The Dead Man in Indian Creek (2 page)

"Listen," Parker whispered, "if he's sticking around here, we're camping in the backyard, okay? I'm not leaving Pam alone with him."

I swallowed hard and stared at Parker. Surely he wasn't implying that Pam enjoyed Evans's company. She was much too beautiful to waste her time with a man like him.

"Hi, everybody." Evans embraced us all with the grin he used on the ladies who flocked to his antique shop. Maybe it charmed them, maybe it even charmed Pam and my mother, but it sure didn't charm Parker and me.

"How does it look, George?" Pam gestured at the icebox.

"Beautiful." Evans ran his fingers lightly over the smooth wood. "This is really fine." The way he smiled at Pam, you'd think it was her skin he was touching, not the icebox.

As Evans bent to inspect the brass fittings on the icebox door, Otis came charging around the corner of the house. Even though he was a German Shepherd, a breed not known for its friendliness, Otis was gentle with everyone but Evans. Whenever he saw him, he went into a frenzy.

Parker claimed it all started when Evans was showing him some wrestling holds. "Otis might not be real smart," Parker said, "but he'd kill anyone who tried to hurt me."

At any rate, Otis moved so fast he actually had his teeth in Evans's rear end before the man knew what was happening.

"Get him off! Get him off!" Evans yelled as Parker grabbed Otis's collar and dragged the dog away, still snarling.

Evans rattled off a couple of fine words while Pam inspected the damage.

"He didn't break the skin, George," she said, "but he did make a teeny tiny rip in your pants."

I couldn't decide if she were fighting back laughter or tears, but I was hoping for the former. After all, Evans had a big rear end and he couldn't have been in a better position for Otis to bite it.

"Teeny tiny rip?" Evans craned his neck around and almost threw his hip out of joint trying to see the seat of his pants. "I paid seventy-five dollars for this pair of slacks!"

"I think I can mend them," Pam said. Then she added, "Pm so sorry, George."

"You ought to get rid of that animal." Evans glared at Otis who growled back and struggled to get away from Parker. "He's a nuisance. And a liability. Suppose he bites the mailman? Or the newspaper boy? You could get sued for everything you own."

"Which wouldn't be much," Pam said.

"You're the only person he ever tries to bite," Parker muttered, but Evans pretended not to hear him.

Turning to Pam, he split his face into another grin and said, "Well, are we still on for dinner tonight, beautiful?"

She smiled and nodded. "You'll have to give me half an hour to get ready," she said. "I wasn't expecting you so soon."

Then Pam looked at us. "Parker and Matt are going camping tonight," she said.

"Nice weather for it," Evans observed.

Parker studied Evans's face for a second. Then he squinted at the cloudless sky. "I think it's starting to look like rain," he said. "Maybe we should pitch the tent in the backyard. Don't you agree, Armentrout?"

"You're right," I said as Parker nudged me. "We better stay here."

Tipping his head back, Evans slipped his hands in his pockets and jingled his keys. "It's not going to rain," he said. "Sky's as clear as a bell."

"I said you could go, Parker," Pam said.

Parker glanced at Evans and frowned. "I'll leave Otis with you then," he said to Pam. "You might need some protection."

"Oh, no," Pam said firmly. "He's your dog, Parker, and your responsibility. Take him with you."

Otis grinned up at Parker and thumped his tail, but I was sure our trip was ruined. Taking Otis somewhere is almost as bad as dragging Charity along. You spend half your time calling him or chasing after him. The last time he went camping with us, he smelled a skunk in the middle of the night, knocked the tent down trying to get at him, and then, of course, almost asphyxiated us when we got him back. I never smelled anything like it-he must have met the king of the skunks. It took five dollars' worth of tomato juice shampoos just to get the odor down to a point where you could stand to be within three feet of him.

Of course, Evans agreed with Pam. "Don't worry about your mom," he said to Parker, "I'll keep her company." He slid his arm around Pam's waist and gave her a hug. To my disappointment, Pam snuggled closer instead of pulling away from him.

"Go on, boys," she said. "Soon the weather will be too cold for camping. You might as well enjoy it while it lasts."

