The End of the Trail (4 page)

“Actually, this really would be a good time for you to get out and take a look around Morgan's Quarry,” Rhonda said.

“Okay, everybody,” Frank said. “Let's clear out.”

Frank, Joe, Chet, and Phil left the guest room and headed across the living room to the front door. Outside, it was still daylight, though Main Street was deserted.

The sign that proclaimed Sugaree's Shack was directly across the street. It looked as though it had been painted many years ago, though the picture of a smiling woman's face next to the name looked as if it had been done by a talented artist. Beside the crumbling wooden buildings, the sign seemed almost out of place.

“Let's take a look over there first,” Frank said. “Then we'll get a room.”

Frank pushed open the door to Sugaree's Shack. Inside was an old-fashioned general store, with unpainted
wooden shelves and a large counter in the rear. The shelves were poorly stocked, but a few items of food and a couple of tools were available. Behind the counter, a young woman in her late teens looked up expectantly. She had blond hair that reached to her shoulders and bright eyes. She seemed particularly interested in Frank.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Well, maybe,” Frank asked. “We're new to town.”

“I figured that,” the girl said. “We don't get a lot of strangers here.”

“Not a lot of locals either, I'd bet,” Joe said. “This town doesn't seem to have a very large population.”

“It used to be bigger,” the girl said. “My name's Loraleigh. Like Laura Lee but spelled L-O-R-A-L-E-I-G-H. Loraleigh Mason. Do you guys have names?”

“Well, that's Frank,” Joe said, pointing at his brother. “And I'm Joe. And this is Chet and Phil.”

“Glad to meet you,” Phil said.

“Likewise,” Chet said. “Is that beef jerky on the shelf over there?”

“Yes, it is,” Loraleigh said. “We've got lots of jerky. It keeps forever.”

“Yeah, that's why we brought it along for dinner,” Joe said. “Every night. All jerky, all the time.”

Loraleigh's face darkened. “I've heard about you guys,” she said.

“Huh?” Joe said. “We just got here.”

“What did you hear?” Frank asked.

“I can't tell you,” Loraleigh said. “You don't want to know.”

“Yes, we do,” Joe insisted. “Tell us.”

“Okay,” she said, meeting Joe's steady gaze. “I've heard that you're in a lot of trouble.”

“Trouble?” asked Frank.

“That's right,” Loraleigh said. “And if you don't get out of this town right away, you could be in
big
trouble.”

Frank stared at Loraleigh in astonishment. “In trouble? Why?”

“Yeah, why?” Joe said. “Usually nobody hates us until we've poked our noses into a few places where we don't belong.”

“Tell us more,” Frank said.

Loraleigh shrugged. “I can't tell you any more than what I've said.”

“That's not fair,” Chet said. “You can't tell us something like that and then leave us hanging.”

Loraleigh ignored them and pulled a small cardboard box down from a shelf behind the counter.

“Would you like some mints?” she asked, holding the box out to the Hardys and their friends. “We have the chocolate-covered kind.”

“All right!” Chet exclaimed, his face breaking out in a radiant smile. “I love mints. I'll take one package.”

“Great,” Joe said. “She's already distracted Chet with food.”

Frank leaned across the counter. “Okay, you don't want to tell us why we're in trouble. But at least you can tell us about this store—and your town.”

“I might be able to do that,” Loraleigh said. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, why is the town called Morgan's Quarry?” Phil asked.

“Because there's a large granite quarry about two miles from here,” Loraleigh said. “The town was built around the quarry. The whole McSavage Corporation was built around the quarry. They had a major mining operation here for years, which they bought back around 1900 from a guy whose family started it. Their name was Morgan.”

“The McSavage Corporation?” Joe asked.

“Owned by the McSavage family,” Loraleigh told them. “The last McSavage owns that big house up on the hill. Maybe you noticed it.”

“As a matter of fact,” Frank said, “I noticed a mansion on a hill when we came into town.”

“That's it—the McSavage mansion,” Loraleigh said. “He owns the quarry.”

“I bet he's rich,” Chet said.

“Not exactly rich anymore, but okay,” Loraleigh said. “All of the granite was dug out of the quarry by the 1920s.”

“And the quarry was the only source of income for this town?” Frank asked.

“Pretty much,” Loraleigh said.

“So how has the town survived without the quarry?” Joe asked.

“Not well, but we make do,” Loraleigh said with a shrug.

“I'm not sure it
has
survived,” Phil said. “The population of the town appears to be small; the houses are neglected; you don't have much stuff on the shelves. I'd say that this town is pretty much dead now that the quarry is gone.”

“Like I said,” Loraleigh told Phil, her brow furrowed, “we make do.”

“Okay,” Frank said. “I've got another question. Why is this store called Sugaree's Shack?”

Loraleigh's face brightened. “Sugaree was my great-great-great-grandmother. She was a young southern woman who moved north after the Civil War. She opened this store to sell groceries and tools to miners.”

Joe glanced around at the dusty shelves. “This place kind of looks like it's left over from just after the Civil War.”

“Actually,” Loraleigh said, “it was rebuilt in the 1920s.”

“Was anything in this town built after the 1920s?” Frank asked.

“Not much,” Loraleigh told him. “Like I said, the mine ran out of granite. There hasn't been much money in town since then.”

Joe patted his pocket. “Hey, maybe I'm the richest guy around. Want to sell me some of your most expensive goodies?”

“The richest guy in town, although not that rich,” Loraleigh informed him, “is Bill McSavage, the one who lives in that mansion on top of the hill.”

“How has the McSavage family managed to keep some of its money if they haven't had a granite quarry since the 1920s?” Chet asked.

