Old Bones (2 page)

“I've never seen so much food on one table.” Mike had managed to get first place in line.

“You don't have to try to put it
all
on your plate” — Greta Maitland frowned at Mike — “leave a little for the rest of us.”

Because her father was the second-richest man in Richford and owned the Milford Mall, Greta acted as if none of the other kids was her equal. Mike just stared at her, a long silent stare, and took his plate back down the line to stand behind Casey.

“Why didn't Greta Maitland stay home?” Mike asked. “Her being here's going to ruin everything.”

Casey shrugged.

“She's a large pain for sure. Only time she was ever mildly decent was when she was dating Bryan Ogilvie,” he said, thinking how he'd set her up with Bryan, whose dad was even richer than Greta's. “When she and Bryan were an item, she was almost likeable.”

“I never met this Bryan,” Mike said. “He was off to that fancy prep school down east before I got here. What's he like?”

Casey thought for a minute. “Bryan Ogilvie is one weird dude,” he said. He squelched the urge to tell Mike the whole story of Bryan's part in the hate activities that had turned Richford upside-down last fall, but Casey would never forget the way Bryan had been lured into joining the cell by Internet hate predators. Bryan got out of the mess only because Casey made him tell Casey's parents. Bryan was forbidden by the police to use the Internet for two years and had to swear he'd never call up any hate sites. “He was always a loner — not by choice though; everybody just ignored him.”

“That'd be tough to deal with,” Mike said.

“It was. Bryan really resented always being on the outside. He spent an awful lot of time on the net; he has an awesome computer set-up and is an absolute computer wizard.”

“As good as your brother Hank?” Mike wanted to know.

“Nobody's as good as Hank,” Casey told him, remembering how Hank's skills had helped solve the Hate Cell mystery.

“All that stuff Bryan's got — must'a cost a bundle,” Casey continued. He could see the wheels turning in Mike's brain. “A big bundle.”

“Money's no problem in the Ogilvie family,” said Casey. “Bryan's dad inherited pots of dough. My folks went to school with B.O. Ogilvie — that's what they called his father — in Richford. They say all that money changed him for the worse. Bryan's father is not an easy person to like.”

“So Bryan goes away and Greta's back to being Greta again,” said Mike.

“Just ignore her, like the rest of us do.” Casey eased himself down, being careful not to let his back touch the chair. He could feel the heat radiating through the clean white T-shirt he'd changed into for supper.

“I do,” Mike said, “but she makes me feel … What are you looking at, Casey?”

“See that girl standing at the end of the supper line with the tall man in the blue shirt and the lady in beige?”

“Yeah, I see her,” Mike said. “She is really tall and she is really pretty. You know her?”

“We were on the same swim club for a couple of years when I lived in Edmonton — the Green Beavers. Her name is Mandy Norman. She's sixteen now and the fastest female backstroker in the province.”

“So, go talk to her.”

“Yeah, I will. I got to know her pretty well even though I was only on the junior boys' relay team. Everybody liked Mandy, although she's really competitive. She just does what she does better than anybody else. I'd say she's Olympic material, but being the best didn't go to her head: When she could, she'd watch the others on the team and say something encouraging to them.”

“Sounds as if you liked her,” Mike said.

“Yeah.” Casey looked a little sad. “She was great and I missed her. The area swim team I'm on now is fine but there's nobody on it like Mandy Norman.” He turned his head and looked again at the Normans. “I even liked her mother. She and my mom got to be good friends driving us all over Alberta. I'll go talk to them when we've eaten.” Casey put three chicken legs on his plate and a pile of potato salad.

“I've got all I want here,” Mike said. “Let's take those two places at Kevin and Terry's table in the corner.” He got Kevin's attention and waved. But they were too late. Greta Maitland and Polly Beach slid into the chairs just as Mike and Casey got to the table.

“Real sorry,” Greta said, settling in. “I'm sure you'll find somewhere else to sit; that plate of yours must be awfully heavy to carry, Mike.”

