Caught in the Act Read online

  Caught

  in the Act

  Caught

  in the Act

  Deb

  Loughead

  Copyright © 2013 Deb Loughead

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced

  or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including

  photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now

  known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Loughead, Deb, 1955-

  Caught in the act [electronic resource] / Deb Loughead.

  Electronic monograph.

  Issued also in print format.

  ISBN 978-1-4598-0497-5 (PDF).--ISBN 978-1-4598-0498-2 (EPUB)

  I. Title.

  PS8573.O8633C38 2013 jc813’.54 C2013-901922-7

  First published in the United States, 2013

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013935384

  Summary: Dylan is the suspect in robberies in a nearby cottage community.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its

  publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government

  of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts,

  and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council

  and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Cover photography by Getty Images

  Author photo by Steven Loughead

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO Box 5626, Stn. B PO Box 468

  Victoria, BC Canada Custer, WA USA

  V8R 6S4 98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  16 15 14 13 • 4 3 2 1

  For Mike Orsini

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter One

  “Dylan, you ready for this?” My friend Cory was breathless on the other end of the line. We’d been waiting for this day all month. It was the sweetest day of the entire summer, the first official day of summer vacation.

  “I’ve been totally pumped for the past week, buddy! Ready and waiting.”

  “I’ll meet you at the site. We’re lighting it at three o’clock sharp,” Cory told me.

  “Sweet,” I said. It was the same time school let out every day. “Start of another awesome summer! See ya over there, Cory.”

  I tried not to hear my mom’s voice saying, Dylan, maybe it’s time for you to think about getting a job, to start paying for your own stuff and helping out around here a little bit. I felt like sticking my fingers in my ears whenever she brought it up, but that would only make her mad. Jeez, I was still fifteen for a few more months. Couldn’t a guy have at least one summer of freedom before being permanently chained to a job?

  At that moment, the job thing wasn’t a high priority. All I could think about was getting out and having some fun. And doing the Great Paper Blaze, a three-year tradition now. It was the perfect name for a schoolwork funeral pyre. I already had my backpack stuffed. I could hardly wait to watch it all go up in smoke.

  I grabbed my backpack from my room and headed for the door. Only one escape route from our apartment, which meant I had to get past Gran without her asking me questions. That was never easy.

  I had my hand on the doorknob. I turned it. I thought I was in the clear. Then I heard her clear her throat from where she was sitting on the sofa, watching her favorite program, The Weather Channel, and knitting socks as usual.

  “Where you off to with that backpack, Dylan? I thought school was done already. Yesterday, wasn’t it?”

  I swear she can see in every direction at the same time. “Yep,” I said, without looking at her. But I could practically feel her eyes burning into my skull. “Going to chill with Cory for a while.” Please don’t remind me…

  “You told your mom you’d drop by and talk to the folks at Granitewood Lodge, remember? About working there this summer.” She cleared her throat again in that knowing and annoying way.

  I slipped out the door without answering. Then I ran all the way downstairs to grab my bike from the rack out back. In a few minutes I was cycling through streets that were already filling up with tourists and locals getting ready to party.

  Here in Bridgewood, everyone goes a bit nuts on the first long weekend of summer. With school finally out and the start of summer-vacation season, it’s definitely time to celebrate. And we invite everyone else to celebrate with us. Tourism is the bread and butter here, so we encourage it all summer long.

  We lure people to town with special events like the farmers’ market, arts and crafts shows and music festivals. The day-trippers show up in hordes. So do the city people, who arrive at their cottages for the long weekend and stick around all summer. Cidiots, my grandma likes to call them, because of their noisy personal watercraft. Those cottagers join the fun too. And Bridgewood is transformed from a ghost town into a holiday hub.

  The town fills with seasonal workers this time of year, too, mostly college and university kids. They work at resorts for the summer to save money for school. The town population multiplies when the cottages, resorts and inns are packed with sun- and fun-loving vacationers looking for a getaway. Then the cash registers start to sing in all the shops and restaurants, including Rocky’s Roadhouse, where my mom works as a bartender. Mom says the customers tip well, too, because they’re mostly in a good mood.

  As much as I resent the crowded streets sometimes, I can’t blame the city folk for wanting to be here in Bridgewood. They couldn’t pick a better place as far as awesome scenery goes. Our gleaming lake is the backdrop for the town, along with the granite outcroppings along the shore and our trademark gnarly pine trees stretching their limbs sideways. They make Bridgewood the place to be. In summer, anyway—winter is a whole other story.

  I rode my bike out to the blaze site, which was a clearing in the woods. It wasn’t too far from home. But nothing was in this town. All the other kids who were meeting us would have their backpacks filled with the past year’s school-work too. The clearing was isolated enough that nobody could see what we were up to and make us stop.

  “Hey, Dylan, what kept you?” someone called as I rode up.

  “Yeah! We’re ready to rock here,” someone else said. It was barely three. Yet everyone was in a hurry for the annual ritual to begin.

