful she seems to have forgotten about the concert last night.
“What a wonderful daughter I have.” She throws her arms around me. “What are you making?”
“Pancakes. And coffee too,” I say, pretending I’m too busy to hug her back.
She lets her arms drop and sniffs the air. “What’s that funny smell? I smelled that last night too.”
Huddling over the pancake batter, I give it another brisk stir with the whisk. The room seems to be getting pretty warm.
“Hmm ... what is that?”
The doorbell rings. Mom about-faces and heads to the entrance. I sigh with relief.
“Hey, Jack. Stopping by for breakfast?” I hear her say from the entrance. “Kira’s making pancakes.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” says Uncle Jack. “Especially if my niece is preparing it.”
Mom takes out the World’s Greatest Dad mug
and pours Uncle Jack a cup of coffee.
“So, good concert last night, eh?” Mom says.
“That it was,” agrees Uncle Jack. “Dylan was really something. I was mighty proud of my nephew.”
“Yes,” chimes in Mom, talking extra loud. “And Kira too. I could hear her above the rest of the band. She knew that piece inside and out.” She gives me one of those Mom knows looks.
Turning away, I pour some batter in the pan and try to look casual.
Uncle Jack suddenly grins like he remembered something funny. “Oh, by the way, I ran into Constable Douglas this morning, and you wouldn’t believe what happened.”
“What?” Mom asks.
I dare not breathe.
“Apparently, someone painted the sign right outside the town, the one that says ‘Welcome to Hope.’”
“Yeah?” Mom nods.
“And they changed the P to an L. And now it says ‘Welcome to Hole’.”
Mom and Dylan burst out laughing. My heart skipping, I flip a pancake. I can feel Uncle Jack’s eyes on me.
“Boy, someone’s grumpy this morning.”
“Ah … what?”
Uncle Jack repeats the story from the beginning. When he finishes, I let out a nervous laugh and toss the pancake onto the serving plate.
“And these kids were so careless; they actually left their cans of paint and brushes.” Uncle Jack chuckles. “Full of finger prints.”
I giggle like I think they’re the dumbest people I ever heard of, hiding the panic rising within me.
“And they left a towel from Harrison Hot Springs. How stupid is that? I guess they’ll be checking the guest list there today.”
The sweat pours so hard I think it’ll soak through my hoodie. Yet still, I flip those pancakes.
“Well, if it’s someone from Harrison, I doubt it’d be teenagers,” Mom says.
“Unless it’s someone who works there,” says Uncle Jack.
“You could be right,” says Mom.
A few minutes later, I lay a plate stacked high with pancakes on the table. Throwing a couple on my dish, I soak them in syrup and gobble them down as fast as I can, and then excuse myself. I skip up the stairs and check my e-mail. Charlotte’s name pops up. I click on her message.
Kira,
I think Mom and Dad might be onto something. They keep asking me why I left so early last night and where I went.
Charlotte
I let out a gasp, then gather up my clothes and jump into the shower. When I’m clean and dressed, I call out, “I’m going to Charlotte’s,” keeping my promise to let Mom know where I am.
“Okay. Thanks for telling me,” she calls back.
Charlotte nearly accosts me at the door when I get there, throwing my coat down on the floor and running me upstairs. Buddy follows, his tongue lolling.
“What happened?” I ask.
“It’s like I said.” Worry shadows her face. “They keep asking me why I left so early last night and where I went.”
“So what’d you say?” I reach down to pet Buddy who’s vying for my attention.
“I said we went to your place.” She turns to her pup. “Buddy, sit.”
“Well, technically that’s true, and no one was home yet when we got there, so we have an alibi.”
“An alibi?” Charlotte’s face screws up. “We have alibis now? That sounds so much like criminals.”
“Aw, come on, Charlotte. It was just a harmless prank. We’re hardly criminals.”
Charlotte lets out a worried sigh and falls backward onto her bed. “Kira, we’ve got to stop doing these things.”
“It’s not like we do them all the time. It was just once,” I insist.
Buddy hands me a paw to shake. I grab it and hold it in mid-air. He throws me the other one, his eyes pleading.
“Yeah, but once is more than enough.” Charlotte sighs. “And on top of it, I’m worried Kate recognized us.”
“She couldn’t possibly have. It was too dark. Besides, Uncle Jack came by and told us all about how the sign had been changed this morning, and he had no idea who did it. And if Kate McDonough had known it was us, she would have said something to him by now.” I let go of Buddy’s paw. “You know, I still think it’s her behind all these weird goings on. Maybe that’s why she has such short gigs – because she’s on the run.”
“Aw, come on, Kira. She’s not the type. She’s way too nice.”
“Yeah, but there are lots of stories out there about really nice people who turn out to be psychopaths, right?”
“Yeah, but not Kate.” Charlotte shakes her head, smoothing her hand over Buddy’s wrinkly body. “Besides, when would she have had time to do any of those weird things? She’s always teaching or playing.”
“After her gig.” I lean forward, resting my arms on my knees. “Maybe that’s why she won’t let Uncle Jack walk her home. And I’ve seen her wandering around late at night on our street. And think about it, she’s often at the scene of the crime. Remember, I saw her leaving the cemetery when Dad’s tombstone was freshly spray-painted, and she was watching when they found the dead eagle in front of the school. And how did she pick me out of a huge crowd at the Stompin’ Boot? Not to mention last night,” I say, dropping my voice. “We always see her when there’s trouble.”
“Yeah, but everyone comes out to see trouble. And besides, she’s so respected.”
“So are politicians and priests, and look at all the trouble they can get themselves into.”
She looks uncertain. “Well then, what do you want to do?” she asks.
“Next weekend. We’ll follow her after her gig.”
Charlotte lets out an exasperated breath. “But that’s in the middle of the night!”
“Come on. We know where she lives. We’ll follow her from a way back and just peek into her place to see what she’s up to.”
“Well, I don’t know. How’ll we get out of the house and where will we meet? This is way too complicated.”
I shake my head. “It’s simple. Your bedroom’s on the first floor, and mine’s on the second, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So I’ll stay over at your house, and we’ll sneak out your window together after the pub closes.”
Charlotte’s brows are drawn up with apprehension.
“Come on. Let’s do it.” I insist.
She thinks hard, and then lets out a huge sigh. “Okay. But this is the last time. I can’t afford to get myself in any more trouble. I really want to go on that trip.”