Pay no mind to what they say. It doesn't matter anyway.
Chapter 2. Our Lips Are Sealed
“Welcome to Happy Pappy’s awesome All-American Diner!” a chipper voice called as I stepped through the door. I lifted my hand to wave in acknowledgement of Norma Nelson’s greeting. The diner was already filling with the usual after-school crowd, but I found an available booth near the back. Pappy’s has been a Bowdon’s institution since before my folks were in high school themselves, and as far as I know, the décor hasn’t changed since it opened sometime in the 50s. It has the same black-and-white checkered tile floor, the same red leather and chrome seats and the same Formica-topped tables. Everything is a little bit worn, but that just lends to the vintage charm of it all, in my opinion.
I Love Rock N’ Roll was playing on the jukebox and I spotted quarterback and captain of the football team Mike Larson holding court at a table by the wide front window. He never fails to put that song on when he arrives at Pappy’s. I suspect he secretly fancies himself someone “about seventeen” who would attract a twenty-whatever-year-old singer like Joan Jett. The thought had me smirking. Only in his fevered dreams!
Mart pushed the glass-fronted door open and the bell overhead jingled, though the sound was mostly drowned out by Joan extolling someone to come and take another dance with her. He exchanged a few words with a boy I only knew on sight but not by name before joining me. “Okay, Sis. I’m here as commanded. What’s up?”
“Let’s wait ‘til Honey and Di get here,” I said. “I’m still so angry, I think I’ll either cry or yell if I try to go through the whole thing more than once.”
Mart’s brows shot up. “Whoa. That bad? You aren’t failing math again, are you?”
Ordinarily, this assumption would have had me seeing red, but my concern for Brian overrode any potential annoyance with Mart so I merely shook my head. “Nothing like that,” I told him. “This isn’t about me. I mean, not directly, anyway.”
If anything, this declaration - spoken with what I consider an admirable calmness on my part - left Mart looking even more surprised and alarmed. He was well aware that normally his dig about my Algebra 2 grades would have garnered him a stinging retort at the minimum. For me to dismiss it without even a hint of rancor meant something serious had happened and I knew I now had Mart very worried.
Norma approached our table, pad in hand. “Heya, Belden and Belden. Y’all ready to order?”
“Uh… yeah,” Mart said, nodding. “Lemme have a Super Chili Dog, a double order of fries, and a large Dr. Pepper.”
I slowly shook my head in disbelief. “You’d think you didn’t have lunch today or something,” I murmured, wondering how he could often eat four or five full meals a day and still remain so skinny. It had to be all the running and b-ball. “I’ll just have a small chocolate shake, Norm,” I said with a quick smile in her direction. “Thanks.”
Honey and Di arrived together. One of Mike’s friends called a crude remark to Di and I saw Mart bristle. “Easy, Bro,” I cautioned softly. “Just blow it off like she does. You really don’t need to get yourself in trouble by starting a fight.”
“He shouldn’t talk like that to her,” Mart declared angrily.
“He shouldn’t talk like that to anyone,” I responded. “But he’s a creep and he does. Ignore him. Someday down the line he’ll be just another former high-school has-been trying to relive his glory days while trapped in some miserable, dead-end job, and all his nights will be wasted away getting drunk at a rundown bar like the one out on Kilkenny Lane.”
Mart stared at me for a moment in silence before slumping down with a low chuckle. “Geeze, Trix. Sometimes your view of humanity in general is downright scary. And depressing.”
“Yeah, well, wait ‘til you hear what Jim told me and you’ll be looking at the world in a less-than-charitable manner, too,” I informed him darkly.
Norma returned to our booth with my shake and Mart’s soda just as Di and Honey took their seats. They both ordered Cokes and then turned to me expectantly.
“I saw Jim after lunch,” I began, as I tore the paper wrapper from my straw. “He was looking for Brian.”
“Oh?” Honey asked with a mildly surprised look. “Why Brian?”
Although Jim and Brian get along fine when they happen to be in the same place at the same time, you would never consider them close friends. True, they’re both seniors who get good grades and stay out of trouble, but while Brian is about as nerdy as they come, Jim mostly escapes that designation both by looks – like Mart, he’s an athlete, only as a member of the Bowdon High swim team – and by an overall coolness factor Brian just doesn’t have. Most days, you’ll find Jim in his letter jacket and a pair of designer Ray-Bans while Brian’s probably got on a Star Wars t-shirt or his old, beat-up Indiana Jones fedora.