Well, we didn't really have much choice, did we? Glumly we loaded our bikes and pedaled away, leaving Pam and Evans waving to us from the porch. They were happy, Otis was happy, but Parker was glaring at me as if the camping trip had been all my idea.

B
Y THE TIME
we got to our camping site, I was totally exhausted. After all, it isn't every day I ride my bike for eight miles loaded down with a tent and a sleeping bag and a knapsack full of clothes and food.

But do you think Parker was tired? Not a bit. Right away he unrolled the tent and made me help set it up.

"What's the matter, Armentrout?" He sat back on his heels. "Are you out of shape or something? Or is it just too many Twinkies?"

Frankly I was getting tired of being kidded about my weight. It wasn't like I was really fat. So I didn't look at him, didn't even answer him. If I said anything, I was going to get mad, I just knew it, and then Parker would get mad and we'd have a big fight and end up having a horrible time. I got out my Swiss Army Knife and started whittling at a twig and whistling, pretending I hadn't heard a word he'd spoken.

"Making a stick for marshmallows?" Parker wanted to know.

Forgetting my resolve, I looked at him. "What's the matter with you?" Angrily, I broke the stick I'd been whittling and tossed it into the bushes. If we were going to have a fight, okay, I was ready. Let him sock me, I'd sock him back, and then I'd sit on him, my ultimate advantage, right?

But Parker just stood up and brushed the dirt from the knees of his jeans. Then he sighed and jammed his hands in his back pockets. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "It's not you, Armentrout, it's George Evans. I hate that creep!"

Without looking at me, he walked off and started skipping stones across the creek. I watched him for a while. Parker had so much skill he could make a stone dance all the way across the water to the other side.

"What's Evans done?" I asked. "Has it got something to do with Pam or what?"

Parker threw a stone so viciously it ripped into the water like a bullet. "Pam's in love with him," he muttered.

In the sudden silence, I could hear a woodpecker drumming away in the woods across the creek. "You're crazy," I said. "Pam wouldn't fall for somebody like Evans. Not in a million years."

Parker looked at me. His face was red, and his eyes shone like they had tears in them. "Last night she worked real late, and he brought her home. I looked out my window and saw him kissing her." He picked up another stone and hurled it into the water. It didn't skip once.

"She was letting him?" My heart beat harder, and I caught myself clutching my chest like a girl. "She wasn't fighting him off or anything?"

"You saw him hug her before we left. Was she putting up any fuss about it?" Parker turned his head, hiding his face. "She couldn't wait to get rid of us today."

I started to say something, but Parker was already walking away from me. "Forget it," he muttered. "I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

***

For the rest of the afternoon, Parker and I fooled around. We tried fishing, went for a swim, climbed a few trees, but the only one having any real fun was Otis. He ran into the river and out again, shaking himself all over Parker and me. Then he tore off into the woods, barking and carrying on. I never saw such a happy dog. But he couldn't get Parker out of his black mood and neither could I.

After dark, we sat around our fire eating canned stew and Twinkies, but we didn't talk much. By then, even Otis was feeling kind of done in, so it was a relief to get undressed and crawl into our sleeping bags.

Just as I was about to doze off, Parker said, "Let's get up early. I brought my binoculars and I want to look for some birds. Maybe that heron's still around."

"Yeah." I squirmed deeper into my sleeping bag, trying to get away from the tree root poking my backside. Birds. The last thing I wanted to do was go looking for birds at dawn.

Parker was silent for a while, and I snuggled deeper into my sleeping bag. Then he said, "Are you awake, Armentrout?"

Actually I'd been right on the edge of a dream, but I opened my eyes and turned my head toward his side of the tent. Otis was curled up between us, twitching every now and then, so I couldn't see Parker. "Yes," I said, "I'm awake."

"What if Pam marries Evans?" Parker asked.

"She's got better taste than that," I said. "He's a jerk."

"Why does she let him kiss her then?" Parker asked. "And why does she spend so much time with him? And how come we have a huge TV and a VCR and a microwave, not to mention the brand-new clothes Pam's wearing all of a sudden?"

I stared at Parker, trying to see the expression on his face, but it was too dark in the tent to make out more than the shaggy outline of his head.

