8th Day Page 12

  Also, I'd learned something else while reading the students' essays. A girl named Tanya Payne had chosen to compare her weaknesses with another girl's strengths, an odd twist on the assignment I'd given. The girl to whom she chose to compare herself was none other than Belinda Pitt. It was the third paragraph, I found most interesting.

  Whereas I'm pretty cowardly and chicken, Belinda's brave and daring. She's never afraid to stand up for herself or to try something new or do something dangerous, even if it means taking a chance at getting herself in trouble. For instance, one night when one of the girls in our house ran off, Belinda took it on herself to help look for her, because she felt responsible that one of her charges had taken off. She snuck out herself and spent several hours helping look for the little jerk. She wouldn't have told anyone, either, except I was awake when she came in, so she confided in me. So you can see, she's not only brave, but also unselfish, which is another thing I'm not. I can be really selfish and self-centered, too.

  Belinda Pitt had some of these kids totally buffaloed. Unselfish? Brave? Try manipulative and conniving. But regardless of what Tanya Payne thought, the fact was, Belinda Pitt had been out on her own on the fateful night that Annie Gisson disappeared, supposedly looking for Maddie Boone. I didn't believe for a second that that's what she was really up to. My guess was that Belinda had sneaked out of the girls house for an entirely different reason. Given Dean Dobberteen's reference to Belinda's relationship with Coach, it was possible that she was off looking for Coach, not Maddie. Had she found him? Had they had a little tryst in the woods? Had Annie Sisson seen Belinda sneak off and followed her? Had Annie caught Belinda and Coach together?

  I let my imagination run, picturing the scene as Annie confronted Coach and Belinda, threatening to report their affair to Doc. Would Coach have killed Annie to keep her quiet? Even for Coach, that was a bit extreme, I thought. But what if he had hurt her accidentally and Belinda had been there? Maybe the two of them had conspired to cover it up. Could Maddie Boone have witnessed the whole thing from her hiding place in the woods? Or had there even been a murder at all?

  Before I got too carried away, I reminded myself that Jo hadn't seen Belinda at all that night. I wondered who else might have been out and about that Jo hadn't seen. If Belinda had followed Coach, she hadn't done so on horseback. Maybe they had a pre-arranged meeting spot that didn't require her traipsing across the meadows. There were lots of potential hiding places in the compound. For that matter, it was possible that Belinda had sneaked off to meet with someone other than Coach. But then what had prompted Annie Sisson to ride off into the woods? Of course, I didn't know that she had actually gone into the woods, Jo had only seen her cross the pasture, then lost track of her when she went inside. Could Annie have turned around and ridden back toward the stables without Jo knowing it? Or maybe Annie had seen all the activity in the mine and gone in that direction to investigate.

  Which brought me back to the question of the night-time pick-up. It occurred to me that I didn't even know exactly what the machine shop manufactured, and decided it was time to educate myself. I could do that while waiting to talk to Maddie, which I had to do soon, trust or no trust. I was spending way too much time and energy entertaining possibilities. What I needed were facts. The sooner I got them, the sooner I could get out of Camp Turnaround.

  Ben Biscane was eating alone in the cafeteria, sitting at a far table, away from the bustling noise of the kids. He was holding a copy of Time Magazine with his left hand, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth with his right.

  "Mind if I join you?" I asked, pushing back a chair. In truth, he didn't look too delighted to see me, but he nodded and put down his magazine reluctantly.

  "I didn't mean to interrupt," I said. "Everyone else seems to have disappeared."

  "Discipline Committee meeting I think," he said. "They're in the back room, if you want to join them. I'm not much on committees myself."

  "Me neither," I said. "Cassidy James. The sub for Miss Sisson." I extended a hand and he shook it. He had big brown eyes and pleasant, though unremarkable features. There was little resemblance to his older brother, I thought. Ben's hair was brown and bushy and his beard was a little unkempt, unlike Doc's neatly trimmed goatee and sideburns. He was large-framed, but soft around the middle. It wasn't difficult to imagine him in front of the television, a Budweiser in one hand, a bowl of popcorn in his lap.

  "Glad to meet you," he said. "Ben Biscane. I run the machine shop."

  "Oh, really? I'd love to see it sometime. Is it like the woodshops they have in high-schools where kids make those neat projects?"

  He laughed. "Hardly. This is a real, bona fide computer-assisted machine shop. We manufacture and wholesale hardware."

  "No kidding. Like, what kind of hardware? For computers?" I bit off a piece of bacon, wondering if the dumb blonde act was too convincing. He was starting to come to life, the way some men do when they find they have a captive audience. I thought about what Lacy had said about there not being too many eligible partners in camp, and inwardly cringed.

  "Oh, no. Nothing that exciting. Mostly boring stuff like farming equipment, tools, large machine parts. Actually, we can pretty much design whatever someone can imagine. That's the real heart of the business. Once the design is entered into the computers, the machines are set to specifications, and then it's mostly a matter of operating an assembly-line-style manufacturing plant. That's where the kids come in. Some of them learn to input data and actually work as machinists. Most of the kids work as machine operators, though. They're both great skills to put on a resume."

