Good Enough: A Shay James Mystery, Page 2

Chapter Two

  Mystery in the Barn

 

  “Hey there, Shay,” Grace Norton called out as she walked to Shay from her own locker near the end of the hallway. “Are you ready to get on the bus? It’s going to leave pretty soon.”

  “Yup, I’m almost done here,” Shay said, without looking up from her combination lock. If she didn’t give the lock her full attention it had a tendency to stick on the second number. The lock clicked on this third try and easily fell open. Shay quickly shoved the books she needed for her homework assignments into the over-burdened old backpack. She was glad that she didn’t have much homework tonight: only a few study questions for the Friday math quiz, and some initial reading for a socials project that was due later in the month. Shay knew she could wait till after supper to do the math homework and she’d still have lots of time later in the week for the socials project. There was nothing to interfere with riding at old man Fletcher’s on the weekend.

  Grace pulled a long pink and green striped, hand-knitted scarf out of her backpack and wrapped it around her neck. “It’s really frosty out there today,” she said. “My dad says he hasn’t seen a winter this cold since he was a kid. He’s says its global warming screwing up the weather but my mom’s pretty sure it’s the lack of sunspots. They can go on and on about that all day. What a boring thing to argue about, eh,” Grace said, grinning.

  Shay envied the security of Grace’s life and the common-place problems that intruded on her friend’s world. Three generations of Grace’s family had lived in Proctor, a small community of just over a thousand people, situated a half hour drive up the lake from the larger town of Nelson. Grace’s father owned the local shingle mill where Shay’s foster father worked, and it kept the Norton family rooted to the area. Grace had absorbed lots of information about the community from her parents and grandparents, so she was a fountain of information about local families, school and teachers, and even the local weather, and she was always eager to share her knowledge.

  Unlike some of the other high school girls who seemed to feed off of other people’s private information, Grace wasn’t a nasty gossip. She was a cheerful girl with a smile for everyone she met whether they were the really popular kids, or the geeks and nerds, and everyone liked her in return. Larissa had introduced Shay and Grace the first morning Shay got on the school bus. There weren’t a lot of teens in Proctor and many were from families whose parents had moved to the small town to live off the land in an alternate lifestyle. These kids were well-known for wildness, and for being beyond what little control their laid-back parents tried to exert. Other people had moved to Proctor in the hope that they could keep their children distant from the drugs and other social problems prevalent in the larger communities. Their teens were home-schooled and not allowed to socialize with the foster kids, as parents feared that foster kids would be bad influences.

  When Shay realized that Grace wasn’t interested in drugs or partying, and she that wasn’t dating anybody, Shay thought it was safe enough to start talking in more than the one or two sentences she had been allowing herself to speak. The two girls soon found they had much in common, and were moving toward BFF status. Shay had never had a best friend before, and she liked the good feeling it gave her to know that someone actually wanted to hang out with her. Even better, Grace’s parents didn’t seem to mind that Shay was a foster kid. She had met them several times and they treated her as if she had a regular family. They were also polite enough to not ask about Shay about her parents, even though Shay knew they must be curious. Usually people wanted to know why she couldn’t live with her mom and dad and most people just asked her whatever they wanted to know, as if Shay’s life was supposed to be some kind of an open book for everyone to read.

  “Do you want to come over to my house today?” Grace asked. She lived with her family in a large old house on twenty acres of land that they used to grow all of their own vegetables, and to raise chickens and a couple of goats. Grace’s grandfather had built the house, and Grace’s mother was forever making her father remodel one room after another. The best part of the situation was that Grace’s house was only a ten minute walk from the Halliwell’s, so the girls were able to hang out after school and on weekends--and hanging out with a friend was something Shay had never done before. She had dreamed of having someone to chill with after school and to go window shopping and to watch movies with on weekends, and finally, it was really happening.

  “We can study for that French test next week. I’m never going to pass. I think I might dye my hair too. I’m going to the corner store to pick some dye up after school. Maybe I’ll do it kind of dark like yours.”

