Don't Tell Anyone (9 page)

The driver, intent on steering the machine, kept his eyes straight ahead.

This can't be happening, Megan thought, as she dropped her bike in the weeds and ran toward the bulldozer.

The engine noise rumbled like thunder.

“Stop!” Megan shouted. “Stop!”

The driver still did not look at her.

He can't hear me over the roar of the bulldozer, Megan realized.

When the front edge of the bulldozer's treads crossed the sidewalk, the machine paused. Then the driver backed the dozer into position so that its scoop would come down right along the edge of the sidewalk.

Halfway between the bulldozer and the other end of the field, Megan saw the drainpipe. Its opening was only a few feet from the sidewalk. Megan's stomach felt as if she had swallowed a brick.

Would the scoop fill the drainpipe with dirt as it passed, trapping Mommacat and the kittens inside the pipe? Or
would the frightful noise as the bulldozer approached drive Mommacat to try to carry her kittens to safety? If so, they would never make it.

Megan raced toward the bulldozer. Her worst fear for the cats was about to come true.

“Stop!” she screamed. “You can't do this!”

She reached the bulldozer just as the driver pulled a lever that lowered the scoop to the ground. She saw that the driver wore earphones to protect him from the constant noise of the huge machine. It didn't matter how loud Megan shouted; the driver would never hear her.

She ran in front of the bulldozer and stopped about ten feet before the scoop. She waved her arms frantically. Even though she knew the driver could not hear her, she continued to yell, “Stop! Stop!”

The driver shifted another lever. The bulldozer's blade dug into the dirt, then started to push it forward.

Megan jumped up and down, desperately flailing her arms. She saw the driver glance up; he had an astonished look on his face. She knew he had seen her.

The bulldozer quit moving. The engine stopped. The driver stood up, removed his earphones, and leaned out of the cab.

“What's the matter with you? Are you crazy?” he said. “Get out of the way!”

Megan rushed to the side of the bulldozer and looked up at the man. “You aren't supposed to clear this field,” she said.

“Is that so? Then why did I get a call telling me to be sure it gets done today?”

“There's been a mistake,” Megan said.

“There's no mistake. This is the corner of 148th and I-90, and I'm supposed to clear it.”

“But you can't!” Megan said.

“Look,” the driver said. “I'm sorry if this field is where you like to play. I'm sorry if you don't want an apartment building to go up here. But I don't make those decisions; all I do is drive my ‘dozer. I promised I'd have this land leveled by five o'clock this afternoon, and I'm already three hours late getting started because I got held up on a different job.”

“There are cats living in this field,” Megan said. “The clearing is not supposed to be done until the cats are caught and moved to a new place.”

“Cats?” The driver looked at her as if she had started speaking a language he didn't understand.

“Feral cats. One of them has a litter of new kittens.”

“I don't know about any cats. All I know is I'm supposed to do a job here this afternoon. So you need to stay out of my way where you won't get hurt, and let me get on with it.”

Megan took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “If you start clearing this field,” she said, “I will call the television hot-line number for breaking news.”

“What?”

“I'll tell the TV reporter that you are bulldozing a field
that is not supposed to be cleared, and that your bulldozer is killing all the cats. The cameras will be here within minutes.”

“Whoa,” the man said. He took off his cap and scratched the side of his head.

“Do you really want to be on the ten o'clock news in a story about how you murdered a litter of baby kittens?”

The man climbed down off the bulldozer. “Maybe I should call my boss and double-check this job order,” he said. “Mr. Colby didn't set this up himself the way he usually does. Someone else called me.”

“Mr. Colby?” Megan asked. “From Colby Construction? Is he your boss?”

“That's the one.”

Relief flowed through Megan. “Mr. Colby will tell you not to clear this field,” she said. “He's helping me save the cats. He even got the county to withhold the building permit on these apartments for a month.”

