Trail of Secrets Read online

  “Thanks, Evan.”

  “I really appreciate this, Jennifer,” Evan said as I handed him the papers. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.” I walked him to our front door and turned on the porch light. “It’s getting dark early now,” I said. “Do you need a lift home?”

  “No, I’m fine,” Evan said. “See you around.”

  “See you.” I closed the door after him and wandered back into the kitchen. Uncle Phil and Dad both looked up at me.

  “Seems like a nice guy,” Dad offered.

  “He sure looks familiar. I wonder where I know his face from,” Uncle Phil said. “I’ll have to give it some thought.”

  Maybe it was a police lineup. I gave my head a mental shake. Evan was a nice guy, and all the rumours swirling around Morton T. High had to be nonsense.

  “I think he’s okay,” I said. “Well, I have some French homework to do before we watch the movie.”

  “I’ll clean up,” Dad said. “We’ll start the movie when you’re ready.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Friday was a disturbing kind of day. I slept through my alarm clock and made it to first period with seconds to spare. I slid into my usual seat and gave Evan a smile before we both turned towards Mr. Williams, who was dressed in a stained white lab coat that must have seen its share of experiments. It was unbuttoned, showing off a necktie patterned on the Canadian flag. With his wild red hair, he could have passed for Gene Wilder in that movie Young Frankenstein.

  “Get into groups of two,” he said. “Today we begin the dissection of frogs.”

  “I’ll be your partner,” Gillian Foster said, pushing her desk closer to mine. I glanced over at Evan. He hadn’t been picked by anyone. Mr. Williams noticed too.

  “Evan, you can join Tom Wiggins and Kevin Strong,” he said. Tom and Kevin didn’t look pleased, but they weren’t about to challenge Mr. Williams. It must be bad if Evan wasn’t even welcome with the unpopular kids. Once your reputation is gone at school, there isn’t a lot of forgiveness. It’s a thousand times harder if you’re an outsider to start with.

  It turned out Gillian was squeamish, so I ended up doing the dissection from beginning to end, no pun intended. At one point, Gillian actually held her hand over her mouth as if she was going to be sick. Luckily, the dissection didn’t bother me, except that it was going to take a long run to get the smell of formaldehyde out of my nose.

  “Well, that was fun,” I said. “I hope you’re not planning a career in the medical field, Gill.”

  Gillian giggled. Her face was still an off-shade of grey. “They couldn’t pay me enough.”

  French class had turned into a training ground for first-year teacher Madame Grégoire, who was slowly rising to the challenge. Toby Manning and his two friends had given themselves the assignment of trying to crack her, but by the second week, she was getting into the swing of classroom control. On Thursday, she’d sent Toby and his three friends to the principal’s office after school for an hour of verb conjugation. Today, they were subdued and had stopped calling out ridiculous French answers that had nothing to do with the lesson Madame Grégoire was trying to teach. She had that determined look on her face that new teachers get when they’ve had enough of having their buttons pushed. I figured she might make it as a teacher after all.

  Ambie was already in her desk in English class when I settled into mine. She leaned over and said, “Did you hear about Evan Quinn?”

  “No, what now?” Something in her tone told me this wasn’t going to be good.

  “He started acting all weird last period, and his sister had to take him home.”

  “What do you mean, weird?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Disoriented and staggering around.”

  “He seemed fine first period. I wonder what happened.”

  “Everyone thinks he’s crazy and into things he shouldn’t be messing with. You should be careful around him, Jen.”

  “Do you think he’s crazy, Ambie?”

  “I don’t know him well enough to say, but his reputation isn’t good.”

  I opened my copy of Hamlet, but the words on the page swam in front of my eyes. I didn’t want Evan to be weird. I didn’t want Mom and Leslie to live in Los Angeles and Pete to live in Montreal. All these awful, unchangeable things were piling up and threatening to collapse on me.

  I heard Ambie’s voice soften. “Meet you after school, Jen. We’ll go to my house and talk things over.” Her eyes were filled with concern.

  “I’m okay, Ambie. I’ll meet you in our usual spot.”

