Forensics Squad Unleashed (14 page)

Lloyd sends Mason to the small kitchen at the back of the forensics department. “I’m pretty sure I saw a squeeze bottle of yellow mustard in the fridge,” Lloyd tells him.

When Mason comes back with the mustard, he squeezes a little out and puts it on a glass slide.

“What do you think?” Lloyd asks when Mason compares the two samples.

Mason does not answer right away. But when he finally says, “I think we’ve got a match!” the rest of us clap.

That means we now have a direct link between the mustard container and the coffee cup. Whoever wrote the mustard message must have also touched the coffee cup. But where did the coffee cup come from?

The cafeteria isn’t open, but there is a coffee shop on the ground level of the sports complex, and we all decide to go down there together. The coffee shop must be on summer hours too, because it wasn’t open the other day. When we get there, people are lining up for their coffee. I spot the orange running shoes first. Leo Tessier is buying coffee, and Amelia Lester is with him. She has a sour expression on her face, which makes me wonder whether they have been arguing again.

I point them out to the others.

“The cafeteria coffee must suck,” Nico says. “Why else would those two buy their coffee someplace else?”

“They really shouldn’t be using cups with plastic coating,” Stacey mutters. “I’m going to talk to the manager and suggest they offer a discount to people who bring reusable mugs. They’d end up saving money, and it would help the planet.”

Muriel and I must be thinking the same thing. “C’mon. Quick,” she says, grabbing my elbow. “Let’s go see how sweet they like their coffee.”

But just as Muriel and I are rushing over to the counter, the fire alarm sounds. It’s as if the whole sports complex is clanging—the windows, the walls, even the floors. Nico blocks his ears.

“We need to get out of here now!” Lloyd’s voice echoes through the lobby of the sports complex.

“I don’t smell smoke,” I hear Stacey saying. “I’m sure it’s just a fire drill.”

“Either way, we’re outta here now!” Samantha is gesturing for us to follow her.

Muriel and I look at each other. Is there time to get to the counter?

“Out of zee way!” It’s Leo, with Amelia close behind him. They are leaving the building without their coffee.

TWENTY

Stacey was right about the fire alarm. It’s just a drill. Even so, the university staff is taking it seriously. A woman outside the sports complex is timing how long it takes for everyone to get out. The guy from building services—the one we met at the cafeteria the other day—is directing us away from the building and onto the lawn. “Leave room for the fire truck,” he bellows, even though we all know no fire truck is coming.

We all head for our usual picnic table. I wonder why people are so quick to form habits. Maybe it’s because the world around us is always changing, and habits are a way to hang on to things we’re familiar with. Maybe even grownups have trouble with change. Maybe that’s why Mom is so fixated on security, and Dad can’t handle mess.

Today is the second-to-last day of forensics camp, and when it is over, I am going to miss it and the friends I have made here. Nico and Muriel will fly home to Vancouver on Saturday. But they will be back next summer, and I hope I
will still see Stacey and Nathaniel around. I bet Patti will like them. Even Mason is not as bad as I thought. Maybe I just resented being forced to hang out with him all these years, and I couldn’t see that he has some good qualities—though I’d rather not admit that to him. Besides, I’ve spent so many years giving Mason a hard time, I can’t really imagine treating him any differently. Another example of a habit.

Lloyd and Samantha debate what to do with us for the next half hour. Lloyd thinks there is no point going to the pool, since by the time they let us back into the building and we get changed, there will be hardly any time left for swimming. Why am I not surprised when Samantha suggests we do jumping jacks? I think she likes keeping us busy.

Mason groans when he hears about the jumping jacks. “It’s much too hot for vigorous exercise,” he says. “Jumping jacks could cause heat stroke.”

In the end, Lloyd wins and we get half an hour of free time. Muriel checks her cell phone to see if there are any new emails from the dog guy, but there aren’t. Stacey goes to talk to the manager of the coffee shop, who is having a cigarette under a birch tree.

Mason and Nathaniel are sitting across from each other at the picnic table. “What made him so special?” I hear Mason ask.

At first I think they are talking about the Pomeranian, but then I hear Nathaniel say, “I guess it’s that he really
got
me. Like nobody else.”

Mason does not say anything—he just nods and takes in what Nathaniel has said. Which is when I have another
realization: Mason may not be a scintillating conversationalist, but he knows how to listen.