The driver looked skeptical. “I find that hard to believe,” he said. “No contractor would deliberately hold up his own building permit, cats or no cats. Why would he do that?”

“So there would be time to move the cats to new homes before the land gets cleared.”

“You don't need a building permit in order to clear the land.”

“You don't?” Megan said.

“No, you don't,” the driver said. “Besides, Brice Colby is
the one who's building these apartments. If he wants to postpone construction, all he has to do is wait.”

“Are you sure Colby Construction is building these apartments?”

“That's who called and told me to get over here today. But I'll call Mr. Colby and get his okay before I continue.”

Megan followed the man to the flatbed truck and waited while he unlocked it and took out a cellular phone. He dialed, then asked for Brice Colby.

After a pause he said, “This is Dale Burrows. I'm supposed to be clearing for the Evergreen Apartments this afternoon, and I have a problem on the job site. I need to talk to Brice as soon as possible.” He gave a phone number.

He hung up and told Megan, “His office is going to page him on his beeper and ask him to call me.”

She hoped Mr. Colby called promptly. She was supposed to be on her way home by now. Mom would not be happy if Megan was late today.

“I'm going to put out the cats' food and water while we wait,” Megan said.

Carrying his cell phone, the bulldozer driver followed her. He watched while Megan filled one dish with cat food and the other with fresh water. “How many cats are you feeding here?” he asked.

Megan held up one finger for each name. “Pumpkin, Slush, Twitchy Tail, Claws, and Mommacat. That's five, for sure, but there may be some I haven't seen. Plus the kittens. I don't know yet how many of those there are.”

As they talked, Megan glanced around to see if anyone might be watching. She hoped whoever had left the note didn't think she was telling this man about the accident.

“Do you want to see the kittens?” she asked.

“Why not?” the driver said.

She knelt and peered inside the drainpipe. “There they are,” she said, “but don't try to touch them.”

The driver looked into the drainpipe. “They're tiny,” he said. “How old are they?”

“They were born yesterday. As soon as they're six weeks old, I'm going to find homes for them.”

“Do you come here every day?”

Megan nodded.

“You remind me of my daughter,” the driver said. “When she was your age, she was always feeding some stray cat, or trying to save a baby bird that fell out of its nest, or begging me to pick up a lost dog that was running alongside a busy street.”

“Would your daughter like to have one of the kittens when they're ready for adoption?” Megan asked.

The cell phone in his pocket rang. He took out the phone, pushed a button, and said, “This is Dale. Oh. Can you verify that I'm supposed to clear the land today for that apartment building on the corner of 148th, by the freeway? There's a kid here who claims the project's been put on hold until some wild cats get moved out of the field.” He covered the phone and said to Megan, “She can't reach Mr. Colby. She's going to ask someone else.”

Megan's nervousness returned. What if Mr. Colby had not told anyone else about the cats? What if the woman in the office came back and told the driver to proceed with bulldozing the field? What would Megan do then?

A minute later the driver spoke into the receiver again. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks for checking.”

He closed the cell phone and put it back in his pocket.

Megan held her breath.

“Nobody in the office knows anything about the cats,” he said. “Most of the staff left early today because of the balloon festival. Colby Construction sponsors one of the balloons, and this year they're also selling doughnuts and hot cider, to raise money for the new library.”

Megan pressed her lips together, trying to keep back the tears. “Will you wait until you reach Mr. Colby?” she asked. “Please?”

“I'll tell you what,” the driver said. “I was late getting here today and now it's after four o'clock. Since I can't finish the job this afternoon anyway, I won't start it until tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you,” Megan said. “Will you keep trying to call Mr. Colby?”

“The only number I have is the office; they close at five. But they said he checks his messages. Maybe he'll call me tonight.”

“What if he doesn't?” Megan asked.

“Then I won't have any choice but to go ahead and clear the land tomorrow. I don't usually work on Saturday, but
this is a rush order that was supposed to be finished today. I said I'd do the job, and I'm obligated to do it. As it is, I'm a day behind their schedule.”