  "I bet. You must be pretty proud. I mean, it sounds like the whole program's a success." I was pouring it on thick and Ben was lapping it up.

  "It really is. I don't mind saying it, either. I know it sounds a little boastful, but business is booming. If I had a larger shop and more kids, I could probably double our output. But how much does one man need? A few more years and I'll be able to retire if I want. As for now, this place isn't all that bad, you know."

  "Are you kidding? It's a paradise. I can't believe anyone ever wants to leave. I still don't understand why the woman I'm replacing left."

  Ben shoveled another forkful of eggs into his mouth and shrugged, his gaze meeting mine briefly. "Your guess is as good as mine," he said. The thing was, his eyes sort of slid to the left as he said it. I'd been watching people — kids and adults — lie for years, even before I'd become a detective. One thing I'd learned was, except for the really serious sociopaths, people's eyes almost always slid one way or the other when they lied. If they were making things up off the top of their head, their eyes tended to roll up as if searching the top of their head for the story. A slide to the right usually meant they were stalling, trying to dredge up something they'd forgotten. A slide to the left could mean that they were hiding something. This wasn't exactly based on scientific proof. But I'd bet anything old Ben here was hiding something. I decided to push a little harder.

  "So Miss Sisson didn't even tell you she was planning to leave when you saw her that night?"

  Ben's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

  "Oh, I just thought that since she rode out there to the mine during the delivery that night that maybe she was telling you all goodbye and that's why she'd ridden out there. To say goodbye."

  Ben was staring at me, dumbfounded. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about. You must have your facts mixed up. The last time I saw Annie Sisson was at breakfast the day she left. What in the world made you think she was at the mine that night?"

  "I guess someone said they saw her ride out there. It's no big deal. I just figured she was telling you all goodbye."

  "Well, you figured wrong, and someone got their facts wrong too." He seemed to catch himself getting wound up, and sat back, chuckling at himself. "Forgive me. Being a stickler for details, I detest it when people get things fouled up. Who told you that?"

  "Gosh, I can't really re
member. It seems like since I got here, all anyone's talked about is what a neat person Annie Sisson was and how much she'll be missed. I guess since I'm taking over for her, people just feel compelled to talk about it. Even the students are talking. But you know how it is. It's like that telephone game. Person A tells Person B something and he tells Person C and by the time Person X hears it, the original message is all garbled. That's probably what happened here." My dumb blonde act was starting to convince me.

  Ben had pushed his plate away and was downing the rest of his coffee. "You're right," he said, regaining his good humor. "I've heard everything including one rumor that she left to hide the fact she was pregnant and another that she ran off with a new student to get married. Can you imagine?"

  "She was pregnant?" I deadpanned. He laughed and pushed back his chair.

  "See? That's exactly how these rumors get started. Stop by sometime and I'll give you a tour of the shop."

  "I'd like that. Thanks. Maybe I'll swing by after breakfast."

  I couldn't tell if he was pleased at the prospect or not. I watched him walk out of the cafeteria, wondering what to make of the eye slide and the fact that my wild assertion about Annie stopping by the mine might have hit a nerve. But then, maybe he was, as he said, just a stickler for details. And my sliding eye theory wasn't exactly fool-proof either. There were probably dozens of reasons people's eyes got shifty. I finished my breakfast, then headed toward the machine shop, deciding to take Ben Biscane up on his offer while it was still good.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Madeline

  She couldn't believe she'd slept. It was another deep mournful moan of the mountain that brought her to her senses, and she was once again gripped by fear. She sat bolt upright in the darkness and waited, shivering in the cold, dank cave. How long had she slept, she wondered. There was no way to tell whether it had been an hour or four hours. Wistfully, she imagined that she'd slept the whole night through and that any minute Coach would be coming for her, telling her it was all over.

  But he'd said a couple of days and then they'd see. She hadn't slept away two days. She probably hadn't slept much at all.

  She stood and stretched, annoyed by the metal handcuff that had left a painful impression on her cheek where she'd rested against it. She rubbed at her cheek and then her wrist, fishing she could unhook the cuff. Then, for the first time since she'd been dragged off in the wagon, Maddie remembered the hidden treasures she'd confiscated that morning in the kitchen, safely tucked away inside her pants.

  Hurriedly, she unpinned the plastic baggie and laid it on the blanket, using her hands to blindly sort her treasures in the dark. She had a knife! Better yet, she had matches! And a box of birthday candles! If only she could make a fire, the cave might not be so unbearable!

  Quickly, she fumbled one of the matches out of the baggie and struck it against the rock floor. On the third try, the match caught, flickered in the blackness, and went out. Maddie nearly panicked, grabbing at another wooden match before she stopped herself.

  Think, she commanded. Don't act like a scared little girl. Which was precisely what she was at the moment, but it didn't matter. She couldn't afford that weakness.

