In Too Deep (17 page)

The last window moved when I pushed up on it.

I went up on my tiptoes and pushed it higher. Then I grabbed the sill and pulled myself up so I could look inside.

The contents of this building were newer than those of the adjacent saw shed. Much newer.

The large, open room was filled with car parts—fenders, bumpers, tires, wheel assemblies, all stacked in neat piles. Well, Larry Wilson had said he stripped down junked cars and sold whatever he could. He was also teaching the boys auto repair, and I knew that he bought parts from an automotive store in town.

But this was a lot of stuff, and even though I didn't know much about cars, it didn't look like parts from clunkers.

I dropped back down to the ground and swung my backpack around. I took out Morgan's camera, wrapped the strap around my wrist, and pulled myself up again. This time I swung a leg up over the sill and dropped down inside.

Morgan would have had a fit if she'd seen me. She would have said, I suppose if you heard weird sounds coming from your basement in the middle of the night, you wouldn't call the police. No, you'd be like those idiots in horror movies and decide to go investigate. You know what happens to those people, right, Robyn?

Yeah, I knew.

But this was different. This was the middle of the day, and there wasn't a soul around.

I went over to a stack of fenders and took a picture. I took a dozen pictures of all the parts.

A small table stood at the back of the room, covered with car specs and tools. I slid open a drawer in the table and found a small metal box inside. It was filled with little metal rectangles that had numbers stamped into them. I was pretty sure I knew what they were. I was right. It meant Nick had been right, too. I took a picture of the box and slipped one of the metal rectangles into the pocket in my backpack where I kept my notebook. I was about to zip it up again when I heard something.

A crunching sound ... like car tires on gravel.

A car door slammed.

I ran to the open window, threw my backpack out, and crawled out over the sill. My heart was pounding as I dropped to the hard earth below. For a moment I crouched there, paralyzed. Then I looked up.

The window. It was still open.

I stood up and cautiously peeked inside. The door on the other side of the room was opening, and I saw a gloved hand slip inside. I yanked the window shut and ducked down out of sight. Shouldering my backpack, I crept along the side of the building, staying low. I had planned to dash for the cover of the woods, but I heard a sound that sent a chill up my spine. Another car was approaching. I dared a glace around the side of the building. Not a car—a Jeep. I ducked back around the building. Above me, a window slid open.

“Open another one,” a familiar voice said. Derek. “Jeez, it's hot in here.”

Another window opened. I went down to my hands and knees and crept away from it as fast as I could. I looked out at the woods beyond the clearing. If I could get there, I could creep away unseen. But what if someone was looking out one of the windows?

I heard another sound. This one was louder and deeper, getting closer and closer. A truck.

Whatever was happening at the sawmill, it wasn't happening only at night.

I glanced back over my shoulder. Where to go? Where to run?

The Jeep was parked in front of the building. The truck had cut off the far end of the building and any escape from the rear. It was enormous, with a huge container, like a shipping container, behind the massive cab.

I darted around to the open-sided part of the building. That's when I caught a glimpse of the first car that had arrived. A police car.

Police car. Gloved hand.

Phil Varton.

“Put that over here,” another voice said. I recognized it instantly—Larry Wilson. I heard footsteps crunching over gravel. They were coming toward me.

I ducked inside the open building and looked around wildly.

“Come on, come on,” Wilson said impatiently.

I darted behind a pile of old lumber and crouched down out of sight.

Bad move.

I was trapped. Something—from the sound of it, something big—was being unloaded right in front of the open-sided building where I was hiding.

“Line them up here,” Mr. Wilson said. “We'll take care of them tonight.”

Tonight?

How long was I going to have to stay here?

I thought about the phone in my backpack. If I could get it out, I could text Morgan and tell her what was happening.

“We should clear all of this lumber out,” Derek said. “We'd have more room.”

I heard footsteps coming toward me. Two gloved hands appeared right above me, coming down to grab some of the lumber that was shielding me from view.

No, no.

I couldn't take my eyes off the gloved hands. There was a big grease stain on the right index finger. They looked larger than life as they closed around a piece of lumber and started to lift it.

“We don't have time for that,” Mr. Wilson said. “We have to load up all the stuff from inside. We can take care of that another time.”

I breathed a silent sigh of relief, but I didn't dare try to wriggle out of my backpack so that I could contact Morgan. I crouched motionless behind the lumber while people worked around me. Time seemed to be both speeding and crawling by at the same time. I was terrified I would be discovered. I kept checking my watch. An hour passed. Then another.

Something vibrated against my back—my phone. Morgan? A little later it vibrated again.

“Okay,” Mr. Wilson said at last. “That's it for now. I'll send some of the guys out here later. We'll get busy tonight, and tomorrow night we'll be ready to roll. By the end of the week these'll be halfway around the world.”

A car door slammed and an engine turned over. Then I heard another engine—the Jeep. It drove away. But I didn't hear the truck rev up.

I stayed hidden where I was. My legs were cramped. My stomach was rumbling. After an hour of complete silence, I decided to chance a peek.

I crept out from behind the pile of lumber. Four luxury cars now stood in the open-sided building where I had been hiding.

I headed out the way I had come. The truck was still parked along the far end of the building, but I didn't see or hear anyone. Maybe whoever had been in the truck had gone with the Jeep. I waited, my heart pounding in my chest. The only thing I heard was birdsong. I decided to take my chances.

