Old Bones (4 page)

On his last afternoon in Drumheller, Dr. Norman showed Casey where in the foyer of the Tyrrell he would he stationed.

“That'll be your desk and chair right in front of that pillar,” Dr. Norman said, pointing to a long table facing the entry doors. Sitting at the table in a rotating wooden office chair was a skinny man with short-cropped, mouse-brown hair and dark-rimmed glasses.

As they stood for a minute for Casey to take in the scene, Dr. Norman told him, “You'll have trays of rocks and pieces of bone to measure and classify to the best of your ability — always remember to double-check your measurements — the classifications will be rechecked by our staff.”

“Now,” he said, “come and meet Trevor.”

“Incidentally,” he added, “we're not planning to tell Trevor all the details of what's really going down: He understands who he's to look for and has been told you will be taking over when you're free to come.” He paused a few seconds, and continued in a low voice, “I have to warn you, though, Trevor is jealous of anyone horning in on ‘his' territory.”

“I won't be, will I?” Casey asked.

“No. He has his own job in the gift shop and you'll have nothing to do with that. We'll be telling him you've been hired as a sort of palaeotology intern for the summer; as well, he knows you're supposed to look out for the men in question. He knows you're the one who's seen them.”

They passed the Gift Shop along a wall next to the main exit and walked toward “Casey's” table. Trevor was sitting with his arms folded and a belligerent look on his face. Casey guessed the guy was in his mid-twenties.

“Trevor,” Dr. Norman began, “I'd like you to meet Casey Templeton.” Casey shot out his hand. Trevor didn't. “Casey,” Dr. Norman continued, “who, as you know, saw the men in question. He has a great interest in palaeontology as well and is going to be a Tyrrell intern for the summer.”

Trevor grunted.

“Casey will be taking over the surveillance job you're doing now when he's free in about a week. He'll also be sorting and categorizing stones and bone fragments as well. Eventually, the stones will land up for sale in your shop.”

“The Tyrrell doesn't have interns,” Trevor complained.

“It does now,” Dr. Norman told him, “and I want you to show every courtesy to Casey.”

A customer walked into the shop. Trevor glanced over to see that a clerk was helping her. He grunted again. (Casey thought,
Never heard anyone grunt like that
.) When Trevor saw the customer was attended to, he sneered at Casey and lowered his head.

Dr. Norman raised his eyebrows in a “see what I mean” expression and he and Casey walked over to stand near the door.

“Okay. So I sit over there facing the door, and ...?” Casey began.

“We'll have the procedure worked out for you by the time you get back here.”

Dr. Norman pointed above the door and Casey looked up.

“That's a surveillance camera, Casey, and there's one above where you'll be sitting, so the museum will have photos of everyone who enters.… It's just that no one but you really knows what these men look and sound like.”

As they walked out the door, Casey told Dr. Norman about a couple of ideas he'd had related to his watching job. Dr. Norman was impressed and said, “Good thinking, Casey.”

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes, then Dr. Norman asked, “You'll be starting a week from next Monday, so you'll be coming down on the Sunday?”

Casey nodded.

“Tell your parents they're invited for an early supper.”

“Thanks so much” — Casey smiled up at him — “I'm sure my dad will be back by then and I know he'd like it a lot if he could check out my set-up here.”

“Well, I've got some letters to write,” said Dr. Norman, looking at his watch. “I'll see you later.”

Casey walked back to the Normans', got all his gear together, had a good supper, and went to bed early so he'd not have any trouble getting up to catch the 6:45 a.m. bus to Richford.

He got up as soon as his alarm rang, dressed quietly, and went down to the Normans' kitchen.

He drank juice from the fridge and ate the cereal and muffins Mrs. Norman had left for him on the kitchen table.

“A note,” Casey said out loud. “I should leave a note.”

On a sheet torn from his notebook, Casey wrote:

Thank you both so very much for taking such good care of me.