  Cory jogged over and gave me a high five. Then he pointed to the pit, which was set to be lit. It was already filled with crumpled and torn school notes, on top of a nice pile of dry kindling.

  “Oh man, I am so ready for this,” I said.

  “Hey, here’s Dillweed,” someone said, and I cringed.

  This was Garrett’s favorite name for me. We hadn’t been on good terms since a group of us got in deep doo-doo last winter for snowballing cars from a bridge and causing a car accident. I knew he still held it against me that we had got nabbed.“Hey, Garrett,” I said, flicking him a wave.

  “So your granny let you come out and play today, huh?” he said. His friend Matt, who used to be my friend, thought that was pretty funny and laughed way too loud.

  “Just ignore the losers,” Cory said. “Hurry up and dump your backpack. It’s time.”

  I dropped my bike, shrugged off my pack, unzipped it and dumped the contents onto the pile. Some of my friends clapped. My eyes searched the crowd for my friend Monica. But I knew I wo
uldn’t see her. There were only a couple of girls in the crowd, and they’d come with their boyfriends.

  Monica wasn’t into stuff like this, and I couldn’t blame her. A lot of girls like to save school stuff forever, Monica said when I invited her. Including me. So not happening, Dylan. But when it came to being around Monica, I was ever hopeful. I still considered myself lucky that she’d forgiven me for being one of the jerks who caused her mom’s car accident with those stupid snowballs.

  “Who brought the matches?” Cory said. At least five kids reached into their pockets and pulled out a pack, and everyone grinned.

  “Move in closer,” Tanner said. This whole thing had been his idea a few years back, so he always got to call the shots. We all gathered around the fire pit.

  “Okay, so this is it. The Great Paper Blaze and the start of summer vacation. Let’s party on this summer! On three,” Tanner said, then held up a can of lighter fluid and added a generous squirt to the fire. “One, two...”

  “Three,” we all yelled, and anyone who had a match lit and threw it.

  WHOOSH! We all jumped back a few feet. The lighter fluid always did the trick. A sudden snapping and crackling, then licking and leaping orange flames, hot like the sun on our skin. Then smoke spiraled into the air and drifted up through the canopy of trees and into the crazy-blue sky. It was the official start of summer holidays.

  We began to clap and cheer. A few of the guys let out earsplitting whistles through their fingers. Everyone was yelling and yammering at once. It was like a scene from Lord of the Flies. Some kids even started to do a wild fire dance. Others grabbed twigs and pinecones to toss in, because, after all, who can resist messing with a blaze? Especially one made with useless school notes.

  Everyone shouted louder as the fire danced higher. Then it seemed to be getting a bit too high. Flaming tendrils whorled toward the maple branches that dangled over the clearing. I watched, my heart thudding hard, as leaves began to blacken and curl. Sure, the lake was close by, but we didn’t even have a pail if this bonfire got out of control.

  When I glanced at Cory, he looked as freaked as I was feeling. But nobody else seemed worried. They kept on yelling. It wasn’t too tough to get caught up in the chaos. Everyone went into a frenzy, chanting, “School’s out for the summer!”

  That’s probably why none of us heard the sirens.

  Chapter Two

  “What is going on here?” someone shouted. Then a dog barked. I recognized both voices and spun around. Officer Nicole Vance and her dog, Prince, were standing on the path at the edge of the clearing.

  Uh-oh. Everyone froze, except for a few kids who hadn’t heard her because they were hollering and whooping themselves. So she yelled again, even louder.

  “Shut up, all of you!” That did the trick pretty fast. “The fire department is on the way.”

  I couldn’t even look at Nicole. Maybe, if I was lucky, she hadn’t noticed me.

  “Oh, you’re here, Dylan,” she said. “Sorry to see that.”

  Nuts.

  “Okay, everybody step away from the fire.”

  Nicole’s face was taut and angry. She had one hand on her hip, the other hanging on to Prince’s leash. Quite a few of the kids had done even better than step away. They’d taken off in all directions, like rats deserting a sinking ship.

  “I know who you are,” Nicole called as they bolted into the woods. “I probably went to school with your parents!” Then she looked straight at me and sighed. “Dylan, whose bright idea was this stupid thing, anyway?”

  I just looked at my shoes and shrugged.

  By the time the firefighters had dragged a hose down the path from where the water-tank truck was parked and were starting to douse the blaze, Cory and I were the only ones left. Nicole stood shaking her head as clouds of smoke and steam rose skyward. The fire hissed and sputtered and finally died out.

  “That could have had a way worse ending,” a firefighter said, gazing at the soggy pit. “Whose dumb idea was it?” Then he looked at me.

  I shrugged again. “Everybody’s idea, I guess,” I told him. “We’ve been doing it for a few years now.”

  “End-of-school ritual,” Cory added. “Not such a great one, probably.”

  “Leave it to kids, huh?” Nicole said with a crooked grin. “Never know what they might pull on you next. Right, Dylan?”

  Oh brother! Thanks for the reminder.

