Grave Shadows, Page 2

  “What if drug dealers are inside?” Ashley whispered. “Somebody said there used to be a bunch of hippies living here.”

  “What’s a hippie?” Hayley said.

  “Quiet,” I said.

  The screen door at the back squeaked and nearly fell off. The back door wasn’t locked, so I went inside. My heart beat like a drum during the 1812 Overture, but I didn’t want the girls to know it.

  I had no idea why I was doing this, but I was going to do it anyway. The old kitchen was buried under dust on the table and every chair. Through holes in the floor you could see into the cellar, which I didn’t really want to do.

  “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” Ashley said.

  I moved to the living room. There was an old piano with the bench toppled over. Spiderwebs reached from one end of the entry to the other. I pointed to a black widow and told the girls, “You don’t want to get bitten by one of those.”

  Dust danced in the shafts of sunlight streaming through the front window. Huge cracks in the ceiling ran the length of the living room, and it looked like the light fixture was ready to fall.

  “Somebody’s up there,” Hayley whispered.

  Chapter 8

  I felt like running. Hayley put her arm around me, and we followed Bryce, as if drawn by some unseen force.

  Jeff had said this house had belonged to an old prospector named John Bascom and that gold was hidden somewhere on the grounds. Whoever found it would be rich beyond their wildest dreams. From all the holes in the walls and floor it looked like somebody had searched every inch of the place.

  Bryce stepped onto the creaky stairs and stopped when something thumped above us. Was someone trying to get away?

  “Hello?” Bryce said.

  No answer.

  He motioned to a missing stair and stepped over it. Hayley and I were side by side now, not willing to let go of each other. Bryce reached the top first, two stairs at a time.

  Suddenly a step gave way, the wood cracking beneath Hayley and me. I grabbed the railing and her arm as her leg punched through. She screamed.

  Bryce edged back down and helped me pull Hayley up. Her leg was scratched, but there was no blood.

  We finally reached a long hallway, and Bryce pointed at a door. Before we reached it, the door flew open.

  “Hi, guys!” Jeff said, laughing.

  “How did you—?”

  “Secret entrance,” he said. “My dad and I have been through this house lots of times.”

  Jeff showed us a narrow staircase that went straight down to a door to the outside.

  Hayley stopped. “Look.”

  In the corner sat a paper bag with a King Soopers’ grocery store logo on it. She picked it up.

  “What’s special about an empty bag?” Jeff said.

  Hayley shrugged.

  “There’s no dust on it,” I said. “Somebody’s just been here.”

  Chapter 9

  As we got on our bikes, Jeff turned back to the cemetery. “I asked my dad if they’d let me be buried up here.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Stop talking that way.”

  “I’d love to be planted up here.” He pointed to Pikes Peak. “Picture yourself with your wife and kids, coming back here. You could show them this house, talk about this summer. Maybe your mom would even write a story about us.”

  “I want to be buried near the interstate where people can build a big monument for me,” I said. “They can honk and throw flowers out their windows as they pass.”

  Jeff stuck his tongue out and blew air through his teeth. It was his unique way of laughing that I never got tired of. Once in history class while he was giving a report he said something funny and started to laugh, then couldn’t stop. He just kept blowing air and sticking his tongue out, and the whole class had a hard time not laughing the rest of the hour.

  Going down the hill was a lot easier than coming up, but the way Jeff panted, then didn’t even pedal, made me wonder about our trip.

  When we got past the skunk who had passed to his eternal reward, Jeff stopped to rest.

  “I have an idea,” I said.

  “Shoot.”

  “There are a bunch of riders, right?”

  “More than a hundred.”

  “And we’re riding over some main roads, right?”

  “Some back roads, but mostly the main ones.”

  “What if we took our ATVs and rode behind them—you know, to bring up the rear and help out people who need it.”

  Jeff’s jaw dropped so low I thought he was going to dig gravel on the side of the road. “I’m not riding an ATV behind everybody. No way.”

