Tim shook his head. “No worry there. No escapees running around. But I’m going to look into this. The state’s supposed to coordinate with the sheriff
when they run an operation in the county.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever,” Jack said, trying to look uninterested. “Just wondering.”
As Tim cruised away Jack saw him pick up the hand-piece of his police radio and start talking.
Exactly what he’d hoped he’d do.
When he reached Weezy, she said, “I don’t know if that was such a good idea. What if he starts asking the wrong people and they want to know where
he got his information? When they hear it’s two kids, a boy and a girl, they may come looking.”
He shrugged. “I woke up worrying about that, but now I don’t think it’s a problem. If they want to keep that operation a secret, the last thing they’l do is
come into town and cause a scene. We’re just ‘dumb piney kids,’ remember? So who’s going to listen to us anyway, right?”
“I suppose.” She hunched her shoulders as if feeling a chil . “I just wonder where we’d be right now if we hadn’t got away.”
“I suppose.” She hunched her shoulders as if feeling a chil . “I just wonder where we’d be right now if we hadn’t got away.”
Jack decided not to wonder. That kind of thinking did nothing but crowd the brain with useless thoughts that went nowhere and accomplished nothing.
He preferred to think about their next step and what it could be. Then he remembered something he’d seen Thursday night.
He turned to Weezy. “How do you feel about going for a swim?”
They rode to Quaker Lake. Along the way Jack told Weezy about seeing Mr.
Brussard throw something in on Thursday night.
She smiled. “Which Hardy Boy do you think you are—Joe or Frank?” This Hardy Boy thing was getting annoying.
“Why does everybody have to say that?”
“Everybody?”
“Okay, just two—you and my father. But when you consider I’ve only told two
people about what I overheard, two out of two makes a hundred percent.” “Wel , what do you expect? Sneaking around, eavesdropping from bathrooms,
spying on a suspected murderer through a window”—her grin
broadened—”looking for
what is.”
She giggled. Weezy never giggled. A nice sound. But she was getting on his
nerves.
“Okay. Fine. Swel —”
“See! You even say ‘swel ’! Nobody says swel anymore—except maybe a Hardy
Boy.”
Maybe he’d been reading too many of those old pulp magazines, but he didn’t
think so.
“Lots of people say ‘swel .’”
She laughed. “Next you’l be cal ing Steve your ‘chum’!”
Jack felt a sudden heaviness. “Yeah … Steve.”
Her grin faded. “Have you done anything about him?”
“Not yet. There’s been a
“No argument there. Way too much going on.”
They arrived at the lake and angled their bikes toward the boat area. Not a dock
by any stretch. More like a patch of sandy soil where Mark Mul iner left four old canoes for rent. The charge was three dol ars an hour, and renters left
their payment in the coffee can sitting on the bank next to the
Mark lived up in Sooy’s Boot but left canoes with the same setup here and there
in various smal Pine towns. He’d stop by every evening in his truck
and empty the can.
