The Boat Thief Read online

  The door closes behind her, snapping me out of my daze, when suddenly I realize how late I am. When I get home my dad will. without a doubt, punish me big-time. Oh yeah, this is bad. Really bad.

  I take off, sprinting. Sara’s house is on the other side of Trent Harbor . . . just my luck. I have a long way to go. There’re a couple of good shortcuts that lead through a few backyards, and across the back parking lot of a liquor store. In one yard, I stop at the fence to have a quick look to make sure the owner of the house isn’t outside, then I let myself in through the gate. I take off sprinting again, across the yard to the side of the hedge, dive through a gap, and roll out on the next street over. THWAPP! I take a branch in the face. It hurts, but it saved five minutes.

  Even though I might be grounded for weeks, it was still worth it. I can’t stop thinking about the kiss, and the way her lips felt on mine. I’m starting to realize why a lot of the older guys are always talking about chicks.

  I’m starting to get tired, so I slow to a jog. I can feel my shirt getting damp with sweat. Up ahead is Jerry’s Liquor, where a trail from behind the dumpster in the back parking lot leads all the way to three streets over. It’ll save a lot of time.

  Just before I get to the liquor store, a strange feeling comes over me. My back begins to tingle, like an ice cube just ran along my spine. I don’t think it’s from all the sweating. What’s with that? But I don’t have any time to waste on strange feelings. I keep going, then I head around to the back of the store.

  In the back lot, an older maroon-colored Buick sits parked by itself as I round the corner. The trunk is open and standing next to the car is Trent Harbor’s chief of police, Officer O’Reilly. I chuckle to myself because my imagination always gets the best of me. I’m just being weird about the strange feeling.

  Officer O’Reilly is easy to recognize, even in the poor light. His huge frame has a certain amount of authority to it and, because of this, people don’t mess with him. For the most part, though, he’s one of the friendliest guys in town. His hair is always clipped short in a military cut and, unlike the big droopy mustaches everyone else is wearing, his is always trim and neat.

  Most people in town know Officer O’Reilly and just call him by his first name―Eddie. I know him because he comes to our school every year to talk on Bike Safety Day, and again on Career Day. Whether he’s down by the docks or patrolling the streets, he always stops for a friendly chat. Everyone in town thinks he’s the greatest.

  As I approach, I realize Mayor Reed is standing next to him. I don’t know the mayor personally, and have only heard people talk about him. Usually it’s good things.

  I shoot them a friendly wave and call out a hello. Suddenly, both stop what they’re doing and look at me in alarm. I stop. I’m not sure what I’ve done.

  Then I see it. Near the open trunk, next to the Mayor, is a large cloth sack. The lumps inside the sack are shaped like a body. Holy crap, a body! What the hell are they doing with a body? My legs will not move. I’m frozen. I probably shouldn’t have seen what I just saw. Was it really a body? Terror strikes me like an explosion.

  The three of us―the chief, the mayor, and me―gawk at each other in absolute disbelief. Time stops dead still. What’s probably only a fraction of a second feels like an hour.

  “Hey, Fisher,” Officer O’Reilly calls out as he fumbles with the sack, trying to hide it from my view. “What are you doing out so late?”

  “Uh, nothing much,” I answer, backing slowly away from the scene that is still registering in my brain. “Late for dinner, that’s all.”

  “Well, the mayor and I could give you a ride home, if you like,” he says, glancing sideways at Mayor Reed with a “just go along with it” kind of look.

  “Um, no thanks, I…I don’t want to interrupt,” I stutter.

  “Aw, no problem, in fact, I think it would be a really good idea if we did give you a ride home, Fisher, so we could have a little talk, you know?”

  That’s all it takes! My legs abruptly take charge of my brain, and I dash for the opening to the shortcut behind the dumpster. I’ve never moved so fast in my life.

  “Fisher!” Officer O’Reilly suddenly cries out.

  Behind me I can hear two sets of feet hitting the pavement. For a big man, I wouldn’t have expected Officer O’Reilly to move very fast, but he’s gaining on me.