  From that moment on, I lost my ability to concentrate. Good thing the weekend started at four o’clock. I was going to need a few days to regroup.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I sat in my usual chair under the window while Ambie sat facing me cross-legged on her bed. Today Mrs. Guido had baked peanut butter cookies, and I managed to eat four, along with a tall glass of milk. I sighed happily and repositioned myself to stretch my legs over the arm of the chair.

  Ambie absentmindedly flipped through a Teen Rocks magazine as she talked. “So what do you think is going on with Evan and Karly Quinn? I hear you’ve been seen talking with Evan. The gossip lines are buzzing.”

  I shrugged. “There are some things that are hard to explain, but I don’t buy into the crime syndicate theory.”

  “What about his strange behaviour yesterday? Cindy was there and said he was acting all freaky, like he was high on something.”

  This worried me more than anything, but not because I thought he was dangerous. “I hope he’s okay,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, who’s being naive now?” Ambie asked, smiling. She was the one with the reputation for being a pushover when it came to trusting people. She added, “You’re going to ignore all the warning signs and decide to like Evan Quinn?”

  “I calls ’em like I sees ’em,” I said, doing my best tough guy imitation. “If you must know, I feel kind of sorry for him. It’s hard trying to make friends in a small town when you don’t fit the mould. Besides, he’s kind of interesting.”

  “Interesting but weird.”

  “Maybe what everyone thinks of as weird is just unique,” I said. “Everybody doesn’t have to be the same to . . . oh, I don’t know . . . be normal.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” Ambie breathed.

  “Any more e-mails from Martin Donaldson?” I asked, ready to move on to a new topic.

  Ambie threw down the magazine and flopped back on the bed. “No. I think he’s gone back to Hong Kong. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

  “Are you okay with that, Amb?”

  “Whatever. Still, I was hoping I could get to know my real dad at least a little bit and fill in the part of me that’s always seemed to be missing.”

  I inwardly gave a big sigh of relief. If Martin Donaldson had broken off contact, Ambie would settle back into her life and forget him. That seemed best as far as I could see.

  “There’s a talent night at the Raven tomorrow. Do you want to go?” The Raven’s Nest was the local youth hangout. The owner sometimes held karaoke nights or brought in singers from the area to perform.

  “Okay. I heard Derek Taylor’s band will be playing a set. Cindy and Rosemary talked about going too, so we could go together if you want.”

  Derek was the closest thing Morton T. High had to a music celebrity. His band Cold Hands consisted of five guys, and they played at our local dances and at other high schools and events in the area. Their repertoire included top forty songs with the odd original composition thrown in. Derek was the lead singer and played electric guitar. His voice was okay, but he wasn’t ever going to make a career of singing as far as I could see.

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said and swung my feet onto the floor. “I’ve got to get home. What time do you want to meet tomorrow?”

  “Come over around eight, and my dad will give us a drive.”

  “See you then,” I said
.

  Saturday morning, I woke early. It was sunny but cool, as I quickly discovered when I stepped outside to go for a run. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt up over my head and put on a pair of gloves that I had in my pocket. Warm-ups completed, I started jogging lightly on the spot, deciding which direction to go in. It had been a while since we’d heard from Roxie Firestone, and the Stoykos’ was a decent distance from our house. I made up my mind and started taking side streets toward the east end of town. I could see my breath and feel the cold tingling my cheeks and forehead. For the first time, I noticed some yellow and red leaves amongst the green canopy. I ran for over half an hour, soon finding a comfortable stride. The houses had become quite spread out by the time I reached the base of Cavers Hill, a deceptive little incline that would test my stamina as I entered the last stretch before the Stoykos’ property. I felt soreness in my leg muscles, and my breathing was laboured by the time I made it to the top of Cavers. I forced myself to pick up speed, imagining that the bridge ahead was the finish line to my imaginary race. I stepped onto the bridge and raised my arms in mock victory. Another race over, and not a competitor in sight.

