Chicken and Potato Foil Packs are on the menu for supper.
“Looks like you’re cutting the recipe in half,” Dad says, laying two skinless breasts, two potatoes, an onion, a green pepper and some button mushrooms on a cutting board on the picnic table. “That’s a good idea. Pearl always cooks for a crowd.”
I add the remaining ingredients to his pile. Vegetable oil, cider vinegar, garlic powder, black pepper, salt, basil and thyme.
“Sure you don’t need my help?” Dad says, eyeing the stack.
“I get stuck, I’ll go get Pearl.”
“How about I leave Ti with you for company? Be a good time to try out that new leash.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
Dad returns with Ti. Securing the end of the leash to a table leg, he walks to the camper to hook it to the truck.
Ti lifts his nose, sniffing the breeze. His ears swivel like tiny radar dishes. Hearing a tinny-sounding clink, he turns his ears in the direction it came from.
That’s it, I think, looking in the same direction. The sound we heard that night.
Dad’s standing near the hitch, in front of a small red toolbox behind the propane tank. Just as I reach him, he pulls a tattered manila envelope from the box.
“What’s that, Dad?”
He turns to face me. “Nothing to worry about.” Folding the envelope, he slips it into his hip pocket. “Need anything from the camper before I haul it to the dump station?”
Shaking my head, I walk back toward the picnic table. Pausing, I stare at a set of footprints, not yet windblown.
“What’re you looking at?”
“What—?” Startled, I look toward the front of Dad’s truck and see X watching me. “What’re you doing here, X?”
“He’s going with me.” Dad walks up to us. “We’ll be gone about an hour, maybe less.”
“Oh, okay.” I wait, watching them finish up. When they pull away, they’re bending each other’s ears about something, faces looking serious.
What . . . ? What are they talking about?
As soon as they’re out of sight, I retrieve Ti and return to the footprints. Making a print from my own boot alongside one of them, I stoop to examine it.
“Hiking boot,” I whisper. “See the tread? Just like the prowler left back of the Winnebago.” I look at Ti. “It’s him, no guessing anymore. X is the prowler. But what are they hiding in those envelopes?”
I set Ti on the picnic table and talk to him as I start a fire. Wood first, then charcoal briquettes.
“Okay, let’s review. Here’s what we know. Someone came prowling around the camper and he wore hiking boots. We both heard him. That would be X.”
Ti starts to purr.
“Good, we agree.” Returning to the table, I pinch the edges of the foil together. “And the toolbox is the ‘usual place’ that X mentioned on that first day. And the envelopes are the ‘them’ he was talking about.” I look at Ti. “But what’s X putting in those envelopes? Arrowheads? And why does Dad give them back to him? Payment?”
Ti purrs.
“You think Dad’s planning to haul the Plano points out of the park? All kinds of ways to hide things in construction stuff . . . wait, that doesn’t make sense.”
I rub my face, then look at Ti. “Why Dad and not Mr. García? He has construction stuff, too, and big storage containers.”
To throw Warden Winnie off the trail? a voice in my head whispers.
His ears swiveling, Ti seems to look away. Following him, I see two squirrels fussing over an empty nutshell.
“It’s called a red herring,” I say to Ti. “Crooks lay down a false trail to mislead the cops.” I pause, thinking. “Or, maybe because his English isn’t so good, Mr. García would have a harder time trying to sell them, so Dad’s fencing the stolen loot.”
In my head, it makes sense. But in my heart . . .
“Dad wouldn’t do anything real bad, would he, Ti? I know he’s really changed, but still . . .”
I stoke up the fire and place the foil packets on graying coals. Returning to the table, I look at Ti again. “But if it’s nothing bad, why’s he keeping it a secret?”
Dad returns as I’m setting the table for supper. X leaves immediately, the manila envelope visible in his back pocket.
As Dad unhooks the camper, I whisper to Ti. “We need more clues. We need to make sure we’re absolutely right before we confront Dad.”
My heart feels like a leaden lump in my chest. I never dreamed I’d be looking for ways to prove my dad was a thief.
