Read Online Days That End in Y by Vikki VanSickle - Free Book Online
Authors: Vikki VanSickle
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stocked with carrot sticks and flax crackers and things that need peeling. First, Benji finds us some root beer and a super-size bag of ketchup chips to fuel our brainstorming session. Next, he appoints himself secretary and begins taking notes. After a few minutes I ask him to read me the list from the top.
“Things we know,” says Benji, pausing dramatically. “Suspect looks like Bill Davies; suspect responds to the name Bill; suspect’s licence plate number is BKJR 199; suspect drives a black car.”
“Stop calling him ‘suspect.’ He isn’t a criminal.”
“Sorry.” Benji sucks his can of root beer dry, then chews on the end of his straw. “If he was a criminal we could get the police to run his licence plate number and they could track him down.”
“You watch too much TV. Anyway, if we walked into the police station looking for a car, they’d call our parents in about ten seconds.”
Benji pales a little, probably at the thought of telling the Dentonator that the police want to talk to him. “Okay, so no police.”
“No anybody,” I say sternly. “Promise me Benji: this is just between us.”
Benji nods. “I promise.”
We munch in silence for a little bit. Even though we don’t really have a place to begin, my spirits have lightened. It feels good to be planning this together, like one of our missions. Maybe all the missions we’d been planning and executing the past few years were leading up to this — the mission of all missions.
“So are you going to bike around town, looking for the car?” Benji asks.
When he says it out loud it sounds crazy, but that’s exactly what I was thinking of doing.
“That’s a lot of cars,” he continues. Then his eyes light up. “Unless …”
“Unless what?”
“What if we look up all the Davieses in town and bike by those houses? There can’t be that many.”
“Of course! He’s probably staying with relatives. Who else do you stay with when you come home? Benji, you’re a genius!”
Benji looks pleased with himself.
“But if Bill has relatives here, that means I have relatives here …” I trail off, unable to say what I’m thinking. If my father has relatives here, why haven’t they tried to contact me?
“Maybe we should stop by the hotel, too,” Benji says.
“And the bed and breakfast,” I add, happy for a change in subject.
Benji flips the notebook to a fresh page. “New list!” he announces. “Places to stay in town.”
“And just outside, too. Like the Lilac Motel,” I say.
Benji shudders. “That place is creepy,” he says. “There are never any cars in the parking lot.”
“Perfect! We’ll be able to spot his car right away!”
Benji’s eyes widen. “You mean we’re really going to bike out there? In the dark?”
“Not tonight, Benji! Jeez!”
“Thank goodness. Because there are horror movies that start that way.”
“You really do watch too much TV. Make sure it’s on the list,” I insist.
Dutifully, Benji adds Lilac Motel in his meticulous writing, doodling a thunder cloud and lightning bolt around it. I watch him add a drawing of a car on the bottom of the page. It’s very good, even though Benji doesn’t salivate over cars like some boys do. I guess you don’t have to like something to be able to draw it well. He even writes Bill’s licence plate number in the right place.
“How’s the wedding planning coming?” he asks.
“Fine. Mom still doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. It’s just a casual thing, in our backyard.”
“Who’s coming?”
“Not a lot of people. Mom said I could invite you, of course, and Mattie. And maybe Michael.”
“Is he your date?”
“No, just a guest.”
“Aren’t you supposed to bring a date to a wedding?”
“It’s not
that
kind of wedding. Why, who would you bring? Charity?”
“I was just asking.” Benji blushes, and I wonder if maybe she is the nighttime caller he has been spending all his evenings chatting with. I used
“Things we know,” says Benji, pausing dramatically. “Suspect looks like Bill Davies; suspect responds to the name Bill; suspect’s licence plate number is BKJR 199; suspect drives a black car.”
“Stop calling him ‘suspect.’ He isn’t a criminal.”
“Sorry.” Benji sucks his can of root beer dry, then chews on the end of his straw. “If he was a criminal we could get the police to run his licence plate number and they could track him down.”
“You watch too much TV. Anyway, if we walked into the police station looking for a car, they’d call our parents in about ten seconds.”
Benji pales a little, probably at the thought of telling the Dentonator that the police want to talk to him. “Okay, so no police.”
“No anybody,” I say sternly. “Promise me Benji: this is just between us.”
Benji nods. “I promise.”
We munch in silence for a little bit. Even though we don’t really have a place to begin, my spirits have lightened. It feels good to be planning this together, like one of our missions. Maybe all the missions we’d been planning and executing the past few years were leading up to this — the mission of all missions.
“So are you going to bike around town, looking for the car?” Benji asks.
When he says it out loud it sounds crazy, but that’s exactly what I was thinking of doing.
“That’s a lot of cars,” he continues. Then his eyes light up. “Unless …”
“Unless what?”
“What if we look up all the Davieses in town and bike by those houses? There can’t be that many.”
“Of course! He’s probably staying with relatives. Who else do you stay with when you come home? Benji, you’re a genius!”
Benji looks pleased with himself.
“But if Bill has relatives here, that means I have relatives here …” I trail off, unable to say what I’m thinking. If my father has relatives here, why haven’t they tried to contact me?
“Maybe we should stop by the hotel, too,” Benji says.
“And the bed and breakfast,” I add, happy for a change in subject.
Benji flips the notebook to a fresh page. “New list!” he announces. “Places to stay in town.”
“And just outside, too. Like the Lilac Motel,” I say.
Benji shudders. “That place is creepy,” he says. “There are never any cars in the parking lot.”
“Perfect! We’ll be able to spot his car right away!”
Benji’s eyes widen. “You mean we’re really going to bike out there? In the dark?”
“Not tonight, Benji! Jeez!”
“Thank goodness. Because there are horror movies that start that way.”
“You really do watch too much TV. Make sure it’s on the list,” I insist.
Dutifully, Benji adds Lilac Motel in his meticulous writing, doodling a thunder cloud and lightning bolt around it. I watch him add a drawing of a car on the bottom of the page. It’s very good, even though Benji doesn’t salivate over cars like some boys do. I guess you don’t have to like something to be able to draw it well. He even writes Bill’s licence plate number in the right place.
“How’s the wedding planning coming?” he asks.
“Fine. Mom still doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. It’s just a casual thing, in our backyard.”
“Who’s coming?”
“Not a lot of people. Mom said I could invite you, of course, and Mattie. And maybe Michael.”
“Is he your date?”
“No, just a guest.”
“Aren’t you supposed to bring a date to a wedding?”
“It’s not
that
kind of wedding. Why, who would you bring? Charity?”
“I was just asking.” Benji blushes, and I wonder if maybe she is the nighttime caller he has been spending all his evenings chatting with. I used
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