  By the time I started up the Stoykos’ long, winding driveway, I’d caught my breath, and my heart rate was approaching normal. Their white terrier ran to greet me and circled my legs, barking and wagging his tail. I bent and gave him a scratch behind the ears. As I straightened up, a flock of geese flew honking overhead on its way south. The air had warmed considerably from when I’d started on my run, and I took off my heavy sweatshirt as I started up the Stoykos’ front steps. Their home was an old farmhouse with a red brick exterior and a sweeping wooden porch that wound around the first level. White wicker furniture with red and yellow flowered dahlias made the house look inviting. I knocked loudly on the door and waited. It was a minute before I could hear footsteps approaching from inside.

  “Hey, Jennifer!” Roxie said as she flung the door open. Her pink and red hair was flattened down on one side as though she’d just woken up, and without makeup she looked closer to her real age of thirteen than she usually did. “How did you hear so soon?” she asked.

  “Hear what?”

  “That Mr. Stoyko had a heart attack last night. Isn’t that why you’ve come?”

  “He had a heart attack?” I asked, trying to grasp what she’d said. “Is he okay?” I looked more closely at Roxie. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as though she’d been crying.

  “He’s been better. They’ll be taking him by ambulance to Toronto General today for bypass surgery. Mrs. Stoyko is sleeping now, but she’ll be going too. We were at the Springhills Hospital until three this morning.”

  “Are you okay, Roxie?”

  Roxie nodded. A look of resignation settled across her face. “I guess this is the end of my gig in Springhills, though. The Stoykos won’t want me here now that they’re having a family crisis. Believe me, I’ve been through this enough times to know.”

  I reached up and put my arms around her stiff shoulders to give her a hug. “I’m sorry, Roxie,” I said. Already I was thinking about asking her to stay with us while the Stoykos were in Toronto. I’d have to call Dad and clear it with him first before asking Mrs. Stoyko and Roxie. I couldn’t imagine him saying no.

  Dad came as soon as he heard. Mrs. Stoyko talked to him for a few minutes in the kitchen but was in a hurry because her daughter and son-in-law had just arrived from Hamilton to take her to Toronto. Mrs. Stoyko was relieved that we were taking Roxie so that she wouldn’t have to make any big decisions yet.

  Roxie had retreated into silence and didn’t return Mrs. Stoyko’s farewell hug. She sat quietly in the back seat all the way to our house. When we pulled into the driveway, Dad said gently, “You can stay in Leslie’s room. The bed is made up, and it would do you good to get some more sleep. I’ll wake you if we hear any news. Mrs. Stoyko promised she’d let us know if there are any changes.”

  Roxie had the car door open even before the car had completely stopped moving. “Whatever,” she said. Once inside the house, she disappeared into Leslie’s bedroom and shut the door with a bang.

  Dad and I sat at the kitchen table talking for a bit.

  “Give her some space,” Dad said. “Mrs. Stoyko told me that Roxie and Mr. Stoyko have developed a real bond, even in this short time. Mrs. Stoyko is worried about how his heart attack is going to affect Roxie.”

  “Okay, Dad,” I said. “I sure hope Mr. Stoyko gets better and they keep Roxie.”

  “Me too, Jennifer,” Dad said. “But there are no guarantees.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Roxie refused to go with me to the Raven that night, even after I said I would stay home if she wouldn’t come. Dad and Uncle Phil were supposed to go to a hospital dance, but Dad said he’d stay home too if Roxie wasn’t going with me. That bit of blackmail worked its magic, and she finally caved.

  She came out of her room just before eight dressed in blue jeans and an emerald green T-shirt with gold letters that spelled “Superstar” across the front. She’d pulled her pink and red hair back into a ponytail and hadn’t bothered to put on the layers of mascara and eye shadow she usually wore.

  “You look pretty, Roxie,” I said, and I meant it.

  She gave me a lopsided grin. “You mean pretty bad, don’t you?”

  Dad said, “No, I’m sure she means pretty as in good. You girls both look great. Have some fun, and I’ll see you back here around eleven thirty.”

  I reached up and straightened Dad’s collar. He was wearing a blue denim shirt and tan pants. He smelled of spicy aftershave. “You have fun too, Dad.” We were telling each other to have a good time as though we’d all forgotten how.

