Casey Templeton Mysteries 2-Book Bundle. Gwen Molnar

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СКАЧАТЬ in the midst of his latest shovelling chore, the two little McKay kids came out with an invitation from Mrs. Olberg to join them for a cup of hot cocoa when he finished. Laszlo and Anna went back to tell their aunt that Casey would love some cocoa, and Laszlo returned with a shovel to help Casey so he could finish sooner.

      Mrs. Olberg — Daisy — was an old friend of Casey’s parents. It was she the Templetons had asked to search for a house for them when they knew they would soon be moving back to Richford. That it was almost next door to her was a plus for everybody.

      Casey took off his shovelling clothes in the Olbergs’ back hall and came up the few steps into the kitchen.

      “Boy, your dad’s a tough customer, Casey,” Mrs. Olberg said, pouring Casey a big mug of hot cocoa and putting two homemade doughnuts on a plate in front of him. “I hear you’re elected to shovel our whole block all this winter. Pretty nice for the rest of us, but poor you. Laszlo wants to help, so let him.”

      “I will,” Casey said. “But, Mrs. O., we’re getting so much snow so darn early this year. Shovelling’s all I seem to do. I hardly have time for anything else.”

      Casey heard someone walking down the stairs. When he looked up, he saw Laszlo’s mother enter the kitchen. He had met her before, of course, but was just as impressed each time. Maria McKay was very beautiful, with flashing black eyes and long black hair done in a thick braid that hung over her right shoulder. She wore a silver-blue tailored blouse and an ankle-length skirt of flowing cornflower-blue silk. Her neck was encased in a wide brace, and she limped a little.

      Casey stood. “Good afternoon, Mrs. McKay.”

      “Hello, Casey,” she said. “Sit down for goodness’ sake.” Her English was very good. Just the odd word sounded foreign.

      “Would you like some cocoa, Maria?” Mrs. Olberg asked. “Or tea? I can make some in a minute and I’d like a cup, too.”

      “Tea would be good. Thank you, Daisy.” Laszlo’s mother turned to Casey. “Tell me what’s happening with the investigation of the idiots who nearly killed me. Is it known yet who’s responsible?”

      Casey took a gulp of cocoa. “Well, I’m not officially in on the investigation, of course, but I can tell you the team has some promising leads.”

      “What you’re really saying is nobody knows much.”

      “Maybe not, but I’ll tell you this. My dad knows an awful lot about what makes these ‘hate’ types tick, and you better believe he’ll have some answers soon.”

      Mrs. McKay sighed. “That’s what Daisy keeps telling me, but I don’t know. I really thought coming to Canada would be the most wonderful thing for my children. I thought they would grow up in a land free of hate. I can’t believe how wrong I was. Gypsies have a hard time of it everywhere in Europe. Look what’s happened in the Czech Republic — people building a fence between themselves and Gypsy neighbours. You come to expect things like that in the Old Country. But here? Why here?”

      Casey didn’t know what to say, but he felt he had to answer, anyway. “Well, Mrs. McKay, there are probably only a few of these haters around at most.”

      Mrs. McKay took the cup of tea from her sister-in-law and shook her head. “I wish I could believe that, Casey, but every time I go downtown in Richford I get a lot of mean comments said to me. I swear there’s a lot of hate in those voices.”

      “What’s in those voices,” Casey said with wisdom beyond his fourteen years, “is envy. Pure green-eyed envy!”

      Mrs. McKay pushed another doughnut onto Casey’s plate. “What a nice thing for you to say.”

      “Thanks, but I’ve had too much already,” Casey said. “And, Mrs. McKay, I’m sure you’ll soon feel better about living here.” He stood to go, then turned to Laszlo. “I’ve got a lot of my old books around, Laszlo. You can borrow any of them for as long as you like.”

      “Can I get some now?” Laszlo asked.

      “Sure, come on.” Casey opened the back door and glanced out. “On second thought, Laszlo, come tomorrow instead, right after school.” It was snowing once more. He was going to have to push the shovel around yet again.

      Back outside in the falling snow, Casey let his mind dwell on the situation at his new school as he shovelled. Now that the guys have asked me to join the Coyote Club at school, and Marcie Finegood has smiled at me three times, I’m really in. If it’ll just stop snowing so I can take advantage of the situation, I’ll be set.

      When Casey finally finished shovelling and returned home, there was nobody else there. He set the table, scooped six ginger cookies out of the cookie jar, put three back as he remembered the two doughnuts he had eaten at the Olbergs’, poured himself a glass of milk, and headed for his room. At his desk he took out a notebook and turned to a page where numbered questions and answers were set up in point form:

      Question 1: Was Mr. Deverell part of what was going on in the attic of the Willson Place, or was he on the trail of whoever had set up the Hate Cell?

      Answer 1: Mr. D. never said anything political in class. But a science teacher didn’t have the same opportunities to brainwash kids as a social studies teacher did. Mom’s friend, Hilda Deverell (Mr. D.’s recent ex — his first wife died years ago), said he was a very tolerant person but a very nosy one. She could see him spying, but not being part of a hate group.

      Question 2: Who drove Mr. D.’s car back to his garage?

      Answer 2: It had to be someone who: (a) knew where he lived and that he lived alone; (b) didn’t expect Mr. D. to be found so soon; and (c) counted on a search beginning only after Mr. D. failed to show up to teach the next day.

      Casey figured Answer 2(a) could be anyone in Richford over the age of ten. Sitting back, he ate a cookie, then resumed his work. He wrote all he had learned from listening to conversations his dad had had with the RCMP in the Templetons’ living room during the past few nights. The Mounties, knowing of Casey’s father’s experience in Bosnia, much of it dealing with ethnic cleansing and racial hatred, had asked him to co-direct the investigative team. Standing on a basement chair, Casey had positioned himself under a wooden grille built into the living-room floor and listened to his father and the Mounties talk. Later he had written down what he had discovered. Now he reread his notes:

       The computer, printer, scanner, and fax found in the Willson attic had been bought for cash in Markham, Ontario, a year before, along with a three-year service agreement signed by an Elsie Tavich.

       The computer had been repaired at Apple Service in Fraserville six months ago and had been signed for by Elsie Tavich (though the signature differed from the one on the service agreement).

       An Apple Service clerk remembered carrying the computer into the store from a new red Toyota pickup because the woman who drove the truck had a splint on her right hand and she had signed awkwardly with her left hand.

       A police artist’s sketch of Elsie Tavich had been prepared with the help of the clerk. Staff in the Markham store confirmed it was the woman they had sold the machines to — she had been in the store often before she settled on the “package.”

       All owners of new red Toyota pickups, some thirty in and around Fraserville, were questioned, but none were proven to have been near the СКАЧАТЬ