Alberta Alibi (15 page)

“Get down!” Sheila warned.

The girls fell to the ground. Headlights carved an arc above their heads as the truck turned around. Its engine shut off. A door creaked open and slammed shut, followed by a quick
tick-tick-tick
and a poof of hot steam.

“If that doesn't wake up Wendell and the boys, then…Oh no!”

The night air was shattered by barking. Loud, excited barking, getting louder. Louder.

Sheila raised her head. A few steps below the hilltop, making its way toward the development against a background of moonlight, was the top of a dark hat and the tip of a white feather. It stopped. Turned around. Moved back up, fast, toward the truck.

Rebel's barks were even louder now, directly above.

The truck door slammed shut. Rebel howled.

“Git back here you mangy mutt!” Wendell yelled, his voice distant. Rebel barked excitedly.

Sheila listened for the truck to start up. For it to drive away.

It didn't.

“Sit, Rebel! Sit!” Wendell was on the hilltop now, and at last Rebel stopped barking.

“You can get out now,” Wendell shouted. “I'm holdin' Rebel back. Step out here and let me see your ugly face.”

The door creaked open. “You!” Wendell shouted.

“I don't believe it!”

“Me either!” a young voice said, and Sheila realized Huntley had joined Wendell.

Suddenly Rebel started barking again, a different bark now, deeper and mixed with a growl that came from deep in his chest. Barking, he charged down the hill toward the development.

“Call off your dog or I'll shoot him right here!” a man yelled from somewhere below.

“Rebel!” Wendell called. “Git back up here!”

Rebel kept barking.

“Don't shoot!” Wendell cried. “I'm comin' to get him!” A minute later he commanded, “Sit! Rebel, sit!”

And Rebel was quiet.

“Put him in the truck!” the new voice ordered.

“And if I refuse?”

“You won't like the alternative.”

“Do as he says,” a woman's voice broke in. “No one needs to get hurt.”

“C'mon, boy,” Wendell grunted.

Sheila imagined him bending to take Rebel by the collar. The dog growled. “You two Coutts must have been lyin' in wait,” Wendell said.

“You might say we've been expecting company,”

Glen Coutts said. “Hurry it up! We don't have all night.”

The truck door opened. “In you go, boy,” Wendell said. The door slammed shut.

“Good. Now what are we going to do with these two?” Glen asked.

“Bring them down to the portable. We'll decide from there.” It was the woman who spoke.

“Must be Marla Coutts,” Sheila whispered.

“Mmm,” Katie agreed. “Shh!”

“Let the boy go,” Wendell pleaded. “He's no harm to anyone. I promise to do whatever you say, just let him go.”

The woman laughed. “To run and call for help?

Do you think we're stupid?” Her voice turned harsh and angry. “Bring them both. That's Adele James' boy. You can be sure she'll promise anything to get her son home safely. It's too bad we didn't think of that in the first place.”

Then a low voice broke in. The words were impossible to make out, but it sounded like a threat.

“You fool!” Marla said. “You're in this as deep as we are!”

The owner of the deeper voice responded, but the words were indecipherable. Sheila thought there was something familiar about the sound of the voice.

“Sorry, it's too late to change your mind, Cowboy.

It wasn't us who shot the night watchman. But if you really want to join your friends here, fine. A scapegoat might come in handy.”

“You heard the lady,” Glen said. “Now get moving! All of you!”

21

“R
usty!” Katie dropped to her knees beside the sleeping form. He didn't stir. “Rusty!” She grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

“Wha…”

“Rusty, wake up! You missed everything.”

“Huh?” he mumbled. “Where am I?”

“Lying on the grass in front of Wendell's van.

Rusty, they've got Wendell and Huntley.”

Rusty sat up and wrapped his arms around himself.

“I'm cold.” Suddenly, as if Katie's words finally sank in, he leapt to his feet. “Who's got them? Where?

What happened?”

“It's those Glenmar people! The truck got here, but Rebel barked and woke everyone up. Wendell ran to stop him, but the Couttses must have heard the noise, and they showed up too. Glen Coutts has a gun! He made Wendell and Huntley go with them down to the portable.”

“So did Ryan show?”

“Yes,” Sheila told him. “I think so.”

“What do you mean you think so? Either he did or he didn't.”

“Okay, he did. But the Couttses have him too because I think he tried to protect Huntley and Wendell.

Rusty, we've got to do something before it's too late.”

Ten minutes later, Sheila, Katie and Rusty were hunkered below a small, lighted window of the portable.

To their right were four wooden steps up to a tightly closed door.

“One of us needs to peek in,” Sheila whispered.

“The tallest one,” Katie suggested.

“And the most athletic,” Rusty added.

“I guess we know who's elected,” Sheila sighed.

Facing the wall, Sheila pressed her fingers against the cold aluminum, and dew dampened her hands.

She straightened her knees and reached toward the sill above her head. Light poured out into the night.

Her fingers curled around the thin aluminum sill and she pulled. The top of her head didn't quite reach the bottom of the window. She sank down again.

“I need something to stand on,” she whispered.