“Yeah, Trix,” Mart said, frowning as he tried to figure out how our brother fit in with the rather cryptic remarks I’d already made to him. “Why Brian?”
“According to Jim, somebody is claiming they saw Brian loitering outside the storeroom where the missing books were kept,” I explained. “Someone’s trying to frame him for the theft.”
“Not Brian!” Di exclaimed. “That’s just stupid! I don’t care what anyone says. No one would ever believe it.”
“Well, someone must believe it enough, because Jim was worried and looking for him.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Mart growled, looking ready to explode. “Brian would never, ever steal even a… a paper clip!”
I nodded soberly. “I know that. And you all know that. But if someone decides it’s true, think of the trouble he could be in. His university acceptance. His scholarships. He could lose everything.”
“We can’t let that happen!” Honey declared emphatically.
I smiled at her, grateful for her immediate support. “Exactly,” I agreed. “We need a plan. If we’re going to help Brian, the best way to do it would be find out what really happened to those books. Y’all with me?”
“You know we are, Trixie,” Di assured me. “But how? How do we find out what really happened?”
“I’ve been thinking about that all afternoon. There are several ways we could go at this. First? Honey, talk to Jim tonight. See if he can tell you exactly who was claiming Brian was hanging around the storeroom. He didn’t give me any names, but we didn’t have a lot of time to talk.”
“Will do. He won’t be home until almost dinnertime because of swim practice, but I’ll ask him as soon as I see him.”
“Good,” I said. “If we know who’s making those claims, that might go a long way toward finding the real culprit. Meanwhile, Mart? You talk to Brian. See if he really was there this morning for some reason and whether he knows anything at all. And I’ll call Monica Anderson. She’s the secretary for the Honor Society, so she probably knows better than anyone what books and supplies were collected. I can’t even begin to guess why, but there has to be some reason someone stole those books. Maybe having a general list of the items will give us a clue.”
“Hmm,” Mart muttered. “Be careful there, Trix. You know how Monica is. If she thinks she can turn this into a big story for the Beacon, she’ll run with it.”
“Yeah, but I figure there’s no way she doesn’t already know about this. I’m sure she was there, too, when Jim found out someone accused Brian, so there’s no point in pretending otherwise. I know she’s had a couple of classes with him so hopefully she’ll be on our side and want to catch the real thieves.”
“What can I do?” Diana asked. “You know I want to help, too.”
“Can you talk to Tad? Jim says he saw Spider on campus today. Maybe Tad can tell us something about what angle the police are taking, especially if they have their eyes on Brian.”
“I don’t mind asking, but he may just say he can’t talk to us about his brother’s cases,” Di cautioned. “Heck, his brother probably doesn’t talk to him about them, for that matter, so he may not know any more than the rest of us anyway, even though this does involve our school.”
Norma was back again, this time with Mart’s second lunch and Honey and Di’s drinks. She set everything down then started to walk away before suddenly pivoting back around to face us. “Y’all are talking about the stolen books?”
I cringed and glanced hurriedly around. How many other people had overheard our conversation? We needed to be a lot more careful if we wanted to protect Brian. The goal was to help him, not make things infinitely worse. I slowly nodded. “Yes,” I finally said after a long pause.
“And you want to find out who took them?” She stepped closer to our booth, holding her now empty tray with one hand while she reached out and straightened the condiments caddy in an almost absent-minded way. “Why?”
We traded glances. As far as we knew, there was no reason not to trust Norma. Then again, we didn’t really have much of a reason to trust her, either. While her older brother Mark was one of the popular football players and part of Mike Larson’s crowd, Norma Nelson didn’t really seem to belong to any crowd at all. At school, she kept to herself, and could usually be seen reading a paperback novel before class or at lunch. Otherwise, you could almost always find her here at Pappy’s for her waitress job.
“We spent a lot of time helping collect those books,” Honey replied, speaking truthfully. We had spent a lot of time seeking donations. While it was officially a project of the Honor Society, Jim had brought us aboard as willing volunteers, and we’d put in a lot of hours going door-to-door and approaching local shops and businesses. “We’d really like to find out what happened to them, and more importantly, get them back. The children in San Isidro need them!”
Norma exhaled heavily before responding. “You should talk to Marvin Easton,” she suggested, speaking so quietly we could barely hear her.
“Who?” Di asked.
“Marv?” Mart said at the same time.
