Ruby Holler

  “Nope. Need a little more time.”

  “When are they returning?”

  “Not really sure when they’ll be back,” Z said. “I’ll have to check into that.”

  “You do that,” Trepid said, “and speed it up. And go back over those stones you’ve marked and be sure they all look … promising. We’ll meet again tomorrow, same time.”

  Z chewed his gum and waited.

  Trepid said, “Okay, okay. Here’s a little more salary. That ought to cover another day’s work. The rest will come if this produces any results.” He handed Z some bills and reached behind him for the door handle.

  Z didn’t budge. His gaze was fixed on Trepid’s gold front tooth.

  “Meeting’s over,” Trepid said.

  CHAPTER 45

  THE ROCK

  It had been raining hard all afternoon, and the river was rushing along.

  “Whew!” Florida called over the noise of the surging water. “We are really zipping—we must be going downstream now.” The water splashed over the bow, soaking her legs. “We might be drenched and lost and heading for the worst rapids you ever saw, but at least we’re going in the right direction, don’t you think, Tiller?” She swiveled to look at Tiller, whose face and poncho were soaked.

  “What’s a little rain?” he said. “What’s a little water? What’s a little lostness?” He dipped his paddle hard into the water.

  “Charge!” Florida yelled above the noise of the river. Ahead was a bend, and they aimed for the middle of it.

  The wind and rain whipped against her face, and she loved the feel of it, all of it: the charging down the river, the paddle diving in and out, the water spraying up over the bow, the rain pelting down on her. Around the bend they flew, and there, directly in front of them, was a huge boulder. “Tiller,” she called. “Rock. Turn!”

  The boat veered sharply to the right of the boulder and caught in a swirl of water, plunging them back toward the boulder. The boat smacked against it, once, twice, hard, and the water swirled against the back of the boat, spinning it and then, in one mighty surge, tipping it.

  When Florida surfaced, she was already far downstream of the boulder, spluttering and coughing. Looking behind her, she had a quick glimpse of her life jacket bobbing way back there, and then she was under again.

  This is it, she thought. I am going to die.

  When she resurfaced, she glimpsed Tiller upstream, trying to cling to one end of the boat.

  “Grab on to something, anything!” he yelled.

  “I can’t swim!”

  She saw the boat reel and smash hard against another rock. Just before she was pulled under again, she saw Tiller lose his grip and disappear beneath the boat.

  How can water push so hard? she thought. Help me, Dallas, help me, help me, help me.

  CHAPTER 46

  STONES IN THE HOLLER

  It was a glorious morning in the holler. A cool front had come through during the night, and the air was fresh and clear, with a mild breeze sifting through the treetops, ruffling leaves.

  Z was ambling along, poking a stick at various stones. He bent down to gather three stones and pile them near a tree trunk. There, he thought, that looks about right. Earlier, he’d collected flat stones from the creek and piled them carefully near a birch grove. With a piece of charred wood he’d brought with him, he made mysterious-looking squiggles on the top stone. Perfect.

  He pulled out a fresh piece of paper and started a new map. The cabin was in the center. He marked the two new piles he’d made, and then he walked around the cabin, about twenty feet out from it, marking large stones that had already been there, and new piles of stones that he’d gathered.

  Next he walked up the opposite hill and looked around. He spotted a faint path winding past a clump of violets and curving beyond a funny-looking bush. He followed the path in and out of the trees until it seemed to end beneath an overhanging willow. Near the base of the willow was a smooth gray stone, half covered with leaves. He bent down and lifted the stone, discovering freshly turned earth beneath it. He dug only a few inches before hitting something hard and metallic.

  Z scraped the dirt from the top of a metal box. On it was painted Sairy’s! Keep Out! The latch was locked. Z stuffed Sairy’s box in his sack and set off in search of a Tiller box.

  CHAPTER 47

  RUNNING

  Dallas and Sairy had reached a summit and could see a narrow path spiraling steeply downward toward a stream.