I will do my very best to help you catch the men who are planning to rob the Tyrrell. See you in ten days.

Casey.

He put the note in the middle of the kitchen table. Then, with his backpack in place on his now healing back, he walked out the back door and down to the Drumheller bus depot.

“So, Casey,” Mike said as they walked down the school corridor toward their lockers, “how could you concentrate on a Math test when you've got all this summer business on your mind?”

“Easy,” Casey said. “Either I do well in all my exams or there's no way my dad will let me take on that Tyrrell job. He'll be home Saturday and will want a report on how I did.”

“You won't have your results by then,” Mike said.

“No,” Casey agreed, “but I'll have a good idea of how the tests went.”

“We'll really miss you on the baseball team — you are one strong catcher.”

“I've been using one of those hard rubber hand things you squeeze over and over. It's a great way to build your arm and hand muscles. Here, shake a paw.”

Mike grasped Casey's hand and Casey squeezed hard.

“Yeow!” Mike shouted. “Let go!”

“See?” said Casey.

“See nothing, I feel,” Mike said, massaging his right hand with his left. “That's a wicked grip you've got.”

“Yeah, and it's going to get a lot wickeder over the summer. That's something I work on when I'm watching TV.”

“I'm going to get me one of those squeeze things, so you watch out — by the end of the summer we'll see who's strongest.”

Mike's locker door slammed as he said, “You hear about the party old prissy pants, Greta Maitland, is giving Friday night?” he asked. “We're all invited to her family's big house for supper and a dance. I can just see it. The girls will likely have to wear little white gloves and we'll be expected to wear shirts and ties.”

“You have got to be kidding!” Casey was appalled. “Did they really say that's what we have to wear?”

“Well, no,” Mike admitted. “But can't you just imagine it?”

“All we have to do is make sure nobody wears a shirt and tie. There's no way the Maitlands are going to kick out all the boys. Greta wouldn't allow it — she likes boys too much.”

“I haven't said that I was going to go yet,” said Mike. “Can't we have some sort of year-end celebration of our own?”

“Okay by me. I don't think I've been invited anyway,” Casey said.

“Yes you have,” Mike told him. “Greta got up in home room and invited the whole class.”

“But maybe nobody told me,” Casey said hopefully. “How about we head out to the Old Willson With Two L's Place and party?”

“You been out there since that hate gang was turfed?” Mike wondered.

“No,” Casey said. “Have you?”

“No,” said Mike. “My folks heard about what went on there last fall and put it off limits.”

“Mine too,” said Casey. “But they wouldn't have to know. We could take out a bunch of stuff to eat and an iPod and some wood for a fire. It'd beat the heck out of a party at the Maitlands'.”

“Who else will we ask?” Mike was warming up to the idea.

“Any guys who haven't told Greta they'd be there,” Casey said. “We'll ask around, subtle like. Not tell the others what we have in mind until we know they're free.”

By Thursday they knew. Every other boy in the class had told Greta they'd be at her party.

“Still want to go to the Willson place if it's just the two of us?” asked Mike.

“I do if you do,” Casey said. “I'll bring my new iPod. And I'll bring a litre of Coke and some chips and a dip.”

“I've got two albums you haven't heard, and I'll bring doughnuts,” said Mike.

“We'll need wood for the fire.” Casey was remembering how he'd burned up everything he could find in the house trying to keep Mr. Deverell and himself warm the night he went there last fall.

“I got wood,” said Mike.

“Sounds good.” Casey figured it could be fun. “Now all we have to do is get that English exam over tomorrow afternoon and — CELEBRATION TIME!”

“Mom,” said Casey as he headed out the back door, “I don't know how late I'll be.”

“Be home fifteen minutes after Greta's party's over. You know your father's rules,” his mother said. Casey winced. His mother just assumed he was going to Greta's, and he hadn't told her the truth.

