“You know, Shelby, in spite of the way this all turned out, you can be proud of yourself for examining things and trying to put them together. After all, that's how crimes are solved.”
I was feeling anything but proud.
“In fact,” he continued, “I don't think you were entirely on the wrong track in one aspect of your deductions.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think it's very probable indeed that the person responsible for the fires is a student, either at the high school or junior high level.”
“Really? Why?”
“As I told the police when they consulted with me...;” he paused, seeing the surprise on my face. “Yes, that's
right. Everyone knows the police came to see me last fall when the fires started. They surmised, incorrectly, that it was because I was a suspect. The truth was that they were looking for my help. Since I am a doctor of psychology, the police felt I might be able to steer them in the right direction with some sort of offender profile.
“Anyway, as I was saying, I told the police they were most likely looking for a younger person. It is very rare for someone to start setting fires later in life. Since Little River has never had this problem in the past, either the culprit is new to the area and has a history of fire-setting somewhere else, or he or she is between the ages of ten and eighteen.”
“But how do you know that?”
“Because this particular crime is most often committed by someone who has been victimized as a young child.”
“You mean that whoever is setting the fires has been abused?”
“Yes.”
“And that's why they're doing it?”
“Sadly enough, that's exactly why, although it's doubtful that he or she realizes it. It's always important to look for a motive or cause for this kind of behaviour.”
He stood then and walked over to one of the bookcases. Drawing out a book, he turned back to me.
“Since you're so interested, it might be a good idea
for you to educate yourself on the subject. Unless, perhaps, you've had enough of the whole thing.”
The book he held was called
When Children Set Fires
. I reached for it.
“I'd like to read it,” I said humbly, “but I think I'll leave the detective work to the police from now on.”
“That might be a good idea,” he smiled, “but it's also possible that reading this will trigger something that could be helpful to the police. In a small place like this, you must know most of the teenagers at your school. Maybe someone will stand out in your mind as fitting the characteristics in this book.”
“Yeah, considering that you have such a fine analytical mind and never jump to stupid conclusions,” Greg snapped.
His sarcasm was not lost on me, and I realized that was the first thing he'd said since we'd sat down. His earlier silence made it clear that he was still angry, and I couldn't blame him. After all, I'd just accused him of something pretty horrible.
“Greg, that's no way to speak to a guest in our home.”
“I deserved it,” I said quickly, half afraid that Mr. Taylor was going to suggest Greg apologize for the remark. “Anyway, thank you for the book and for being so understanding. I'm really, really sorry about everything, especially for looking at your stuff.”
I stood and said that I really had to go. “
I'd be glad to give you a drive home, Shelby, unless you're afraid I may decide to kill you on the way.” His eyes twinkled, and I knew he only meant to lighten the mood.
I blushed at the joke and thanked him for the offer but said the walk would probably do me good.
To his credit, Greg got to his feet and said that he'd walk me home if I wanted. My mom would have described that kind of gesture as a sign of good breeding, being gentlemanly in spite of everything that had happened.
All I wanted, though, was to get away from him as quickly as possible. I mumbled something about needing some time alone and headed for the door.
On the walk home the only thing I could think about was how hard it was going to be to face Greg Taylor at school on Monday.
Or ever again, for that matter.
I felt so miserable by the time I got home that all I wanted to do was go to my room and stay there. Walking quietly, I hoped my mom wouldn't spot me and see that something was wrong. But it was my dad who intercepted me in the hallway.
“Finally, another human being!” he smiled and hugged me. “I thought I might have been abandoned for the rest of the weekend. Do you know where your mother is?”
“She went to Ethel's place, but she should have been back by now. Maybe she had some shopping to do or something.”
“Maybe. She wasn't expecting me home until after dinner, but here I am. And hungry as a bear at that. How about the two of us go over to that spot where you kids hang out and get something to eat?”
“The Scream Machine?”
“That's the place. Unless it wouldn't be cool to be seen there with your old man.”
There was no point telling him that old man meant boyfriend now. My dad is great, but he's hopelessly locked in what I call The Parental Time Warp.
The last thing I felt like doing was eating, but since we hardly ever get time to do anything, just the two of us, I really couldn't let him down.
“It would be way cool,” I assured him.
“Is that bad?”
I laughed in spite of my misery. “No, it's good.”
“Way cool,” he repeated, smiling. “I'll have to remember that. You know a cat like me likes to be hip to your jive.”
“Dad! Promise you'll just talk normal when we're there!”
“Don't worry, I'll act my age.” He stooped over. “Just let me get my walker.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed at his teasing. I knew he'd never embarrass me in front of my friends.
We left a note for Mom and then headed out. The Scream Machine was nearly empty when we got there, and we snatched a booth quick before it started to fill up. Since it was nearly five o'clock, the crowds would be landing soon. There are always a lot of kids there at meal times on the weekend, but I didn't mind being
there with my dad. Besides, I figured that once word got around of what a fool I'd made of myself at Greg's place, I would be spending a lot of time at home with my parents. At least I could count on Betts to stick by me. Good old reliable Betts.
Dad ordered a Scream Burger Special, which has three meat patties, cheese, bacon, and fries on the side. I ordered the soup of the day without even asking what kind it was.
“It might be best not to tell your mother about this,” he whispered, with the tone of a conspirator, when his food arrived. Mom has been known to run interference when he's trying to get certain things out of the fridge, lecturing him on cholesterol all the while.
“My silence can be bought,” I whispered back.
We were laughing and talking and having a pretty good time when I was jolted by the sight of Nick coming in with Kelsey Princeton. He'd danced with her a few times when Jane didn't show up for the Christmas formal, but I didn't think he was actually interested in her. After all, he'd been acting interested in me! I felt the smile freeze on my face and tried to pretend I didn't notice them, but Kelsey made sure I did.
