“CLIMBING IN THE WINDOW—BRILLIANT IDEA,” THE INTRUDER MUTTERED. “I probably broke my foot!”
That doesn’t sound like a murderer, Grace thought to herself. “Who’s there?” she demanded, leaping from behind the coach, flashlight ready.
The intruder spun around. He still had one foot on the windowsill and as he turned he fell to the floor with a thud. “What the—?!” he hollered, staring up at her. “What happened to your face?”
“Jeeter?” Grace lowered her flashlight. “You scared me to death! What are you doing here?”
“I thought you could use some help.” He examined her face and hair. “I guess I was right—you don’t look so good.”
“Thanks a lot. I thought you were my psycho neighbour, here to kill me. Why didn’t you knock?”
“I tried that. And you didn’t answer the doorbell either.” He stood up, rubbing his ankle.
“So you break into houses when people don’t answer the door?”
“You screamed. I thought you were in trouble! But it was just you being your klutzy self, huh?”
Grace scowled. “No, there was a—” she broke off. Hmm…he probably won’t think much of me screaming at imaginary spiders, she thought.
“What?”
“Never mind!”
“Great,” Jeeter said. “Got anything to eat? I’m starving!”
Grace led him into the kitchen. Jeeter searched the cupboards and pulled out a bag of chips. He ripped it open and popped a chip into his mouth. Grace laughed as his face scrunched up like he’d swallowed a tablespoon of salt. Holding the bag up, he exclaimed, “All natural guacamole soy chips? Yuck! You eat this stuff?”
“Not really,” Grace answered. “My mom went a little psycho when Dad…. Anyway, she was on this total organic kick. It was torture. Lucky it didn’t last long. I think she hated that stuff more than I did.”
Jeeter rifled through the rest of the food in her cupboards. “Unsalted cashews, pomegranate juice, banana chips, dried apricots…kill me now,” he groaned. “Okay, forget the food! Have you checked out your dad’s office yet?”
“I was trying to do that when you broke in,” Grace responded. “C’mon.” She gestured for him to follow her.
They stopped at the top of the stairs and stared down into the gloom. “You go first,” Grace said, nudging Jeeter’s arm.
“Doesn’t the light work?” he asked, flipping the switch up and down.
“Nope.” Grace clicked on her flashlight and passed it to him. “Here, take this.”
Jeeter swung the beam in front of them and took a step.
Creeeaaaak! The top step groaned in complaint.
Grace followed cautiously. Suddenly, the flashlight beam caught a dark object hovering in front of their faces.
“Aaaahh!” Grace screamed, burying her face in Jeeter’s back.
“Grace!” he cried. “You’re pushing me!”
“Spider!” she wailed, peeking over his shoulder. She wrapped her hands around his waist.
Jeeter brushed the spider away with the tip of the flashlight. It scurried up the side of the wall and disappeared into the dark.
“There, it’s gone,” he said over his shoulder. “How about loosening your death grip?”
“Sorry,” Grace muttered.
“Nothing to be scared of,” he said, continuing his descent. “They’re not poisonous, you know.”
“I don’t like spiders!”
“I figured,” he laughed.
They slowly inched their way forward in the dark, the beam lighting a thin path through towering piles of boxes.
When they reached Grace’s dad’s office at the far end of the basement, Grace eagerly reached out and grabbed the doorknob.
“Darn, it is locked!”
“So where do you think your mom hid the key?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been racking my brain—and Mom’s, too. She has no clue where she left it!”
“She’d likely put it someplace she thought would be easy to remember. Do you keep a key outside?”
“Yeah, for the back door. In case we forget ours. I mean, in case I forget mine…I’ve done that a few times.” Grace scrunched up her face. “It’s under the flowerpot.”
“Maybe she did the same thing down here.”
They looked, but there weren’t any flowerpots in the basement. So they checked under buckets of paint, an old sled, totes filled with Christmas decorations, broken skis—even her ancient deflated kiddie pool. All they found were lots and lots of spiders.
Then Grace noticed a bag of soil mix leaning against the wall. Hmm…soil goes in the flowerpots, she thought to herself. It’s worth a try. She lifted up the bag.
“I found it!” she cried, holding up a metal key. She carried it over to her dad’s office door and slowly inserted it into the lock—it fit perfectly. She turned the key and the door clicked open.
Grace flicked the switch and light spilled out from the open door. As she stepped inside her dad’s office, she felt an emptiness in the bottom of her stomach. She wasn’t prepared for the sadness that overwhelmed her. Teetering stacks of papers and books covered every surface. Dad never was one for filing stuff, she thought to herself fondly.
“Whew, what a mess!” Jeeter’s voice snapped Grace out of her reverie.
He plopped down in her dad’s chair, shoving aside a stack of books.
“Don’t touch that!” Grace motioned for him to move. “I’ll do it.”
“Sorry, Grace,” Jeeter said. “I’m trying to help, remember?”
“I’m sorry I snapped,” she sighed. “A little jumpy, I guess.”
Grace and Jeeter examined reams of files and papers; topographical maps of Sydney Mines, Florence, and Point Aconi; and endless photos of fossils over the next hour. One whole stack of files related to the strip mines and the protests. Another pile contained information on the tar ponds project, mostly newspaper articles about the failed cleanup attempts and costs.
Grace’s dad had done some consulting for one of the bidders on the project and had followed it closely, even after the company he’d worked for had lost the bid. But most of the data he’d been collecting just looked like stuff from the newspaper or downloaded from the internet. There was nothing top secret, that was for sure. Most of it had to do with a company called Sandstar Environmental Corporation, which had won the contract.
“We’re not getting any closer to finding the answers!” Grace said in disgust.
“Be patient,” Jeeter replied. “You’ll figure it out.” He leaned over and touched her arm.
“You should understand,” Grace sniffed. “All this is just making me sadder. It feels like I can hardly breathe most of the time—like there’s a boulder on my chest. It’s no use!”
“I know it’s hard,” Jeeter said. “You miss him.”
Grace nodded. “If only something would work out…” She shuffled through another stack of papers. “Forget it—there’s nothing here!” Disappointment washed over her.
“Wait!” Jeeter stood up, waving a piece of paper at her. “There’s something here with Stanley’s name on it.”
It was a page ripped from a memo pad with a handwritten note:
“What does it mean?” Jeeter asked as he leaned over her shoulder.
“I don’t know. Stanley always complained he was broke. What if he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to and my dad found out? Like cheating on his expenses? I mean, Point Aconi, that’s where my dad was…but this doesn’t look like Dad’s handwriting.”
Brrrinnngg!!!
The phone rang upstairs. Grace had forgotten to call her mom like she’d promised. Great, more trouble, she thought. She stuffed the note in her pocket and raced up the stairs, grabbing the receiver just as the phone was about to go to voicemail. “Hi, Mom—”
“Grace, it’s me, Fred. Listen, I have something really important to tell you, but we have to meet in person. You’re gonna go nuts. I couldn’t believe it myself. I mean, I knew there was something weird going on, but I never thought he’d—”
“Fred—slow down! What are you talking about?”
“I had to use the pay phone ’cause I can’t find my walkie-talkie. It’s Jeeter. He left school. I was worried he would go to your place. Whatever you do, don’t let him in. You can’t trust him!”
Grace heard the basement door close behind her and turned slowly to see Jeeter walking toward her. She was glued to the spot, afraid to move.
“What’s wrong?” Jeeter asked, a puzzled expression on his face.
Grace’s eyes locked with Jeeter’s as Fred’s voice whispered urgently in her ear, “Grace, did you hear me? Jeeter’s dangerous!”