Alberta Alibi (4 page)

For a moment her dad just looked confused. He watched Katie and Rusty walk into the kitchen, Katie shielding her notebook in front of her. Then he scratched his head and turned his attention to Sheila. She was sure he would ask what they were doing outside his office, but all he said was, “Then you'll need to keep him out of trouble. I've got enough to worry about right now without your friends falling off horses or getting run over by cattle.”

There were footsteps behind them and two RCMP officers, wearing dark pants with a wide yellow stripe down the sides and beige short-sleeved shirts, emerged from the office. One was as tall as Sheila's dad, over six feet, with huge shoulders and no neck, like a football player. His brown hair was clipped super short, and he had a wide mouth and small, beady eyes. The other man was older, thin and wiry with piercing blue eyes, a long, pointed nose and not much hair on top of his head.

“Shall we go, gentlemen?” Her dad continued down the short hallway with the two Mounties following close behind. Both of them looked glum.

When they heard the front door open, Rusty whispered, “They're going out to search the truck. Your dad said it was okay.”

The door shut with a loud clunk and Huntley immediately dropped a pound of butter back into the grocery bag. “Stay here,” he told the three of them. “Tell me if they come back in.” He charged down the hall.

Katie followed close behind him. Sheila turned to Rusty. “You stay here,” she said. “Let us know the second that front door opens.”

Rusty nodded and Sheila followed the other two.

The RCMP had left the office door open, and Huntley walked in as if he owned the place. Lagging behind, Sheila glared at the back of his head, but as soon as she stepped into the room, she forgot all about Huntley. Her dad's office hadn't changed a bit. The huge oak desk had once belonged to her great-grandfather, the first Walton born here. As always, the desk was piled high with stacks of papers and unopened envelopes. The brown leather chair behind her dad's desk was as cracked and ugly as she remembered it. Beside the desk, a recycling box overflowed with papers that spilled out onto the floor around it.

Sheila used to be the one who made sure all the recyclables made it to the recycling bins in town at least once a month. She wondered now if some of these papers had been in the box the whole time she was gone.

There, on the computer table behind her dad's desk, was the very same computer she had used to e-mail her friends and research her favorite topic, endangered animals. Especially ones that lived in this area, like grizzly bears.

When the house was built, way back in 1910, this little room off the kitchen had been planned as a spare bedroom for a cook or a maid. Sheila's dad used to tell her about the first Waltons to live here. They arrived from North Dakota to homestead on this quarter of land, and they brought more money with them than most immigrants had in those days. They also brought big plans to be rich landowners, like the “gentleman farmers” they heard about in England. Their dream was to have parties and play tennis and go to picnics and get steadily richer while hired help did all the work for them.

The settlers were in for a shock when it turned out they had to work hard themselves if they were going to make any money at all from a horse and cattle ranch. They may not have hired any cooks or maids, but this room was used by hired ranch hands until the little cottage was built. Since her grandfather's day this room had been an office, but because it started out as a bedroom, it had a closet. And that's where Huntley was right now. Inside the closet.

Katie stood behind him, blocking the doorway. Sheila peered over her shoulder. “He usually locks the door,” she said.

But the door to the gun cabinet, inside the closet, was locked as tight as always. It was more like a cage than a cabinet. Thick metal bars, close together, made it impossible to get so much as a hand inside, or to pull a rifle out. Normally there were two rifles in the cabinet, one beside the other. Right now there was only one.

“It's gone all right,” Huntley said. “I thought that's what they said, but it was hard to hear through the door. I can't believe it. Chris always keeps the guns locked up in here when he isn't using them.”

“I know that,” Sheila snapped. Then she said, half to herself, “Maybe he's gone out after wolves or a cougar. Maybe the Mounties came here to help him.” Sheila knew as well as anyone that this wasn't true, and she was relieved when neither of them bothered to answer. Her dad had not been carrying a rifle, and the police had definitely not driven all the way out here to help protect the herd. “I wonder if they'll search the rest of the house,” she said.

“Nope, he wouldn't let them. I heard him say his daughter just got here after two years away and he was excited to see her. He doesn't want them spoiling her first day home by tearing the place apart. They need a search warrant.” As he said this, Huntley walked over to the computer and sat down. He pressed the start-up key.

Sheila smiled to herself. Maybe Dad was happy to see her after all.

Katie crouched in front of the gun cabinet. She opened her notebook and started to write.

“What are you doing?” Sheila asked.

“I examined the lock. There's no evidence of tampering.”

“What?”

“It doesn't look like anyone broke in without a key; there are no scratches or anything like that.”

“Oh.”

Sheila turned her attention to Huntley, now gazing at the computer screen. “What do you think you're doing?”

He didn't answer so she stomped over to him. He placed a blank CD in the holder and slid it shut.

“I asked what you're doing, Huntley.”

He glanced up, surprised, as if she had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

“Thanks for calling me Huntley. I'm making a backup.”

“Of what?”

Before he could answer, they heard footsteps running down the hall and Rusty appeared at the doorway. “He's coming back!” he said and disappeared.

Katie shut the closet door. “Let's go!” she started for the hall.

“Shut it down,” Sheila told Huntley. “Hurry!”

But it was too late. They heard her father's voice in the kitchen. “Where are the other kids?” he asked Rusty.

Katie hurried to his rescue. “Sheila wanted to show us some game she used to play on your computer.”

“Really?” He sounded surprised.

“Yes, something to do with finding habitat for endangered animals. You know, the kind of stuff Sheila likes.”

