Wired (3 page)

“Bored?” I asked. “No, actually I find this interesting. It looks a lot different than skiing.”

She laughed. “I didn't ask if you found this boring. A boardhead is someone who snowboards.”

“I knew that,” I said. “I was just testing you.”

“Right.” She gave me a smile. “I've been asking people about you.”

“Really?” My heart started beating faster. Did this mean she had been thinking about me like I had been thinking about her?

“Really. They tell me that you live to be a downhill racer. So I can understand that you don't know much about snowboarding.”

“Well,” I said. “I'm training as hard as I can to be a pro. It takes most of my time.”

There was plenty I didn't tell her. Like the real reason I forced myself to do something I was so afraid of, or that after most ski races I went to the bathroom and threw up.

She smiled. “So why are you wasting time here?”

“I'm looking for a tall snowboarder with a blue hat,” I told her. “Remember? Because of your...”

I stopped myself. If I said detective work, would she get mad again?

“Because of my detective work?” she asked. “Don't worry. I won't leave. Yesterday I had a reason. Today I don't.”

“What's the reason?”

“I can't tell you,” she said. “Will you trust me on that?”

“Sure,” I said.

Someone shouted at us.

“Hey, Cassie!” It was a guy on a snow-board, coming down from the top of the hill. The sun was in my eyes so I couldn't see his face.

He stopped fast. He used the edge of his snowboard to throw snow all over me.

I stood up. The guy was a little taller than me. Though I didn't know his name, I had seen him before. He was one of the regular snowboarders. “That's a jerk thing to do,” I said. “Spraying snow like that.”

“Sue me,” he said. He looked at my skis sticking out of the snow. “Think I'm scared of someone who doesn't have the guts to do some real surfing?”

He spoke to Cassie. “Are you ready to go rippin'?”

“Sure.” Cassie smiled at me. “See you later, Keegan.”

The two of them slid away on their snow-boards.

The guy really carved the snow. He hit a jump and did a full-spin around.

Cassie had just asked me to trust her.

So why was she snowboarding with a tall guy who was really good on a snowboard? There was one other little thing that bothered me. There was something about this tall snowboarder that made it hard to trust Cassie.

He was wearing a blue knit hat—a hat that could have left fuzzy blue wool behind on the tree near the wire.

I watched as they moved down the hill. They didn't move nearly as fast as skiers. Instead they looped up and down the slope.

Maybe I didn't like the guy with the blue hat because Cassie was snowboarding with him. But it seemed to me that he loved showing off. He hit a jump and spun a complete circle in the air. Off the next jump, he spun a circle and a half, landing backward.

“Ooh,” I heard someone say, “did you see Sid hit that awesome 5-40?”

Sid? That meant the guy in the blue hat had to be Sid Halloway. His reputation as a snowboarder was the same as mine as a skier. He didn't belong to any team that I knew of, but he was the best snowboarder around.

They were moving farther and farther away, so I started skiing after them.

Sid leaned way back on his snowboard until the nose of it tilted into the air. He grabbed the nose of the snowboard with his hand and rode it like someone doing a wheelie on a bicycle.

A little later he hit another jump and got at least five feet of air. While still in the air, he kicked his heels upward so that the snowboard was almost as high as his waist. He grabbed the board with his hand and, just before landing, let go again.

I hoped he might fall, but he didn't. Instead he did trick after trick. Maybe he knew I was watching him. Maybe he knew I was grumpy about seeing him with Cassie.

They reached the end of the run. I decided to follow, but I didn't want them to see me.

This was the Big Bear ski resort, just outside a small town called Kimberly. I knew all twenty-five runs at the resort. I knew all of the trails through the trees. I should. I have been skiing here since I was eleven years old.

The Pipeline ended where three other ski runs joined together. Then all four runs joined into one big run that led to the main chairlift. I knew I could find them at the bottom. All I had to do was beat them there.

I snapped my boots into my bindings. I grabbed my poles and pushed. Down the hill there was a break in the trees. I turned hard and ducked under some branches. It wasn't much of a trail, but to me skiing was easier than running. I cut in and out of the trees at nearly full speed. A few minutes later, I reached another ski run called the Roller Coaster.

I headed straight downhill in a full run. I passed dozens of slower skiers. At the
bottom of the hill the Roller Coaster joined the Pipeline.

I slowed down and moved into some trees at the side of the hill. The trees hid me from anyone coming down the Pipeline.

I waited.

A few minutes later I saw Sid and Cassie. It was easy to find them. Sid had the blue hat and dark blue jacket. Cassie wore the purple ski suit. Both of them were carving major turns in the snow. They hit the bottom and joined the other skiers headed toward the chairlift.

I stayed back. Sid and Cassie didn't notice me. Two things helped me. One, people hardly ever look behind them when they are skiing or snowboarding. Two, there were a lot of skiers on this run. It would have been hard to see me even if Sid or Cassie had looked back.

They surprised me. They didn't stop at the chairlift. They kept on going, right to the ski resort building where people bought lift tickets and ate in the restaurant.

I thought it was strange. Why were they ready to quit so soon? I stayed back and kept watching.

Sid and Cassie stopped at the racks where people leave their skis and snowboards while they go inside. They stepped out of their snowboards and walked into the building.

I skied over to a different set of racks. I kept watching for them. I felt stupid, though. What did I think I was going to learn by following them? I wasn't going to be able to get close enough to listen to what they said. This was my first attempt at being a detective and already I felt like a loser.

Before I could decide what to do next, Sid and Cassie stepped out of the building. They walked back toward their snowboards. I turned my head away. I hoped they did not see my face.

When I looked back, they had picked up their boards.

I thought that was strange too. Why had they gone into the building and then come out again right away? They hadn't even been in long enough to get something to eat.

