In Too Deep (11 page)

She was probably right. But at least I would have a chance to explain.

“You didn't have to come,” I said.

“I'm getting tired of sitting around out there all by myself while you have all the fun. I've read all my magazines. There's no place decent to shop around here. I can't go swimming. I can't play mini golf. I can't go hiking. I can't do anything.”

“We'll rent some movies before we go back to the marina.”

“I'm tired of movies. I'm bored out of my mind. My leg itches all the time. And I miss Billy. This is the worst summer I've ever had.”

“You can wait here if you want, Morgan.”

“No way. Maybe Bruno will be with him.”

“You just said you missed Billy.”

“I do! Which is why it would be nice to have a guy to talk to.” She flung the passenger side door open and shoved her crutches out ahead of her. “Coming?”

I circled the car and helped Morgan to her feet. We got a shopping cart from the front of the store and patrolled the aisles until we found Nick. He was in the baking section, checking out a display of herbs and spices.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.” He nodded at Morgan and then glanced over his shoulder. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. “You're late. Derek went across the street to pick up some paint. He should be back any minute.”

“Nick, I'm sorry about coming up with that idea—”

Nick pulled me closer.

“I'm not positive, Robyn, but I get the feeling they're watching me.”

“Who's watching you?”

“Larry, Derek, Bruno. I think there's something going on out there, Robyn. Alex isn't the only kid who has died.”

“What?” Morgan and I said in unison.

Nick glanced at both ends of the aisle again.

“Morgan, go watch the door,” I said. “Signal if you see Derek.”

“Who's Derek?” Morgan said.

“Tall, well-built, brown hair down to his collar,” I said.

“He's got a skull-and-crossbones tat on his left forearm,” Nick said. “You can't miss it.”

As Morgan crutched her way up the aisle, I said, “What do you mean, Alex isn't the only kid who's died?”

“There's this kid out there, his name is Lucas.”

“The one who got caught stealing from that store,” I said.

“Yeah. He's the one who told me. There's another kid who died out there. He sounded really nervous, Robyn.”

“Nervous? About what?”

“He wouldn't say. But you know what else he said? First chance he gets, he's going to do a break-and-enter, a smash-and-grab, something like that.”

“He told you he's going to commit a crime? Doesn't he realize he could get sent back to the city, put back in custody?”

“I get the feeling that's the point,” Nick said grimly. “I think he wants to get away from here any way he can.”

“Why? What's going on?”

“I don't know. But something is. I can feel it. The past couple days, everyone's been guarded. A couple of times when I walked into a room, people stopped talking. Something's not right. I think Lucas knows it, too. I think that's why he wants to get out.”

“We should talk to the police, Nick.”

He shook his head. “That's the other thing. There's this cop I've seen out there a few times. He's kind of creepy, always wearing sunglasses and gloves. Like something out of a bad movie. I've seen him talking to Larry. I think there's something going on between the two of them.”

“You're saying a cop is in on whatever it is that you think is going on?”

“I don't think something's going on, Robyn. I know it. I just don't know what it is yet. And for sure I don't trust the cops.”

“If you're right,” I said—and, believe me, I was skeptical—“if there is something going on, then it could be dangerous. Maybe I should call my dad.”

“No,” Nick said firmly. “I don't want you to do anything, Robyn. I promised Seth I was going to find out what happened to Alex, and that's what I'm going to do. I want you to stay away from there, okay? Drop the story idea, just to be on the safe side.”

“I tried to. But Mr. Hartford—he's the editor—said—”

“Find a way, Robyn. Drop it.”

“What about you? Are you going to be okay?”

“They're checking me out. I think they check everyone out. If I play it right, I'm pretty sure I can get them to trust me enough so that I can find out what happened to Alex. Then I'm out of there. I don't want any trouble, believe me.”

“But what if it's dangerous?”

“I can take care of myself. Besides, you're here. I'll try to keep in touch with you.”

“Try?”

“That way, if anything happens to me—”

I thought about Alex and the other dead kid, and I felt sick inside.

“Nick, maybe it's not such a good idea—”

I heard a loud crash and looked up. Cans of baked beans rolled past the top of the aisle.

“Ohmygod!” Morgan said in a loud voice. “Did I do that?”

“Derek,” I said. I glanced at Nick.

“Go,” he said.

I hesitated.

He gave me a little push, propelling me up the aisle. I kept moving until I found Morgan, crutchless, surrounded by dozens of cans of beans and being helped to her feet by a guy with brown, collar-length hair, and a skull-and-crossbones tattoo on his left forearm. Derek. Morgan was beaming at him.

“Are you okay?” I said.

She nodded without even glancing at me. She was too busy smiling blissfully at her rescuer.

“Hi, Derek,” I said. “I see you've met my friend Morgan.”

“Hey, Robyn,” Derek bent and picked up Morgan's crutches for her. Then he excused himself.

“Wow,” Morgan said. “He's even cuter than Bruno. What are they running out there? A stud farm?”

“Very funny,” I said.

“Who's kidding?” Morgan said.

“C

ome on,” Morgan said. “What could they possibly be up to out there?”

“I don't know. But I'm going to help Nick find out.”

“I thought you said he told you to stay out of it.”

“What if he's right? What if there really is something going on? What if he's in danger?”

“What are you planning to do, Robyn?”