First I crept over to the cars. They looked new. I opened one of the doors and sniffed inside. The car appeared to be in mint condition, but it didn't have that new-car smell. Instead, I caught a hint of perfume, tinged with the sour scent of sweat. Almost-brand-new car, no new-car smell. Not good. I checked the rest of the cars, snapped pictures of them, and then made my way back to the fence as fast as I could.

The gate was locked. I looked around. No one in sight. On rubbery legs I climbed up and over the fence and started back to my car, sticking to the woods on one side of the road in case anyone decided to return to the sawmill.

I was close to my destination when I heard a loud snap that brought me to a halt. Was I being followed?

I heard another snap, louder, closer. Someone was definitely out there. A form lumbered into view.

I tried to stay calm, but panic got the better of me, and I let out a strangled scream.

T

hink
, I told myself.
Remember what Morgan told you.

But I couldn't think, and I couldn't remember. The bear blocking my path looked like a gigantic, furry boulder. It wasn't moving. It was too busy staring at me.

My first instinct was to look away. I knew that if you stared a strange dog in the eyes, it was likely to take it as a challenge. I didn't know if the same was true for bears, but I wasn't going to take any chances. I stood as still as a tree.

Wave your arms—I was pretty sure Morgan had said you were supposed to do that. It made you look bigger. I peeked at the bear. It hadn't budged. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing—maybe it was getting ready to pounce. What if waving my arms startled it?

Make noise, Morgan had also said. That would scare off bears that weren't used to people. But what did it do to bears who were used to people and who weren't frightened of them?

I couldn't think of anything else to do. I threw my arms up and yelled, “Yah! Yah!”

The bear reared up on its hind legs, then dropped back down onto all fours. I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was going to faint.

“Back away,” said a calm voice behind me.

My legs refused to move.

“Back away slowly. Don't be scared. I've got a gun.”

I forced my leaden legs to take a stumbling step backward. The bear stayed where it was. I managed another step, then a third.

The bear tilted its head to one side and watched me. I stepped back again and caught my foot on something—a tree root, I think. I fell backwards to the ground.

The bear turned and bolted through the woods. Two hands grabbed my shoulders and hauled me to my feet.

“Are you all right?”

I wasn't. I was shaking all over, and my back was throbbing. I had fallen hard right onto my backpack, and the camera inside had slammed into my back. I prayed that I hadn't broken it. I wanted to check but hesitated—my rescuer was Phil Varton.

What was he doing here? Had he seen me at the sawmill? Had he followed me? As usual, his eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, but for once he was gloveless. I stared at his hands. The skin on them was red and purple and shiny. It looked like they had both been badly burned at some point. I wondered if his arms had been burned as well. That would account for the long-sleeved shirts he always wore.

“I've been looking for you,” he said. “Your friend called the chief. She said you were hiking out here and she couldn't get hold of you. She was worried, what with the reports of bears and all. The chief sent me out to check on you.”

I fumbled in my pocket for my phone. “I must have shut it off by accident,” I said. “I'll call her.”

“A city girl like you should be careful out in the woods. Bears aren't the only hazard around here.”

I had to fight to hide what I was feeling. I was sure he was trying to intimidate me.

“I'm just heading to town now,” I said. “I'll call my friend and tell her I'm okay.”

“What were you doing out here all alone anyway?”

“Seeing the sights. There's an old church not far from here.”

I couldn't see his eyes, so it was impossible to tell if he believed me.

“Come on,” he said finally. “Let's get you back to your car.”

He held my arm for a few paces, until I told him I was fine and could manage on my own. He shrugged, let go, and led the way. Five minutes later I was at my car.

“You're sure you're going to be okay?” he said.

I nodded. “Thanks for your help. I'm going straight back to town. And staying there.”

He looked at me for another moment before turning and walking down the road to wherever he had parked his patrol car.

I unlocked my car, dug Morgan's camera out of the backpack, and tossed the backpack onto the passenger seat. I whispered a silent prayer as I pressed the camera's ON button. A green light blinked at me.
Thank you, thank you, thank you!

I scrolled through the pictures I had taken. They were all there. What a relief! I was shutting it off when someone said, “Did you get some good ones?”

I was so startled that I almost dropped the camera.

A police car had pulled up alongside my car—Phil Varton's police car.

“Excuse me?” I said.

“Pictures,” he said, nodding at the camera. “Did you get some good pictures?”

“A few. But I don't know how good they are.” Before he could ask me if he could see them, I said, “I'd better get back. Thanks for checking on me. And for helping me with the bear.”

I climbed into my car and sat there, shaken, hoping he would drive away. But he didn't. He waited for me to make a move. I started my engine, put the camera in the glove compartment, and pulled out onto the gravel road. While I drove back to town, I called Morgan.

“Robyn!” she said breathlessly. “Thank God. I've been calling and calling. I was worried.”

I glanced in the rearview mirror. Phil Varton was right behind me. “Morgan, did you call the police?”

“I'm sorry. Don't be mad at me, Robyn. But I really was getting worried. I called the station, and they said they'd send someone to look for you.”

“It's okay,” I said. Whatever else Phil Varton had been doing out here, he had been telling the truth about being asked to look for me. Dean Lafayette must have radioed him. If only he knew how close he'd come to finding me earlier.

“Did you learn anything, Robyn? Did you—”

I checked the rearview mirror again. Phil Varton was still following me, and I felt myself trembling all over. I had been terrified back at the sawmill and again facing that bear. All I wanted was to get safely back to town.