Wild Rescue (11 page)

Chapter 40

Sam got home
while we were setting the table for dinner and plunked
The Gazette
from Colorado Springs in front of me. “Metro section,” he said in his deep, gravelly voice.

I’d rather have turned to Sports, but in the Metro section I found another story about stolen items.

Red Rock police are investigating a string of thefts reported by area residents. In the past month at least six homes have been robbed of valuables with no apparent signs of forced entry.

Yesterday police discovered Civil War artifacts belonging to Robert Gerrill of Red Rock at a pawnshop on Nevada Avenue. The items had been reported missing from Gerrill’s home two weeks ago. The pawnshop owner turned the items over to police and said his young son had bought the pieces and failed to record information on the seller.

“The customer was in his twenties,” the owner said. “That’s all we know. We don’t knowingly buy stolen goods, so this upsets me.”

Robert Gerrill, 54, says the artifacts have been in his family since the 1860s. “I’m just glad we got them back.”

I looked in the phone book and found Mr. Gerrill. I was scared to call him, but if I wanted to find Mrs. Watson’s things, I needed to talk with him.

Chapter 41

Bryce said
having both of us there would help, just like detectives do on TV, but I figured he was just scared to go alone. We promised Mom we would be home before dark.

Spring had come in full force to Colorado. The grass was greener, the temperatures warmer, and the days were getting longer. I knew it wouldn’t be long before Sam took us camping. But you don’t really know if spring is here to stay until the last snow is shoveled from your driveway. I’ve seen it snow in June.

We rode our ATVs across the hiking trail at the north end of town, parked at the trailhead, and walked to Mr. Gerrill’s.

When he came to the door I remembered him from our sixth grade class. He had talked to us about fighting in Vietnam and showed us his old uniform, which he was proud still fit. He had close-cropped white hair and long, thin arms.

His wife wiped her hands on her apron as she walked from the kitchen. “Can you stay for dinner?” she said.

Bryce thanked her and told her we had just eaten. “We won’t keep you long.”

“Come into the war room,” Mr. Gerrill said.

He took us through a narrow hallway past the living room. A TV newscast was on, and he waved at it disgustedly and said something about “the liberal media.”

In a back bedroom he had several tables full of war souvenirs. Old guns and swords hung on the wall. In a glass case he had arrowheads and musket balls and ammunition from the Revolutionary War to the war in Iraq. He had brought some of these to show us at school.

He took down a sword and held it out to Bryce and me. “This is one of the pieces they stole and sold to the pawnshop. It was worn by my great-grandfather in the battle of Vicksburg.” He pointed out the craftsmanship and the name of his great grandfather etched on the handle. “It’s worth a lot more in sentimental value than in actual money, but when I saw it was gone, I thought about loading all my guns and finding those thieves.”

“Who do you think did it?” Bryce said.

Mr. Gerrill shook his head. “I don’t know. But I know one thing: they knew what they were after. Absolutely nothing else was touched. Just the stuff from my collection.”

“How many people know about your collection?”

He pointed to a frame on the wall. The newsprint had faded, but you could make out his face hovering over his treasures. “That story must be 10 years old. Either the robbers have a good memory or they knew from some other way.”

“Where were you when someone got in here?” Bryce said.

“It’s hard to tell. I don’t take inventory every day. But it must have been when my wife and I went on an overnight up to Black Hawk. The place was shut tight, though. They had to have had a key.”

Black Hawk is a small town west of Denver that draws a lot of tourists because of gambling.

“Anybody know you were going?”

He shook his head. “Just a neighbor to keep an eye on the place. But he works during the day, and I can’t expect him to sit and watch our door all night. The thieves walked in like they owned the place.”

“No one else has a key?”

“Nope.”

I noticed a smudge on the glass case. Mr. Gerrill said he didn’t know where it came from.

“One more thing,” Bryce said. “Did you happen to have anything done to your car before you went to Black Hawk?”

He scratched his whiskered chin. “Now that you mention it, I had to have a new timing belt. It was at close to 200,000 miles.”

“Where did you have that done?”

“Over at Carhardt’s Garage. They do good work.”

Chapter 42

Instead of going home,
we headed to Carhardt’s Garage to have a look around. Ashley seemed upset about some math test, and I told her we could skip it, but she said she’d go.

I called Sam on the way and found out that the owner was Jim Carhardt, who had fixed cars in Red Rock since he was a teenager. Kind of a legend in the car-repair business. Sam said he never had a problem getting his truck fixed there.

The building was just down the street from the Toot Toot Café, and Ashley and I wanted to stop for an ice cream cone, but the sun was going down. We walked by the garage on the other side of the street and sat on a bench.

The building was made out of gray cinderblocks and looked like it had been there awhile. There were four huge garage doors in the front and back and lots of cars, trucks, and RVs jammed into the parking lot. Mechanics in gray shirts with names sewn onto their pockets worked like bees in a hive.

“What are we looking for?” Ashley said.