“I'm going to keep working on my story. Mr. Hartford told me I had to be objective. So I'm going to talk to people in town. Maybe someone knows something.”

“Why don't you talk to the police chief? He's your dad's friend. I'm sure he could answer your questions.”

“Maybe I will,” I said, even though Nick had told me not to. If there's one thing I've learned from my father, it's that there are many different ways to ask questions. It all depends on who you're talking to and what you want to know.

  .    .    .

I left Morgan sitting at a patio café with a large latte and a couple of new magazines. She had offered to go with me, but “Reporters don't take their friends on assignment, Morgan. Besides, you don't want to traipse all over town on those crutches.”

“Do I look like I could traipse even if I wanted to?” she said irritably.

“I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Be objective, Mr. Hartford had said. Larry Wilson had given me one side of the story—his side. But it was obvious that he had a lot of detractors in town. I decided to talk to some of them, starting with someone I was sure would have a strong opinion.

“Excuse me, Mr. Kastner?” I said to the man in the record store who was putting price stickers on a new shipment of albums.

“How can I help you?” he said. His smile was warm and welcoming. He didn't look anything like the angry man who had chased Lucas out of the store. Not until I told him why I was there. His smile vanished and his warm eyes turned cold. “Thugs,” he said bitterly. “Not the kind of kids we need around here.”

“Have they given you a lot of trouble?”

“Those two who were in here the week before last—I had my eye on them from the minute they walked through the door. I knew they were trouble. Although, if you ask me, they're not too smart. Especially that one I caught.”

“What do you mean?”

“He went straight to the new releases and started pawing through them. The whole time he kept glancing at me, like he was trying to see if I was watching him or not. It was obvious he was up to something. He didn't even get his friend to try to distract me—I've had some kids like that before, in pairs or groups, a couple of them trying to distract me while the others lift the merchandise.”

I remembered what Nick had told me about Lucas. “But the kids who were in here a week ago didn't do that?”

“While the guilty-looking one was going through the new releases, his friend was studying the flyers on the wall. He didn't check even once to see what I was doing.”

“Then what happened?”

“While I was watching, the kid who was going through the DVDs slipped a couple of them into the back of his pants under that big T-shirt he was wearing. I've never seen such a clumsy attempt at shoplifting. Then he ran out of the store. Even if I hadn't been watching him, that would have tipped me off.

“I yelled at my wife to call the cops—she was in the back of the store—then I chased him and caught him. Then out comes his friend, yelling at me that the kid hadn't done anything.” He snorted in contempt. “I should have made the police throw the book at that thief. Next time one of those little thugs comes into my store, that's exactly what I'm going to do.”

“So they've given you a lot of trouble?” I said.

“Like I just told you.”

“Before that, I mean. Have you had trouble from some of Mr. Wilson's other kids?”

“Well, no,” he said. “Not Wilson's kids personally, I mean. But plenty of other people around here have.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Last summer they used to come into town in a big group and muscle their way into the ice cream shop. Intimidated the other customers.”

“Intimidated them? How?”

“Well, they're delinquents,” he said, as if the answer to my question was perfectly obvious. “Bert Olafson, the owner, had to ban them from the place.”

It sounded to me like people were intimidated because they knew that Wilson's kids had been in trouble before, not because of anything they did in the ice cream shop.

“You know who you should talk to for your article?” Kastner said. “Al Duggan at the marina. He had some real trouble with one of those kids. He'll tell you a story or two.”

I thanked him for his time and went back to the café to find Morgan, who was sharing her table with a cute, shorthaired guy she introduced as Chris.

“Chris's dad is a contractor. He builds those big luxury cabins you see on a lot of the lakes up here.” Before Chris could say anything, she added, “Chris has a Sea-Doo.” She smiled at him.

“Too bad you can't get that cast wet,” I said. She scowled. “I'm going down to the marina. You want to come?”

She gazed across the table at Chris. “No. I think I'll stay here.”

“I'll come by and get you when I'm finished.”

I headed down to the marina and asked around for Al Duggan.

“He's in the restaurant,” a kid at the gas pumps told me.

On my way inside I passed Al Duggan's daughter Colleen, who had helped me dock the first time I crossed the lake on my own. She was writing the daily specials on a menu board outside the restaurant and nodded at me as I went by. I found Mr. Duggan inside, behind the register. When I introduced myself and told him why I was there, he reacted the same way as Kastner at the music store.

“I'm surprised Rob Hartford is wasting ink on those punks,” he said. “I'm not sure his advertisers will want to open the paper and see their ads next to a story on Larry Wilson.”

“That's why I wanted to talk to you,” I said. “Mr. Hartford wants me to cover both sides of the story, and I heard you've had problems with some of Mr. Wilson's kids.”

“No respect for anyone else's property,” he said. “One of them stole some DVDs from George Kastner's store last week.”

“What kind of trouble did you have with them?”

“One of those thugs destroyed a pay phone over there.” He nodded toward the door. “Cracked a window, too—I had to have it replaced. I pressed charges, but Larry sweet-talked the chief of police into giving the kid a warning. I told him the next time any of those kids set foot on my property they'd be asked to leave. If they didn't ...” His grimace made his intentions clear.

“Have they given you any other trouble?”

“They used to come in here, a whole bunch of them all at once. They'd shove a bunch of tables together, order some fries and soda, and hang around for an hour or more, annoying the other customers.”