“But Dad's not here,” Casey told her. “What say you set some new rules — just for tonight?”

“Sure.” His mother smiled. “Be home twenty minutes after the party's over.”

“Oh, Mom.” Casey hitched on his backpack. He knew his mother wouldn't question him about the backpack; he never went anywhere without it.

“You don't have to wait up,” he said from the open door.

“I'll wait up,” his mother replied. “Have fun.”

Casey and Mike didn't talk much as they crossed the field to the Old Willson With Two L's Place.
Was Mike thinking the same thing he was
? wondered Casey.
That this might not be the single smartest thing they were doing
? But the night was warm and the sky was still light and it would be fun to see the old place again.

“You bring any matches for the fire?” Mike asked.

“No,” said Casey. “Didn't you?”

“No.” Mike stopped. “A lotta good this wood I'm carrying's going to do. Shall I pitch it?”

“Maybe there'll be matches there,” Casey said, but he didn't believe it. “Maybe other people have been using the old place like we used to before.…”

“Yeah, before those Hate Cell guys almost finished off old Deverell and you both almost froze to death. I've heard. I've heard.”

“Well, don't remind me.” Casey did not want to remember the last time he'd hiked across this field to the old house and found Mr. Deverell unconscious, almost covered by snow, and with a huge gash in his head.

“You did bring a flashlight?” Mike asked.

“Sure,” Casey reassured him. “If we can't have a fire, we can prop the flashlight in the fireplace. It'll be better, really. We won't have to worry about sparks flying around.”

“Sure no signs of life out here,” Mike said as they climbed the sagging fence round the Willson property when they found the high gate locked. “We'll have a great time on our own.”

“Sure.” But Casey was anything but sure. They were near the house now. The evening sun should have been reflecting from the windows. There was no reflection.

“The windows are boarded up,” Casey said.

“Hope the door isn't,” Mike said as they turned the corner of the house.

“No boards,” Casey said, not sure if this was good or bad. “Maybe it's locked.” He led the way up the front steps and tried the door handle. The door swung inward and as it did a siren wailed louder and louder and louder.

“Ohmygosh,” Casey yelled, “let's get the heck out of here!”

They did. They fairly flew across the field back to the edge of town, their backpacks thumping, their hearts pounding.

When they could talk again, Mike stopped, dropped the wood from his backpack in a heap and asked, “What now?”

Casey thought a minute.

“Now we go to Greta Maitland's fancy end-of-school-year party.”

“We do?” asked Mike. “We never said we'd come.”

“We never said we wouldn't,” Casey replied. “Nobody's going to care if we show up.”

The bright lights on the Maitlands' front porch looked welcoming, but all the curtains were drawn.

“I can't hear any music.” Mike stood listening. “Can you?”

“No,” Casey said, ringing the doorbell. “They're probably still eating. I sure hope so,” he added, “and I sure hope there's some left for us.”

The door opened wide and Greta's father, in a pair of very tight jeans and a red-checked flannel shirt, turned back into the hall and shouted, “Hey, Greta, your lost sheep have arrived!”

“Come in, boys,” he said softly, ushering them inside. “Am I glad to see you! Greta went upstairs in a sulk; couldn't believe anyone would refuse to come to her party. I swear she was ready to send everyone home.”

“So,” Greta said reprovingly, as she stood on the stair landing, “you finally deigned to come to the party I've been working on for weeks. Well, Dad and I.” She sounded mad, but Casey could tell she was very relieved to see him and Mike.

“Sorry we're late.” Mike was looking around. “Where IS the party? It's quiet as a morgue.”

“Everyone's in our video theatre; it's sound proof,” Mr. Maitland said, not in a boastful way like Greta would have said it. “Greta, take your guests' packs and show them down.”

Ungraciously, Greta reached for Mike's pack.