Norma nodded. “He’s big into the A-V club. He talks all the time about being a famous movie director someday. Anyway, he got this new video recorder and he’s been carrying it around school filming pretty much non-stop. In English today, I heard him telling Scott Harper and Fay Franklin that he knows who stole the books and he even has video of the theft.”
“Seriously?” Mart exclaimed. “Why doesn’t he turn it in?”
Norma waved her hand to quiet him. “I don’t know. But I do know he’s being really cagey about it. He swore Scott and Fay to secrecy and even threatened them if they told anyone. I don’t want him coming after me, okay? I don’t think he knows I overheard him, but that’s because he always forgets I’m sitting right behind him.” She huffed out a breath and shrugged one shoulder. “Happens to me a lot, actually.”
She walked away before we could ask her anything more.
“What do you think?” I asked Mart. “Is Marv hiding something? Or maybe he was just bragging and making stuff up and doesn’t want anyone to tell because he doesn’t really have any video at all?”
“With Marvin Easton, both those things are entirely possible,” Mart replied. “He tends to play by his own rules.”
“Who’s Marvin Easton?” Di wanted to know, holding up both hands.
“Uh, he’s a senior,” Mart told her. “You’ve probably seen him around, even if you don’t know his name.”
“You’ve definitely seen him around,” Honey assured her. “He’s that guy who always wears a trench coat, even if it’s a hot, sunny day.”
“Oh! You mean Simon!”
Honey frowned, her brow slightly furrowed in confusion. “No, Marv. Marvin Easton.”
Di laughed and picked up her Coke. “No, you’re right. I have seen him around. I just never knew his name. I’ve always called him Simon, because he dresses like he thinks he’s Simon Le Bon.”
“We should definitely talk to him,” I said, pushing my bangs off my forehead and thinking hard. “But we have to come up with a way to do it without dragging Norma into it. Or Scott or Fay, for that matter.”
“Leave that to me, Sis,” Mart said as he cautiously lifted his chili dog, trying not to spill anything. “I’ll think of something. We have Spanish together. I’ll corner him tomorrow.”
“Okay, good. Then… I think we’re all decided? I mean, we all know what we need to do next, right?” At everyone’s nod in agreement, I continued. “So, let’s meet up after school tomorrow and trade notes?”
“I won’t have much time,” Di reminded me. “I’ll have to be getting ready for the game.”
“Right.” I muttered, wrinkling my nose. “There is that.”
Di is a member of the Lady Dogs Drill Team. For her tomorrow would be all about fringed white boots, a sequined gold vest, and Aqua Net hairspray. Lots and lots of Aqua Net hairspray. They changed the formula or something back when we were in grade school to get rid of whatever it was in aerosol cans that was causing a hole in the O-Zone layer, and I figure that happened at just the right time. It was almost as if the scientists saw the 80s and big hair coming.
“Look,” she said, “let’s talk at lunch for an initial update, and then we can catch up on anything new after school. I’m really curious about what Simon will have to say for himself.”
“You mean Marvin,” Honey corrected automatically.
“Same dif. Y’all come see me at the gym and I’ll do your face paint at the same time.”
Honey and Di left once we’d all agreed on the plan for the following day. I was stuck waiting for Mart to finish his meal. It was close to 4:30 by the time we left the diner. “Where’s the car?” I asked him, looking around and not spotting the old, brown station wagon our uncle had given us to share as a sixteenth birthday present.
“Sorry. I walked here like you did. I don’t know why I didn’t think to drive over.”
“Oh. Yeah.” I shook my head and laughed ruefully. “I don’t know why I assumed you would, either.”
Pappy’s is only a block away from Bowdon High, one of the reasons it’s so popular with the students. We walked over to the corner of Fifth Street and Magnolia Avenue to wait for the light and were back at the school a few minutes later. The parking lot was almost empty at this point, our wagon sitting alone in the lot reserved for juniors.
“Hey,” Mart murmured, tilting his head in the direction of the school library. “Look who’s still hanging around.”
I turned to see Marvin Easton walking along the outside of the building. He was carrying his video camera on one shoulder but it seemed to me he was moving too fast to be filming anything.
“Now what do you suppose he’s up to?” I wondered.
“You wanna follow him and see?” Mart asked, glancing over at me.
As I was considering this, Marv rounded the corner and disappeared from our view. “Yeah… Let’s,” I decided. “But we’d better think up a reason for being here if he sees us and asks.”