  Shay looked at Grace’s shoulder-length brown hair that was several shades lighter than her own, but not quite light enough to be blonde. It had a natural curl to it that twisted softly around Grace’s face, and framed her hazel eyes and fair, lightly freckled skin.

  “You’re mother isn’t going to let you dye your hair darker and you know that you never get less than an A in any subject,” Shay said, smiling at her friend. Grace was a top student who always made the honour roll. She was naturally smart, and yet she studied hard to ensure her good grades. Grace had taught Shay how to study as well, which had resulted in a big improvement in her own marks on the last report card. No one had ever bothered to help Shay set up a structured plan for homework and studying before. She was embarrassed when she realized how easy it was to learn to study, and that the kids living with their own families already knew all about doing homework every night. It was yet another missing piece of everyday life and knowledge that made Shay feel like she lived her own life on the outside, separated from normal people by an invisible wall that she couldn’t break through, no matter how much she wanted to.

  “I can’t come over today,” Shay replied. “I have to get to Mr. Fletcher’s barn. He was supposed to bring out a supply of oats this morning and I said I’d organize the feed barrels for him. It gets dark too early this time of year so I want to get started before the daylight goes. The Halliwells don’t like it when I’m out after dark, and that means I don’t have much time today.”

  The school bus didn’t get to Proctor until four; by four-thirty in the afternoon most of the daylight was gone as the winter sun backed down quickly behind the high mountains that surrounded the community. Shay would have to hurry with her chores at the barn or she would find herself in trouble at home, and the last thing she wanted was to be grounded from the horses for staying out too late with them.

  The half hour bus ride passed quickly as Shay, Grace, and Larissa chatted about school and movies.

  “I want to rent some Johnny Depp movies this weekend,” said Larissa. “I just love him, even though he is kind of old…do you think he’s too old for me?” she asked between bites of the after school snack that Jolene always added to Larissa’s back pack to tide the girl over till she got home from school.

  “Yes, he’s too old for you. And he’s too rich for you and too famous for you and too busy for you and too far away for you to ever actually meet him,” Shay replied with a friendly laugh.

  “I didn’t mean was he too old for me in real life, I mean in ...well, you know, is he too old for me to get all droollie about,” Larissa said shyly.

  Shay and Grace burst into laughter. Larissa stared at them and then started to laugh herself.

  “You have a real way with words, you know,” Shay giggled.

  “Well, I think it’s a great word,” Grace said, “let’s tell each other who our favourite droollie guys are, no secrets. You have to tell even if it’s someone embarrassing, like,” she hesitated, “like the Prime Minister.”

  Shay let out a whoop of laughter and for the rest of the ride the girls shared their secret crushes and laughed some more. Even as she joined in the fun, a part of Shay’s mind was aware that she was having fun, plain normal fun, just like any other girl. She was so thankful that it was happening, and still so afraid that something bad
would happen to make it end.

  The school bus rolled slowly onto the small ferry that took them from the main side of the lake to the landing dock on the Proctor side. As usual, most of the kids stayed on the bus, not wanting to venture out into the chilly air. The ride was only five minutes long and in the better weather everyone got out of their vehicles to chat or just to look into the dark green, mesmerizing depths of the water below, but in the winter, people stayed closed in their vehicles, avoiding the brisk wind that blew its way down the lake.

  “I’m getting out here today,” Shay said to Grace. “I’ve to get to the horses as fast as I can.”

  “Okay, call me later,” Grace said.

  Shay said good bye to Grace and Larissa as soon as the bus driver turned off the ignition. She didn’t care about the cold, she had her gloves and scarf and she wanted to be outside and ready to run off the ferry as soon as it docked. She knew she didn’t have any time to waste before the sun started to fade. As she’d agreed with the foster parents, Shay would make the ten minute walk from the ferry to Fletcher’s barn where she would do the chores till Dave picked her up on his way home from the mill. While the ferry docked she turned back to the bus and waved good bye again to Grace and Larissa and then walked off, walking carefully to avoid slipping on the thin frost that covered the gravel on the side of the road. It was almost four o’clock and the afternoon blue of the sky was already turning into a slate grey.

