Hoot (4 page)

“What the heck's going on out there?” the captain demanded. “Why would kids single out this one construction site to vandalize?”

“Two reasons,” said the sergeant, “boredom and convenience. I'll bet you five bucks it's juvies who live in the neighborhood.”

The captain eyed Officer Delinko. “What do you think?”

“It seems too organized to be kids—pulling out every stake, not just once but twice. Think about what happened today. How many kids do you know who could handle a four-foot gator?” Officer Delinko said. “Seems awful risky, for a practical joke.”

Delinko is no Sherlock Holmes, thought the police captain, but he's got a point. “Well, then, let's hear your theory,” he said to the patrolman.

“Yes, sir. Here's what I think,” Officer Delinko said. “I think somebody's got it in for Mother Paula. I think it's some kind of revenge deal.”

“Revenge,” repeated the captain, somewhat skeptically.

“That's right,” the patrolman said. “Maybe it's a rival pancake house.”

The sergeant shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “There is no other pancake house in Coconut Cove.”

“Okay,” said Officer Delinko, rubbing his chin, “so then, how about a disgruntled customer? Maybe someone who once had a bad breakfast at a Mother Paula's!”

The sergeant laughed. “How can you mess up a flapjack?”

“I agree,” the captain said. He'd heard enough. “Sergeant, I want you to send a patrol car by the construction site every hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Either you catch these vandals or you scare 'em away. It doesn't matter to me as long as the chief isn't getting any more phone calls from Councilman Bruce Grandy. Clear?”

As soon as they left the captain's office, Officer Delinko asked his sergeant if he could come in early to work the Mother Paula patrol.

“No way, David. The overtime budget's tapped out.”

“Oh, I don't want any overtime,” the patrolman said. All he wanted was to solve the mystery.

FOUR

Roy's mother made him stay home all weekend to make sure there was no delayed reaction to the golf-ball bonking. Though his head felt fine, he didn't sleep well either Saturday night or Sunday night.

On the way to school Monday morning, his mother asked what was bothering him. Roy said it was nothing, which wasn't true. He was worried about what would happen when Dana Matherson caught up with him.

But Dana was nowhere to be seen at Trace Middle.

“Called in sick,” Garrett reported. He claimed to have inside information, owing to his mother's high-ranking position as a guidance counselor. “Dude, what'd you do to that poor guy? I heard there was guts all over the bus.”

“That's not true.”

“I heard you pounded him so hard, his nose got knocked up to his forehead. I heard he'll need plastic surgery to put it back where it belongs.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

Garrett made a fart noise through his teeth. “Hey, everybody in school is talkin' about this—talkin' about
you,
Eberhardt.”

“Great.”

They were standing in the hall after homeroom, waiting for the first-period bell.

Garrett said, “Now they think you're a tough guy.”

“Who does? Why?” Roy didn't want to be thought of as tough. He didn't particularly want to be thought of at all. He just wanted to blend in quietly and not be noticed, like a bug on a riverbank.

“They think you're tough,” Garrett went on. “Nobody's ever slugged a Matherson before.”

Apparently Dana had three older brothers, none of whom was remembered fondly at Trace Middle.

“What'd you put in your apology letter? ‘Dear Dana, I'm sorry I thumped you. Please don't break every bone in my body. Leave me one good arm so at least I can feed myself.' ”

“You're so funny,” Roy said dryly. The truth was, Garrett
was
pretty funny.

“What do you think that gorilla's gonna do next time he sees you?” he said to Roy. “I was you, I'd start thinkin' about plastic surgery myself so that Dana wouldn't recognize me. Seriously, man.”

“Garrett, I need a favor.”

“What—a place to hide? Try the South Pole.”

The bell rang and streams of students filled the hall. Roy pulled Garrett aside. “There's a tall girl with curly blond hair, she wears red glasses—”

Garrett looked alarmed. “Don't tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“You got the hots for Beatrice Leep?”

“That's her name?” Roy figured it had been at least a hundred years since anyone had named their daughter Beatrice. No wonder she was such a sorehead.

“What do you know about her?” he asked Garrett.

“I know enough to stay out of her way. She's a major soccer jock,” Garrett said, “with a major attitude. I can't believe you got the hots for her—”

“I don't even know her!” Roy protested. “She's hacked off at me for some crazy reason, and I'm just trying tofigure out why.”

Garrett groaned. “First Dana Matherson, now Beatrice the Bear. You got a death wish, Tex?”

“Tell me about her. What's her story?”

“Not now. We're gonna be late for class.”

“Come on,” Roy said. “Please.”