“It’s different with my dad,” Nathaniel says. “Sometimes I get the feeling he’s
evaluating
me. Wondering if I’m tough enough to be a cop like him. Grandpa never made me feel like that. Not even once.”

“Do you really want to be a cop?” Mason asks.

“I dunno. I think so. I thought so.” Nathaniel kicks at the grass underneath the picnic table. “My grandpa was a science teacher. He would’ve thought forensics camp was cool.”

When a cop car turns up outside the Life Sciences Building, I figure it has something to do with the fire drill. So I’m surprised when Nathaniel’s dad comes striding out. When he stops to survey the scene, I notice he has perfect posture. Maybe they teach that at police academy. His eyes land on Nathaniel and Mason, and he curls his index finger to signal that he wants to talk to Nathaniel.

“Crap,” Nathaniel mutters. “What’s my dad doing here?”

I am wondering that too, only I am too far away to hear their conversation. I have to settle for observing from a distance. Nathaniel’s dad appears to be asking Nathaniel something, and Nathaniel is shaking his head. Now his dad is wagging his finger. I can tell he is upset.

Samantha goes over to them and shakes Nathaniel’s dad’s hand. It looks like she is asking if there is something she can do to help. She does not seem intimidated about talking to a cop. Maybe forensics students take courses about dealing with the police.

Nathaniel’s dad puts his hands on his hips. Now it looks like he is upset with Samantha too. And then he is raising his voice, and I can make out a few words.
Willy
.
Wedding
.
Grandpa
.

Nathaniel keeps shaking his head. When he tries to speak, his dad jabs his finger in Nathaniel’s face. I don’t think I would like having a cop for a father. Or this particular cop anyway.

Nathaniel’s dad points at the police cruiser. Samantha says something, but Nathaniel’s dad ignores her.

When Nathaniel comes back to the picnic table, we are all hoping that whatever the problem is, it’s fixed. But Nathaniel hangs his head in a way I have never seen him do before. Like he is defeated. This is not the Nathaniel I am used to.

“Everything okay?” Mason asks.

“No.” Nathaniel grabs his backpack from under the bench. He does not look at us when he speaks. “My dad thinks I had something to do with Willy’s disappearance. He’s taking me home. He says he won’t let me leave until I tell him where Willy is.”

“On the double now!” Nathaniel’s dad calls out. “You know how I feel about waiting!”

Nathaniel runs back to his dad. His shoulders are slumped.

“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard,” I say. “Why would someone dognap their own dog?”

“Technically, at least, it’s not his dog. It was his grandfather’s dog,” Muriel says when Nathaniel is out of earshot.

“You don’t really think he did it, do you?” I ask Muriel.

“He might’ve.”

“Anything is possible,” Nico adds.

“But why?” I ask.

Stacey picks up a plastic wrapper from underneath the picnic table. “He told us he’s upset with his grandmother for falling in love with that guy from the bereavement group. This could be his way of getting back at her.”

“I honestly don’t know what to think,” Mason says.

I turn to look at Mason. “I thought you two were buds.”

Samantha and Lloyd come to sit down at the picnic table. “It’s too bad Nathaniel had to leave,” Samantha says.

“You don’t honestly think he’s a dognapper, do you?” I ask Samantha.

Samantha tucks some red hair behind her ear. Nathaniel’s dad was rude to her, and I wonder if for once she is going to show some emotion.

“I haven’t seen any evidence. But I will say Nathaniel’s dad seems pretty certain Nathaniel did something with his grandmother’s dog.”

TWENTY-ONE

Dad is surprised when I tell him Mason has dropped by so we can take Roxie out for a walk after dinner. “I was under the impression you don’t really enjoy spending time with Mason,” he says when I come back inside for my hoodie. Though it got hot again during the day, the air tonight has turned chilly. It reminds me that summer will not last forever.

“I don’t. I mean…I didn’t. He’s not as bad as I thought.” As the words come out of my mouth, I realize something. I mean them.

Mom looks up from the book she is reading. “That’s lovely news,” she says. “I had a hunch it might happen one day. Don’t forget to reactivate the alarm on your way out.”

Nathaniel has not been answering his cell or responding to emails. Mason thinks Nathaniel’s dad has probably confiscated his phone.

So we make a point of passing Nathaniel’s house. There are pink rose petals all over the front stairs. The living-room
curtains stir, and we see Nathaniel’s grandmother peering out the window as if she is expecting to see Willy. She waves when we pass. There is no sign of Nathaniel.

