Megan's Island (8 page)

She could see why he would get on his parents' nerves. He didn't ask other people's opinions, assuming his own ideas were great. He acted as if he'd just been elected president.

Sandy didn't seem to mind. When Megan muttered her dissatisfaction while Ben was up in one of the trees for a closer look, Sandy was astonished.

“Well, he's got some good ideas, Megan! And he's got the lumber and tools to build a
real
tree house!”

“I was perfectly satisfied with the cave,” Megan stated.

“Well, sure, I like it, too, but Ben's got some neat plans, Megan. And he's somebody to do things with while we're here.”

Why did everything have to remind her that they were
here,
not at home, away from all their friends, uncertain about where they would go next, and when?

“See?” Ben called. “We could build a platform supported on these branches, between the two trees, and put a ladder up that trunk. We can use your boat, and get the stuff out of my dad's garage to start with.”

“Will he let you use the lumber, too?”

“If it gets rid of me, he'll probably let me do anything,” Ben said wryly. “Hey, the view up here is great! I can see to both ends of the lake, and there's something on that little bitty island over there we ought to investigate.”

“That's my island, and I put a flag on it,” Sandy told him. “Come on, Megan, let's climb up and see, too.”

Megan declined, however. She had no desire to balance on a tree limb next to Ben Jamison. Still, unless she wanted to be left entirely alone, she was going to have to join the boys in whatever they decided to do.

In the end, they took both the canoe and the boat up the lake to the Jamisons' log cabin. They sorted out what they wanted of the tools from the garage, which looked as if it had been used to store junk for years; there was no room in it for the black Porsche parked in the yard.

“Hey, nice car,” Sandy said.

“Yeah. Dad makes good money writing books. Only he got pretty upset over the divorce, I guess, and writing hasn't been so easy for him on this one. Here, take this saw. Megan, you take the nails and the hammer.”

That was the way Ben was. Do this, do that. As if they were his servants.

Sandy didn't seem to mind. He was too impressed by the way Ben rattled off what they were going to do, and how. Megan smoldered, thinking up things to say to him when he gave her one order too many. Which was going to be very soon, she decided.

It took them two days to ferry the basic materials to the island. After that Ben began the actual building; he took it for granted that Megan and Sandy would run errands, hand things up to him, and in general wait on him.

Once, when he barked a demand for more nails, Megan tossed him the bag and said gruffly, “No wonder people think you're obnoxious. Did you ever hear of ‘please' and ‘thank-you?' ”

To her surprise, Ben grinned. It made his face much more pleasant. “Yeah. Please get me those two-by-fours, and thank-you.”

She didn't know what to say back, so she brought the lumber from the pile on the ground. By the end of the second day of building, even Megan had to admit that the tree house was going to be better than the cave, which was open on the front and both sides except for some pine boughs.

The tree-house platform was big enough so they could spread out three sleeping bags if they wanted to. There was a window on each side, enabling them to see in all directions, though they had no glass for them. There was a shelf to keep food supplies on, and they even salvaged an old end table with a shelf under it for their dishes. They didn't have a way to cook, but Ben thought they would be just as well off using the grill at the mouth of the cave.

“It's not very far to walk, and it'll be safer than trying to have a stove in the hut. Especially when we don't have a stove,” Ben announced.

“Oh, by all means, then,” Megan said dryly, “let's do it that way if
you
think so.”

Ben looked at Sandy. “What's the matter with her?”

Sandy shrugged. “You know how girls are.”

Megan felt annoyance stirring again. Before she could think of a suitable comment, though, Ben asked, “Did your uncle find you?”

In the stillness a crow's cry sounded from the tall pines on the edge of the lake, and from far up the lake they heard an outboard motor, suggesting that new neighbors had arrived.

“Our uncle?” Sandy asked stupidly.

