The Case of the Missing Deed (3 page)

Little by little, the chatter stilled. The laughter died out. The frantic motion slowed down.

The family gathered in the living room. No one needed to say anything. Slumped shoulders and downcast eyes told of failure.

“I knew it,” Grandma said.

“Now, don’t give up, Mom,” Aunt Meg said. “We haven’t looked in every corner yet.”

“We’ll try again,” Uncle Tony said. “We’ll find it, you’ll see, Lily.”

Grandma just shook her head. “It’s no use. It’s gone. I’m going to lose the cottage.” She started crying again, silently this time, hopelessly, not even bothering to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

She turned and started trudging up the stairs.

tter Island Community Hall was packed. Rows of folding chairs had been set up, filling the floor. On the low stage at the front there was a microphone stand and three chairs.

As he entered the room beside Grandma, Sébastien felt her flinch. He followed her eyes. She was staring at a large screen on the stage where a laptop projected the mountain-and-lake logo Sébastien had seen on the company’s car the day before. The words
TANTALUS MINING: MINING A BETTER TOMORROW
circled around it.

Sébastien took Grandma’s hand. He didn’t have to look at her to know that her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. She hadn’t wanted to come today. She’d said she just couldn’t face hearing about the mine that would soon take away her home. But the rest of the family had insisted. Uncle Tony had reassured her that there was no way she was going to lose her home. Eve had said they’d all be there with her. So Grandma had come.

Sébastien led her across the room to find seats. At once, they were thronged by family friends. Tall, thin Hugh Crombie, Grandpa’s best friend, who lived down the road on a cliff the locals called Hugh’s Perch, didn’t say much; he just gave Grandma’s shoulder a squeeze. Muriel, Grandma’s good friend, who owned the berry patch and general store, smiled as
she hugged Grandma, but Sébastien heard her whisper to his mom, “I’m worried about her, Eve.”

Bernie and Leon, Grandpa’s old fishing buddies, nodded at Alex and Claire, the two grandchildren who loved fishing the best. “The fish’re biting this summer,” Leon said. “Won’t be the same without Sam …” He cleared his throat. “But you two are welcome to join us.”

“Thanks, Leon,” Claire said.

Leon’s wife, Tillie, who ran Tillie’s Café near the ferry dock, shrieked when she spied the kids. “My God, how you’ve grown! You,” she said to Sébastien, ruffling his hair, “are turning into a beanpole. And look at this gorgeous young woman,” she said to Geneviève.

Geneviève turned pink. It sounded a bit dorky, but still it was cool to be called a young woman. She was, after all, thirteen. Almost grown up.

Twisting so her mom wouldn’t see, she turned on her cell phone. A beep told her she had a text message. It was from Natalie. She opened it eagerly, anxious to know what her friends were up to and whether they missed her like she missed them. Most of all, she wanted to find out what was going on with Aaron. Natalie had said she’d keep an eye on him for her. Not that he was
hers
, of course, Geneviève thought. Nothing like that. Still, it was good to know that her best friend was watching out for her.

The text had been sent late the night before: “
ME + AARON! HOT FUN IN COOL POOL Y-DAY!
”

Geneviève sat there for a moment, stunned. Then she texted back,
“HOW COULD U?”

Natalie
knew
she liked Aaron,
knew
she was looking
forward to hanging out with him when she got back. What was she up to?

Of course, there was nothing official going on between Geneviève and Aaron, just a little harmless flirting so far. She’d threatened to spy on him in the guys’ change room at the pool. He’d teased her about her performance in the end-of-year school talent show. They’d exchanged a few texts, signed with
X’S
and
O’S
.

Natalie knew all that. And she’d made a move on him anyway.

Oh, if only Geneviève was there! She could flirt with Aaron and get him back.

Or could she?

Geneviève felt tears coming. Quickly, she slipped out of her seat and ran to the bathroom.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re about to begin, so please take your seats,” boomed a voice over the microphone. Sébastien helped Grandma to a chair and sat down next to her.

Three people, two men and a woman, stepped onto the stage. One of the men stood at the microphone, while the other two sat down. “Good afternoon, everyone, and thank you for coming out today,” said the man. “My name is Mark Saxby, and these are my associates, Valerie London and Wayne Cheng. We’re from Tantalus Mining, and we want to welcome you to our open house.”

Sébastien recognized Mark Saxby as the man who’d driven the car the day before, and the other two as his passengers. Unlike the islanders, most of whom were in T-shirts and shorts
or sundresses, the three company people were all dressed up. The men were in dark suits and crisp white shirts. Mark Saxby had a blue tie with red stripes, and Wayne Cheng had a red tie with blue stripes. Valerie London wore a slim skirt, silky blouse, and high heels, with a gleam of gold at her throat.

