Megan's Island (19 page)

“They disabled the car,” Grandpa grunted. He pulled his hands free and rubbed them to restore circulation even as he rose so quickly that the chair fell over backward. “Took out the distributor cap. Let's go for the boat.”

With him hobbling on his cast, Megan limping on the foot she could suddenly feel again, they ran outside and toward the water.

Sandy was pale and frightened, standing ankle-deep in the water, poised to shove off. Grandpa climbed awkwardly over the bow, nearly falling so that he had to clutch at the sides.

Megan waded out and climbed in over the side, then heard Ben's pelting feet as he dashed out of the woods. He practically hurtled into the boat. “Shove off! Hurry, shove off!”

Wolf was trying to scramble in, too, but he was used to leaping in from shore, not climbing in from the water. He barked and scratched at the rowboat, while Ben fended him off with an oar.

“Not this time, pal,” Ben said. “We're too crowded already. Pretend you're a watchdog, and defend us. Come on, Sandy,
let's go!”

Megan glanced back over her shoulder. “They aren't coming yet. Should we head straight out, where they can't help seeing us when they come back, or go along the shoreline? If we swing in behind the littlest island, and lie low, maybe they won't realize where we've gone.”

“Good idea,” Grandpa said, and Ben bent his back and pulled strongly on the oars.

“I think I got 'em good,” Ben said with satisfaction. “Besides the flat tire, they now have a crumpled fender. Besides that, I threw the keys in the woods.”

Grandpa gave a short bark of laughter that sounded more pained than amused. He caught Megan's eyes and said, “They kicked me in the ribs. Didn't break anything, though. They threw my distributor cap into the woods, too. They'll have to find that before
my
car will do them any good.”

Ben was pulling hard, too hard, perhaps. He was already tiring. “Let me take a turn,” Megan suggested.

“I'll move over, and we'll both row,” Ben countered. “Come on, we can both fit on the seat.”

Sandy spoke, looking toward shore. “Wolf's trying to swim after us.”

“Make him go back,” Ben said. “We can't take him in. Do those guys have guns, Mr. Davis?”

“Not that I saw, but I wouldn't put it past them to come up with one,” Grandpa said. “Even if they don't, they're strong and they're rough. Certainly I was no match for the two of them. I don't see anybody yet, maybe we've got a chance of pulling this off if that fool dog doesn't give us away.” He looked toward Wolf. “Go back! Stay, boy! Stay on shore!”

Poor Wolf paddled after them for a few more yards, then turned and angled for shore, much to Megan's relief. She didn't want him to drown, and they couldn't delay to haul the big dog into the boat, even if there were room for him.

Grandpa twisted around to see the little island where Sandy's American flag still fluttered in the breeze. “Just a few yards farther! This isn't much of an island, but maybe we can hide behind it, unless they walk way down the beach.” Megan's arms were aching as badly as her ankle when they stopped rowing and shipped the oars. The exertion had left her damp and exhausted.

The island was barely large enough to conceal the rowboat, and if it hadn't been for the bush, it would have provided no cover for their heads sticking up. Even so, they had to bend over.

“I'm going to crawl up and see what I can see,” Ben said after a moment. He was moving his arms experimentally as if he, too, suffered from abused muscles.

The boat drifted, bumping gently against the rock that formed the island. Luckily on this side there was a narrow, flat place Ben could step out onto; Megan reached out to touch the rock with a hand, helping to hold them in position.

“I can't see anything but the cottage,” Ben murmured from where he'd stretched out flat and parted the branches with both hands. “Nobody in sight yet.”

They couldn't stay here forever, Megan thought, but it was a relief to stop rowing, even for a few minutes. She looked at her grandfather, swallowing hard as she thought of what he'd been through in attempting to protect her and Sandy.

“Who are they, Grandpa? What did they want with us?”