“Hi, Shelby,” she cooed in a sickeningly sweet voice, stopping at our booth. Nick stood behind her and didn't look at me.
“Uh, hi, Kelsey, hi, Nick.” I did my best to offer a smile as phony as the one she'd given.
“And this must be your date,” she giggled in a high-pitched squeak.
“Actually, Kelsey, this is my father.” I spoke slowly, as if I was explaining something to a small child. Then I made quick introductions while hoping that they choked on whatever food they ordered.
“What a nice couple,” my dad commented a moment after they'd moved on. “Are they friends of yours?”
“They're just some kids from school.” I couldn't help but be thankful that it was Dad with me and not Mom. She'd have seen through the smiles and seemingly polite talk and would have asked me questions that I wasn't in the mood to answer. Dad, on the other hand, was pretty much oblivious to everything except his burger.
After seeing Nick with Kelsey, I felt even more wretched than I had earlier. Dad went to the counter to ask for more coffee, and I could hear her giggling on and on and on. I could only hope the sound was getting on Nick's nerves as much as it was mine.
Then something happened that I could hardly believe. Annie Berkley came in to pick up a take-out order. I could see Nick and Kelsey giggling quietly to each other as they watched her pay for her food and head back towards the exit. As Annie swung the door open, Kelsey made a loud oinking sound.
Everyone froze. Well, almost everyone. Nick and Kelsey both laughed while Annie's face got red, and I could see that she was biting her bottom lip as she hurried outside.
Then my dad spoke up, his voice carrying through the silence in the room. “Well, well, I guess there are pigs in here all right,” he said calmly. “Yes indeed. A couple of them right over there at that table.”
And just like that the attention swung around, shifting to where my dad was pointing, straight at Nick and Kelsey. They stopped laughing and looked down at their food. Then someone started to clap, and before I knew it, everyone was clapping and saying things like “Yeah!” and “That's right!”
When Dad came back to our booth I told him I was really proud of him.
“I wish I had the courage to do something like that,” I added.
“Ah, I just did what everyone else wanted to do. No one likes that kind of deliberate cruelty. When a thing like that happens, it's important to remember that the way you feel about it is most likely the way others feel too.”
“Well, I know one thing, Dad. You're way cool.”
Nick and Kelsey left pretty fast after that, and I tried to tell myself I didn't care if he was with her or not. I suddenly understood how Betts was feeling about
Graham, hating him and liking him all at once. It's not something you can always control, the way you feel about a guy. As slimy as he'd just acted, I found myself making excuses for him.
For the first time ever, I really wished I didn't like Nick Jarvis.
Well, it wasn't going to matter much anyway. I'd be the last girl he'd ever ask out once word got around of what I'd done that afternoon.
It seemed at that moment that my life was pretty much ruined for the rest of my high school years. I'd never be able to live it down once Greg told everyone about my stupid accusation.
It was like the time Bobbie Jean Rayford told everyone she'd won a trip to meet some rock star, and we found out later that she'd made the whole thing up. That was years ago, but it still came up from time to time. She'd been something of an outcast ever since, keeping to herself and trying to ignore the fact that no one really wanted to hang around her. She had a label that she couldn't get rid of, and I knew I was about to have one too.
It was hard to believe that a week that had started out so great could end so horribly.
I spent most of the next day keeping myself busy so I wouldn't be dwelling on thoughts of how my life was about to change for the worse. I started reading the book Mr. Taylor had lent me, and before long I was so immersed in it that I almost forgot about my problems.
There was a lot of stuff about safety issues and how a large number of fires were started accidentally because of kids fooling around with matches or lighters. I skipped those sections because it was pretty obvious the fires in Little River were no accident.
Other chapters explained things about certain childhood disorders and how playing with fire was sometimes connected to them. They seemed to be talking about much younger children. It was kind of interesting, but not what I was looking for.
The book was hard to understand in some places,
and I had to keep looking words up in the dictionary. It seems that psychologists have a language of their own. That made reading it pretty slow, but it wasn't like I had a lot of other things to do.
The most interesting parts of the book were where the author gave examples from actual cases, although the names had been changed. It was kind of scary to read how some of them had even set fires in their own houses or at their schools.
Mr. Taylor had talked about kids setting fires because they'd been abused, and before long I got to that part of the book. I was shocked to find out that the kind of abuse he was talking about was sexual abuse. I'd expected it to be about kids who had been beaten or starved or locked in a closet or something.
When we were in elementary school we learned about good touches and bad touches and stuff, but none of the things in this book were discussed then. Our teacher had gone through it all pretty fast and had seemed to be embarrassed talking about it. Still, we all knew from watching different TV shows that sometimes adults hurt kids in that way. But this was Little River, and I always figured that kind of thing didn't happen here.
Then I got to a place where the author was talking about statistics! I could hardly believe my eyes when I read that one out of every four girls and nearly as high
a percentage of boys were victims of sexual abuse. It made my head hurt to even think about it.
I sure didn't know anyone who had ever been abused like that. Why, I hardly knew of anyone who had been physically abused either. Then I remembered that Annie had been taken away from her folks when she was eleven and had been living in different foster homes ever since. I wondered if anyone had ever hurt Annie that way.
One out of four girls! I tried to think of all the girls I knew and started writing their names down. There were almost fifty names by the time I finished my list, though a lot of them were kids I didn't really know all that well. Fifty girls. If the statistics were right, it was a safe assumption that about twelve of them had been sexually abused! It seemed impossible.