  Shay left the main road and turned onto the path that meandered through the stretch of ash and poplar trees lining the upper shore of the beach, taking her directly to the barn. She walked heavily in her knee high winter boots, sinking slightly with each step as the top layers of frozen snow crackled and gave way beneath her.

  Shay looked up at the outline of the large old barn against the darkening sky, and turned from the beach where she walked through the tree line to cross the big open field that surrounded the barn. The structure looked eerie and alone today with the trees that surrounded it bare and quiet, and the crops in the outer fields covered with the frozen snow. Shay felt a shiver run through her. She shook herself as she neared the barn and then she stopped to take a moment to breathe in the scent of the horses. The rich smell of the animals overcame her shivers and filled her with a sense of joy mixed with energy. Shay heard a snort and noticed that some of the larger horses were in the open field, nibbling at the sharp bits of evergreen shrubs that poked up through the snow and were scattered around the untended farm land. Most of the horses were already in the warmer cover of the barn, not needing a human to tell them it was cold out side. Shay rounded the corner of the barn and stopped at the sight of Mr. Fletcher’s old truck.

  “That’s weird,” Shay said to herself. It wasn’t like Mr. Fletcher to be out at the farm at this time of the day, especially in the winter. He didn’t like the cold and the mostly bare tires of his truck never did well on the ice covered roads.

  Shay walked over to the truck and saw that the oat supply was still in the back; nothing had been unloaded. She looked around, expecting to see Mr. Fletcher appear at any moment.

  “Mr. Fletcher?” she called. The only response came from the soft whinnying of the mares and the shooshing noise of two of the horses in the field as they moved in a purposeful gait toward her, hoping that she would provide something tastier to nibble on than frozen evergreens. Ignoring the horses, Shay walked toward the closed double doors of the barn then hesitated as a shiver of fear ran up her spine. Why would Mr. Fletcher be in the barn with the doors closed?

  Shay pulled open the large barn door and pushed it fully back against the outside barn wall to allow in as much light as possible before she stepped into the dark space. She peered into the dusty gloom. She heard the familiar noises that the horses made when they sensed a person approaching, but there was no sign of anyone else in the barn.

  “Mr. Fletcher, are you in here?” she called, and then waited for some kind of answer. There wasn’t a sound. She took another tentative step further into the barn and tried again.

  “Mr. Fletcher!” Shay called out louder this time, hoping her voice would carry over the snorting of the horses. The barn was dark a few feet beyond the door. Shay reached up to the lights, flipping the switch several times until she finally accepted that the lights weren’t going to go on. She felt around for the large emergency flashlight that always hung on the inside of the barn wall but it wasn’t there. Shay didn’t know what to do, but she had no intention of stepping another foot inside the large building. It was dark and cold and the restless movement of the horses raised goose bumps on her arms under her thick sweater and coat. Shay was backing slowly toward the doors when she heard a soft moan. Shay turned toward the sound and almost jumped when she heard the voice again, louder this time, and sounding almost angry.

  “Help me.”

  It was Mr. Fletcher’s voice.

  “Mr. Fletcher?” she replied. “Where are you?”

  “Here at the back. Here. Help me!” he called in a high pitched voice. The old man sounded fearful and demanding at the same time.

  Shay felt a shiver of fear run up her back but she didn’t let that slow her down as moved as quickly as she could away from the remaining light in the doorway behind her, and stepped into the cavernous darkness of the barn. She crossed the barn floor mainly by memory because she couldn’t see more than a couple of feet in front of her. Mr. Fletcher moaned again, and Shay turned in the direction of the sound. Squinting in the dark, Shay could barely make out the form of a person lying on the hay-strewn floor.