“Smells like doughnuts — didn't you think there'd be enough food here?” She hung Mike's pack in a large hall closet; taking Casey's, she noticed the neck of a big bottle of Coke sticking out. “And you brought your own drink? I have to think neither one of you has ever been to a real party. Come on.”

Nobody even turned around as Greta slid open a pocket door and motioned Casey and Mike to some empty seats. She sat beside Casey and whispered, “It's
Friday the Thirteenth
.”

“Yeah, I know,” Casey whispered back. “Great!”

He looked around the miniature movie theatre with its huge screen, and real semi-reclining theatre seats with arm recesses holding cartons full of popcorn. The sound was fantastic.

In a tense, silent part of the film, the sound of the sliding door being pushed open brought all heads around.

“Bryan!” Greta shouted, almost falling as she hurried back to get him. Greta led Bryan to a seat beside her. She sat there watching Bryan instead of the movie.

“Ah ha!” Casey said to himself. “I'll bet Greta's going to be in a much better mood now.”

She was. Her face glowed with happiness and she left Bryan's side only when the film was over and her father called her to cut the huge cake on the dining-room table.

Interested to hear how Bryan had got along at his new school, Casey said, “I've missed you, Bryan. How did it go down east?”

“Fine,” Bryan said. “Really good. And the best part is I'm back on the Internet.”

“But you've been banned from using the net for two years.”

“Oh heck,” Bryan said. “That was here. Down there, the school has computers everywhere you look and who's going to know I'm online?”

“I think you're taking a big chance.” Casey looked troubled. “Outside your parents, the police, and the lawyers, only my mother and I know about your Internet hate connections and the trouble they got you into. I can't believe you'd take a chance on getting caught.” He shook his head and went on, “I'll bet the school knows you're forbidden to use the net. They're not dumb. Someone's going to be snooping around and if you do get caught … well, I don't know exactly what will happen to you, but it ain't going to be good.”

“Enough with the lecture, Casey,” Bryan said, “with my father's connections, I can't see me getting into serious trouble. Besides, I'm not into that stuff anymore anyway, so forget I told you and don't squeal on me to your father. And don't play the heavy with me just because your dad beat mine in the mayor's race.”

He walked away toward Greta, who was saving the first piece of cake she'd cut for him — a corner piece with lots of icing.

Casey shook his head sadly.
Bryan's starting to sound just like his father, and that's a bad sign
, he thought as he joined a group around the table.

“Nice to see you, Marcia,” he said. He meant it. He didn't have a crush on Marcia any more, and besides, she and Terry were an item, but he still liked her. “Hi, Terry. Kevin.”

“Heard about your summer job,” Terry said. “We were hoping you'd be around for baseball and hockey camp.”

“I was hoping so, too,” said Casey. And he was. Richford was famous for its hockey winter and summer, and its summer hockey camp was the best in the province. He loved baseball too, and was looking forward to being the team's first-string catcher. “The job at the Tyrrell could end any day, so I might be back really soon.”

“Try to be back for the mid-August barbecue,” said Marcia. “If you thought last year's Halloween party was cool, you'll be amazed at this party. And as mayor, your dad'll be front and centre.”

“I'll sure try to be there,” Casey assured her.

“What a party!” Mike sighed. They'd thanked Greta and Mr. Maitland and started home.

“The movie was great, the food was wonderful, the music was sensational,” Casey agreed. “And Greta may be a pain in the butt, but her old man sure knows how to throw a party.”

“You figure he did most of it?” Mike asked.

“Look — Greta's mother's in Europe and Greta sure as heck didn't get all that food and have that room set up for dancing with all the blinking lights and buy all those good prizes. I'm telling you, Mr. Maitland did it all. He must love his daughter a lot, or …”

“Or he feels real sorry for her awful personality and is trying to make people like her in spite of herself.”

“Whatever,” said Casey. “I think we had an even better time there than we would have had on our own at the Old Willson Place.”

“You figure?” Mike asked.

“I figure,” Casey said, with conviction.