Old Bones (9 page)

Back in Mountie headquarters, Striker and Casey's father were deep in conversation. Casey sat in an armchair in a corner, his arms dangling, his head thrown back against the cushioned chair top.

What a day! Images of the whirlwind hours passed before his closed eyes. Terrible moments like when he thought he couldn't escape; chilling moments like when he thought Mandy had been kidnapped; numbing moments like when he heard shots and saw bullet holes in the airplane's wing.

Mandy!
he thought, hoping she was all right.
That dirty gag couldn't have been good for her throat, and the way they tied the cords round her wrists? If I hadn't got to her when I did, the circulation would have been totally cut off. What a miserable pair of crooks!

“Casey, wake up! Casey!”

Casey opened his eyes. Striker was standing over him, his father a few feet away.

“How's Mandy?” Casey asked.

“Really pretty well, considering,” said his dad. “The ambulance did take her to the hospital, but the doctors there released her after they'd examined her throat.”

Casey sighed with relief, sat up, and stretched. “Gosh, I'm glad about that,” he said.

“Duty calls now, Casey,” said his father.

“What the heck is that, Dad?” asked Casey, looking at a black garment his father was holding up. A black, woman's garment. “You're kidding,” he said. “I have to wear that?”

“You do,” said his dad. “Those two men know you, Casey. One tied you up. They'll spot you in a minute.”

“The company catering the party at the Tyrrell loaned us the smallest waitress's uniform they had. Try it on.”

Casey pulled the uniform over his T-shirt and pants.

“Fits not too bad,” the staff sergeant said. “Now try these.” He handed Casey a pair of low-heeled black flats.

Casey untied his sneakers and pulled them off. He tried forcing his heavy tube socks into the shoes.

“They'll fit if you wear these.” Striker handed Casey a square plastic package.

“Tights?” said Casey. “I have to wear girls' tights?”

“I'll show you where you can shower and change,” the staff sergeant said.

The shower felt good. Trying to get the slippery black nylon uniform over his partly dried body didn't. It kept sticking to the damp parts. Casey put on his shorts, tore open the package of tights and held them up.

“How the heck?” he said out loud.

He tried putting the tights on standing up.

“It can't be done,” he said. “How do girls ever do it? I swear it can't be done.”

Casey spread his damp towel on the floor of the shower room and lay down on it. He got the left leg on okay. When he'd got the right leg pulled on, he found he twisted the tights somehow and he couldn't stand up. He took the right leg off, twisted it around, pulled it over his foot, and up his leg.

”All right,” he said. Standing up, he found he had about eight inches of extra tights at the top to deal with. He folded the elastic over and down. His feet slid easily into the shoes. He gathered up his T-shirt, pants, and socks and went back to the staff room.

“You look fine.” Casey's dad was trying not to laugh. “You'll look even better with this.”

He centred a blonde wig on Casey's head.

“And you'll look even better with these.” The staff sergeant fixed a white cap on Casey's wig and tied a tailored white apron around his waist.

“He still looks too much like Casey,” said the chief superintendent.

“How about I wear a pair of glasses?” Casey suggested. He was getting into the situation, realizing how heavy his responsibility was going to be.

“Wait a sec.” The staff sergeant walked over to a tall filing cabinet and opened the bottom drawer. “Lost and Found,” he said, taking out three pair of glasses and handing a gold-rimmed pair to Casey.

“Way too much distortion,” said Casey, “I can hardly see anything.”

“Try these,” Striker said. Casey took a pair of rimless glasses from him.

“Yikes. These are worse.”

Casey put on the last pair: big ones with blue plastic rims and little rhinestone butterflies at the top corners.

“They're okay,” he said. “What do you think?”

His father and the staff sergeant both nodded.

“Go take a look at yourself,” said his dad.

In the shower-room mirror, Casey was surprised to see a shortish, blonde, very nice-looking waitress with fancy blue-rimmed glasses.

“I need lipstick,” he said, coming back into the staff room.

“Right.” Striker crossed again to the lost and found drawer. He and Casey's dad opened half a dozen lipstick tubes.

“Blondes like you should wear pink,” said his dad.

“Yes, they should,” Striker agreed. “Come here. I'll put it on for you.”