“Easy. I’ll just say I forgot my Chemistry book and need it for a homework assignment.”
We caught up with Marv faster than we’d anticipated. He was in the main quad, sitting on a bench with his camera at his side and scribbling furiously in a notebook balanced on his leg. His head jerked up as we came around the corner of the library and he looked right at us.
Mart raised his hand in a casual wave. “Hey, Marv,” he called. “You’re here late. You need a ride home?”
For a long moment, Marvin stared at us with that deer-in-the-headlights look of someone caught off guard and usually up to something no good. “Uh, yeah, no,” he replied finally, with a forced smile. “I’m just finishing up a... uh, project. For, uh, history. And I live across the street so I don’t need a ride.”
I guessed that meant Marv lived in the Pineview Apartments that sat directly across from the school on the north side of the campus. They were more functional and utilitarian than attractive and I knew them fairly well. Before Di’s father had struck it rich three years ago with some daring but ultimately highly profitable investments on the stock market, she and her family had lived in Pineview. I’d spent plenty of time there when I was younger, hanging out in her tiny bedroom, listening to records and gossiping about cute boys and any girl Di considered a rival. Di has two younger brothers, Larry and Terry. Larry is in middle school now and Terry is in the same grade as my youngest brother. They’re annoying, like I suppose all little brothers are, but they always had enough sense to leave us alone whenever I came over.
Mart and I kept walking, as if we had some place in particular to be that had nothing to do with Marvin Easton and once we were out of Marv’s hearing and sight, my brother stopped and shook his head. “History project? Hardly. We don’t have any projects due in history right now. Do you?”
“Nope.” Mart and I don’t have the same World History teacher. But there are only two of them, so if neither had assigned any projects recently, it was a safe bet to say Marv was lying. “C’mon. Let’s get home. Moms’ll be leaving work soon and she’ll be expecting us to be there to help with dinner.”
When Moms announced she’d taken a job at the hospital as an ER registrar, we’d been completely bowled over. It’s sad to admit, but we Belden kids were accustomed to having our mom at home and we’d never even considered the possibility that anything could change. It had meant some adjustments on our parts. In the mornings, Mart and I are now responsible for getting Bobby up, dressed, fed, and on the bus to Woodcreek Elementary School. In the afternoons, Brian picks him up and brings him home, then helps him with any homework assignments, if he needs. We also do a lot more of the cooking than we used to, with mixed results. Moms can conjure up an amazing meal using any ingredients she finds on hand. Mart and I don’t seem to have been born with or developed the same talent, so the dinners we come up with are pretty hit or miss on the edible scale.
The Belden family homestead is an old farmhouse off Glen Road on the outskirts of town. It’s been in the family for generations, which has some advantages, such as no mortgage payments to bog down the family finances, and some disadvantages, such as a seemingly endless series of needed repairs. In the many decades since our great-great grandfather set down his roots, the area has developed into a playground for the wealthy who’ve built enormous mansions along the bluffs overlooking the Brazos River. The Wheelers and Lynches are only two of many, and just by our mailing address alone, people often assume we Beldens are a part of the upper-class as well. Don’t get me wrong, we aren’t destitute or struggling by any means, but we don’t have a huge home and platoon of servants at our beck and call, either.
I’m not bitter or jealous, though. I’ve spent enough time at the Wheelers’ Manor House to know I prefer the cozy warmth of our house to the cold formality of Honey and Jim’s palatial estate. I mean, I love that they have horses that we can ride any time, a full tennis court, and a fabulous swimming pool complete with a custom slide designed to look like a natural rock formation, but it feels a lot like you’re staying at some ritzy resort hotel when you’re there, not like it’s someone’s home.
As Mart turned the station wagon up our drive and pulled in behind Brian’s dark blue Scirocco, I caught sight of someone I did not expect to see. William Regan lives and works at the Manor House as the groom in charge of Mr. Wheeler’s prize stable. He was passing along between our vegetable garden and chicken coop, clearly on his way to the path that cut through the part of the Wheeler property that borders along ours.
“Huh,” I said, mystified. “What do you think Regan was doing down here?”
Mart shrugged as he unsnapped his seatbelt. “If I had to guess? He probably found another toy Bobby abandoned during one of his unauthorized explorations of Wheeler land. It’s a good thing Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler don’t mind how much that kid trespasses.”