  Suddenly, she was flooded with the memory of finding her father lying unconscious on the dirty, ripped linoleum of their run-down rental house. Drug-overdosed and barely alive, his heavy, ragged breathing sent out a foul smell that filled the room. Disoriented by the darkness, Shay froze and became lost within her thoughts. A loud whinnying from the horse in the stall beside her brought her mind back to the barn.

  Shay found the ability to move again, and dropped to her knees beside the groaning man.

  “Mr. Fletcher, what happened?” Shay asked,

  “I’ve been hurt, that’s what happened” he grumbled. “Any fool can see that!” Old man Fletcher reached out with his gnarled, arthritic fingers to grab her arm. “Help me up.” His voice was shaky and his hand, streaked with dried blood, trembled as he wrapped his cold, fingers around her arm. Shay could just make out a dark blood stain that ran over his forehead and along his shoulder. She tried to steady the reed-thin, old man as he shifted his weight against her in an attempt to stand, but he was still too heavy for the young teen to support.

  “I can’t get you to your feet, Mr. Fletcher, but I’ll get a blanket to warm you up and then we can use your cell to call for help,” she said.

  “Don’t you think I already tried that a hundred times? My cell phone isn’t working, damned thing. You can’t get a signal in here most of the time anyways,” he said.

  “That’s okay, I can go and get you help,” Shay said.

  “Don’t leave me girl. I’ve been lying here for hours. I don’t want to die here,” his voice was shaky with fear.

  “Dave Halliwell will be here in an hour,” Shay said. “He’ll be able to help you.”

  “I’ll be dead in an hour, you silly young fool. I need help now!” Mr. Fletcher was almost crying.

  “It’s okay Mr. Fletcher,” she said quickly, amazed at the weakness in this man who had always been so strong and gruff. “I’ll cover you with some horse blankets. Do you have the flashlight? I can use it to find my way to the blankets.”

  Old man Fletcher shifted his body again and managed to pull himself back against a hay bundle. “Get the one from the wall,” he directed, his words slurring from pain and cold.

  “It isn’t there, I already looked for it when I came in the barn” she said. “Never mind. I can find my way; it doesn’t seem as dark anymore.” Shay’s eyes were adjusting to the blackness and she could see well enough now to feel her
way around the familiar spaces of the barn.

  Shay grabbed several of the thick quilted horse blankets that had been flung over the stall railings and she covered Fletcher, who moaned aloud each time he moved or shifted his head. Shay wrapped part of the blanket loosely around his balding head, trying to avoid irritating the injury but knowing that in this cold, Mr. Fletcher was vulnerable to hypothermia. Hypothermia could quickly slow down his ability to move and to think clearly, and could even kill him if he was cold enough.

  “What happened, Mr. Fletcher?” Shay asked as she tucked the largest blanket around his legs. “Did one of the horses kick you?” It wasn’t like the horses to kick out at anyone, but she couldn’t think of anything else that could have happened.

  “I don’t know girl. I don’t know,” he said impatiently, his voice still whiny and high pitched from pain and fear. “I can’t recall what happened. I walked into the barn this morning and I guess something hit me. I think I was unconscious for a while because the next thing I knew it was dark and I was back here. I heard you calling. I must have conked out a few times today.” His voice slipped to little more than a whisper and Shay realized that he might already be suffering from exposure, as well as from the wound on his head.

  “I’ve got to get help. I won’t be long Mr. Fletcher. I promise,” she said earnestly. Shay knew that he was right; Mr. Fletcher could very well be dead by the time Dave was scheduled to arrive.

  Fletcher muttered something and then moaned again as his head fell forward; his angular chin resting on his chest. Shay didn’t know how badly he was hurt but she knew that the winter cold could kill him even if the injury didn’t. The day light was gone now and it would be a long, slow walk to the nearest neighbours, or up the road to the Halliwell’s house. There was no time to trudge through the snow in the dark; Shay would have to take one of the horses. She turned to the right and felt her way along the wall to the bridles that hung from the wall hooks. When her gloved hand touched the first bridle she pulled it down. I’m going for one of the horses still in the field where I’ll at least have the light of the rising winter moon to see by while I fasten the bridle. Shay was relieved to see that Freckles was the closest to her and the fence.