He had taken out a handkerchief and was patting at the corner of his mouth with it. “Names were Guy and Mac, far as I could make out. They didn't introduce themselves.” He dipped the handkerchief in the water and patted again. “They didn't explain much, either, but I think I figured it out. They know Daniel Kauffman is your grandfather, and that he was offering a reward for information leading to finding you kids. They're determined to collect it. I told them Daniel's detective had already found you, which seemed to disconcert them a bit. They didn't like that, but they didn't back off. I suspect they're not above kidnapping you and demanding a ransom from Daniel.”

Megan shivered. “But how do they know about us? I mean, if they saw us in that TV picture, how did they know who we are, and where we are?”

“Sounded to me like the skinny one—Guy—heard about you from his aunt. Used to be a neighbor to you?”

“Mrs. Morgan!” Megan and Sandy said together.

Megan leaned toward her brother. “Could that be him, Sandy? Mrs. Morgan's nephew, the one who got nasty when your ball went into their yard? I thought you said he had a mustache?”

“He did, but yeah, that could be him. He looks different with his mustache shaved off,” Sandy said. “No wonder I didn't recognize him!”

“I never even saw him, just heard Mrs. Morgan talk about him,” Megan explained to her grandfather. And then, because she could see that Sandy felt bad about not realizing sooner who the man was, she added, “I don't suppose I'd have known him, either, if he shaved off a mustache.”

Grandpa grunted and put the wet handkerchief back in his pocket. “Anyway, this struck him as an easy way to make some money. He hasn't yet thought about how it's probably going to land him in the penitentiary. Or he thinks he's smarter than the FBI, which I doubt. Maybe they found the keys and drove off by now,” he added hopefully.

“No. I see them, now. They were in the house,” Ben said. “I think they're mad. One of them just kicked that can of rocks off the porch.” He hesitated, then went on. “They're coming down to the water. Wolf is jumping around, but he's not biting anybody.” He sounded disgusted.

“He's young, and he's only been around a few days. He doesn't know yet who belongs there and who doesn't,” Grandpa pointed out. “The thing is, if they figure out we took to the water, they may come after us.”

Ben made another report. “No. They must have fixed your car, Mr. Davis. They're getting in it. They're driving away.”

They waited then, until it seemed the men were not coming back. At least not immediately. Still, Megan and Ben rowed vigorously when they finally left the shelter of the tiny island and headed for the bigger one, and it was a relief to slide behind it, out of sight from the nearer shore.

Grandpa looked at the steeply sloping rock as they stepped out of the boat. “I couldn't climb into your tree house, so I think I'll just wait for you here,” he said. “Looks like a man could get hurt if he slipped on that rock. I'm not part-monkey like the rest of you.”

Besides that, Megan saw to her alarm, he was frighteningly pale. She was afraid the men had hurt him more than he had admitted. “Shall we bring you back something to eat?” she asked, offering the only comfort she could think of.

Grandpa inspected the small cove. “That would be nice. I'm not hungry, but it's always a good idea to keep up your strength. We're not safely out of this yet. After the threats they made, and roughing me up, I don't think they're going to want us to get away to the authorities.” He eased himself into a sitting position on the sand. “Maybe you could bring me a blanket, too. It'll be cooling off soon.”

“Hey,” Ben said, “we're not going to spend the night here. After we've rested a few minutes I'll take the boat and go after my dad. If he'd left his keys in the car, I'd have taken it to go for help even if I had to run over those guys to do it. But he must have the keys in his pocket, and he'll get the cops.”

Grandpa nodded. “Good. Go before those men come back and see you. They're nasty customers, and we don't know how long they'll be gone. They undoubtedly want to get that car out of there, if it can be traced back to whichever of them owns it.”

It was already too late to row across the lake toward Mr. Jamison without being seen, however. By the time Megan had fixed a lunch for her grandfather, and rolled up one of the sleeping bags to take to him, Ben had the binoculars trained on the cottage.

“They're back! Oh, oh! They've figured out where we are, I think!”

Megan took the glasses to scan the shore. The two men were there, all right, with Wolf running up and down the edge of the lake, his antics clearly indicating which direction their prey had taken.

Her lips were so stiff she could hardly speak. “What if they went to get a gun? Oh, gosh, they're checking out the canoe! They're going to follow us!”