Next to him, Sébastien heard Grandma clear her throat nervously. He gave her hand a pat.

Crap! They’ve started
, Geneviève thought as she reentered the hall. As she squeezed down the row toward her seat, her mother shot her a look. Geneviève knew she’d hear about it later, but right now she didn’t care. Her heart was broken, and that was all that mattered.

As she turned before taking her seat, she caught sight of an unfamiliar blond head across the room. It was a kid, a guy, about her age.
Strange
, she thought. She knew most of the kids on the island, at least by sight, and she’d never seen this guy before. For a moment he looked up, and their eyes locked.
Wow
, she thought. At this distance, all she could make out was sun-bleached hair, bronzed skin, and dark eyes, but … 
wow
.

Who was he?

Mark Saxby rested his arm on the microphone stand. “We’re here to tell you about our plans and answer any questions you may have,” he said. “And this isn’t a one-way street. We want to dialogue with you so this becomes a win-win for everyone.” He beamed at the crowd.

A loud snort came from Hugh. Several people laughed.

Mark Saxby kept smiling. “Now, to begin, I want to ask
you
a few questions. Is there anyone here who has a cell phone? Raise your hand if you have a cell phone.”

There were some puzzled glances. Many people, including Geneviève, raised their hands.

“Good. Now, how about PDAs, or personal digital assistants? Can we have a show of hands if you own one of those?”

Fewer hands went up. Eve’s was one of them.

“Thank you. And finally, pagers. Anyone have a pager?”

A dozen or so hands were raised. Murmurs rumbled. “What’s this about?” “Who cares?”

Mark Saxby smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you raised your hand, you are one of the millions of people around the world who use tantalum. What’s tantalum, you ask? To answer that question, I’ll turn the floor over to my colleague, Dr. Wayne Cheng. He’s the engineer in the group and handles the scientific issues.”

The other man stood up. He didn’t look as relaxed as Mark Saxby. The part in his black hair was razor straight. He stood with his palms flat against his sides. He faced the audience and, staring at a point over their heads, recited, “Tantalum is a rare chemical element with the symbol Ta and the atomic number 73. It’s a hard, blue-gray, lustrous metal. Tantalum is used in manufacturing cell phones, pagers, and personal computers.”

He sat down.

Mark Saxby moved back to center stage. “Thank you, Wayne. So you see, folks, tantalum is vital to our modern communications. And you are very lucky to have a sizable deposit of this rare and valuable mineral right here on Otter Island.”

“Quit the sell job and just tell us about the land grab,” Bernie said.

Mark Saxby’s jaw clenched, but his smile stayed in place. “I wouldn’t exactly call it that, sir. We call it our land acquisition program. But I’ll be pleased to explain it.”

He clicked a computer mouse, and a map of Otter Island filled the screen. The town center with the float-plane dock, Emergency Station and lighthouse, ferry dock, general store, café, and picnic area were all marked on the northeast side of the island. The public beach was labeled on the southeast shore. Lookout Hill, a large area in the middle of the island, was colored green, with the words
MINE SITE
written on it. A spiral inside the green area indicated Lookout Hill Road. Other areas, on the south and west parts of the island, were colored red, and a thick dotted line, marked
ACCESS ROAD
, wound through the red areas to the mine site. Within the green and red areas were dotted several small yellow squares.

“That’s my home,” Grandma said in a strangled voice, pointing to a beachfront rectangle covered in red.

Grandma’s property wasn’t the only red one, Sébastien saw. So were Hugh’s Perch, Muriel’s berry patch, Bernie’s place, Leon and Tillie’s land, and dozens more properties.

Mark Saxby pointed to one of the yellow squares. “These represent the properties we’ve purchased so far. As you can see, many Otter Island residents have already come aboard. The properties within the red and green zones, that aren’t yellow yet, are still in negotiation.”

“We’ll never sell!” Tillie yelled.

“You tell ’im, Tillie,” Muriel said, knitting needles clacking.

Mark Saxby nodded. “That is your choice – as long as you hold clear title to your property, of course. If not, the land will revert to the government, and they will decide what to do with it. We believe they will turn over those properties to us for the benefit of the project, but that is up to them.”

Grandma made a distressed sound. Sébastien patted her hand.

“Now, if you choose to sell, you’ll be given fair market value for your property. If not, we will be forced to build around you. Naturally, we hope everyone will join us. But it’s up to each of you. After all,” he said, spreading his hands, “it’s a free country.”