I supposed that was as logical an explanation as any, and I told myself I had bigger things to worry about than Regan’s wanderings. I didn’t have time to call Monica Anderson before dinner, but I planned to do so as soon as the last dish was washed and put away. I knew, as editor-in-chief of the Bulldog Beacon, Monica was used to being the one to ask all the questions, but tonight, I was going to put her in the hot seat and grill her on anything and everything she knew about the donated books and who took them.
I Love Rock N’ Roll was playing on the jukebox and I spotted quarterback and captain of the football team Mike Larson holding court at a table by the wide front window. He never fails to put that song on when he arrives at Pappy’s. I suspect he secretly fancies himself someone “about seventeen” who would attract a twenty-whatever-year-old singer like Joan Jett. The thought had me smirking. Only in his fevered dreams!
Mart pushed the glass-fronted door open and the bell overhead jingled, though the sound was mostly drowned out by Joan extolling someone to come and take another dance with her. He exchanged a few words with a boy I only knew on sight but not by name before joining me. “Okay, Sis. I’m here as commanded. What’s up?”
“Let’s wait ‘til Honey and Di get here,” I said. “I’m still so angry, I think I’ll either cry or yell if I try to go through the whole thing more than once.”
Mart’s brows shot up. “Whoa. That bad? You aren’t failing math again, are you?”
Ordinarily, this assumption would have had me seeing red, but my concern for Brian overrode any potential annoyance with Mart so I merely shook my head. “Nothing like that,” I told him. “This isn’t about me. I mean, not directly, anyway.”
If anything, this declaration - spoken with what I consider an admirable calmness on my part - left Mart looking even more surprised and alarmed. He was well aware that normally his dig about my Algebra 2 grades would have garnered him a stinging retort at the minimum. For me to dismiss it without even a hint of rancor meant something serious had happened and I knew I now had Mart very worried.
Norma approached our table, pad in hand. “Heya, Belden and Belden. Y’all ready to order?”
“Uh… yeah,” Mart said, nodding. “Lemme have a Super Chili Dog, a double order of fries, and a large Dr. Pepper.”
I slowly shook my head in disbelief. “You’d think you didn’t have lunch today or something,” I murmured, wondering how he could often eat four or five full meals a day and still remain so skinny. It had to be all the running and b-ball. “I’ll just have a small chocolate shake, Norm,” I said with a quick smile in her direction. “Thanks.”
Honey and Di arrived together. One of Mike’s friends called a crude remark to Di and I saw Mart bristle. “Easy, Bro,” I cautioned softly. “Just blow it off like she does. You really don’t need to get yourself in trouble by starting a fight.”
“He shouldn’t talk like that to her,” Mart declared angrily.
“He shouldn’t talk like that to anyone,” I responded. “But he’s a creep and he does. Ignore him. Someday down the line he’ll be just another former high-school has-been trying to relive his glory days while trapped in some miserable, dead-end job, and all his nights will be wasted away getting drunk at a rundown bar like the one out on Kilkenny Lane.”
Mart stared at me for a moment in silence before slumping down with a low chuckle. “Geeze, Trix. Sometimes your view of humanity in general is downright scary. And depressing.”
“Yeah, well, wait ‘til you hear what Jim told me and you’ll be looking at the world in a less-than-charitable manner, too,” I informed him darkly.
Norma returned to our booth with my shake and Mart’s soda just as Di and Honey took their seats. They both ordered Cokes and then turned to me expectantly.
“I saw Jim after lunch,” I began, as I tore the paper wrapper from my straw. “He was looking for Brian.”
“Oh?” Honey asked with a mildly surprised look. “Why Brian?”
Although Jim and Brian get along fine when they happen to be in the same place at the same time, you would never consider them close friends. True, they’re both seniors who get good grades and stay out of trouble, but while Brian is about as nerdy as they come, Jim mostly escapes that designation both by looks – like Mart, he’s an athlete, only as a member of the Bowdon High swim team – and by an overall coolness factor Brian just doesn’t have. Most days, you’ll find Jim in his letter jacket and a pair of designer Ray-Bans while Brian’s probably got on a Star Wars t-shirt or his old, beat-up Indiana Jones fedora.
“Yeah, Trix,” Mart said, frowning as he tried to figure out how our brother fit in with the rather cryptic remarks I’d already made to him. “Why Brian?”
“According to Jim, somebody is claiming they saw Brian loitering outside the storeroom where the missing books were kept,” I explained. “Someone’s trying to frame him for the theft.”