While I was trying to think of a good explanation for Evans's generosity, Parker said, "She talks about him all the time, how smart he is, how rich he is, how good-looking he is." He paused. "Yesterday I caught her looking at travel brochures–cruises to the Bahamas, tours to Disney World, all kinds of stuff. When she saw me, she shoved them under a pile of bills and said they were just junk mail."

"Maybe they were," I said. "Mom's always getting letters that make it sound like you've won a trip to Hawaii or Australia. Then you read the fine print and find out you have to subscribe to magazines or something to be eligible."

"Not these," Parker said. "I looked at them later when she wasn't home. They came from a travel agent in Baltimore, and they were addressed to Evans. I think they're planning their honeymoon."

"You're nuts," I said.

"You don't live with her, Armentrout. You don't see her every day like I do." The bitter edge in Parker's voice cut through the darkness. "She doesn't care what happens to me anymore."

"Come on, Parker," I muttered, "you know that's not true." I wanted to say something nice, something comforting, but I didn't know how or what. "She's had other boyfriends," I tried. "Remember good old Jerome? She didn't marry him and run off to the Bahamas, did she?"

"You're a lot of help." Parker rolled over in his sleeping bag and didn't say anything else. Then, except for this horrible snoring sound Otis was making, the tent got real quiet.

I finally fell asleep, but I kept waking up all night long, shifting from one side to the other. The ground was hard, I was cold and uncomfortable, and Otis was curled up right next to me, smelling like the creek and breathing in my face. Add to that an owl screeching and Parker muttering in his sleep. Why do I always forget how much I hate camping?

***

It seemed to me I'd just closed my eyes when Parker woke me up. The tent was dim in the gray morning light, and the trees outside were all shrouded in mist. I could hear Otis running around in the bushes, sniffing at things. It would take more than a little fog to slow him down.

"Come on, Armentrout." Parker held a Twinkie a few inches from my nose. "Breakfast time."

I ate the Twinkie and then pulled my clothes on fast, hoping to get warm. Reluctantly, I followed Parker down the path along the creek. He had his binoculars around his neck, looking everywhere for the heron, though how he'd see him in all the mist I didn't know.

After trudging along for about fifteen minutes, we rounded a bend in the creek. Up ahead was an old stone bridge arching high over the water. Suddenly Parker motioned me to stop and be quiet. At first I thought he'd finally spotted the heron, but then I realized there was a person on the bridge.

Almost soundlessly, Parker backed up and I did too. But not Otis. With his usual stupidity, he charged around me and started barking. Dropping his binoculars, Parker grabbed the dog and yanked him backward into the bushes. "Hush!" he hissed at Otis, startling the animal into silence.

"Keep him quiet," Parker whispered to me as he raised his binoculars again.

"Who is it?" No matter how hard I strained my eyes, I couldn't recognize the man. All I could tell was that he'd heard the dog and was looking around, trying to see where the barking had come from.

Otis whimpered and squirmed, but I kept him still while Parker watched the man walk over the bridge and disappear into the bushes. Was he coming this way? No. A car started, and I listened to it drive away.

"Who was it?" I asked Parker again.

Parker stared at me. "Evans," he said. "Didn't you recognize the sound of his MG?"

"What was he doing here at this time of morning?" I scratched my head. Quite frankly, Evans didn't seem like the type who'd be up and out this early. I couldn't imagine him fishing, birdwatching, or even jogging, certainly not eight miles out of town on Fulton Farm Road on a Sunday morning.

"I don't know," Parker said as Otis, free of my grip, ran off, nose to the ground, tail wagging.

Parker started walking again, his binoculars swinging on the end of their strap, and I trudged after him. The damp grass was soaking through my shoes, I was stiff from sleeping on the hard ground, and I was still hungry. Worst of all, it looked like Parker was slumping back into the mood he'd been in yesterday, and I was sorry we'd seen Evans. He seemed to be ruining everything for Parker and me.

Just then we heard Otis barking again. "Now what's gotten into that dog?" Parker walked a little faster, and I had to really push myself to keep up with him. Even so, he got to Otis before I did.

By now we were under the bridge, and Otis's voice echoed off the stone walls. He was down in the water, standing kind of stiff and funny, barking at something.

"What's wrong?" Parker waded into the creek and grabbed Otis's collar.