  I held up both hands. “It was just an idea.”

  He stared at me with such intensity that I had to look away. “Look, Bryce, this is what I’ve dreamed about ever since the doctor said I was sick. I’ve had the chance to go to Disneyland or Disney World or a hundred other places sick kids go. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to shake the president’s hand or eat dinner with some famous athlete who pities me.”

  “I get the point—”

  “I don’t want to go to the Grand Canyon or surf in Hawaii, not that I could surf anyway. . . .” He took his Rockies cap off, and the sun glinted off his bald head. “This is what I want to do. I’ve dreamed of it for months. I can see the finish line. But if there’s any part of you that doesn’t want to—”

  “I do want to go,” I said. “I’m just worried you’ll get sicker or that we won’t make it. I’m with you until the end, even if you have to drag me the last few miles.”

  Jeff smiled. “Yeah, I just might have to drag your sorry carcass across that finish line.”

  “You’re going to be riding in front when we do cross,” I said.

  He laughed with his tongue stuck out.

  It was the best sound I’d heard all day.

  Chapter 10

  Hayley and I cycled ahead while Bryce and Jeff stopped. The sun cast deep shadows on the road, and it felt good to have the wind in our faces as we coasted. The wheels click-click-clicked as we wound our pedals backward, bouncing along the uneven road.

  I wanted to talk to Hayley more about God, and though no time seemed right, I could tell something was bothering her.

  “What do you think will happen to Jeff?” she said, looking over her shoulder.

  “One day at a time. That’s what Bryce says. The doctors don’t really know.”

  “I feel sorry for him. Can’t imagine what it’s like for his parents. Kind of reminds me what my aunt’s going through.”

  “Your aunt?”

  “My cousin disappeared a couple of weeks ago. He called in to work, told them he’d be there in a half hour, then never made it.”

  I had read something about it in the paper but hadn’t paid much attention. Now that I knew it was Hayley’s cousin, I was a lot more interested.

  “He has a little dog that goes everywhere with him,” Hayley continued. “He left the dog locked up. My aunt found the poor thing and let her out. The dog’s been whimpering and crying ever since.”

  “Strange.” A million questions shot through my mind. I asked where he was last seen, if he was in any kind of trouble, and if he’d ever disappeared before. Finally I said, “What kind of car does he drive?”

  “Yellow Jeep. He loves it as much as the dog. Always washing and polishing it.”

  “Police say anything?”

  “They don’t have a clue.”

  Chapter 11

  We rode our brakes the rest of the way and avoided loose rocks. After talking with Jeff, I was going to finish the ride no matter what.

  We waved good-bye to Ashley and Hayley and headed for Jeff’s house. The training we had gone through the past two weeks had made my legs stronger, and it felt like I was really getting into shape. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t about to go on the Tour de France, but I knew I would do better at higher altitudes.

  We parked the tandem bike in Jeff’s garage, washed
the dirt off, and made sure it was oiled.

  Mrs. Alexander called Jeff inside for his medicine. “Bryce, I wanted to tell you of a development,” she said when he was gone.

  “Development?”

  She sat on a lawn chair and lowered her voice. “We have a room set aside for some of the things Jeff’s been given. Signed baseballs, autographs . . .”

  I had seen the room. People had sent him pictures, tickets, and memorabilia I was sure were worth lots of money. Even one of Barry Bonds’ record-breaking home-run baseballs.

  “Some of the most expensive items are missing,” she said.

  “Missing?”

  She nodded. “We told Jeff we’re having the carpet cleaned and locked the door so he wouldn’t see.”

  “Who would take that stuff?”

  She shook her head. “We were hoping you might help. We don’t want Jeff to know—he’ll be gone for the bike trip in a couple of days.”

  “So will I. Maybe Ashley can help. When did you notice the things missing?”

  Mrs. Alexander guessed the thefts had happened within the past two days. “We’ve had people bringing food, a woman to do some housework, people like that.”