Kevin and Terry shrugged helplessly as Casey and Mike turned around, looking for somewhere to sit.

“There's an empty table by the kitchen door,” Casey said, holding his plate high as he wove among the tables.

As they neared the table he'd spotted, a girl's voice called out, “Casey? Casey Templeton?”

Casey turned toward the voice. He hadn't heard it for ages but he knew who it was.

“Hi, Mandy. Hi, Mr. Norman,” he called out.

“Gimme your plate and go talk to them,” Mike said. “I'll grab the table.”

Casey manoeuvred among the crowded tables.

“You guys checking out the Tyrrell?” he asked as he got to the Normans' table.

“Dad's been working there three months now,” said Mandy, putting the chicken wing she was holding back on her plate. “He's executive director at the Tyrrell.”

“I didn't know,” Casey said. “Mom doesn't know either or she'd have said.” Casey saw Mrs. Norman staring at his neck. He tried to shrug down into the rim of his T-shirt.

“I've been meaning to call your mother,” Mrs. Norman told Casey, “but what with finding a house and getting settled here, I've just not done it.” She was looking intently at Casey. “That looks like a bad burn you've got. Did you put some after-sun lotion on it?”

“It's fine,” said Casey, knowing that it wasn't but not wanting anyone to make a fuss. “Listen. It's great to see you all but I don't want to interrupt your supper. I'll come talk to you later — catch up on all your news.”

“Fine.” Dr. Norman nodded. “We want to hear your news too. Come have dessert with us.”

“Will do, Dr. Norman.” Casey gave a wave as he found his way back to Mike.

“So, Mandy did remember you?” Mike asked, tipping back the chair he'd saved for Casey.

“Yeah.” Casey smiled. “Even her mom and dad remembered me. I'm going to talk to them later.”

But he never got the chance. Just as Casey put the first bite of potato salad in his mouth, the area around the Norman table erupted. People scrambled out of the way. Casey climbed on his chair. He couldn't see much, but he heard Dr. Norman call out, “Is there a doctor here?”

“What's going on?” asked Mike.

They heard soon enough. Mandy Norman had got a tiny chicken bone caught in her throat and was turning blue. Luckily, there
was
a doctor in the dining room. He managed to move the bone a little so Mandy could breathe. Soon, an ambulance arrived and the ambulance attendants rushed in to treat Mandy. They were giving her oxygen as they wheeled her out for the short drive to the hospital.

“What a crazy thing to happen,” Mike said. “Poor Mandy.”

“Yeah.” Casey looked stricken. “I sure hope she'll be okay.” He was starting to feel a little out-of-it. “I'll get in touch with her parents later. Let's eat and get out of here.”

Casey lay on top his unrolled sleeping bag. He'd opened the window in his closet and didn't need to look down to figure out it was right over the hotel's trash bins. His book and flashlight were on the floor beside him, but he didn't feel like reading. His back felt like it was on fire. He heard the buzz of his friends' voices in the room next door. Casey propped himself up on an elbow, glad he'd been smart enough to bring in a glass of water. He put his head back and took a long swallow. Dizziness engulfed him and everything started to spin. Water sloshed over him and his sleeping bag as the glass fell out of his hand. But Casey didn't even notice as he sank back in a dead faint.

Later, much later, Casey woke. A light above the garbage cans was flickering on and off, and the smell coming in his window made him want to throw up. He felt cold. Cold on his chest and fiery hot on his back.

He sat up cautiously, his sopping-wet T-shirt clinging to him.

“What the …?” he whispered. The last thing he remembered was taking a drink of water. But where was the glass? And why was the water all over him? He picked up his flashlight and swung its beam slowly around the room. In the corner, across the closet, the glass lay on its side.

I'll get it in the morning
, Casey thought.
In the meantime
… He turned his T-shirt with the wet part to the back. The coolness felt so good on his burning skin.

Casey opened his sleeping bag, slid in, and zipped it up. He hoped none of the water had got through to the inner lining. It hadn't, and he turned on his stomach and closed his eyes.