  When I looked at Nicole, she was staring at me, and I felt my face start to burn. “Cory and I could have run away like everyone else did, you know,” I said, trying to defend myself. “We weren’t the only ones here, but we’re getting the blame. And the lecture.”

  “I know that, Dylan. You’re basically good kids,” Nicole said. “Try and find some other way of celebrating, will you?”

  “Don’t worry, we will, Officer Vance,” Cory said to Nicole. “Are you going to tell our parents?” There was panic in his eyes until she touched his shoulder in a soothing way.

  “Well, I guess I can hang on to this one for now,” she said. “And I know Dylan will tell his mom and grandma before I do, won’t you? Or should I mention to them how you missed that job interview you were supposed to have at three o’clock today?”

  Why did Nicole and my mom have to be best friends? She knew everything about me!

  “Headed there now,” I told her. “Catch you later, Cory.”

  I grabbed my bike and took off along the trail. I was glad for an excuse to split, even if it meant sucking it up and trying to get a stupid summer job.

  Granitewood Lodge wasn’t one of those huge fancy chain resorts that everyone up here resented. It was a “charming and rustic bed-and-breakfast inn, tucked into the woods,” according to my mom. Since opening the previous May, it was already known for its nature walks and fine cuisine. It was attracting diners from all the cottages as well as from neighboring towns, Mom said. She and her new boyfriend, Brent, who drove up from the city most weekends, had loved the place both times they dined there.

  The new owners had just finished renovating Granitewood when they stopped into Mom’s bar for dinner one night. She’d told them I needed a job, of course, and they’d told her to send me over to talk to Mr. Hillier about it. Why did she have to get to know everyone in town? Mom figured I could be a busboy and maybe learn a thing or two about cooking so I could pitch in at home.

  I leaned my bike on a hedge near the entrance and headed for the front door of the old timber lodge. It was one of those wooden screen doors that squeaked when you opened it. Inside, the lobby was cool and dim. A college-age girl stood behind the reception desk.

  “Hi there,” she said. “Are you and your parents checking in? Name, please.”

  I smiled at her. She was easy to smile at. “No, nothing like that,” I said. “My name’s Dylan O’Connor. I’m here for a job interview with Mr. Hillier. He said I should come by at—”

  “Three o’clock,” the girl said, staring at an ancient grandfather clock in a corner. “And it’s three forty now, so you’re forty minutes late. Mr. Hillier gave up waiting for you at three-oh-five. He doesn’t think much of tardiness.”

  “Crap,” I muttered under my breath. “I am so doomed.”

  “How come?” she asked, tilting her head in a pretty way. Her long dark hair hung like a veil to her shoulders. With those bangs, she reminded me of Zooey Deschanel.

  “Long story, but basically my mom knows the Hilliers, and she tried to get a job for me. I got distracted on the way over here though. My friends were burning school notes out in the woods. And I didn’t want to miss it— year-end ritual.”

  The girl nodded and smirked as she spun a pen on the countertop.

  “Then we got caught when someone called nine-one-one and the cops and fire department showed up. So now, well, I’m doomed.” Wow. Way too much information. Why had I blabbed all that? I shuffled toward the door and put my hand on the latch.

  “Oh, I totally get it. Hang on, Dylan,” she said. I t
urned around. “I’m Heather, btw. And you seem sweet. Let’s see what I can do, okay?” Then she disappeared through a doorway leading to what appeared to be a dining room.

  I looked around at all the antique tables and chairs in the lobby and the paintings of local scenery. I picked up a Cottage Living magazine from a table and leafed through it until I heard footsteps. When I looked up, Mr. Hillier was standing there. Behind him, Heather grinned, then winked.

  “Oh, hi, Mr. Hillier,” I said. I could feel myself starting to quake. “So sorry I’m late.”

  “No problem whatsoever, Dylan.” He reached out and shook my hand. “I understand completely. It was nice of you to check up on that problem. So tell me, have you ever worked in a dining room or kitchen before?”

  I glanced over his shoulder at Heather. She was nodding. “Well, if cleaning up after supper counts, I have,” I said and grinned. “And I can whip up a mean can of soup.”

  Mr. Hillier’s eyes crinkled around the edges, and he started to laugh.

  “Good one,” he said. “Well, you seem like a responsible fellow. I think you’ll make a fine busboy here. Consider yourself hired.”

  “Huh?” I said, blinking. “That’s it?”

  “Let’s make it Tuesday morning, after the long weekend. So you can enjoy one last weekend of freedom. How does that sound?”

  “Pretty great, I guess,” I told him. “Wow. Thanks so much, sir.” I shook his hand, and he winked at me.

  “See you at eight sharp on Tuesday, Dylan.” Then he spun around and walked away.

  My mouth was hanging open, I was sure of it. When I looked at Heather, she had her hand slapped over her mouth, stifling her laughter.

  “What just happened?” I said. “What was he talking about? What does he understand completely? What problem did I check up on?”

  “That fire in the woods that those kids started. You saw the smoke when you were on your way over here, and you went to investigate. Then you called nine-one-one. Remember? That’s why you were late for your interview.” Heather was still grinning widely.