  “Any of Jeff’s friends?”

  She was about to answer when Jeff came back into the garage. She smiled at him.

  “Mom, you should have seen us today. We’re going to make this trip in record time.”

  I felt good that Jeff was so positive, but all I could think was, who would have stolen a sick kid’s memorabilia?

  Chapter 12

  Bryce set a list in front of me that Mrs. Alexander had given him of the things she knew were missing.

  John Elway signed football

  Framed letters from several movie stars, including Tom Hanks and Tom Cruise

  Barry Bonds home-run ball

  Signed riding bib from Lance Armstrong

  Hockey puck from the Colorado Avalanche

  Signed basketball from Denver Nugget Carmelo Anthony

  I blew air through my lips. “Somebody had to back a truck up for all this stuff.”

  “It’s an armload,” Bryce said. “I think they passed the stuff out through the window.”

  “They?”

  “Could be one person, I guess,” he said. “But it’s a lot of stuff.”

  “Could somebody climb inside through the window?”

  Bryce shook his head. “They keep it locked. But if somebody opened it from the inside, they could let someone else in.”

  Bryce and I talked of how he could get information from Jeff while on their bike trip without tipping him off that his things had been stolen.

  “I’m going to help Hayley with her missing cousin while you’re gone,” I said.

  “Two cases at once,” Bryce said. “Think you can handle it?”

  “I’m sure going to try.”

  Chapter 13

  After church, Sam drove me to Jeff’s house. We were supposed to go supply shopping for the trip, but he told Jeff he had a surprise.

  “What is it?” Jeff said.

  “You’ll see,” Sam said, winking at Mrs. Alexander.

  She slipped me a sheet of paper when we arrived. When we left I let Jeff sit in the front so I could open the paper in the backseat, out of his sight.

  Several names were on the sheet, people who had been in the house over the past week. I recognized Denise, a flute player in the band. There was a volunteer nurse and a few people from their church. I penciled in Boo Heckler just because he was such a nasty kid. He’d been sent to juvenile detention not long ago, but I’d heard he was already out.

  Jeff turned around. “Whatcha reading?”

  “Nothing to speak of,” I said, stuffing the paper in my pocket.

  Sam still wouldn’t tell us where we were going, but when we headed north on I-25 I guessed he was taking us to his airplane hangar. Sam’s a charter pilot, flying people wherever they need to go. Sometimes they’re celebrities or athletes, or it could be businesspeople or whoever can afford it. I keep hoping he’ll be asked to fly a famous preacher or evangelist so they’ll say something that will make him become a Christian.

  Sam was showing us his plane when he said, “Buckle up,” and he climbed into the cockpit.

  Jeff’s eyes grew wide. “Are you actually taking us up?”

  Sam smiled. “Want to show you something.”

  Chapter 14

  Hayley’s aunt looked like one of those old Victorian writers my mom has a picture of on the wall of her office. Brown hair framing a narrow face. Long nose. Thin lips. Brown eyes that seem to pierce you.

  She invited us inside but didn’t offer us anything to eat or drink like my mom would do. The house was cluttered with magazines and newspapers. Disheveled. That’s a word from a book we read in English. The house wasn’t a rat’s nest, but it was close.

  “Ashley wants to help us find Gunnar,” Hayley said.

  The woman’s face fell.

  I heard scratching from the other room. Hayley opened the door and let a little dog out. She came right to me and bared her teeth—not that she was going to bite, more like she was smiling.

  “That’s right, Jenny,” Hayley’s aunt said. “Say hello to Ashley.”

  Jenny nuzzled my hand and sat by my side.

  The woman repeated the story. Gunnar had phoned work in Colorado Springs to say he was running late, then never showed up. “He sells pool tables and those hot tub things,” she said. “He was always reliable, always on time as far as I know. I’m worried sick about him.”