  The opening’s just feet away, so I throw in an extra burst of speed. The gap’s nothing more than two of the lower boards missing from the bottom of the fence, and even for me it’s going to be a squeeze. Without a second to spare, I dive for it, wiggling through. But just as I pull my foot through, I can feel O’Reilly’s powerful hand on my shoe. As I roll away from the fence he isn’t able to keep a grip. Now out of his reach, I sprint down the dark path, desperately trying to think what I should do next.

  The dark path is like some crazy tunnel of terror; branches slap my face, and roots attack my feet, yet I feel none of it. I can’t suck enough air into my lungs. It’s like trying to breathe water. I’m flying in a dream. But the dream’s real. I think about nothing else but getting away. That’s all that matters. I saw something I shouldn’t have.

  At the other end of the trail, I’ve popped out on Hope Street, several blocks away from the Buick. There’s no quick way for them to get where I am now. They’ll have to drive around. I don’t have much time to get out of open sight. And I need a plan.

  Suddenly everything seems quiet, and I try hard to get my breathing under control so I can listen for any cars or footsteps. I hear nothing. The silence starts to scare me.

  I remember there’s a really cool tree fort in the next yard over. Being a fort builder myself, when I first saw it, I liked how high it was off the ground. No one would ever notice a fort up there. I sprint for the ladder on the back side of the tree, then scramble up as fast as I can. My hands fly from rung to rung.

  I have a little luck; the trap door’s not locked and I easily flip it open. I quickly climb through, trying not to make any noise, then shut the door back into place. There’s a sliding bolt lock on the inside so I secure it, making sure it’ll hold.

  It’s quiet again except for the noise of my heart beating in my chest and making its way to my skull. I swear if anyone was standing below, they’d be able to hear the pounding, but I keep telling myself that’s impossible.

  When my heart stops racing, the every day sounds of the neighborhood become magnified. It’s as if my hearing has become super sensitive. I listen for anything that might sound like a car engine . . . especially a Buick with a big V-8.

  Minutes pass. Before I know it, a glance at my watch tells me a half hour has gone by.

  Sitting in the dark silence, my mind begins to spin out of control. Did I really see a body being loaded into the trunk? It could have been a sack of potatoes. After all, my crazy imagination has gotten me in trouble before. There’s that time at summer camp I was certain our cabin was haunted. I was so scared, I wouldn’t even get up at night to take a pee. I ended up wetting the bed. I had to wake up early before everyone else so I could change the sheets, or face being teased for the rest of the session. It turns out what I thought were ghosts were only noisy squirrels in the walls.

  Is this my imagination again? Did I really see what I thought I saw―the police chief and the mayor stuffing a dead body into a car? That just can’t be right. But why else would they chase me? Maybe I should just come down out of the tree and find out what they really want.

  My gut jumps into my throat when I hear the sound of a vehicle approaching from off in the distance. I’m holding my breath, listening as it becomes louder. Just as the car passes under the tree fort it stops, then idles beneath me. It could be a Buick, but I can’t be sure. I hold my breath.

  I listen closely, but hearing anything is hard over the pounding heartbeat that fills my ears once again. I close my eyes. A car door squeaks open. Then another. Two men are talking in low voices.

  �
��This is where the path comes out,” one of them says. I can just barely make out the voice as Officer O’Reilly’s.

  Please don’t look up, please don’t look up.

  The mayor says, in a whisper, “We need to find that Shoemaker boy. If he talks and anyone finds out about this, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  I slap my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming out!

  “I know where his family lives,” the police chief says. “After we get rid of the car, I’ll go over and have a look around. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll be hiding out in the yard or something. Who knows, maybe I just go to the door and tell his dad I need to ask him some questions.”

  That’s all I need to hear! I’m convinced now, this is not my crazy imagination. I need a plan, and I need to come up with it fast. I certainly can’t go home, because that’s the first place they plan to look. I’m going to have to go to my hideout. I’d never have dreamed I’d actually need my hideout. . . to hide out.