“Not Brian!” Di exclaimed. “That’s just stupid! I don’t care what anyone says. No one would ever believe it.”
“Well, someone must believe it enough, because Jim was worried and looking for him.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Mart growled, looking ready to explode. “Brian would never, ever steal even a… a paper clip!”
I nodded soberly. “I know that. And you all know that. But if someone decides it’s true, think of the trouble he could be in. His university acceptance. His scholarships. He could lose everything.”
“We can’t let that happen!” Honey declared emphatically.
I smiled at her, grateful for her immediate support. “Exactly,” I agreed. “We need a plan. If we’re going to help Brian, the best way to do it would be find out what really happened to those books. Y’all with me?”
“You know we are, Trixie,” Di assured me. “But how? How do we find out what really happened?”
“I’ve been thinking about that all afternoon. There are several ways we could go at this. First? Honey, talk to Jim tonight. See if he can tell you exactly who was claiming Brian was hanging around the storeroom. He didn’t give me any names, but we didn’t have a lot of time to talk.”
“Will do. He won’t be home until almost dinnertime because of swim practice, but I’ll ask him as soon as I see him.”
“Good,” I said. “If we know who’s making those claims, that might go a long way toward finding the real culprit. Meanwhile, Mart? You talk to Brian. See if he really was there this morning for some reason and whether he knows anything at all. And I’ll call Monica Anderson. She’s the secretary for the Honor Society, so she probably knows better than anyone what books and supplies were collected. I can’t even begin to guess why, but there has to be some reason someone stole those books. Maybe having a general list of the items will give us a clue.”
“Hmm,” Mart muttered. “Be careful there, Trix. You know how Monica is. If she thinks she can turn this into a big story for the Beacon, she’ll run with it.”
“Yeah, but I figure there’s no way she doesn’t already know about this. I’m sure she was there, too, when Jim found out someone accused Brian, so there’s no point in pretending otherwise. I know she’s had a couple of classes with him so hopefully she’ll be on our side and want to catch the real thieves.”
“What can I do?” Diana asked. “You know I want to help, too.”
“Can you talk to Tad? Jim says he saw Spider on campus today. Maybe Tad can tell us something about what angle the police are taking, especially if they have their eyes on Brian.”
“I don’t mind asking, but he may just say he can’t talk to us about his brother’s cases,” Di cautioned. “Heck, his brother probably doesn’t talk to him about them, for that matter, so he may not know any more than the rest of us anyway, even though this does involve our school.”
Norma was back again, this time with Mart’s second lunch and Honey and Di’s drinks. She set everything down then started to walk away before suddenly pivoting back around to face us. “Y’all are talking about the stolen books?”
I cringed and glanced hurriedly around. How many other people had overheard our conversation? We needed to be a lot more careful if we wanted to protect Brian. The goal was to help him, not make things infinitely worse. I slowly nodded. “Yes,” I finally said after a long pause.
“And you want to find out who took them?” She stepped closer to our booth, holding her now empty tray with one hand while she reached out and straightened the condiments caddy in an almost absent-minded way. “Why?”
We traded glances. As far as we knew, there was no reason not to trust Norma. Then again, we didn’t really have much of a reason to trust her, either. While her older brother Mark was one of the popular football players and part of Mike Larson’s crowd, Norma Nelson didn’t really seem to belong to any crowd at all. At school, she kept to herself, and could usually be seen reading a paperback novel before class or at lunch. Otherwise, you could almost always find her here at Pappy’s for her waitress job.
“We spent a lot of time helping collect those books,” Honey replied, speaking truthfully. We had spent a lot of time seeking donations. While it was officially a project of the Honor Society, Jim had brought us aboard as willing volunteers, and we’d put in a lot of hours going door-to-door and approaching local shops and businesses. “We’d really like to find out what happened to them, and more importantly, get them back. The children in San Isidro need them!”
Norma exhaled heavily before responding. “You should talk to Marvin Easton,” she suggested, speaking so quietly we could barely hear her.
“Who?” Di asked.
“Marv?” Mart said at the same time.
Norma nodded. “He’s big into the A-V club. He talks all the time about being a famous movie director someday. Anyway, he got this new video recorder and he’s been carrying it around school filming pretty much non-stop. In English today, I heard him telling Scott Harper and Fay Franklin that he knows who stole the books and he even has video of the theft.”
“Seriously?” Mart exclaimed. “Why doesn’t he turn it in?”