He couldn't relax, though. The smell of the garbage came wafting up. “Darn it!” he whispered, “I meant to close the window.” He unzipped the sleeping bag, crawled out, rested on his knees a while, and then stood up. He felt dizzy but managed to get to the window by supporting himself with one hand against the wall.

As he reached up to close the window, Casey heard a man's deep voice say, “I'd about given up on you. Where the heck have you been?”

The voice was coming from a room whose window was at right angles to Casey's. Because the window was at the far end of the room the voice was coming from, Casey couldn't see anything but the side of a television set that someone clicked off, and the blank wall beyond it. He listened, silently.

“I'd have stayed away longer,” — the second man's voice was higher pitched — “if I'd known how much this room stinks. Why don't you close the window?”

“I tried, but it's stuck,” said the first voice. “Forget the smell. Where have you been?”

“Look,” said the second man, “I was having a friendly drink with some of the locals, two guys that work security for the museum. And I found out exactly what we needed to know. That area we took the video in today, where the stuff we're supposed to take is — it does have its own door to the outside. And, get this, it's not on the same alarm system as the rest of the museum, though it does have a guard night and day.”

“So, when we come back for the stuff, we can put the guard out of commission and disarm that one system?” the low voice asked.

“That's what I'm saying, yeah,” the second man replied.

“You figure those guys' info is reliable?” the first man wanted to know.

“Can't imagine a better source,” said the second man. “I got it by talking to the guards, like I said, and buying them several rounds. Told them I was going to apply for a job in museum security.”

“So that's how come they were talking so free, eh?”

“You got it,” the second man agreed. “And so you had to wait a while in this smelly hole; well, that's tough.”

“All right. All right. You did fine,” the deep voice said. “I'm almost packed. You'd better get going. We're out of here first thing in the morning.”

“When do you figure the boss'll be sending us back up here?” asked the second man.

Casey could hear him clomping unevenly back and forth. One tread light, one heavy. Casey strained to see into the room. No luck.

“You know better than to ask,” the first man told him. “We'll get our orders after we're back Stateside and when we've shown him our pictures of the things he's interested in for his collection. I gotta say that fall of yours that brought the guard fussing around sure gave me a great chance to make the video. And this little camera's a wonder. Nobody even knew I had it.”

“That fall really hurt! I got a bruise four inches round on my hip. And I twisted my one ankle. The boss is going to get a bill for ‘pain and suffering.' I tell ya that fall was above and beyond the call of duty.”

“And I tell you, when he sees them pictures he's going to give us both a bonus,” the man with the deep voice chuckled.

“I'm done packing now,” Casey heard the lame man say. “I'll have a shower and then hit the sack. You set the alarm?”

“Yeah,” said the first man.

The television clicked on and Casey quietly closed his window.

Casey crept back to his sleeping bag. His senses were reeling as his mind bounced back and forth between the conspiracy he'd just overheard and the sickness he felt coming on. He tried to find a comfortable position, but his back was hurting so much he almost cried.

“I'm so thirsty and I feel so awful,” Casey muttered to himself. He knew he was going to throw up, but he didn't want to wake the boys in the next room by going through to the bathroom. He felt around on the floor for his wide-brimmed hat and threw up in it. He felt a lot better after that, but his closet now smelled worse than the garbage.

Holding the hat in both hands, he got up shakily and walked to the window. How to open it and not spill anything? He pulled the side edges of the brim together, held the hat in his left hand and opened the window with his right, then dropped the brimming hat into the dumpster under it. As he closed the window, his eye caught a movement in the room where he'd heard the voices. The shadow of a tall, slim man appeared for a second on the wall past the television set. The shadow of a tall, slim man with only one leg.

Then, as the other man stepped forward to close the drapes, Casey caught a glimpse of his face: wavy dark brown hair above bushy eyebrows that met above frowning dark eyes.

I'll tell Mandy's dad all about this in the morning
, Casey thought as he slipped into an exhausted sleep.