  By the time the two car doors close, and the sound of the engine disappears into the night, it feels like hours. I slowly count to one hundred before I leave the safety of the tree fort.

  But first I listen hard again, just one last time to be sure. Nothing. It’s safe.

  I slowly slide the lock across and carefully open the trap door, knowing if I make any kind of sound it’ll be the end of me. I start to shake. Taking a deep breath, I try my best to calm down. I’ve never been this scared before. I poke my head out through the trap door opening and have a quick look around; all clear. Down the ladder I climb. Once on the ground I flatten myself up tight against the tree so no one can see me as I take a quick look around. All clear again.

  So as not to attract attention to myself, I reason, I should walk slowly right out in the open rather than run. I slide out from behind the tree as if I’m just out for a nice summer evening stroll. My gut is screaming RUN, but my brain overrules while I continue my walk as if I don’t have a care in the world. I have a LOT to care about, though; my life!

  There’s one other thing I need to do first before sneaking out to my hideout: I have to keep my parents from looking for me. I need to make a call.

  At the end of the block is a gas station, closed down for the night, with a phone booth on the side. Perfect. Inside the booth there’s a collection of bugs swarming around the light, and dead bugs everywhere. I brush a few of them away while fishing around in my pockets for a nickel. Quickly, I drop it into the slot and dial my house number.

  My sister answers the phone, and she’s quick to inform me that I’m in big trouble for missing dinner. “Dad is going to skin you alive,” she says, happily.

  “Just put Mom on the phone,” I say, in a cold tone that means business. There’s a pause.

  Mom picks up, “Fisher where are you? You’ve missed dinner.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m at John Blackwell’s house. His mom invited me for dinner so I―”

  “You know you should have called,” my mom interrupts, “we had no idea where you were.”

  “Sorry,” I apologize. “I’m going to stay the night, it’s okay with his mom.”

  She quickly answers, “On a weeknight? Oh, no . . .”

  Damn! I hadn’t thought of that! In my mom’s eyes, overnights are only for the weekend, even if it is summer vacation. Quickly I do the old “bad connection” trick by rubbing the receiver on my shirt sleeve to make a static noise, and then I hang up fast. I hope she doesn’t call back John Blackwell’s house. I’m in the clear… maybe. But if it worked, that’ll only hold them over for a day.

  I don’t want to be in the light of the phone booth any longer than I need to be so, again, I make for the shadow of the side street next to the gas station.

  The town is unusually quiet, and the silence is deafening.

  Now I need to let Sara know I’m in a jam because I know I’m going to need her help; I just don’t know how yet. Looking back at the phone booth gives me an idea.

  I don’t have paper or a pen with me, but the phone booth has both. A written message to Sara should do the trick.

  Even though the phone book paper is yellow, and full of print, there’s plenty of it. I go back to the booth and tear a page out to write my message. But then, somehow, I’m going to need to get it to her. In the movies, they always toss stuff through the bedroom window. The problem is, I don’t have any idea where her bedroom window’s located. This idea suddenly stinks.

  Then it hits me. What a dumb kid I am. I put my hand into my pocket and fish around for another nickel. I open the phone book and look up the Banks residence. Then, with the pen, I circle their phone number.

  The phone rings three times before Sara’s mom answers it.

  “Hello,” I say. “Can I speak with Sara, please?”

  “Can I ask who’s calling? She’s not allowed to take calls from boys so late.” Her tone is not friendly at all. I’m glad I’m not standing in front of her at the moment, asking to see Sara.

  “This is Fisher Shoemaker. I need to talk to her about a homework assignment.” School has actually been out for about a week now, but this seems to work. The phone’s quiet for a minute while Sara comes to pick up.

  “Fisher?” says the girl’s voice on the other end. “Hey, I’m so glad you called. I was just thinking about tonight, and―”

  “I can’t talk right now,” I say, cutting her off. “I need you to meet me at the hideout tomorrow afternoon. I’ve got a big problem, but I can’t tell you just yet. I have to go.” Quickly, I hang up the phone. I’ve been in the lighted phone booth way too long, and I need to get back to the shadows of the dark.