Sure enough, the red canoe was being slid toward the water. Wolf became even more animated, clearly thinking he was to go, too. One of the men kicked at him, but the dog leaped into the canoe before they got it all the way off the beach, then sat down as they'd taught him; Megan could see his tongue lolling happily even from this distance, for the glasses brought him sharply into view.

“I think they're arguing about getting Wolf out,” she said, unwilling to relinquish the binoculars. “He doesn't want to get out, and I think they've given up. Yes, they're getting in.” She paused, then added, “I don't think they know much about canoes.”

“Look up-lake,” Ben said. “See if my dad is still out.”

Megan swung the glasses, seeing a loon lift from the water in flight, so close she saw water dripping behind it, until she located the yellow canoe that came with the log cabin. “He's just sitting there. Not fishing, just drifting. Resting.”

Ben took the binoculars from her hand then, to see for himself. “Yeah. Resting. He always needs to rest when he finishes a book. Hey, I just thought of something. Have you got a mirror with you?”

“A mirror? No, why? Oh, wait a minute. I've got Mom's little bag, and there might be a hand mirror in the pockets. Let me look.” Megan scrambled inside to find it.

“Great! The way the sun is, I think maybe I can pick it up in the mirror and signal to him, if he looks this way. I was in a camp once where we learned to signal SOS for help. I forgot everything else, but that one's easy. Three long, three short, three long. Or is it the other way around? Anyway, it won't matter once I get started. Here, hold these. Watch Dad and see if he reacts to my signals.”

Mr. Jamison wasn't asleep, Megan thought thankfully as the glasses brought him nearer. He pushed back his hat and scratched his head, then reached for a can of something, popped the lid off, and drank.

“He's not looking this way,” she muttered. “Come on, Mr. Jamison,
please!
Oh, he's looking! Keep signaling, Ben, I think he sees it!”

Ben's father must have seen the tiny blinking flashes. He was shading his eyes now with a hand, staring directly at the island.

“He's coming! He's picked up the paddle, and he's coming!” she squealed.

“So are those guys,” Sandy interrupted anxiously. “See? And they're closer than Mr. Jamison. They're going to get here first.”

Grandpa lifted his head to watch them come slipping and sliding down the rocky surface. He looked no better than when they'd left him twenty minutes earlier. He's in shock, Megan thought worriedly.

“Get in the boat, everybody,” Ben said. “I'll wait up on top and signal you which way they're coming. We'll take off in the other direction. With a little head start, we'll get out in the open where dad can see us. He saw my signals and he's coming this way,” he added by way of explanation to Grandpa Davis.

“What about you?” Megan called after him as Ben turned immediately and went back the way he'd come.

“I'll jump in at the last minute,” Ben shouted over his shoulder.

Grandpa got up slowly, as if he were stiff. “Mr. Jamison is in his canoe? If he'd go for the police—but it's a good hard paddle back to his place.”

Megan didn't reply. At least he sounded all right. She joined Sandy in pushing the rowboat partway into the water, concentrating on doing exactly what Ben had said. “Sandy and I will row, so you'd better sit in the back this time, Grandpa. Then Ben can shove off and we'll try to get out of sight before they get here.”

It was strange to be speaking that way to a grown-up, but Grandpa just nodded and stepped over the side of the boat, casted foot first to keep it from getting wet.

It didn't work out quite as neatly as Ben had planned, however. The others were ready and waiting when he finally appeared at the top of the slope, but when he turned to look back one last time, his foot slipped. Ben did a somersault on the way down and landed flat on his back, stunned.

For a moment Megan thought he'd been knocked out, for he didn't move. “Ben! Oh, no, we've got to get him into the boat!”

Ben stirred, lifting his head, cradling it in both hands. “Wow! I think I've got a fractured skull, or at least a concussion!”

“Hurry, Ben! Are they almost here?”

“Going around that way.” He staggered to his feet and headed toward the others, still holding his head. “They're . . . they're fighting between themselves. I could hear them arguing, and I waited too long. . . .”

He reached the water's edge, but instead of shoving them off, he collapsed on his knees before the bow.