Garrett stepped closer, checking nervously over his shoulder. “Here's all you need to know about Beatrice Leep,” he said in a whisper. “Last year one of the star linebackers for Graham High snuck up from behind and slapped her on the bottom. This was at the Big Cypress Mall, broad daylight. Beatrice chased the guy down and heaved him into the fountain. Broke his collarbone in three places. Out for the season.”

“No way,” said Roy.

“Maybe you ought to think about Catholic school.”

Roy gave a hollow laugh. “Too bad we're Methodists.”

“Then convert, dude,” Garrett said. “Seriously.”

 

Officer David Delinko looked forward to getting up early to scout the construction site. It was a welcome break from his daily routine, which offered few opportunities for real surveillance. Usually that was left to the detectives.

Although Officer Delinko liked the town of Coconut Cove, he had become bored with his job, which mostly involved traffic enforcement. He had joined the police force because he wanted to solve crimes and arrest criminals. Yet, except for the occasional drunk driver, Officer Delinko rarely got to lock up anybody. The handcuffs clipped to his belt were as shiny and unscratched as the day he joined the force, almost two years earlier.

Vandalism and trespassing weren't big-time crimes, but Officer Delinko was intrigued by the continuing pattern of mischief at the future site of Mother Paula's All-American Pancake House. He had a hunch that the culprit (or culprits) intended something more serious than juvenile pranks.

Since the police chief was getting pressure to stop the incidents, Officer Delinko knew that catching the vandals would be a feather in his cap—and possibly the first step toward a promotion. His long-term career goal was to become a detective, and the Mother Paula case was a chance to show he had the right stuff.

On the first Monday after the alligator episode, Officer Delinko set his alarm clock for five
A.M.
He rolled out of bed, took a quick shower, toasted himself a bagel, and headed out for the construction site.

It was still dark when he arrived. Three times he circled the block and saw nothing unusual. Except for a garbage truck, the streets were empty. The police radio was quiet as well; not much happened in Coconut Cove before dawn.

Or
after
dawn, for that matter, Officer Delinko mused.

He parked the squad car next to Leroy Branitt's work trailer and waited for the sun to rise. It promised to be a pretty morning; the sky looked clear, with a rim of pink in the east.

Officer Delinko wished he'd brought a thermos of coffee, because he wasn't accustomed to getting up so early. Once he caught himself sagging behind the steering wheel, so he slapped briskly at his cheeks in order to stay awake.

Peering through the fuzzy early-morning gray, Officer Delinko thought he saw movement in the open field ahead of him. He flicked on the squad car's headlights and there, on a grassy mound marked by a freshly planted survey stake, stood a pair of burrowing owls.

Curly hadn't been kidding. These were the dinkiest owls that Officer Delinko had ever seen—only eight or nine inches tall. They were dark brown with spotted wings, whitish throats, and piercing amber eyes. Officer Delinko wasn't a bird-watcher, but he was intrigued by the toy-sized owls. For several moments they stared at the car, their big eyes blinking uncertainly. Then they took off, chattering to each other as they swooped low over the scrub.

Hoping he hadn't scared the birds away from their nest, Officer Delinko turned off his headlights. He rubbed his heavy eyelids and propped his head against the inside of the car window. The glass felt cool against his skin. A mosquito buzzed around his nose, but he was too sleepy to swipe at it.

Soon he nodded off, and the next thing he heard was the radio crackle of the dispatcher's voice, routinely asking for his location. Officer Delinko fumbled for the microphone and recited the address of the construction site.

“Ten-four,” the dispatcher said, signing off.

Officer Delinko gradually roused himself. The squad car was hot but, oddly, it looked darker outside now than when he'd first arrived—so dark, in fact, that he couldn't see anything, not even the construction trailer.

In a fleeting moment of dread, Officer Delinko wondered if it was already the next night. Was it possible he'd accidentally slept through the whole day?

Just then, something smacked against the squad car—
pow!
Then came another smack, and another after that ... a steady invisible pounding. Officer Delinko grabbed for his gun but it wouldn't come out of his holster—the seat belt was in the way.

As he struggled to unstrap himself, the car door flew open and a white blast of sunlight hit him in the face. He shielded his eyes and, remembering what they'd taught him at the academy, shouted, “Police officer! Police officer!”

“Yeah? Could've fooled me.” It was Curly, the sullen construction foreman. “Whatsa matter, didn't you hear me knockin'?”

Officer Delinko tried to gather his senses. “Guess I fell asleep. Did something happen?”

Curly sighed. “Get out and see for yourself.”

The patrolman emerged into the glaring daylight. “Oh no,” he muttered.

“Oh yeah,” Curly said.

While Officer Delinko had been dozing, somebody had sprayed all the windows of his squad car with black paint.