“Now you're really ready.” His father nodded, satisfied. “Go take a quick look.”

“Now I'm really ready,” Casey agreed, smiling into the mirror.

“The plan's this, Casey,” said Striker. “We three will go in a back entry to the Tyrrell. By the time we get there, all the guests will have arrived and had their invitations checked against the master list. Your job will be to pass among the guests with a plate of food or a tray of drinks; someone will be ready to hand you a full plate when yours gets low so you won't have to go back to the kitchen.”

“If you see anyone suspicious,” Casey's father took up the instructions, “report it to the nearest museum guard or to a Mountie. If only one man is spotted, he will be kept under close surveillance until the other one is found.”

It's a good party,
thought Casey as he wove through the crowd with his tray of hot hors d'oeuvres. As the champagne flowed, the decibels rose; the guests were enjoying themselves.

Who wouldn't be happy with all this food!
Casey had never seen such a buffet spread. He didn't know every dish, but with his mother being such a fabulous cook, he recognized a lot of them. “Hope there's some left for me when this business is over,” he muttered to himself.

“Here, take these around, now.” Someone took Casey's plate and handed him a round tray of full champagne glasses. He thought he'd have trouble balancing it but found he needn't have worried; in one minute flat, all the full glasses were gone and the tray held only empty ones.

Someone took his tray of empties and gave him another full one. Casey walked among the guests, looking intently into their faces and smiling as he passed them a new glass or took their empty one. People smiled back at him and one man pinched his bum as he passed.

I can't believe that happened,
he thought, and stopped smiling.

Casey looked at his watch. Two hours? He'd been walking round for two hours. “I'm tired and my feet hurt,” he said to himself. “I've just got to take off these shoes for a few minutes. Putting his tray of empties on the floor away from the crowd, Casey caught a glimpse of himself in a glass display case. His wig was crooked, his lipstick smeared, and his tights bunched around his ankles. He slipped out of his shoes, grabbed the seat of his tights and pulled hard. Too hard. He felt something give and looked down. “Oh no!” he said right out loud. Instead of wrinkles, he saw one of the legs of his tights separated completely from the top.

Casey rolled down the tights and pulled them off by the toes. He scrunched them into a stringy black mess and pushed it down the front of his uniform. He looked at his reflection.

“Looks like I've got a tumour.” He pushed the stockings first to one side and then to the other. “Won't do,” he said looking around.

Tyrannosaurus rex
towered majestically above, his gigantic feet among stones. “Stones,” said Casey, as he rolled up tights and tried to tuck them under some stones. The stones were cemented down. He looked toward the lobby and saw Trevor crossing from the Gift Shop.

“Trevor, come here,” he hissed, beckoning him over. Trevor stared at Casey, not recognizing him at first. Then the light came on as he walked over.

“What's going down, Casey?”

Casey handed Trevor the bunched up tights. “Something big,” Casey said. “Stash these and I'll tell you all about it later.”

Trevor looked down at the black tights now in his hands.

“Better be one good story.” he said as he walked back to the Gift Shop, stuffed the tights behind some cartons, and walked back to the lobby.

Casey forced his swollen feet back into the black flats and picked up his tray of empties. He found a spot where he could watch the assembled guests, now listening attentively to speeches of welcome and thanks. He studied each face. In the back row he saw a man, a man in a tuxedo as were all the other men, who looked somewhat like the one-legged crook. But this man was so much stouter. Casey looked along the rest of the back row. When he looked back to check the stout man once more, there was no sign of him — but there was a museum guard at the very back of the area.

I'll tell him,
thought Casey as someone took the tray of empties and handed him a tray of after-dinner chocolates shaped like different dinosaurs. Casey made his way along the wall to the back of the crowd. He got there just as the speeches ended. Several people turned to see what he was carrying. As one of them reached for a chocolate, he pushed Casey's elbow and fifty small chocolate dinosaurs scattered on the floor.

Casey could feel the guard watching him as he picked up the candy.
He could give me a hand,
Casey thought. One dinosaur was right at the guard's feet. Casey reached for it and froze. Then, picking up the last dinosaur, he put it on the tray with the others and threaded his way to the kitchen.

“Where's my dad and the staff sergeant?” Casey asked Constable Jackson.