  Ambie waved us over. She’d saved us two seats at her table, which was directly in front of the stage. As we slid into our chairs, I looked up. A girl from my French class was belting out a song that sounded vaguely familiar. After a few seconds, I looked around. Rosemary and Cindy raised their hands in greeting and mouthed hello. I looked across at Roxie. She was watching the girl on stage intently. When she saw me staring at her, she leaned closer to me.

  “A little flat on the high notes, but not a bad rendition overall,” she said. “Her timing’s a bit off on the chorus.”

  Did Roxie know more about music than she’d let on?

  After French-class girl finished singing, two guys from Grade Nine made mincemeat of an old Rolling Stones hit. I’m probably tone deaf to some degree, but their singing made even me wince several times.

  Roxie lost interest in them quickly and started looking around the room. As the Rolling Stones duo finished their screeching, she tapped me on the arm. “Is that who I think it is?”

  I followed the direction of her finger, but whoever she was pointing at was disappearing out the front door.

  “Who, Roxie?” I asked.

  Roxie shook her head as if she’d been dreaming. “No, it’s too crazy,” she said.

  The next act on stage was Derek Taylor and the Cold Hands. They played rock songs for almost an hour and had a lot of kids up dancing, including Cindy and Rosemary. I was happy to just watch. We’d all ordered sodas, and I sipped on my ginger ale.

  At the end of a song, Roxie leaned closer to me again. “They’re okay, but they’ll never be more than a local band,” she said. “The lead singer doesn’t have the talent to make it in the long haul.”

  I looked at Derek, who was strutting around the stage like he was already a rock star. I bet Roxie’s assessment wouldn’t sit too well with him. He wouldn’t believe it anyway.

  By eleven o’clock, the list of volunteer entertainers looked to have dried up, and people were getting up to leave.

  Billy, the owner, leapt onto the stage and called into the microphone, “Do we have anyone else willing to show off their talent?” He cupped a hand over his eyes and scanned the crowd, which had gone silent. “Anybody?” he asked, waving the microphone at us in a wide arc.

  I looked at Ambie. We both poin
ted at each other at the same time and started laughing. I stopped laughing when I glanced back and saw Roxie heading up onto the stage. “Oh no,” I groaned to myself. “What could she be thinking?”

  Billy was waiting with a big grin on his face, and he patted Roxie on the back when she made it up next to him. “We have a brave one!” he said. “And your name is . . .?”

  “Roxie Firestone.”

  “And what will you be singing, Roxie Firestone?”

  “ ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’,” Roxie said as she took the microphone from Billy.

  She closed her eyes for a moment then began the first line. “When you’re down and out. Feeling sad . . .” I felt my jaw drop. As Roxie’s pure, achingly haunting voice wrapped itself around the words of the Simon and Garfunkel classic, those who’d been on their way out the door stopped and listened. The rest of us sat mesmerized. Roxie’s voice grew in strength and richness along with the song, sweeping us along to the end that came way too soon. It was all the more amazing because she didn’t have any musical accompaniment. Her voice had a husky quality that made us feel the sadness along with her, and tears began gathering in the corners of my eyes. I was so amazed and so proud of her that I couldn’t speak when the last notes died away. After a stunned kind of silence, we all started clapping wildly, and several people got to their feet.

  Roxie gave a little bow, quickly jumped down the steps and came back to our table. She was wearing her usual lopsided grin. We gathered around her and couldn’t stop telling her how wonderful she’d been. She nodded a few times before reaching down to grab her jacket. “Let’s go,” she said. “I could use some air.” She pushed between Rosemary and Cindy and started for the exit. Ambie, Cindy, Rosemary and I all stood looking at each other for a second before grabbing our jackets and scrambling to catch up with her.

  I sat with Dad at the kitchen table after Roxie had gone to bed. I’d just finished telling him about Roxie’s surprise performance at the Raven. I wrapped up by saying excitedly, “I can’t believe how much talent she has. Someone should seriously think about booking her professionally.”