  She calmly returned the match to the baggie and sat back on her heels, thinking. There was a draft in the cave, which was probably why her match had blown out so soon, but overall, that might be a good thing. If she could get a fire going, she'd need ventilation. But the draft might also mean that it would be more difficult to get a fire started. Not that she had anything to burn. Her tiny birthday candles wouldn't last long, she knew. She stood up and followed her instincts toward the back of the cave where Coach had said bats might be lingering. Holding her breath, she reached out and tentatively traced the cave wall until she felt the ledge. Slowly, she inched her hand inside, eyes wide-open in the dark. Sure enough, there was a draft coming down an open shaft. With her other hand, she felt the opposite side of the ledge and imagined a three foot cubbyhole maybe another foot deep. Big enough for something bigger than bats to hide in. Suddenly, she withdrew her hands and stepped back. What if there was an animal lurking inside? What if there were snakes?

  Knock it off, she told herself. The important thing was, there was a draft, so a fire would have ventilation. All she needed was wood. And patience, she reminded herself. And then it hit her. Despite the dark, despite the fact that she was trapped inside this hideous mine, for a few minutes she'd been thinking of something other than her fear. She was planning, and that was a good thing. All Maddie needed was a plan, and she could get through this.

  She worked her way back to the blanket in the darkness. If only she could see to check out the Swiss Army knife. Maybe there was something in there small enough to help her remove the handcuff. Because if she could get the damned cuff off, maybe she could somehow find wood. And if she found wood, she could try to build a fire.

  Using her body to block the draft, Maddie risked another match, striking it against the rock floor. Once it caught, she held the flame to the tiny wick of a birthday candle and said a little prayer. The candle flickered, casting a dim glow in front of her. She let some of the wax drip onto the floor, then set the candle firmly into the melted wax to hold it in place. It wasn't much, but the faint light gave her hope and determination. Quickly, before the flame flickered out, she went to work.

  Maddie's fingers were small but strong, and soon she had all the tools pulled free, testing each one with her fingertips, trying to figure out their use in the dim candle light. The screwdriver was easy, as was the little saw and the knife blade. There was also a pair of scissors, a fingernail file, a rough-edged hasp, a bottle opener, and last but not least, something that seemed about the right size for a toothpick. That, she decided, might be the most valuable tool of the lot at the moment.

  Her hands shaking more with excitement now than cold, she closed the other tools and got a firm grip on the pick. The problem was, she couldn't see the handcuffs well enough to know where the pick should go. She felt along the smooth metal, and finally detected a small hole on the outside surface. Had to be the key hole. She'd seen people pick handcuff locks on television. She wished she'd paid more attention.

  Luckily, Coach had cuffed her left hand, leaving her free to maneuver with her right. Gritting her teeth with determination, she worked the pick into the hole and gently turned. Nothing. She pulled it out and reinserted it, trying again with the same results. Damn! she thought. This has got to work. She pushed the pick in and pressed against first one side and then the other, careful not to push too hard, lest the pick break. She rotated the pick, then out of frustration, pushed it in as far as it would go. Suddenly, to her utter amazement, the little lock sprang free.

  "I did it!" she shouted into the cave.

  I did it! her words echoed back.

  She slid the bracelet off her wrist and flung it to the ground. "Yes!" she yelled.

  Yes! came the exuberant reply.

  Maddie stood up and danced around her blanket, now free of both cuff and chain. The little candle went out and Maddie came back to reality. Before she got too carried away, she carefully looped the chain like a hose and carried it to the far wall of the cave, leaving the cuff unlocked. If Coach were to suddenly return, she wouldn't want him to know she'd freed herself.

  Now that she was free, her single most intense desire was to find something to burn. She knew that the door was wooden, but even if she used the screwdriver to unhinge the latches, the door was a thousand times too big. She didn't want to smoke herself to death. She just wanted to warm herself and get some light.

  If only she had a flashlight, she thought. As frightened as she'd been following Coach down the tunnel, she knew that with a light of her own, she could make her way back to the entrance. All she had to do was follow the train tracks. And then what? Once he found she'd escaped, he'd surely make sure she couldn't the next time. Her best bet was to do what she could to make her stay bearable and work on an escape plan for
later.

  First things first, she chided herself. Find something to burn! She carefully stowed everything back in the baggie, adding the peanut butter crackers, and repinned it to her waistband. If somehow she was unable to find her way back to this room, at least she wouldn't starve to death. She took a small sip of water from the bottle and tucked it under the blanket for safe keeping, then made her way to the door.

  She was seized by a moment of panic, thinking that maybe Coach had tricked her and locked the door after all. But with one easy pull, the door opened inward and Maddie was back in the main tunnel.

  She'd come from the northwest and she turned that way now, choosing the familiar over the unknown. She'd seen wooden beams along the way, supporting planks where the walls of the mine had started to crumble. Maybe she could whittle some shavings from one, get some kindling.

  She was concentrating on her feet, picking her way through the darkness, straining to see the metal track while her left hand trailed the wall. She was starting to wonder if she'd ever come across any of the beams she'd seen, when suddenly the ground rose up in front of her, sending her sprawling.