  Shay hadn’t ridden this horse before because Freckles was always saved for the new riders who needed a safe, reliable horse. Freckles was an older mare, square-backed and sure footed. The horse would never win any races but she was calm and predictable and could be depended on to find her way over the snow covered paths. Shay reached deep into the bottom of the oat bin and scooped out a handful to give to the horse. Most of it fell to the ground but enough stuck to her gloves to interest the mare. She approached Freckles quietly while holding the bridle behind her back with one hand and reaching out with the other to let the horse smell the oats.

  The big animal snorted as Shay neared and lifted her head to sniff the odour of the fresh oats in the air. Freckles stepped closer and Shay let her nuzzle her gloved hand as she took the few oats. She moved slowly while bringing the bridle to the front and then swung the straps around the mare’s neck. Freckles stood compliantly while Shay got a secure hold of her mane and worked the bit between the horse’s teeth. This is a good start, Shay thought. Maybe she could do it after all.

  She secured the bit and pulled the bridle back over Freckle’s ears. “It’s okay girl,” Shay soothed. “Just a short ride in the dark. We can do it. I can ride you,” she chanted softly, trying to calm herself along with the horse. She moved to Freckles’ side and grabbed the thick mane, swinging herself up onto the solid back. There was no time for a saddle, but the regulars often road bareback in the summer and Shay had tried it a few times in the early fall when the tourists were gone. “Let’s go, Freckles,” she urged, digging her heels into the horse’s flanks, and together they ambled along in the rising moonlight.

  Freckles picked her way through the snow along the tire tracks set by Mr. Fletcher’s truck. The ground was hard and the night freeze was taking hold, making it easier for the horse’s hooves to hold firm. Shay urged the horse to a trot and soon they were off the farm property and onto the side road that gave access to the summer beach houses dotting the shore. Once they reached the first cottage the path would be a challenge for Freckles; the summer roads would be covered with deep snow and a few branches blown down by the winter winds. Shay knew that no one would be in the cottages, but she hoped that if Freckles could pick a path through the trees they would be able to get to the greenhouses at the herb farm a quarter of a mile farther on. It was still working hours for most people and Shay prayed silently that there would be someone at the farm who could help her. She knew that if she had to change her route and backtrack, it might be too late for Mr. Fletcher by the time help got back to the barn.

  Ten minutes later, Shay saw the lights of the greenhouse. Freckles, sensing a destination, forged ahead through the snow that rose almost half way up the legs of the sturdy horse. They reached the road in front of the greenhouse and Shay started calling out as she dismounted.

  “Hello! Hello! Is anyone here? I need help!” she called, running to the tightly winterized green house and pulling at the door.

  “What is it?” a man’s voice called from inside the building.

  Shay yanked at the door, pulled it open and suddenly saw a tall figure framed in the doorway like a silhouette. Shay raised her arm above her eyes to shut out part of the back light and recognized Frank Nedsmith, the owner of the herb farm. For a moment, they stood staring at each other as Shay caught her breath. “I need help. Mr. Fletcher’s hurt. He’s been lying in the barn unconscious all day.”

  Mr. Nedsmith looked at her curiously, almost as if she was an alien. “You’re one of those foster kids that the Halliwells take in, aren’t you?” the man asked.

  His words bit at Shay as harshly as the winter wind. Yet, who was she to argue? She was indeed a foster kid from the Halliwell’s.

  “Yes I am. Please, I need to get help for Mr. Fletcher. He’s been hurt,” she repeated. “He’s been lying alone in the barn all day, he’s too cold and I can’t even help him to stand up.”

  “Ray Fletcher’s hurt?” he said. “Okay. I’ll get the wife to call 911 and I’ll go over to the barn myself and see what I can do. I’ve got a first aid kit that should be some use while we figure out if we need to get him to a hospital.” Whatever else could be said about Frank Nedsmith he obviously wasn’t one to dawdle. “Get in my truck and you can ride back there with me.”