“They made some good investments,” Loraleigh said. “Now, can I sell you something?”

“I'd like this compass,” Phil said, pulling a box off one of the shelves. “It's nicer than the one I brought along.”

“And I'd like this jerky,” Chet said, carrying two cartons over to the counter.

“Think that's enough to hold you?” Joe asked.

“I'm not sure,” Chet said. “Maybe I should get more.”

“I'll take this map,” Frank said, pulling a folded piece of paper from a stack at the edge of the counter. “It's a map of this town, right?”

“That's right,” Loraleigh said. “Of course, that map was made in 1924.”

“That's okay,” Frank said. “Looks like nothing has changed much since then.”

“I was born after that,” Loraleigh said flirtatiously, staring Frank directly in the eye.

“That's true,” Frank said with an embarrassed grin. “I guess that was a pretty important event.”

“My parents thought so,” Loraleigh said.

“Are you from around here?” Joe asked.

“Sure am,” Loraleigh said. “My house is three doors down, where the road forks toward the McSavage family mansion. I live with my father. He owns this store. My mother died a couple of years ago.”

“I'm sorry,” Frank said.

“Thanks,” Loraleigh said. “But accidents happen. She liked to ride horses and was thrown by her favorite. Doc Harrison tried to save her, but she couldn't do it.”

“Doc Harrison,” Chet repeated. “You mean Rhonda?”

“That's right,” Loraleigh said. “You've met her?”

“She's taking care of our friend Biff,” Joe said.

“Your friend couldn't be in better hands,” Loraleigh said. “Doc Harrison has been taking care of people in this town since the early seventies.”

“When she came back from Vietnam?” Frank asked.

“That's right,” Loraleigh said. “Rhonda grew up in this town and came back as soon as she finished her
tour of duty. Everybody was very proud of her. Of course, I wasn't around then.”

There was a jingling noise from over the front door. Loraleigh raised her eyes expectantly. The door popped open and in walked a heavyset middle-aged man with thick black hair. He had an amiable smile and a potbelly that pushed his red flannel shirt out over the belt on his jeans.

“Hi, Bill,” Loraleigh said. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I just need a few supplies,” Bill said, with a folksy drawl. “Got any bags of fertilizer, hon?”

“In the back room,” Loraleigh said. “Like always.”

“Thank you, Loraleigh,” Bill said with a smile. “Who are your friends? I don't think I've seen them around before.”

“I'm Frank.”

“And I'm his brother, Joe,” Joe added.

“I'm Chet,” Chet added.

“And I'm Phil,” Phil said. “Glad to meet you, Mr....”

“McSavage,” Bill said. “Bill McSavage.”

Frank's eyes widened. “McSavage? You mean you live in that mansion on top of the hill?”

“That'd be me,” Bill said. “But it's not that big a deal. The house has been in my family for over a century. I work a little farm up there, and a couple of hired hands help me with it.”

“Well, we're glad to meet you, Mr. McSavage,” Joe said.

“If you boys have time, come on up and see me and my place,” Bill said. “Always nice to have some young people visit. Now, Loraleigh, do you think you could help me fetch some fertilizer?”

“Be glad to,” Loraleigh said. “Come on back here.”

When Loraleigh and Bill disappeared into the back room, Joe turned to Frank and frowned. “I think we'd better get back to see how Biff's doing. I'm worried about him.”

“Yeah,” Frank said. “I don't care what Rhonda says. I think maybe we should think about getting outside help. Get him to a hospital. At least get his leg x-rayed so we know what the situation is.”

“Do you think Rhonda has a phone?” Joe asked.

“Everybody's got a phone,” Chet said.

“Not us,” Frank answered, referring to the cell phone they had brought, which was dropped and broken.

“Not necessarily,” Phil said. “A small percentage of the population of this country lacks phone service.”

“Do they have bathrooms at least?” Joe asked.

“Not always,” Phil said.

“And on that cheerful note,” Frank added, “let's go back to Doc Harrison's place.”

The four boys left Sugaree's Shack and strolled
back across the street to Rhonda's house. Inside, Rhonda was deep in conversation with Biff.

Biff looked up at his friends with a bright smile. He appeared not to be in any pain. “Rhonda's been telling me some interesting stuff,” he said. “Man, you should hear some of her stories.”

“We'd love to,” Frank said, “but I'm not sure we'll have time. We talked, and we want to get you to a real hospital. I hope you're not offended, Rhonda.”

Biff furrowed his brow and spoke before Rhonda could utter a word. “Hey, Rhonda's as good as any doctor at any hospital!”

“But she doesn't have the equipment to do as good a job on your leg as a real hospital would,” Frank said.

“They're right, Biff,” Rhonda said. “If you get in touch with the hospital in Brighton, they could probably prescribe the best course of treatment. Maybe you should go.”

“Could we use your phone?” Joe asked.

“It's right over there,” Rhonda said, pointing. On the nightstand next to the bed was an old-fashioned phone, one with a rotary dial instead of push buttons.

“Wow, I haven't seen one of these in years,” Joe said. He dialed 0. “This will get me the operator, right?”

“It should,” Rhonda said. “We're connected with the office in Brighton.”

There was a ringing sound on the line, then a
woman answered. She asked if she could help Joe, then abruptly the line went dead.

“I was cut off,” Joe said. “Is something wrong?”

“I heard something about a storm that was supposed to come through today,” Rhonda said.

“A storm?” Joe asked. “We didn't see any storm.”

“Well, you know, storms can be highly localized,” Rhonda said. “This time of year a thunderstorm could easily occur between here and Brighton, but we couldn't see it from here or on the trail.”

“Oh, terrific,” Joe moaned. “We're going to have to walk all the way to Brighton.”