  “Did he act strange before he disappeared?” I said. “Nervous or upset?”

  “Not that I remember. He said he might look for a new job that paid more, but he wouldn’t just run off because of that.”

  “What about his friends?” I said.

  “He still has friends from high school,” she said, looking at Hayley. “You remember the Baldwin boy, Darren. They’d go to ball games together. But he seemed . . .” She got a far-off look in her eyes.

  “What? This might help.”

  “He just seemed preoccupied—spacey. Like there was something going on he didn’t want me to know about. He always took good care of Jenny, so when he left her locked up, I got suspicious. That was almost two weeks ago.” She held a tissue to her face.

  “Where is his room?” I said.

  “He has an apartment over the garage,” Hayley said.

  “Mind if we take a look, ma’am?” I said.

  The woman waved, and we walked outside through gravel to the detached garage. I wondered what a 20-something guy was doing still living at home with his mom. I want to move out as soon as I’m 18.

  His apartment was like a poster for tornado damage. Double disheveled. Clothes piled on a ratty couch, dog hair everywhere, dishes in the sink. Trash can overflowing.

  “What if he comes back and finds us?” Hayley said.

  “How could he find us in all this?” I said, looking through mail stacked on a small desk. I searched for any kind of clue—a doctor’s report that he had some incurable disease, medicine that would knock him out, signs of a struggle—but I came up empty. Talking with Gunnar’s high school pal might be a start.

  Chapter 15

  Sam took off and my stomach fell. It’s that first rush of lifting off the ground that’s strange. Jeff was staring out the window. “5,281, 82, 83 . . . ,” he said, pretending to announce our altitude after taking off from the Mile High City.

  “You’re not going to do that the whole trip, are you?” I said, smiling.

  We headed west toward the mountains with Sam pointing out the stadiums where the Rockies and Broncos play. As we rose, Denver took on the look of a lot of cities. A haze shrouded the buildings. Cars looked like they were going in slow motion, and the roads looked like a Mattel racetrack.

  “Where are we going, Mr. Timberline?” Jeff said.

  “Your route,” Sam said.

  Jeff conked himself on the forehead with
the heel of a hand. “What a great idea.”

  We followed Interstate 70 into the mountains and were soon over the starting place for our bike trip. Jeff was going to spend a night at a camp where people with cancer relax and have fun. I would join him the next day.

  The camp sat in the middle of a big forest surrounded by ski runs.

  Sam said in his growly voice, “The bike trail runs along that stream—”

  “I see it!” Jeff shouted. “Looks just like I thought.”

  Sam banked left and followed the roads and paths we would take through the first leg of our journey. It didn’t look difficult from the air, but sometimes looks can fool you.

  Sam flew low along the mountains, and every glance at the rocks and trees looked like a different page from a nature calendar. Huge slabs of rock rose out of the earth like castles, and I wondered what it would look like from the ground.

  Sam pointed out a town where we would stop. Then we headed south toward Buena Vista. We flew over a campground—another planned stop—and soared through a valley that stretched for miles.

  “I admire you guys for even attempting this,” Sam said.

  “You should see all the sponsors I’m getting,” Jeff said. “With all the pledges so far, I’ll make $25,000 for the research fund if we finish.”

  “Put me down for a dollar a mile,” Sam said.

  Jeff smiled and scribbled on a pad of paper.

  Sam dipped lower, and the ground came rushing up at us.

  “Buffalo!” Jeff yelled.

  A herd grazed in an open field. They must have been used to low-flying planes because we didn’t seem to bother them.

  A yellow car pulled into a gas station on a lonely stretch of road, and I thought about Hayley’s cousin. Was he out here somewhere, lost and alone? Had he been banged on the head and forgotten his name?

  Sam flew over Wilkerson Pass, one of my favorite places in the whole state. He showed us where we’d ride, winding through Woodland Park. We flew over the Garden of the Gods, where we’d finish. My legs were tired just looking at the route.