“In the chef's office back there, Dr. Norman's with them.” He pointed to a closed door halfway down the kitchen. Casey ran to the door and flung it open.

“One of them is the guard standing at the back of the crowd.”

“Show us,” said the staff sergeant, as he and Casey's father hurried to open the kitchen door a crack.

“The one with the moustache,” said Casey.

“See him, Jackson?” said Striker. “You and Jeffries go round to the front door. Keep out of sight, but keep him in your sight. Harley, you watch him from here.”

“How about the other man, Casey? Any sign of him?” asked his father.

“I saw someone I thought might be him,” said Casey, “but he looked too fat to be the one-legged guy. When I looked back to check, he was gone.”

“Dr. Norman,” said Striker, “can you take us to where your most valuable portable artifacts are without going through the crowd out there?”

“Just follow me.”

Dr. Norman led the way through a maze of corridors. Casey had a hard time keeping up to the three long-legged men. Dr. Norman pointed to a door.

Sergeant Striker stopped in front of the door and said, “If our man is in there, will you” — he nodded to Casey's father — “give us a hand apprehending him?”

“Sure,” Casey heard his father reply. Somehow, Casey figured, this was not an unfamiliar situation for his father.

Dr. Norman beckoned Casey to look as he silently opened the door to a long, narrow, shadow-filled room and walked up to a slim man who was holding a glass-cutter above a display case, a long black bag hung in front of him suspended from a cord around his neck. A museum guard was on the floor, a hypodermic needle sticking right through his uniform into his arm.

Dr. Norman closed the door again, opened his cellphone, pressed a number, and said, “Paramedics by the internal route to Display Room Number Four and an ambulance to the back entrance ASAP.”

He opened the door again and walked up to the thief. “Good evening. Is there something we can help you with?”

“It's him,” Casey whispered, and Staff Sergeant Striker and Chief Superintendent Templeton walked up to the man, each taking one arm.

“Dr. Norman,” said the staff sergeant, “would you be nice enough to tell the officers watching the ‘guard' in the foyer to take him into custody?”

“With the greatest of pleasure,” said Dr. Norman. “Come, Casey, you deserve to be in on the final chapter.”

Casey made a quick detour to the Gift Shop to get Trevor.
After all,
he was thinking,
Trevor's been in on the “watch” since it was first set up.

They circled the attentive crowd, getting to Dr. Norman's office just as the guard Casey had identified from the back of the lobby was brought in in handcuffs. The thief with the glass-cutter was already there, also in handcuffs. His jaw dropped as Casey came in.

“Why, you little creep!” he shouted. “Somebody's going to get you for this.”

“I think not,” Sergeant Striker said.

Mandy was sunning on a chaise; Casey was swinging in a hammock. They were in the Templetons' big back yard, admiring the handsome addition his parents had added to their house while Casey was away.

“Your bedroom's the one with the walk-out deck?” asked Mandy, looking upward.

“It is
so
great,” Casey smiled. “I can sleep out there any time I like.”

“And you say the whole single-storey addition is your grandmother's suite?”

“Yeah,” Casey said. “You know, she's coming to stay with us for good now. Before it was decided she couldn't live on her own anymore, Dad built a terrific place for her there,” he pointed to a row of tall windows on ground level. “Grandma didn't like it much, so now I get it; and they have the upper storey with a balcony.”

“What about Hank and your other brothers?” Mandy wanted to know. “They still come home sometimes, don't they?”

“Once in a while, but, really, they're hardly ever here,” Casey told her. “So Dad got smart and turned the front part of the upstairs into three little rooms, one for each of them; works out fine.”

“You ever hear any more about Mad Dog?” Mandy asked. “Dad tells me the museum bought him a very fancy radio. And, by the way, did you know it was Mad Dog who found our bikes and helped Dad tie them on our car while I was riding away in the ambulance?”

“Yeah, I heard,” Casey said. “I really like the old guy, and I know my dad does too, deep down. Dad told me the whole story of what happened between the two of them. You know my dad served up in the Northwest Territories about thirty years ago, when he was first in the Mounties?”

Mandy nodded. “I heard it mentioned.”