What they did next was stranger.

They did not go to the chairlift. They walked toward the parking lot with their snowboards. The morning had just started. Were they quitting already? Why?

I stepped out of my skis. When they got around the corner, I ran to the other side of the building. I got to the parking lot just in time to see them put their snowboards into the back of a black van with orange stripes.

Things were getting stranger and stranger. I had seen that van before. It belonged to Budgie McGee.

The van started driving toward me. I stepped back to hide behind the building. It drove past me and out of the parking lot.

I wondered where they were going. I wondered why Budgie was hanging out with a guy who might have been the one to put a wire cable up between two trees. I wondered what Cassie was doing with them.

I couldn't think of one good answer that made sense for any of the questions.

I turned around and went back to grab my skis. Even if I was doing a bad job as a
detective, it didn't mean I should waste a good day of skiing.

I set my skis on the snow and stepped into the bindings. I put the ski pole loops around my wrist. I pulled my ski goggles over my eyes.

And I nearly fell backward in surprise.

Sid and Cassie walked around the side of the building. They headed straight toward the ski racks. Budgie must have dropped them off.

Why had they come back?

Sid and Cassie didn't have their snow-boards with them, so what were they doing back at the ski hill?

I kept watching.

They walked right up to the ski racks where they had stopped earlier.

Sid leaned over and pulled a snowboard from the rack. Cassie leaned over and pulled out another snowboard.

It didn't make sense.

Sid slipped his front boot into the snow-board strap. Cassie got ready with her own snowboard.

It still didn't make sense. I had seen them put their snowboards in Budgie's van. I had seen them walk back here without their snowboards. And now they were taking someone else's snowboards.

Both of them pushed off and headed toward the chairlift, just like the hundreds of other people starting out for the day.

Then I knew.

They were on their own snowboards. The first two snowboards they had taken into Budgie's van belonged to someone else. It could only mean one thing.

They had stolen those other two snow-boards. And Budgie was now driving away with the stolen snowboards. Weird.

My thoughts went back to the wire that had been stretched across the ski slope. And I began to wonder how much this had to do with that.

The parking lot was jammed, and I could see it was going to take Budgie a while to get to the main road.

I saw a possible solution and made a stupid decision.

The solution was six feet tall, chubby, red-haired and wearing a black ski suit. A bad skier who wanted to be good, whose name was Joe Hardy. Yes, everyone who had ever read one of the
Hardy Boys
mystery books always teased him about it. Me included.

“Chet!” I shouted.

He turned to me, grinning at our inside joke. He looked more like Chet Morton of
the Hardy Boys series than Joe Hardy, and I was the only person who ever called him Chet instead of Joe. I stomped toward him in my ski boots.

He was standing beside the ski rack with all his equipment and hadn't yet changed.

“Remember how you've been begging me for lessons?” He was a couple of years older than me, but in our small high school, everybody knew everybody.

“Today?”

“No, but I'll owe you.”

“What's the catch?”

“Taxi service,” I said. “Right now. Leave your stuff here. We've got to go.”

“But I—”

“You just got to the ski hill. I know. I promise I'll make it up to you.”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“Try to keep up,” I said. I could see where he'd parked his red Jeep Wrangler. I started to run in my ski boots.

If you've ever tried running in ski boots, you know that it makes you feel like a robot clomping through mud. I snapped the
buckles loose and stepped out of them. I held them under my arms, and ran in my sock feet.

My toes were frozen by the time I got to the Jeep.

“Hey,” Chet gasped, breathing hard. “What's the deal?”

“Unlock,” I said. “Start Jeep. Drive.”

He could probably hear my urgency. He hopped in, unlocked the passenger side and started the engine while I leaned in and threw my boots in the back.

I dropped into the passenger seat.

“See the black van with orange stripes?” I said, pointing across him at the other side of the parking lot. “We're going to follow it.”

“Like in a movie? Why?”

“If I knew,” I said, “we wouldn't have to follow.”

Mom's a freak about defensive driving. Or at least about my being a defensive driver when I get finally get my driver's license.

Some kids get lectures about avoiding drugs or cigarettes or alcohol. Not me. I
get lectures about the dangers of the road and how every vehicle is a potential killing machine that I need to avoid.

Her main point is very simple. A good driver is not someone who has the skills to get out of trouble. Like being able to bring a sideways skid back under control. No, she always says, a good driver is a driver who can see and avoid trouble long before anything happens. A good driver knows the road is slippery and slows down so that they never have to worry about what to do in a sideways skid.

Another defensive driving trick that my mom drills into me again and again is to make sure there is enough room behind you for the car following you to stop in time.

That's right. Behind you.

Everyone knows that you need to keep space between you and the vehicle in front. If you're going 110 kilometers an hour, for example, keep at least seven car lengths of pavement between your front bumper and the rear bumper of the car ahead. That way, if that car slams on the brakes, you have time to slow down too. And yes, Mom tells me that all the time.

“It's important on icy and snowy roads,” mom said about twice a day during the winter, “to slow down and leave room in front of you and behind you. That way if the person behind you can't stop in time, you can ease forward and give them extra room.”

Yes, this is a long way of explaining things.

All of this simply means that I'd learned to check the side mirrors a lot to see if trouble was approaching. Because of those repeated lectures, I noticed right away that a middle-aged guy was following us as we left the ski hill.

The guy behind Chet and me was in a late-model car. White. A Ford, I think, but all these new cars look so much the same, his car just blended in with the scenery.

I couldn't see much of his face because he was wearing sunglasses.

But what I did notice was really, really weird.

He had a camera.

He had one hand on the steering wheel and, with his other hand, was taking pictures of Chet's Jeep.

And he kept following us as we followed Budgie's van.