“What time is it?” he asked Curly.

“Nine-thirty.”

Officer Delinko let out an involuntary whimper. Nine-thirty! He touched his finger to the windshield—the paint was dry.

“My car,” he said despondently.

“Your car?” Curly bent down and scooped up an armful of dug-up survey stakes. “Who cares about your stupid car?” he said.

 

Roy spent the morning with a knot in his stomach. Something had to be done, something decisive—he couldn't spend the rest of the school year hiding from Dana Matherson and Beatrice Leep.

Dana could be dealt with later, but Beatrice the Bear couldn't wait. At lunchtime Roy spotted her across the cafeteria. She was sitting with three other girls from the soccer team. They looked lanky and tough, though not as formidable as Beatrice.

Taking a deep breath, Roy walked over and sat at the same table. Beatrice glared in seething disbelief while her friends regarded him with amusement and kept eating.

“What is your problem?” Beatrice demanded. In one hand was a barbecued pork sandwich, suspended between the tray and her sneering mouth.

“I think
you're
the one with the problem.” Roy smiled, even though he was nervous. Beatrice's soccer friends were impressed. They set down their forks and waited to see what was coming next.

Roy plowed ahead. “Beatrice,” he began, “I've got no idea why you're mad about what happened on the bus. You're not the one who got choked, and you're not the one who got punched in the nose. So I'm only going to say this once: If I did something to upset you, I'm sorry. It wasn't on purpose.”

Evidently no one had ever spoken to Beatrice so forthrightly, for she appeared to be in a state of shock. Her sandwich remained fixed in midair, the barbecue sauce trickling down her fingers.

“How much do you weigh?” Roy asked, not unpleasantly.

“Wha-uh?” Beatrice stammered.

“Well, I weigh exactly ninety-four pounds,” Roy said, “and I'll bet you're at least a hundred and five ...”

One of Beatrice's friends giggled, and Beatrice shot her a scowl.

“... which means you could probably knock me around the cafeteria all day long. But it wouldn't prove a darn thing,” Roy said. “Next time you've got a problem just tell me, and then we'll sit down and talk about it like civilized human beings. Okay?”

“Civilized,” Beatrice repeated, gazing at Roy over the rims of her glasses. Roy's eyes flickered to her hand, which was now dripping fat glops of barbecue sauce. Soggy chunks of bun and meat were visible between clenched fingers—she had squeezed the sandwich so ferociously that it had disintegrated.

One of the soccer girls leaned close to Roy. “Listen, Mouth, you best get outta here while you can. This is
so
not cool.”

Roy stood up calmly. “Beatrice, are we straight on this? If anything's bothering you, now's the time to tell me.”

Beatrice the Bear dropped the remains of her sandwich on the plate and wiped her hands with a wad of paper napkins. She didn't say a word.

“Whatever.” Roy made a point of smiling again. “I'm glad we had this chance to get to know each other a little better.”

Then he walked to the other side of the cafeteria and sat down, alone, to eat his lunch.

 

Garrett snuck into his mother's office and copied the address off the master enrollment sheet. It cost Roy a buck.

Roy handed the piece of paper to his mother as they were riding home in the car. “I need to stop here,” he told her.

Mrs. Eberhardt glanced at the paper and said, “All right, Roy. It's on our way.” She assumed the address belonged to one of Roy's friends, and that he was picking up a textbook or a homework assignment.

As they pulled into the driveway of the house, Roy said, “This'll only take a minute. I'll be right back.”

Dana Matherson's mother answered the door. She looked a lot like her son, which was unfortunate.

“Dana home?” Roy asked.

“Who're you?”

“I go to school with him.”

Mrs. Matherson grunted, turned around, and yelled Dana's name. Roy was glad that she didn't invite him inside. Soon he heard heavy footsteps, and Dana himself filled the doorway. He wore long blue pajamas that would have fit a polar bear. A mound of thick gauze, crosshatched by shiny white tape, occupied the center of his piggish face. Both eyes were badly swollen and ringed with purple bruising.

Roy stood speechless. It was hard to believe that one punch had done so much damage.

Dana glared down at him and, in a pinched nasal voice, said: “I am
not
believin' this.”

“Don't worry. I just came to give you something.” Roy handed him the envelope containing the apology letter.

“What is it?” Dana asked suspiciously.

“Go ahead and open it.”

Dana's mother appeared behind him. “Who is he?” she asked Dana. “What's he want?”

“Never mind,” Dana mumbled.

Roy piped up: “I'm the one your son tried to strangle the other day. I'm the one who slugged him.”

Dana's shoulders stiffened. His mother clucked in amusement. “You gotta be kiddin'! This little twerp is the one who messed up your face?”