“Oh, okay. Right,” he said vaguely. Heavy footsteps crossed the kitchen floor.

Huntley leapt out of the chair and Sheila landed in it. Footsteps clomped down the hall. The computer whirred and clicked, copying e-mail files onto the CD. Suddenly she had a glimmer of an idea of what Huntley was up to. He must figure, like she did, that the Mounties would come back tomorrow with a search warrant. If they did, they might take the computer away. Maybe Huntley knew about some important information stored in the e-mails.

Her dad burst into the room. “Huntley, I asked you to stay out of my office!”

“Uh, I'm sorry, sir, but the door was open and I kind of forgot with all the excitement and all.”

“I'm disappointed in you, boy.”

Sheila closed the program. She should be pleased that her dad was mad at Huntley, but right now there were more important matters at stake. “It's my fault, Dad,” she said, swinging around on the chair. “I remembered a game I used to play, and I wanted to see if it's still here.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Is it?”

She swung back to the computer. “I didn't find it,” she said honestly. She clicked on “Shut Down” and removed the CD. “And it isn't on this CD either. I guess Huntley thought it might be.”

She handed the CD to Huntley. Her dad watched the two of them walk out of his office. He shook his head, mystified.

6

“W
hy don't you take Katie outside and show her your horse?” her father suggested. “The boys and I will get dinner ready. We can't have you working on your first night at home.”

Rusty didn't look completely thrilled about the idea, and Huntley didn't seem exactly ecstatic either. So before either of them could complain out loud, Sheila said, “Thanks, Dad!” and raced for the front door with Katie close behind.

They walked across the farmyard and into the barn. “Ee-ew, it stinks in here!” Katie said, wrinkling her nose.

“I like it,” Sheila told her. “It smells like home.”

“I'm glad my home doesn't smell like this.”

They stopped at Silver's stall. He whinnied softly and put his nose over the gate.

“Isn't he beautiful?” Sheila asked, scratching his muzzle.

“He sure is big!” Katie said.

“What did you expect, a Shetland pony? Haven't you ever seen a horse before?”

“Of course I have!” Katie said, then quietly added, “Just not quite so close up.”

“You scared?”

“No! Well, maybe a bit nervous. Sheila, I want to learn how to ride, I just never had a chance before.”

“You will tomorrow.”

“Good!”

Katie sounded about as enthusiastic as she would if Sheila had invited her to bale hay all day. “Don't worry, we'll find you a good, calm horse.”

“Who says I'm worried? But anyway, I checked the gun-cabinet lock and the closet door, and neither of them had been tampered with. What did Huntley find on the computer?”

“I don't know, something to do with e-mails. We'll have to ask him later.”

Sheila hadn't finished her last bite of hamburger when her dad leapt up and disappeared toward his office without a backward glance. So that was that. Happy homecoming. Then her ears pricked up. What? She couldn't believe it. Dad's voice, slightly off-key, was singing, “Happy Birthday to you…” The boys and Katie joined in as Dad appeared carrying a big, round chocolate cake with candles flickering.

“I know I'm late,” he placed the cake in front of her, “but happy belated birthday, Sheila.” He handed her a large plastic bag. “Sorry, I didn't have time to wrap it.”

Sheila pulled out a box about fifteen inches long by twelve inches wide. She opened it and there was a brand new Discman, complete with small black earphones and a carrying pouch that had two little round speakers.

“Your mom said you were still using your old Walkman with that huge yellow headset,” her dad said. “And look! With this one, if you want to share music with your friends, you can! Just disconnect the earphones and slide it into the pouch.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Sheila smiled, happy her dad had remembered her birthday. She refused to worry about sharing her music with her friends. That would come later.

“How about you and me go for a ride before it gets dark?” her dad asked after they finished their cake.

“I need some quality time with my daughter.” He turned to the others. “You three don't mind cleaning up, do you?”

Sheila saw three pairs of eyes take in the mess that engulfed the kitchen. “Of course they don't,” she said quickly. “Let's go!”

A little knot of fear lurked in Sheila's belly as she led Silver outside. She hadn't ridden in a long time. What if she couldn't control her horse? Or worse, what if she fell off? Her dad would give her that look he usually reserved for greenhorns. If she couldn't keep up, he would never want to ride with her again. Next time he would take Huntley and leave her at home to wash dishes.

Sheila had learned to ride a small pony when she could barely walk. Then, the spring she turned six, a tiny, long-legged colt was born to her mother's mare, Ingot. He was the color of spun gold, and his little mane and tail shone like silver in the sunshine. Sheila named him Silver and fell in love with him at first sight.

She still remembered that day and how her parents promised he would be her horse. They said her hair was the same color as Silver's mane. She could help raise him, help train him and, when they were both big enough, be the first to ride him. That day came when she was not quite nine years old, and it was the most exciting day of her life.

A year later she had to say good-bye to Silver, her best friend.

Now she ran her fingers through his thick silver mane. Her hair was no longer that color; now it was more like the deep gold of his coat. “Be good for me, okay, Silver?” she whispered.

Once in the saddle, Sheila felt as if she'd never been away. They reached the open range and urged their horses into a gentle canter over rolling, grassy hills. Her dad stayed close beside her on his pale brown gelding, Pita, another name chosen by Sheila.

She glanced sideways at him and was pleased to see that, for the first time since she arrived, her dad was smiling. Then she realized that a huge grin split her own face too. Whatever worries a person might have floated away with the warm breeze in your face and not another human being in sight. “Last one to the stream does all the dishes tomorrow!” she cried and urged Silver to a full gallop.