“A key-making machine. Everybody we’ve talked to has either come here or to the oil-change place before they were robbed.”

“Looks like an awful lot of candidates are here,” she said.

I pulled out Sam’s minitelescope and scanned the inside of the garage. There were lots of tools and machines of every sort, but I couldn’t find what I was looking for.

Ashley poked me on the shoulder. “Recognize him?”

It was Mr. Morris, the alpaca owner.

We crossed the street. He was still inside the waiting area talking with someone when we joined him. “Ashley, Bryce!” His face lit up, and he turned to the man behind the counter. “These are the two helpers for my herd I was telling you about, Jim.”

The man smiled at us. He had grimy hands and tired eyes, like he’d been up late the night before. His face was pudgy and his sideburns long, like an Elvis impersonator.

Mr. Morris waved and said he had to go. “You’ll be at my place tomorrow morning, right?”

“We’ll be there,” Ashley said.

“How can I help you two?” Mr. Carhardt said.

“I was wondering if you guys made keys. You know, for extra house keys, that kind of thing.”

“Actually we don’t.”

“Are you sure?

“Yeah, I own the place and we don’t make keys. You can have them made down at the hardware store, and there’s a bunch of places in the Springs.”

I looked at Ashley in disbelief.

“Is that all?” he said.

I had a hundred questions, none of which I could think of at the moment.

“Did you expect them to just fall down and say they were guilty?” Ashley said as we walked back to our ATVs.

“I don’t know what I expected. I thought we’d find their key-making machine at least. Maybe this whole thing has nothing to do with the repair shop.”

Chapter 43

I was up first Wednesday morning,
ate my breakfast, and got ready to go to the farm. Bryce rolled out of bed slower, but he has a way of throwing his clothes on, inhaling his breakfast, and beating me to the ATVs.

The grass was wet with dew when we drove to the farm, but it felt like we had almost slipped the surly bonds of school.
Two more days!
I chanted as we rolled along the field.

Mr. Morris was at the barn, waving and smiling. Buck met us, his tail wagging. Two of the boys were in the car already, and another was on the porch at the house.

“We thought you’d be gone by now,” I said.

“We had some packing issues,” Mr. Morris said. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give you a few last-minute instructions.” He seemed pleased that we were both there on time.

We went inside the barn. Whitney, the pregnant alpaca, strutted back and forth in her stall. She looked at us nervously and hummed.

“It’s okay, girl,” Mr. Morris said. “You’re gonna be just fine.” He faced us. “These are smart animals. She can tell something’s up.”

“Will it hurt her not to have you around?” Bryce said.

“She’ll probably get so used to you two she won’t want me to come back. Just talk in nice tones and reassure her that everything’s gonna be all right.”

Mr. Morris showed us a new feed trough and a scoop he had bought so it wouldn’t be confusing for us to measure the pellets. “One more thing before I go.” He grabbed some tools and wire and led us into the field. Most of the alpacas followed us like pups, trotting along behind. They seemed interested in everything.

Buck ran ahead of us and sniffed and pawed at a mangled spot in the fence.

“Just found this earlier while I was making my morning rounds.” Mr. Morris picked up two twisted ends of wire from the ground. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was a bear. You can still smell the thing, and there are droppings a few yards that way.”

My heart raced with the news. “Do they usually come at night like that?”

“They eat any time they’re hungry, which is all the time. But a lot of people find their trash cans overturned in the middle of the night. I’m just glad the thing didn’t get to any of the animals.”

He showed us how to mend the fence. I was glad Bryce was there because he’s better at that kind of thing. The car horn honked, and Mr. Morris chuckled. “The kids can’t wait to get on the road.”

When he was finished, he showed us where he kept the tools and walked toward the house. “Now I meant it when I said you two are welcome to stay at the house overnight. You can stay here the whole week if you’d like.”

Bryce smiled. “We hope Sam and Mom will let us.”

We helped them load their car and waved as they drove away. Bryce looked at his watch. “I forgot my backpack. I need to go home and get it before we head to school.”

“I’ll meet you at Mrs. Watson’s place,” I said. “I just want to stay here a little longer.”

Bryce took off, and I walked among the alpacas. There was something peaceful about being with this many animals, and with Buck patrolling the edge of the pasture, I felt safe.

A bear
, I thought.
What if the bear comes back when we’re gone? What if it comes back when we’re here?

I went back inside the barn and looked at Whitney. I tried to soothe her a little with my words, but it didn’t work. She looked through the cracks in the barn and hummed louder.

I made sure all the gates were closed and the animals had enough food and water. When I got to the end of the driveway I closed the main gate behind me.

A car came barreling past me, kicking up dust. I flipped my helmet visor down just in time to recognize Denise in the backseat. She scowled as she passed, but I wasn’t sure she knew who I was.

I let the dust settle, then followed down the road to the field where I would cut across and head to school. I looked back once and saw most of the herd standing at the edge of the pasture. It was almost like they were saying good-bye.