Quickly and quietly, they scouted around the corner. Rusty pointed to a pile of clutter tossed from the burned portable. A metal chair lay on its side, almost intact. They placed it beneath the window.

Sheila climbed on the chair. Higher, higher, fingers on the sill, eyes level with the sill. An inch farther and she was looking inside.

A tall, slender woman with a thick mane of jet-black hair and a stocky man with dark blond hair stood close together, talking quietly, their backs to Sheila. The man, Glen, held a gun at his side.

The wall to Sheila's left was blackened and slightly buckled; not a shred of glass remained in the large window frame. But the remainder of the room looked surprisingly normal. In front of her were two desks and several office chairs, and beyond them was a large table holding what looked like a model of a small city: rows of little houses, a stretch of green grass with tiny flags at intervals like a miniature golf course, a pond and a cluster of larger buildings.

On the far side of the table, three people sat on straight wooden armchairs. But their arms didn't rest on the chairs. They were twisted behind their backs.

Sheila couldn't see their feet, but guessed they must be tied. Behind them was another small window and a back door.

Wendell stared straight ahead, glaring daggers at the two Couttses. To his left was a younger man, but not as young as Ryan. He hung his head. Sheila wobbled and almost fell backward off the chair. She clutched the windowsill with her fingertips and stared in disbelief. Ben! Not Ben! How could it be Ben?

On Wendell's other side, Huntley stared right at her.

He nodded almost imperceptibly, then his eyes shifted deliberately to Marla and Glen. They were walking toward the door. Sheila jumped off the chair.

“Get out of sight! Quick!” she whispered and led the way around the corner of the portable. Behind them the door was flung open so hard it smashed against the side of the building. Then it slammed shut again.

Sheila, Katie and Rusty pressed up against the wall and held their breath.

“This is just great!” Glen shouted. “How do you propose to get us out of this mess?”

“Obviously we can't let them go,” Marla responded, her voice cool, composed.

“What do you want me to do?
Shoot them? The
boy too?
How could you let this happen?”

“You went along quite happily until now, so don't blame me because some stupid old man and a nosy little kid got in the way.”

“But no one was supposed to get hurt!” Glen moaned.

“Of course not. So what do you propose we do?

Turn ourselves in?”

“And lose everything? Don't be stupid!”

“All right then,” Marla said. “Obviously we can't shoot them. How would we explain that? But if that turncoat, Ben, were to show up here in the middle of the night to finish the job he started, then it will be his fault, not ours, if those two got themselves trapped inside a burning building. And if Ben accidentally got too close to the fire himself, no one would really be sorry, would they?”

“But how do we explain the boy and the old man being in there in the first place?”

“We don't. We know nothing about it. We weren't even here. Maybe Ben locked them inside because they caught him trying to set a fire.”

There was a long pause. Sheila took shallow breaths. An acrid, burnt smell filled her nostrils and she realized she was pressed up against the blackened wall of the building.

“Believe me,” Marla said, her voice softer now, “I wish there were another way.”

“Me too,” her husband replied, “me too.”

The door opened and the couple went back inside.

Katie looked at Sheila and Rusty as they moved away from the grimy wall.

“Ben?” Katie whispered. “So it was Ben after all?”

“Yes, I can't believe it! I was sure it had to be Ryan!”

“Who
cares
whether it's Ben or Ryan in there?” Rusty danced from one foot to the other impatiently. “We've got to do something—now!”

“Right,” Katie agreed. “Okay, let's think this through. Somehow we've got to lure the Couttses outside. But first, Sheila, tell us exactly what you saw in there.”

After Sheila described the setup inside, they made their rescue plans.

22

“A
re you sure you can handle this?” Sheila asked.

“Simple.” Rusty's voice croaked with a fear he couldn't hide.

“No problem,” Katie assured her, but she sounded as scared as Rusty. Katie fished her flashlight out of her backpack. “I'll keep this handy, we might need it.”

The two set off for the barbed wire fence.

Sheila waited, listening, afraid the Couttses would make their move too soon. All alone, close beside the portable, Sheila clutched her CD player, tucked in its pouch with the headphones removed, tight against her stomach. The stink of singed metal and charred wood turned her stomach, but at least that horrible ache had gone away. Instead, she trembled with a deep, cold fear, and her heart beat fast against her ribs. Waiting was the worst part. Already it seemed like Katie and Rusty had been gone for hours.

If everything went exactly right, exactly as planned, they would all get out of this and no one would be hurt. She waited. And waited. Had something gone wrong? Then she heard barking up on the hill. She held her breath, her heart lurched. Almost time.

Please let everything go right!

She pictured Rusty up by the truck, holding Rebel's collar but encouraging him to bark like crazy. In a minute he and Katie would take Rebel down past Wendell's trailer. Sheila had told them exactly what to do, but could they handle it? Really?

If only Katie had stayed here and she had been the one to go…but they all agreed Sheila had the best chance of getting inside. And besides, she felt better with her friends out of danger. For the time being at least.

The door to the portable flew open. Heavy feet ran down the steps. “What on earth?” Glen shouted.

Marla's voice came from the porch. “That stupid dog has managed to escape! You must have left a window open. You'd better take care of it.”