  “I can’t. I rode a horse to get here, but I’ll meet you back at the barn in a few minutes,” Shay said and turned to leave.

  “You rode a horse over here in the dark?” Mr. Nedsmith paused to ask. “All by yourself?” He sounded surprised. “Look kid, just leave the horse here, I’ll get it back to Fletcher’s later. You can’t go off in the dark again on your own-that’s just asking for an accident.”

  “Of course I rode the horse over. What else could I do?” Shay replied indignantly. “And I’m not leaving her here. I’ll meet you back at the barn.” Before Nedsmith could say anything more, Shay turned and trudged back to Freckles, and swinging herself up on the horse’s back, she rode off into the darkened night.

 

  It was over two hours later that the R.C.M.P showed up at the foster home with an emergency social worker in tow so they could interview Shay. They had asked her a few questions at the scene but after the ambulance left to take Mr. Fletcher to the hospital in Nelson, Dave had insisted on taking her home.

  “Do you understand that we may be investigating a criminal assault?” Constable Barnes asked as he seated himself on the comfortable couch in the Halliwell’s warm family room. The Constable was a large man, and his winter uniform was stiff and formal, his brown knee high boots were shiny despite having been worn in the snow.

  “Yes, I know that,” Shay was sitting on a stiff backed chair that helped her keep her exhausted body upright She was sure that if she relaxed for even a moment she
would begin to cry. “The first officer who showed up at the barn told me that it wasn’t an accident and that Mr. Fletcher had been attacked. Dave and Mr. Nedsmith said the same thing,” Shay replied. She was leery of the police. As much as she wanted to help Mr. Fletcher, she had learned early in her childhood that saying too much to the police meant her parents would be in jail and she would be in another foster home. Oh well, she thought, I don’t know where my parents are and I’m already in a foster home. Not a whole lot to lose. She took a deep breath, determined to give as much information as possible to help Mr. Fletcher.

  The Constable nodded. “That’s right. Whatever hit the old guy was something heavy. Most likely it was metal and it was swung with enough force to kill him. The attackers left him in bad shape and if you hadn’t shown up he would have died during the night from exposure to the cold. We’re dealing with a violent attacker, someone who didn’t care if he killed the old guy, and probably expected Mr. Fletcher to die from this assault.”

  The colour drained out the face of the emergency social worker. “Are you saying that there’s some criminal running around Proctor? Are our foster children in danger?” he asked. Shay saw Jolene and the officer exchange a quick and silent look but whether the look reflected frustration or annoyance, she couldn’t tell.

  “No, the children aren’t likely to be in any danger. This wasn’t some random crime,” the Constable replied. “This is an isolated farm we’re talking about. The properties on either side of it are vacant summer homes so it wasn’t done by anyone in the immediate area. Proctor itself is difficult enough to get to, so we can assume it’s wasn’t someone who was here by accident. No, we have to assume that someone went to that barn with a purpose.” He took a pen and a small black notebook out of an inside pocket of his uniform jacket and turned to Shay. He flipped the notebook open and began his questioning.

  “Do you know if Mr. Fletcher received any threats lately from anyone? Was he having trouble with anyone? Any of the teens who ride there giving him any trouble?” he asked.

  “No,” Shay said. “A lot of the parents don’t seem to like him much but I’ve never seen or heard anything about anyone wanting to hurt him.” Shay said.

  “When you first arrived at the farm this afternoon did you notice anything different? Anything that was different from usual or anything that seemed to be out of place? It doesn’t matter how small or unimportant it seemed at the time, it only matters if it was different.” The Constable’s intense expression made Shay uncomfortable. Whenever she had seen that look on the face of the police before, it meant that her parents were in trouble and she knew that everything in her life was about to change yet again. Shay swallowed hard and made herself focus on the present.