“Well, my dad's job was law and order, and Mad Dog, who flew all over the North, wasn't a fan of either. He drove my father absolutely nuts with his escapades and his capers and his wild flying stunts. Dad admits Mad Dog was the best of the latter-day bush pilots. He says Mad Dog was skillful and he was fearless; he also says that he was reckless. He'd do anything. And once, when they needed someone to fly medicine to a really remote place in terrible weather, Mad Dog and my dad did the mission together. They got to be friends.”

“I'll bet Mad Dog buzzing that car with you in his plane put a lot of pressure on that friendship,” laughed Mandy.

“It did,” Casey said. “But you know, my dad's been down to see old Mad Dog a couple of times since then, and Mad Dog took him for a long ride right over Calgary. Mad Dog's a pretty lonely guy since his wife died and there aren't many around the area who have any idea what his background is.”

“Glad to hear it's working out between them,” Mandy said. “Think I'll tell my dad to drop in on him sometimes.”

She yawned. Casey yawned back. Silence filled their space.

Casey was thinking back on the summer — the good and the not-so-good parts. It was good the bad guys got caught and that he'd justified all the money the Tyrrell had paid him; good that the museum had asked him to come next summer as a digs helper; good that he and Trevor had got to know each other.

I'm sure glad Trevor'll be going to the University of Calgary to study palaeontology
, Casey thought.
I might like to do just that in a couple of years
.

It was also good that Hank and Sarah were still an “item,” and that Hank was doing so well in computer sciences; good that he and his dad were getting along — were friends now, Casey figured; good he and Mandy had really got to know each other; good that he had a great big new room.

And the bad? Bad that he'd done some dumb things and would have to pay for them with lots of hard work this fall; bad how the “contest” with Mike had gone — not well, he had to admit. They'd set up a two-out-of-three arm wrestling contest at the Snick Snack café. All the kids were there. Casey won the first round: Mike the second. It was all very exciting until Mike, in a swift, powerful move, pinned Casey's arm to the table.

He won “hands down,”
Casey thought,
“arms down” anyway. Oh well.

Bad he'd missed the mid-August barbecue. Everyone said it was wonderful. Next year, he hoped.

A call from his mother broke Casey's meditations.

“Will you give me a hand with these trays please, Casey?”

He rolled off the hammock and took a tray of cookies from his mother, who put another tray, with a big pitcher of iced tea and three glasses, on a table beside Mandy.

“Looks great, Mrs. T.,” said Mandy. You shouldn't have gone to the trouble.”

“Nonsense, Mandy,” Mrs. Templeton replied. “After the hospitality your folks showed Casey and showed us, it's the very least I can do.”

As they drank their iced tea, Casey's mother asked, “So, Mandy, what are the doctors saying about your throat? Will you be able to start swimming again soon?”

“Soonish,” Mandy told her. “I'll work out a little in the local pool first. The doctors think I'll be able to get back on St. Hilda's swim team around Christmas, and early in the new year start to swim with Swim Calgary.”

“Terrific,” said Casey's mother. “Now, I've got to get back to work — getting everything ready for Mother is a daunting task.” Her cellphone rang.

“This'll likely be Mother.”

Mrs. Templeton flipped open her cell.

“Hello.” With a nod at Casey, she mouthed, “Your father.” She listened for a while, then said, “Oh really. Are you sure?” Another pause, “He's right here, I'll ask him.… Casey, Dad wants to know if you'd like to go to the Kellys' cottage for Labour Day weekend? He has to stay in Ottawa so it'd be just you and me?”

“I'd love to go,” Casey beamed.
What a way to end the summer
, he thought.

“Yes, Colin,” his mother was saying, “Casey and I will fly down to Penticton and drive south to the Kellys' from there. We'll miss you. No, Mom's not coming until the eighteenth, and, yes, Hank will be here till then. Bye for now.”

“Didn't think that'd happen,” Casey said.

“Nor did I,” his mother replied, “but I have to tell you I'm going to welcome a nice peaceful break from all the goings-on around here.”

She leaned over to pick up the trays.

“I'll bring them in later, Mom,” Casey said

“Okay,” his mom said. “See you, Mandy.”

“See you, Mrs. Templeton,” Mandy said.

They were quiet till Mandy said, “So, you'll have that visit with Mary you were hoping for.”