“What time will you be here in the morning?” she asked.

“I usually start at seven-thirty.”

“I'm going to the balloon festival,” Megan said. “I'll look for Mr. Colby at the booth selling doughnuts and cider.”

But what if she didn't find him? Thousands of people attended the festival every year, and just because his company was sponsoring a food booth didn't mean he would be working there.

“Good luck,” the driver said.

“Thanks.” She turned and walked toward her bike.

I'll need plenty of luck, Megan thought. If Mr. Colby's own office can't get hold of him, what chance do I have?

All she could do was try. She would look for him at the balloon festival, and if she didn't find him there, she would call the number he had given her.

She remembered that Mr. Colby had crossed off the number on the business card and written in a different number. Maybe he had given her his home number—or maybe Mom had it, because of the book club. She hoped so. She would try to call him, and keep trying, until she got an answer.

If she had not spoken to Brice Colby by seven tomorrow morning, she would call the TV hot-line number, and the newspapers, and all her friends. She would ask people to
picket, with signs. If she had to, she would stand in front of the bulldozer and prevent the driver from moving it forward.

Megan reached her bike and mounted it. As she rode away from the field, she glanced back at the big yellow bulldozer.

On second thought, she wasn't sure she would have the courage to stand in front of that machine if it was headed toward her.

She hoped she would not have to find out.

It was past four-thirty when Megan got home. Mrs. Perk and Kylie were eating grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.

“I was getting worried,” Mrs. Perk said.

“There was a bulldozer at the field. The driver was starting to clear the land when I got there.”

“I'll call Brice while you eat your dinner,” Mrs. Perk said. “If he isn't home, I'll explain the problem to Ruthann.”

Megan washed her hands, transferred her sandwich from the pan to her plate, and warmed her cup of soup in the microwave.

“You have to eat all your dinner if you want cotton candy,” Kylie told her.

Mrs. Perk looked up the phone number, dialed, waited, and then hung up. “I got their answering machine,” she said. “There's no use leaving a message, since we won't be here tonight. If he called back, he'd just get our machine. I'll try again when we get home.”

“Is that bulldozer going to squash Dinkle?” Kylie asked, her lips trembling.

“Dinkle isn't in the field,” Mrs. Perk said. “Dinkle is safe at home with Mr. Leefton.”

“Not Dinkle the dog,” Kylie said.

“She means one of the kittens,” Megan explained. “The one she wants to keep.”

Kylie nodded. “I named my kitten Dinkle,” she said. “He's going to purr when I pet him.”

“Your kitten will not get squashed,” Megan said. “I promise.”

She hoped she could keep that promise.

As they drove to the balloon festival, questions filled Megan's mind. Why had Mr. Colby made such a point of telling her that the building permit was being delayed for a month, if no permit was required in order to clear the land?

Why had Mr. Colby said he would find out who owned the property? If his company was building the apartments, surely he already knew the property owner. Maybe he even owned it himself. Was Mr. Colby only pretending to help her?

The bulldozer driver had said it was a rush job—why? If
it was so important to clear the field quickly, why didn't the people in the office at Colby Construction know about it?

Maybe it's just a mix-up, Megan thought. Maybe some other building site is a rush job and whoever hired the bulldozer made a mistake and gave the wrong address.

A new question arose: What if the threatening note was not from the driver of the tan car? What if it had nothing at all to do with the accident?

Megan did not need to look at the red words in order to remember them.
If you want the cats to live, don't tell anyone.
Until now she had assumed the note meant: don't tell anyone who was driving the tan car.

What if the note meant: don't tell anyone about the cats? The note made just as much sense that way. Why would anyone want to keep the cats secret?

The only people who knew Megan was feeding the cats were Mom, Kylie, Mr. Colby, and Officer Rupp. None of them wanted the field cleared, nor would they have left a menacing note.