  “Try closing your eyes, Shay,” the social worker said gently. “Sometimes it helps if you replay a scene over in your mind without outward stimulation.”

  She closed her eyes and let her mind review the way the farm looked when she arrived.

  “What do you see?” the social worker asked her, his voice was quiet in the hushed room.

  “The daylight was almost gone. It was getting dark but the moon wasn’t fully up so I couldn’t see much. I saw a few of the horses in the field and I saw Mr. Fletcher’s truck. I thought that was really weird because during the week he only comes out in the mornings. I didn’t notice anything else. I just went to the barn and …” she paused.

  “What is it?” Constable Barnes asked.

  “The barn doors were shut. I had to open them.”

  “Those doors are never shut!” Larissa said. No one had noticed her standing in the doorway with a bowl of fudge covered vanilla ice cream in one hand and a large spoon in the other. “Mr. Fletcher leaves one half of the big barn doors open all the time so the horses can go in and out when they want. He says the wind can’t get in if only one door is open so the horses are warm enough that way and safe from the outside weather.”

  Shay opened her eyes and nodded. “She’s right.”

  “Isn’t it odd to leave the barn doors open?” the social worker asked. “Isn’t he worried about someone stealing the horses?”

  “It’s pretty hard to steal a horse from Proctor,” Jolene explained patiently. “The animal would have to be taken onto the ferry to get it out of the community and you can’t do that without someone noticing. Besides he’s been doing this forever and aside from the odd bit of teen age vandalism to his machines or graffiti on the side of the barn, he’s never had any kind of trouble that I’ve heard of.”

  “You must have very honest people in this community,” the social worker said.

  “I don’t know about that, but we all mostly know each other so it’s hard to steal anything as large as a horse and not get caught,” Jolene replied.

  “Close your eyes again, Shay,” Constable Barnes said, bringing the topic back to what Shay had seen. “What happened then?”

  She closed her eyes and concentrated, letting the pictures run through her head. “I could hear someone moaning so I called out again, and this time Mr. Fletcher answered. He was at the back of the barn.”

  “Was anything out of place?” asked Barnes.

  “The lights wouldn’t work and the flashlight was gone,” Shay opened her eyes. She knew she would recall the rest of the scene without problem. The sight of Mr. Fletcher lying on the ground would stay in her mind forever.

  “The flashlight is always there!” Larissa said. “No one is allowed to touch it. Mr. Fletcher says it’s expensive and it’s just for him to use in emergencies.”

  “Tell me about the flashlight. What brand is it?” Constable Barnes directed the question to Shay.

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “It’s bigger than most. It’s kind of long and heavy. And it has a handle along one side, and a yellow stripe around the end of it. There’s some black writing on it that says something about Marine or something.”

  “Okay, then what happened?”

  “I found Mr. Fletcher at the back of the barn, and covered him with a bunch of horse blankets. Then I got on a horse and went to get help. Mr. Nedsmith was already at the barn with Mr. Fletcher by the time I got back there. I just took care of Freckles and waited for everyone else to show up.”

  “The officer on the scene said the victim told you that something had hit him. Did he say anything else?” the Constable asked.

  “Not really, he was kind of out of it. He just said that he didn’t really know what happened, and that he’d been there all day.”

  “That’s good, Shay. Now, can we go over this again, from the time you arrived?”

  They went over it two more times. Shay could hardly think straight by the time the officer and the social worker left and she was finally allowed to crawl into her warm bed. She lay quietly until she could hear the familiar puffing and grunting sounds of Larissa sleeping above. Pulling the covers around her shoulders, Shay fought to hold back her tears. Crying never got anyone anything or anywhere, as her father used to tell her when she cried from hunger or fear. Her parents were notorious for spending the food money on drugs, and were usually too stoned to protect her from their creepy friends. Somewhere along the line Shay had learned to keep her tears to herself. And tonight, as her head began to ache from the effort of keeping her tears inside, she wished that just once she hadn’t learned this lesson so well.

  Chapter Three

  Good Enough