  “Water!” Dallas shouted. “Real water! We may be completely lost, but there’s water!” Dallas picked up a stick from the path and tapped it in front of him. “Hey, Sairy,” he called behind him. “I’ll meet you farther down,” and with that, he took off running.

  He sailed down the path, dodging roots, whooping and laughing. As he rounded a bend, a small furry animal leaped in front of him. It looked like a rat. Dallas jumped over it, skidded, and landed hard on his back. Something crumpled inside him. Florida, he thought. Florida’s in trouble.

  CHAPTER 48

  MORE SHOPPING

  Mrs. Trepid had taken the bus to Prosper City and was standing in front of the First Avenue Jewelry store. She wasn’t sure what had brought her to this place, only that she was here and wanted very much to go inside.

  She took a deep breath, straightened her back, and opened the door. Overhead, slender tubes of light beamed down on the display cases. The counters were polished to a high sheen, and inside the display cases, shiny bright mirrors reflected gold and silver and sparkly gems.

  A man in a dark suit drifted toward her. “May I help you?” he asked. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

  Mrs. Trepid glanced at the display case, spotting a gold necklace with tiny red and white stones in it. “That’s nice,” she said, indicating the necklace.

  The man slipped his hand into his pocket, removed a ring of keys, and deftly unlocked the case, sliding out a mirrored base on which the necklace rested. “A lovely choice,” he said, releasing it from the base. He tilted the counter’s mirror toward her as she tried it on. “Ah,” he said. “Absolutely perfect. It’s you.”

  Mrs. Trepid smiled at her reflection. The necklace was perfect.

  “Rubies and opals, of course,” the man said. “And the finest gold, of course.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Trepid murmured. Rubies and opals? she thought. Real rubies? Real opals?

  “Is it for a special occasion?” the man asked.

  “What? Oh, yes. Yes, it is.” Her mind raced. What sort of special occasion? “A cruise, actually,” she blurted. “My husband and I are going on a special cruise. To an island.”

  “In the Caribbean?” the man said.

  “Why, yes,” Mrs. Trepid lied. “How did you know?”

  “That’s where a beautiful woman like yourself should be going.”

  Mrs. Trepid’s face reddened. “Why, thank you.”

  “Does Madam wish to know the price?” The man smiled, a gentle, kind smile.

  Mrs. Trepid nodded.

  “Eighteen thousand dollars,” he said. “Completely reasonable, of course, for such a fine work of art.”

  “Oh, completely,” Mrs. Trepid said, brushing at a piece of lint on her sleeve. She thought surely she had heard wrong. Eighteen thousand dollars for a necklace? Mrs. Trepid felt warm and agitated. “Is your air conditioning working?”

  The man hurried to the thermostat. “Yes, it seems to be working. Is Madam not comfortable?”

  She fidgeted with the necklace’s clasp. “Like you say, it’s perfect, and rubies and opals are … so …” She didn’t know how to finish. She pretended to study the gems. “I’m just not sure this will go with my gown.” Gown? Why did I say “gown”? What a silly word, gown.

  “Madam is more than welcome to bring her gown in and try it on with the necklace,” the man said. He followed her to the door and opened it for her. “Shall I put the necklace aside for you?”

  Mrs. Trepid hurri
ed through the door. She wanted to say, No, no, lock it up, take it away. Instead she said, “Sure.”

  “Your name?”

  “Trepid,” she said. “Marjorie Trepid. Bye-bye,” and she rushed down the street wondering why she had given her real name and why she had added that silly bye-bye.

  She didn’t stop until she was several blocks beyond the jeweler’s. When she did stop, she leaned against a building. Eighteen thousand dollars. She could hardly imagine that kind of money. Where did people make that kind of money, that they could throw it away on eighteen-thousand-dollar necklaces? Her mind reeled with all the other things that could be done with that much money.

  The following day, Mr. Trepid made his way to the same jewelry store, carefully removing his watch before he entered. He scuttled quickly to the watch counter and peered inside.

  “May I help you?” the salesman asked.

  Mr. Trepid had decided to be firm and decisive. “I’m looking for a watch. There—something like that.” He pointed to the display case.