“Yeah,” Ben said. “When my dad was in town this morning he said he met this guy asking about two redheaded kids in the general store. I hadn't told him about you until then—my dad, I mean—because he's been too busy to talk to me until he gets this difficult chapter written; but when he mentioned it, I figured it had to be you. There aren't that many redheads around, usually. The guy that runs the store didn't know you, but he suggested your uncle try asking at the post office.”

Megan's mouth felt dry. “That's really strange. Because we don't have an uncle.”

“No kidding? Well, I guess there must be some more redheads, then. Here, Sandy, grab the other end of this, and we'll get the roofing on. Then we won't have to worry that our stuff will get wet when it rains.”

Sandy appeared to give the matter no further thought, but Megan's stomach was churning.

Who was the man who had claimed to be the “uncle” of two redheaded kids?

And if the man was really looking for Megan and Sandy, what did he want?

It wouldn't have frightened her if she hadn't known her mother was running away from something—or someone.

She didn't get a chance for a private conversation with Sandy until they got home, and Grandpa asked them to walk out to the main road and check the mailbox. “I need to keep an eye on supper so it won't scorch,” he said. “Come right back, though, because this'll be ready in about twenty minutes.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Megan spoke. “I don't like the idea of some guy who says he's our uncle asking for us in town.”

“We don't have an uncle, so he must be looking for somebody else,” Sandy said, trotting to keep up with her.

“Or he's looking for us and he's lying about being our uncle because he thinks that will make people more willing to tell him where we are. We haven't been to town yet, so probably nobody knows we're here. But how many redheaded kids are there likely to be that the grocery man wouldn't know?”

“You think he really is looking for us?” Sandy had sobered. “What for?”

“Who knows? If he has to lie to find us, though, it's kind of suspicious, isn't it?”

“How would he know we're here? Unless Mom told him.”

“If she told him, she'd have told him we were with Grandpa. And it didn't sound as if he mentioned our names, even. Just said he was looking for redheads. Our last name's not the same as Grandpa's, so probably the postmaster wouldn't know where we were, either. Not unless Grandpa told him we were coming, and he wasn't expecting us for another week or so.”

Megan had to slow down because her furious pace had caused her to get a stitch in her side. “It makes me nervous, after the other things that have happened,” she said.

“Are we going to tell Grandpa about it?”

“I don't know. Maybe. We'll think about it,” Megan said uneasily.

They had reached the main road, and Sandy pulled open the door of the mailbox. “Two bills, and an ad for the general store in town, and . . . hey! You got a letter from Annie!”

Megan snatched the letter out of his hand. A letter from Annie! Annie hadn't been so mad at her that she refused to write back! She tore it open, but before she could empty the envelope, Sandy tugged at her arm.

“Come on, you can read it after we get home. It's too long to read in a minute or two, and I'm starved. Gramps said to come right home.”

Megan hesitated, then folded the letter and put it into the pocket of her jeans. “Okay. I want to read it slowly and enjoy it longer, anyway,” she said.

It never occurred to her that the letter would leave her even more scared than she already was.

There was no opportunity to read Annie's letter until after the supper dishes had been washed and put away. Megan listened halfheartedly to the news on the radio, which was the usual sort of thing that didn't interest her very much: reports on a city council meeting, a governor's conference, a high speed police chase that ended in a crash, the death of some supposedly prominent person she'd never heard of.

Would it be on the radio if her mother got hurt or killed in a car crash?

It was a horrid thought—which just sprang into her mind—and Megan couldn't put it aside. What if something
did
happen to Karen Collier while she was away, and nobody even knew where to find her children or her father to tell them?

Megan put the last glass into the cupboard and headed for her tiny bedroom, glancing guiltily at the door when the letter crackled as she drew it out of her pocket. She wasn't quite sure why she felt guilty about writing to Annie, but she had an uncomfortable feeling that Grandpa might not approve.

She flopped across the bed and unfolded the pages, eager to see what her friend had to say.