The front door opens and Fred steps out, holding a broom. When he starts sweeping up the rose petals, he spots Roxie. “That’s a beautiful dog,” he calls out. Then he recognizes Mason and me. “You’re the kids from forensics camp, aren’t you? Nathaniel’s friends?”

“Yup,” Mason says. “Hey, if you don’t mind us asking, how is Nathaniel? We were supposed to hang out with him tonight, so when we didn’t hear from him, we figured he was still in trouble.”

Fred sets the broom down. “You had plans, did you? Well, his father has confined him to his room. I tried to reason with André—Nathaniel adores that dog, and he would never do anything to hurt his grandmother—but André told me it wasn’t my place.” He sighs. “I suppose Nathaniel isn’t the only one in this family who needs time to get used to me.”

Fred comes down the stairs so he can pet Roxie. “You look after this beautiful dog, okay?”

We promise that we will. After Fred shuts the door behind him, Mason turns to me. “I wonder what Nathaniel would say if he knew Fred was sticking up for him.”

Stacey, Muriel and Nico are waiting at the corner of Lansdowne Avenue and Sherbrooke Street. “Nice to meet you, Roxie,” Nico says, squatting down to shake Roxie’s paw. “For the record, I’m a good guy, not a bad guy. So don’t eat me.”

The others have not heard from Nathaniel either. It feels strange not to have him with us—partly because we have
gotten used to being six, but also because Nathaniel was so involved in the plans for tonight.

Nico and Muriel will meet our contact person. I am trying to stop calling him the dognapper—in case he isn’t. Mason will hide out by the utility shed near the park entrance. From there, he will be able to see Nico and Muriel. Stacey and I will be stationed at opposite sides of the park. She will wait behind a giant recycling bin (why am I not surprised she chose that spot?). I will be crouched underneath the slide in the kids’ play area.

The plan is that Mason will text Stacey and me to let us know what is going on. We have even come up with a code in case of emergency.

1=Things are fine.

2=Make a run for it.

3=Call the police.

“What about Roxie?” Mason asks. Roxie’s one stand-up ear perks up when she hears her name. I think she likes it when people talk about her. “If we’re going to use her for bait like Nathaniel said, she should be with me—in plain view near the entrance to the park.”

I take a deep breath. “She can go with you, but only if you promise not to let her out of your sight. Not even for a millisecond,” I say.

“Of course I promise.”

There is a bike rack by the utility shed. “Stay,” I tell Roxie as I loop her leash over the bike rack. “I’ll come back for you.” She looks at me with her soft dark eyes. I give her a quick scratch behind the ears. “I’m glad you understand me,” I say.

It is twenty to eight—time for me to get to the play area. There is not much grass underneath the slide, just dried-up earth. I thought of this spot because when I was little I used to hide here when we played hide-and-seek. I squeeze in under the slide. It’s a good thing I’m not taller, or this could get uncomfortable.

Maybe it’s because I’ve got nothing to do or because I’m thinking about criminals that my mind takes me back again to the day of the break-in. This time I try to let the memories come without fighting them.

I see a little girl blocking her ears, then unblocking them. Then I hear a woman’s voice calling for help. For a moment I think someone in the park is in trouble, but then I realize the sound is in my memory. And now I remember wondering whether there was a woman calling out on TV—or if it was Mom. The little girl blocks her ears again, like that monkey who will hear no evil. She does not want to hear. She is too afraid.

Another feeling washes over me, one I have never been aware of before when I remembered the break-in. Guilt. I didn’t do anything to help my mom.

And then, for some reason I don’t quite understand, I think of Larry’s dog Pixie, the one he has to muzzle. Didn’t Larry say some people were fear biters too? I think of how I sometimes snap at my parents, and how nasty I can be to Mason. Could I be one of those fear biters Larry was talking about? Have I been afraid all these years?

A squeegee kid walks by, drawing me back to the present. He is wearing a ratty-looking gray wool cap and
carrying a backpack. He whistles, and there is something familiar about the tune, but I can’t place it. What is that song? I don’t think he is the contact person—he’s just some kid walking through the park—but even so, I do not breathe or move a muscle. I figure it is an opportunity to practice being invisible, and it seems to be working because the squeegee kid walks right past me, still whistling.