Norma waved her hand to quiet him. “I don’t know. But I do know he’s being really cagey about it. He swore Scott and Fay to secrecy and even threatened them if they told anyone. I don’t want him coming after me, okay? I don’t think he knows I overheard him, but that’s because he always forgets I’m sitting right behind him.” She huffed out a breath and shrugged one shoulder. “Happens to me a lot, actually.”
She walked away before we could ask her anything more.
“What do you think?” I asked Mart. “Is Marv hiding something? Or maybe he was just bragging and making stuff up and doesn’t want anyone to tell because he doesn’t really have any video at all?”
“With Marvin Easton, both those things are entirely possible,” Mart replied. “He tends to play by his own rules.”
“Who’s Marvin Easton?” Di wanted to know, holding up both hands.
“Uh, he’s a senior,” Mart told her. “You’ve probably seen him around, even if you don’t know his name.”
“You’ve definitely seen him around,” Honey assured her. “He’s that guy who always wears a trench coat, even if it’s a hot, sunny day.”
“Oh! You mean Simon!”
Honey frowned, her brow slightly furrowed in confusion. “No, Marv. Marvin Easton.”
Di laughed and picked up her Coke. “No, you’re right. I have seen him around. I just never knew his name. I’ve always called him Simon, because he dresses like he thinks he’s Simon Le Bon.”
“We should definitely talk to him,” I said, pushing my bangs off my forehead and thinking hard. “But we have to come up with a way to do it without dragging Norma into it. Or Scott or Fay, for that matter.”
“Leave that to me, Sis,” Mart said as he cautiously lifted his chili dog, trying not to spill anything. “I’ll think of something. We have Spanish together. I’ll corner him tomorrow.”
“Okay, good. Then… I think we’re all decided? I mean, we all know what we need to do next, right?” At everyone’s nod in agreement, I continued. “So, let’s meet up after school tomorrow and trade notes?”
“I won’t have much time,” Di reminded me. “I’ll have to be getting ready for the game.”
“Right.” I muttered, wrinkling my nose. “There is that.”
Di is a member of the Lady Dogs Drill Team. For her tomorrow would be all about fringed white boots, a sequined gold vest, and Aqua Net hairspray. Lots and lots of Aqua Net hairspray. They changed the formula or something back when we were in grade school to get rid of whatever it was in aerosol cans that was causing a hole in the O-Zone layer, and I figure that happened at just the right time. It was almost as if the scientists saw the 80s and big hair coming.
“Look,” she said, “let’s talk at lunch for an initial update, and then we can catch up on anything new after school. I’m really curious about what Simon will have to say for himself.”
“You mean Marvin,” Honey corrected automatically.
“Same dif. Y’all come see me at the gym and I’ll do your face paint at the same time.”
Honey and Di left once we’d all agreed on the plan for the following day. I was stuck waiting for Mart to finish his meal. It was close to 4:30 by the time we left the diner. “Where’s the car?” I asked him, looking around and not spotting the old, brown station wagon our uncle had given us to share as a sixteenth birthday present.
“Sorry. I walked here like you did. I don’t know why I didn’t think to drive over.”
“Oh. Yeah.” I shook my head and laughed ruefully. “I don’t know why I assumed you would, either.”
Pappy’s is only a block away from Bowdon High, one of the reasons it’s so popular with the students. We walked over to the corner of Fifth Street and Magnolia Avenue to wait for the light and were back at the school a few minutes later. The parking lot was almost empty at this point, our wagon sitting alone in the lot reserved for juniors.
“Hey,” Mart murmured, tilting his head in the direction of the school library. “Look who’s still hanging around.”
I turned to see Marvin Easton walking along the outside of the building. He was carrying his video camera on one shoulder but it seemed to me he was moving too fast to be filming anything.
“Now what do you suppose he’s up to?” I wondered.
“You wanna follow him and see?” Mart asked, glancing over at me.
As I was considering this, Marv rounded the corner and disappeared from our view. “Yeah… Let’s,” I decided. “But we’d better think up a reason for being here if he sees us and asks.”
“Easy. I’ll just say I forgot my Chemistry book and need it for a homework assignment.”
We caught up with Marv faster than we’d anticipated. He was in the main quad, sitting on a bench with his camera at his side and scribbling furiously in a notebook balanced on his leg. His head jerked up as we came around the corner of the library and he looked right at us.