  “A perfect choice,” the man said, removing it from the case. “Would the gentleman care to try it?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Trepid said, offering his wrist.

  “One of our finest,” the salesman said. “Have you owned one of these before?”

  “Yes, yes, I have,” Mr. Trepid lied. “Lost it, unfortunately.”

  “Lost? What a tragedy.”

  Mr. Trepid tried to look forlorn. “Absolutely,” he said. “One doesn’t like to lose such a fine watch.”

  “No, sir, one does not.”

  Mr. Trepid turned his wrist this way and that.

  “Perfect,” the salesman said. “It’s made for you.”

  Yes, Mr. Trepid thought. It does look as if it were made especially for me.

  The salesman was saying something about the quality of the gold and diamonds, and then, “Does the gentleman wish to know the price?”

  “The price? Why not?”

  “Nine thousand dollars,” the salesman said. “Quite reasonable, of course, given the diamonds and—”

  “Absolutely reasonable,” Mr. Trepid interrupted.

  “Does the gentleman wish to purchase now?”

  Mr. Trepid’s eyes roamed the display case. “You know,” he said quickly, “there are a few others there I would like to try also.”

  The salesman glanced down at the case.

  “But I’m in too much of a hurry right now,” Mr. Trepid said. “Perhaps I should come back when I have more time.” He pulled at the strap, releasing it. As he placed the watch back on the counter, his fingers trembled. “Yes, quite a hurry today.” He turned toward the door. “I will be back though, yes, I will.”

  “Would you like me to place it aside for you?”

  “Absolutely,” Mr. Trepid said, reaching for the door handle.

  “Your name, sir?”

  “Trepid. George Trepid.” Mr. Trepid could not wait to get out of the store.

  “Trepid?” the salesman said. “Ah, Trepid. You’re going on a cruise?”

  But Mr. Trepid didn’t hear him because he was already on the sidewalk, lunging down the street. Nine thousand dollars for a watch? he thought. What a rip-off.

  But as he scurried down the walk, Mr. Trepid glanced at his wrist. It did look spectacular on me, he thought. Perhaps the quality of the diamonds, yes, it was the diamonds. Maybe nine thousand dollars is quite reasonable for a watch with real diamonds.

  CHAPTER 49

  UNDERWATER

  The boat was upside down, and Tiller was beneath it, trying to cling to one of the struts as the boat hurtled through the water. He was dragged along, smashed against rocks, dunked under surges of water. Each time he tried to get out from underneath the boat, it slammed down on him.

  He was desperately hoping Florida had made it to shore, and he was regretting that neither he nor Florida had been wearing their life jackets. Stupid old man, he thought. As if the river agreed with him, it surged over him, dunking him and loosening his grasp on the boat. He felt it fly free as he tumbled along underwater.

  Florida can’t swim. If only he’d known that beforehand. He felt suddenly weak and powerless, as limp as a rag doll.

  Downriver, Florida was clinging to a boulder in the middle of the river. It was slimy and mossy; her hands were slipping. She remembered a boy at the Home telling her about learning to float. He said, “You take in a huge bunch of air and lie there like a dead man.”

  As the raging water loosened her grip on the boulder, she gulped in air and closed her eyes. I am going to float like a dead man, she thought. I hope I don’t end up a dead girl.

  For a few seconds, she felt her body suspended on the water, and then she was slammed against a floating log and knocked under the water. Her knees scraped rocks on the bottom. Maybe it’s not so deep here. If only I could stand. If only this putrid water would quit pushing me.

  CHAPTER 50

  THE FEELING

  Dallas was lying on the path, feeling like a scarecrow whose stuffing had been pulled out.

  “You okay?” Sairy said, running up behind him.

  “Slipped,” he said. His head throbbed, and his arm felt as if the Burgerton boys had been at work on him. He closed his eyes, and as he did so, he saw an image of Joey, only this time Joey was trying to breathe air into Dallas. “Sairy,” he said, “I just want you to know that if I die, it’s not your fault.”

  “What?” she said. “Die? Do you feel like you’re going to die?”