Dear Megan:

I was so glad to hear from you. It was very upsetting when you moved away without telling me. I knew your mother must have made you go, that it wasn't your fault, but I'm really disappointed that we won't be together at the lake.

I guess, from the postmark on your letter, that you did go to the cottage where your grandpa was staying. I'm addressing this in care of Mr. Davis, because you didn't give me a box number, so I hope it gets to you. Is it nice there? Have you been swimming, or is the water still too cold?

Mom let me get the swimsuit I wanted, the red and white one. I went to the pool with Shirley and Tammy, but it wasn't like going with you.

Mrs. Morgan told my mom you had moved out at night. We couldn't believe it, but Mrs. Morgan said she looked in the windows and you weren't there, only some boxes; and then that lady your mom worked with came and got them. She wouldn't tell Mrs. Morgan anything about where you were.

When I came home from school this afternoon, there was a man talking to Mr. Morgan on their front porch. After he went away, Mrs. Morgan came over and talked to Mom and me. She said he was asking about you. I mean, your whole family, only he didn't seem sure what your name was. We all thought that was funny. He knew you were red-haired, though.

Well, I hope nothing is wrong. Mr. Morgan didn't know where you were, so he didn't tell the man anything like that. His nephew was there, you remember that homely one that yelled at the boys when Sandy hit a ball into their backyard? The one named Guy? My dad says he's ‘the shifty one.' I guess he means Guy's a creep. He was asking questions, too, but Mom said it was nobody's business where you were, so she wouldn't have told even if she knew. She said you probably didn't have a chance to call me or anything, and it wasn't because we weren't friends anymore. I was sure glad to get your letter.

We've got one more day of school, and then we're out for the summer. Write to me again if you get this. I miss you.

Love, Annie.

There was a tight feeling in Megan's chest.

The Morgans had lived one house down from the Colliers, and though Mrs. Morgan was pleasant enough, she was awfully nosy. She always stopped Mom to talk and asked questions that Mom didn't usually answer, though she smiled and stayed polite. The idea of anybody getting information about the Colliers from the Morgans was disconcerting, and it made Megan feel as if she were guilty of something, even if she didn't have any idea of what it was.

It also made her scared. There had to be a reason why an unknown man would be looking for them. And since that happened right after the family had taken off without telling anyone, the two events seemed tied together. The timing was too perfect for it to be a coincidence.

If only Mom would come back and tell them what was wrong! She had to tell them, Megan thought fiercely. Whatever it was, surely she and Sandy would be better off knowing about it, rather than just getting more and more scared.

She smoothed out the pages and read them again, but it didn't make anything clearer. And the cold sense of dread grew in her stomach so that she felt half-sick with it.

*  *  *

“Megan! Wake up!”

The whisper was a hiss in the darkness, and she came awake groggily, rising on one elbow.

“Sandy? What's the matter?”

“Shhh! I don't want to wake Grandpa up. Listen, come into my bedroom and listen!”

What kind of a sentence was that? Megan wondered. “Listen to what?”

“If I knew what it was, I wouldn't have to ask you to listen to it, would I? I think somebody's prowling around outside.”

She came wide awake then, aware of the night chill, or maybe it was goose bumps, because the fear came flooding back. After debating with herself for almost the entire evening, she'd finally shared Annie's letter with her brother. Then she'd wondered if that had been a mistake, because it was obvious that Sandy was scared, too.

And now he thought someone was prowling around the cottage.

Megan slid out of bed, shivering in her thin summer pajamas. Together they padded silently across the living room. Megan caught a little toe against the leg of a chair and stifled an exclamation of pain. Her heart was thudding so loudly it felt as if it could break out of her chest.

They reached the door of the bedroom where Sandy slept and eased inside. “Now listen!” Sandy commanded, so softly she could barely hear him.

At first there was nothing. Megan began to hope he had simply imagined whatever it was, or had had a bad dream. Sometimes when you woke from a nightmare, you couldn't tell what was real and what was not.