Mart raised his hand in a casual wave. “Hey, Marv,” he called. “You’re here late. You need a ride home?”
For a long moment, Marvin stared at us with that deer-in-the-headlights look of someone caught off guard and usually up to something no good. “Uh, yeah, no,” he replied finally, with a forced smile. “I’m just finishing up a... uh, project. For, uh, history. And I live across the street so I don’t need a ride.”
I guessed that meant Marv lived in the Pineview Apartments that sat directly across from the school on the north side of the campus. They were more functional and utilitarian than attractive and I knew them fairly well. Before Di’s father had struck it rich three years ago with some daring but ultimately highly profitable investments on the stock market, she and her family had lived in Pineview. I’d spent plenty of time there when I was younger, hanging out in her tiny bedroom, listening to records and gossiping about cute boys and any girl Di considered a rival. Di has two younger brothers, Larry and Terry. Larry is in middle school now and Terry is in the same grade as my youngest brother. They’re annoying, like I suppose all little brothers are, but they always had enough sense to leave us alone whenever I came over.
Mart and I kept walking, as if we had some place in particular to be that had nothing to do with Marvin Easton and once we were out of Marv’s hearing and sight, my brother stopped and shook his head. “History project? Hardly. We don’t have any projects due in history right now. Do you?”
“Nope.” Mart and I don’t have the same World History teacher. But there are only two of them, so if neither had assigned any projects recently, it was a safe bet to say Marv was lying. “C’mon. Let’s get home. Moms’ll be leaving work soon and she’ll be expecting us to be there to help with dinner.”
When Moms announced she’d taken a job at the hospital as an ER registrar, we’d been completely bowled over. It’s sad to admit, but we Belden kids were accustomed to having our mom at home and we’d never even considered the possibility that anything could change. It had meant some adjustments on our parts. In the mornings, Mart and I are now responsible for getting Bobby up, dressed, fed, and on the bus to Woodcreek Elementary School. In the afternoons, Brian picks him up and brings him home, then helps him with any homework assignments, if he needs. We also do a lot more of the cooking than we used to, with mixed results. Moms can conjure up an amazing meal using any ingredients she finds on hand. Mart and I don’t seem to have been born with or developed the same talent, so the dinners we come up with are pretty hit or miss on the edible scale.
The Belden family homestead is an old farmhouse off Glen Road on the outskirts of town. It’s been in the family for generations, which has some advantages, such as no mortgage payments to bog down the family finances, and some disadvantages, such as a seemingly endless series of needed repairs. In the many decades since our great-great grandfather set down his roots, the area has developed into a playground for the wealthy who’ve built enormous mansions along the bluffs overlooking the Brazos River. The Wheelers and Lynches are only two of many, and just by our mailing address alone, people often assume we Beldens are a part of the upper-class as well. Don’t get me wrong, we aren’t destitute or struggling by any means, but we don’t have a huge home and platoon of servants at our beck and call, either.
I’m not bitter or jealous, though. I’ve spent enough time at the Wheelers’ Manor House to know I prefer the cozy warmth of our house to the cold formality of Honey and Jim’s palatial estate. I mean, I love that they have horses that we can ride any time, a full tennis court, and a fabulous swimming pool complete with a custom slide designed to look like a natural rock formation, but it feels a lot like you’re staying at some ritzy resort hotel when you’re there, not like it’s someone’s home.
As Mart turned the station wagon up our drive and pulled in behind Brian’s dark blue Scirocco, I caught sight of someone I did not expect to see. William Regan lives and works at the Manor House as the groom in charge of Mr. Wheeler’s prize stable. He was passing along between our vegetable garden and chicken coop, clearly on his way to the path that cut through the part of the Wheeler property that borders along ours.
“Huh,” I said, mystified. “What do you think Regan was doing down here?”
Mart shrugged as he unsnapped his seatbelt. “If I had to guess? He probably found another toy Bobby abandoned during one of his unauthorized explorations of Wheeler land. It’s a good thing Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler don’t mind how much that kid trespasses.”
I supposed that was as logical an explanation as any, and I told myself I had bigger things to worry about than Regan’s wanderings. I didn’t have time to call Monica Anderson before dinner, but I planned to do so as soon as the last dish was washed and put away. I knew, as editor-in-chief of the Bulldog Beacon, Monica was used to being the one to ask all the questions, but tonight, I was going to put her in the hot seat and grill her on anything and everything she knew about the donated books and who took them.