“Yeah,” said Casey, “that is so cool. What about you, Mandy?” he asked. “You ever hear from that Sam guy?”

“Yeah, I heard from him,” Mandy's voice took on a firm tone. “Apparently Lacy Lord dumped him for a swimming instructor; so he came crawling back to me. Correction. He tried to come crawling back to me. I just hung up on him.”

They were quiet again until Mandy said, “Amazing how that whole business at the Tyrrell worked out, isn't it, Casey?”

“It really is.” Casey pulled a canvas captain's chair nearer to Mandy. “No wonder that famous collector who put the plan into operation is so rich — he is one smart guy. To give his invitation to one of his men so the guy could get into the party and take the stuff he and his partner had already cased.”

“They know who the collector is,” Mandy told Casey. “My father says all the invitations were gone over and the one the thief used was identified. Word is going out to the palaeontological circles here and in the States to steer clear of him.”

“It's no wonder that one-legged guy looked so stout.” Casey stood up and shoved a pillow under his T-shirt. “With a glass cutter and a suction cup to pull out, and all the other tools he had — and that huge padded bag for the cut glass and all the stuff he planned to steal. They figure he'd have left the tools, just like artifact poachers do once they get what they want; that way he could take as much as possible in his ‘stomach.'”

“And that other guy, the guard?” asked Mandy. “How did that work again?”

“Well,” said Casey, “the first time I heard the two men talking in the Hoodoo, the lame one was telling the other how he'd got to know several of the museum guards. I gather he got to know one of them, a guy who lived alone, pretty well; knew where he lived and everything. On the morning of the robbery, they parked near his house, called him over as he left for work saying they'd give him a ride. Instead, they knocked him out, drove to the back of his house, used his key to get in, locked the guy in the basement, and took one of his fresh uniforms.”

“They were busy boys that day,” Mandy said, moving her chaise out of the sun.

“You know it!” said Casey. “They used the guard's house as a base that whole day. Got dressed in their women's wear and came to the Tyrrell from there to double-check what they wanted to steal.”

Casey shook his head. “I still can't believe I totally missed them.”

“Then,” said Mandy, “they went to the country where we were to clear out their rented house.”

“And put us out of action,” Casey added.

“I hear they stole a kid's car after you and Mad Dog sprayed their windshield.”

“Right,” Casey said. “The kid stopped to pick them up. They overpowered him and drove him to the guard's house.”

“Where,” Mandy and Casey said together, “they locked him in the basement with the guard.”

“That's where they got ready for the party,” Casey said. “Talk about masters of makeup. The guy who played the guard? He plucked his bushy eyebrows to be the woman and added a moustache to be the guard. With the guard's hat on, I didn't recognize him at all, and the other guards must have thought he was one of the extra guards hired for the night.”

“But you knew his shoes, I hear,” said Mandy.

“I knew his shoes,” said Casey. “I really knew his shoes. I'd had time to examine them when he was tying me up on the floor of the horse shed. They had a different sort of stitching around the sole.”

“Did you ever hear what they used to knock out that guard?” Mandy asked.

“Dad told me it was a very powerful solution of sleeping medication. He didn't wake up until the next morning.”

They lay there in companionable silence. Casey was so happy Mandy had come for a day's visit. Before Casey had come home, he and Mandy had planned to spend time together when they could. No romance here, they agreed, but very good friends who'd shared a summer neither would forget. So many exciting happenings.

For me
, Casey was thinking,
the very best thing is the museum giving me lifetime ownership of the tooth Mike and I found. It will still be in the museum collection, of course, but it will have my name on the card beside it. To think, our two pieces are the whole tooth after all — except for a tiny bit they say we'd never have found anyway.

Casey looked up to the bright blue sky through the green leaves of the giant elm tree. High among the branches, the leaves of one small branch were bright yellow. Fascinated, he watched as one golden leaf detached itself and floated down in easy circles. It landed on his chest. Casey looked at it. He picked it up. He looked back up at all the other leaves on all the other trees.

They too will all become golden
, he thought.
They too will all flutter down and land on something. They too will all have to be picked up. By me
. He shook his head and looked up again at the blue and the green, and the gold.
Might as well enjoy the view till then.