It doesn’t take long to walk to Higgins Autobody. It looks different in the dark. This afternoon it was bustling and noisy with mechanics working on cars. Now it’s quiet, not a soul in sight. But the sign is still glowing, and there’s a light on in the main office.
As we walk up to the door, I notice a van parked out front.
I stop.
“What?” asks Owen.
“That’s Mr. Evans’s van,” I say. “He’s supposed to be at the sheriff’s.”
Mercy shrugs and opens the door to the main office. “Maybe he got a rock to the windshield too. Come on.”
Inside, a vending machine hums. Mercy hits the service bell, but no one answers.
“Are we sure it’s still open?” asks Owen.
Mercy rolls her eyes. “It says so on the door, doesn’t it?”
Behind the counter is a hallway with a couple closed doors. Closets and offices, I figure. To my right, an open door leads into the garage. I can hear voices coming from there. I wander over and poke my head in. Mercy’s car sits at the far end of the garage. The windshield is fixed. Several other cars are parked beside it. No mechanics at work.
The voices are coming from the back of the garage. I can see an office there, with big glass windows. There’s a light on, and I can see men inside.
Mr. Evans.
He stands with his arms folded, leaning against the wall. In front of him, a round old man is shouting at someone else in the room. I take a couple careful steps toward them, making sure I can’t be seen. As I get closer I can read the name on the door. Bob Higgins. The shouting is getting louder.
“I thought I made myself perfectly clear the last time,” he roars.
He’s shouting at two people sitting in chairs. I can’t see their faces. One of them must say something, because Mr. Higgins slams his fist on the desk between them.
“Then why has Steve Evans come all the way here to tell me you idiots nearly got another kid drowned on the river?”
My heart stops. Mike.
No. He said another. He’s talking about me.
Mr. Evans opens the door, and I can hear his words easily. “I don’t want to be here for this, Bob. I just came to tell you that it’s over. I can’t do this anymore.”
Mr. Higgins turns on Mr. Evans. “You accepted the money just fine. You got what you wanted.”
“I said you could dump what you like on Clearwater land so long as no one found out about it,” says Mr. Evans.
A queasiness fills my stomach. He knew about the ponds?
“Now I’ve got one camper missing and another nearly drowned,” he says. “I’m sorry, Bob, but I won’t keep doing this if it means my kids are at risk.”
He knew. He knew what happened to Mike before I even told him.
“If you talk, you think Sheriff Nichols will just ignore the fact that you were making money while the whole town searched for poor lost Mike Elliot?”
“You can have the money back.” Mr. Evans’s voice is high, panicked.
He never went to Sheriff Nichols! He kept telling me not to come with him. I thought it was because he didn’t want to push me, like his note in my file said. But no. He didn’t want me to come because he was never planning to go to Sheriff Nichols at all.
Mr. Higgins grins. “We’ve been in business together a lot of years, Evans. You got a hundred large to just hand back?”
A hundred thousand dollars. Mr. Evans, what have you done?
“Nate?”
All the heads in the office turn at the sound of my name. Mercy stands in the door to the garage. We’ve been spotted.
Time to run.
I turn on my heels and race back for Owen and Mercy as Mr. Evans calls my name.
“Stop them!” bellows Mr. Higgins, and the two men he was shouting at jump to their feet. I look back. It’s Ed and Dale. They tear out of the office, chasing after me.
“What’s going on?” shouts Owen.
“Run! We have to run!”
Mercy and Owen don’t need to be told twice. The three of us take off at a sprint out of the body shop. We run for the bridge, Ed and Dale still on our tail.
“The trees!” I shout. “Quick!”
We plow into the darkness of the pines. It’s so black I can barely see the branches that whip my face. But I can hear Ed and Dale behind us, crashing through the forest like elephants.
I slam into a fallen log and fly forward into the dirt. Owen and Mercy tumble on top of me.
“Quiet, quiet,” I whisper urgently.
The three of us lie there, listening to Ed and Dale stumbling and swearing as they try to make their way.
“Where’d they go?” says one of them. “Did you see which way they went?”
“I can’t see anything in this place.”
Their voices are getting quieter. They’re moving away from us.
We wait, flat on our stomachs, until there’s nothing left to hear. After what feels like ages, the three of us agree the coast is clear.
We trudge back toward the Starling and follow it, knowing the river will take us to Clearwater.
“What the heck was that?” Owen whispers as we walk. “Nate, what happened back there?”
“What happened?” I almost laugh. The rage coursing through me is too much to handle. “Mr. Evans is a liar, that’s what happened.”
“What?” says Mercy.
“Mr. Evans knew who was responsible for Mike’s disappearance all this time,” I tell her. “He was getting paid to let those jerks dump their junk on Camp Clearwater property. He never went to the sheriff.”
Mr. Evans betrayed Mike.
Betrayed all of us.