  * * *

  Soon I’m at the end of the abandoned road. I’ve been there so many times that finding it in the dark isn’t difficult. When I finally get inside with the door shut, the first thing I do is flop down on the old sofa. The fear and adrenalin that has consumed me all night begins to settle down, and the dangerous situation I’m now in becomes a little clearer in my head.

  The whole scene replays in my head; it all happened so fast. I don’t really remember much of anything after Sara kissed me good night. But then I was suddenly standing, frozen with fear, in the parking lot as the police chief and mayor were shoving a body into the trunk of a car. After that, everything seemed to accelerate at the speed of light; and here I am.

  Looking around, I realize that as well as this place is hidden, it’ll only be a matter of time before someone finds me. I sure don’t want to find out what’ll happen to me when they do. And, of course, the police chief will be the first person I’ll face. Also, by tomorrow night, when I still haven’t come home, my parents will realize something is wrong and call the police.

  In small towns like Trent Harbor, people always rally together when there’s a problem. There’ll probably be a massive search, with the neighbors volunteering just like they did when that kid went missing last summer. When they found him, he was sleeping under a picnic table in the park. If that happens, the townspeople would be putting me right in the hands of two killers. It might be a day or two, but surely they’d find me here. I need a better plan.

  The day’s events have worn me out more than I thought because, no matter how hard I try to concentrate on a plan, sleep overtakes me.

  * * *

  Blinking hard several times, because there’s crust in the corner of my eyes, things slowly come into focus. Somehow morning has arrived. Some of the distant islands just past the harbor are coming into view as the light from the rising sun makes them glow. There’re several seagulls fighting over a clam. I look around to see that I’m still in my hideout on the sofa.

  Thoughts inside my head move slowly, like thick, sticky molasses, and the events from last night seem unreal. But slowly, all the crazy things begin to become clear. It is all real; I am still in a life-or-death situation.

  The sun continues to climb. The trees on the distant islands become greener, and the sea turns from a steel gray to a d
eep cool blue. I watch intently. I notice how the different angles of sunlight can change the look of everything. As the sea spray hits the rocks and shoots upward, it seems whiter and frothier than ever before. Also, there’s a cormorant drifting about, occasionally diving for its morning meal of fish.

  I stand up and look out at the islands, my gaze narrowing in concentration. Suddenly, my plan is crystal clear.

  Chapter 6

  Escape by Sea

  The night on the sofa was long and restless. My mind was heavy with fear. At some point, between all the tossing and turning, I must’ve fallen asleep. But the way I feel right now, it sure doesn’t seem like it. My brain feels like hardening cement.

  Now that it’s daylight, probably the best thing to do is to just stay put for the day. If I step outside someone might see me. I can’t take that chance.

  So I spend most of the day right here on the sofa where, the night before, Sara Banks kissed me. I can’t even enjoy the memory anymore, though, because I’m thinking so hard about what I need to do next. This whole situation is just so crazy!

  My stomach groans. Hunger’s the one thing I hadn’t counted on. The empty feeling in my belly is painful, and I feel like could eat the leg off the table. There’re some wild blueberries along the roadside, but considering what might happen to me if I’m caught, I think I’ll stay in the hideout, where it’s safe. I can deal with the hunger no matter how bad it gets.

  Thinking about food reminds me that this is Friday. I’m supposed to start my restaurant job tonight. I have to admit, the extra money would have been nice. I was already starting to think about the things I was going to do with it. First, I was going to buy a new bike. Without a job, it what would have taken most of the summer to save up the money. Then I was thinking it would be cool to buy a stereo system. It would have the big speakers, as big as two milk crates stacked on top of each other, and the music would shake the house. For sure, it would drive my dad nuts, but I wouldn’t have cared; it would’ve been my money. I could do what I wanted with it. The cool thing would be being the only kid in school with his own stereo system. I dream some more about the money I’m not going to have.