  “No, but I’m just saying—”

  “Hush,” she said, reaching for her backpack. “I’m hoping I brought enough money in case we need to get you to a doctor. Don’t suppose there are any understone funds out here, hmm?”

  Understone funds? What was it about the understone funds that had been nagging at the back of Dallas’s brain? Something was bothering him; he couldn’t figure out what it was.

  “I hope we’re not too awful far from Ruby Holler or Boxton,” Sairy said.

  Boxton. The Trepids. Understone funds. Uh-oh.

  “You okay?” Sairy said. “You a little dizzy?”

  Dallas was trying to remember when he and Florida had run into Mr. Trepid outside Grace’s Diner. Had they mentioned the understone funds? Why had they done that?

  “Dallas?”

  A little movie was playing in Dallas’s head. In it, he saw Mr. Trepid roaming through the holler, searching for the understone funds.

  “Sairy?” he said. “I did a stupid, stupid thing.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “Anyone can fall. It’s not your fault you fell.”

  Dallas closed his eyes again. He was going to have to tell her. And then, suddenly washing over him was that feeling, again, that Florida was in trouble. “Sairy! Wait. Something’s wrong with Florida—”

  “Florida? What are you talking about?”

  “I know it. I feel it. Something’s wrong. Something’s happened. We’ve got to go find her and Tiller.” He scrambled to his feet. “We’ve got to. Something’s awful wrong.” His chest felt so tight that he had to gulp for air.

  Sairy put her hand to her throat and said, “Maybe it’s

  Tiller, not Florida. I’ve got this feeling—”

  “Well, so do I,” Dallas said, “so let’s get moving.”

  They scrambled down the path to the stream at its bottom, frantically trying to get their bearings, but they had no idea which direction to turn.

  “Just take a wild stab,” Sairy said. “Upstream or downstream? What does your gut tell you?”

  “Downstream,” Dallas said.

  They headed off along the bank, clambering over roots and rocks, weaving through thickets. From the distance came the crack of a gun, followed by a shout. On the opposite side of the stream, two young men emerged. They were scruffy, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, and both carried guns.

  The taller of the two young men said to the other, “Heck, we almost bagged us a couple of people with that shot.?
?? To Sairy and Dallas, he said, “You seen a deer come through here?”

  “No,” Sairy said.

  The shorter boy said, “I told you it warn’t no deer. It was a bobcat.”

  “I ought to be able to tell a bobcat from a deer,” the taller boy said. “What’re you two doing up here?”

  “Hiking,” Sairy said. “Don’t suppose you can tell us where we are?”

  The taller boy took a swig from a hip flask and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “You don’t know where you are?”

  “Not precisely,” Sairy said. “We started out in Ruby Holler and that’s where we’re aiming to get back to.”

  “Ruby Holler?” the shorter boy said. “Never heard of it.”

  “How about Boxton?” Dallas said. “You know where that is?”

  “Sure,” the taller boy said, and he was about to say more when the other boy interrupted him.

  “You do not,” he said. “You’ve never been to Boxton. You don’t know where it is, see?”

  “Oh. Must’ve been thinking of some other town.”

  “Well, do you know where we could find a phone?” Sairy said.

  “Sure,” the shorter boy said. “Sure. You just keep on going downstream, and real close by, there’s a little diner, see? You can get something to eat and use the phone. Tell you what. We’ll even watch your stuff for you, if you want. We’ll wait here for you. That stuff looks pretty heavy.”

  “That’s mighty nice of you,” Sairy said. “You say it’s real close, this diner?”

  “Sure, five minutes away.”

  Sairy removed her backpack and set it on the ground. “Okay, then. Dallas, you ready?”

  Dallas was torn. His old self would have leaped at the chance to dump his heavy backpack and go get food, but what he was hearing in his head was Florida saying, Don’t trust ’em!

  “Dallas?” Sairy repeated. “Come on, let’s go to that diner and find out where we are. We can use the phone and get a message to Z—”

  “Z? Is that the guy who hauled the boat to the river?”