Disappearance at Hangman's Bluff Read Online Free PDF Page A

too far from Reward. The Willie Smalls I knew was slow talking and very slow thinking, but he was nice and honest. I was sure he couldn’t be the person they were talking about on TV. That was until I looked at Daddy again.
    â€œIs Willie who you’re bailing out of jail?” I asked.
    Daddy glanced at me, hesitated, and then nodded.
    My jaw dropped. “Willie wouldn’t steal anything.”
    â€œI happen to agree, but Willie was the night watchman, and the robbers used his keys to get into the building, so it doesn’t look good.”
    My brain was suddenly moving in a different direction. What kind of risks was Daddy taking getting involved in something like this? What kind of bad things could happen? “I didn’t think you did that kind of law, you know, where people get arrested.”
    â€œCriminal law,” he said. “I usually don’t, but Willie’s dirt-poor. If I didn’t take his case, I didn’t know if anyone would.” He must have seen the worry on my face, because a second later he said, “Don’t worry, kiddo, I’m not taking any risks with a bail hearing. I’m just trying to make sure Willie gets a fair shake.”
    He turned his attention back to the TV, where the announcer was saying the thieves hadn’t been very smart, because all the tanks had Old South Bottled Gas written on the sides, and the truck had the same thing written on the doors. She said the police expected to find it pretty soon.
    A second later the television showed a clip from a security camera of two men wearing clown masks as they came through a door and walked toward a parked truck. The clip also showed a third man slumped on the ground with his back against a wall and what looked like a bottle of liquor in his hand. Even though the camera was up high on a wall, I recognized Willie Smalls. He appeared to be sleeping.
    But that wasn’t the amazing thing. That came when one of the men took off his mask in order to get into the truck they were going to steal. The picture was grainy, but even so there was no mistaking who it was.
    â€œThat’s him!” I shouted, pointing at the tall, skinny man on the television. “That’s the guy who shot Yemassee!”

Four
    T he next day was Sunday, and Bee and I got up early, packed snacks and water, smeared on sunscreen, and met at the barn a few minutes after seven. We brought along a map of Leadenwah Island, and our plan was to ride down every single back road and try to spot the white truck.
    As we saddled the ponies Bee said, “You really think that truck is on the island?”
    I nodded. “I bet it’s near wherever Yemassee found that white thing she was carrying,” I said. “Probably the men who stole her saw her as she was digging it up. If we just ride around long enough, I bet we’ll spot them.”
    Leadenwah Island is about seven miles long and three miles wide, and it forks like a pair of rabbit ears about halfway out, creating two separate points of land that jut out into the river. The point nearest to Reward is called Bishop’s Point. The farther point is called Sinner’s Point.
    Like a lot of places in our part of the country, Leadenwah Island had a fair number of people who lived in small houses or double-wides set close to the road. We figured that if the fancy pickup with the double back tires belonged to one of them, it would be easy to spot. But there were also a fair number of folks with plenty of money who lived on much bigger places, and while the two guys we saw hadn’t looked rich, it definitely wasn’t out of the question.
    Even before we got to the end of the plantation drive and onto the township dirt road, I could sense Bee already starting to worry. When I glanced over at her, she was chewing her lip. “What?” I asked.
    â€œMost of these big places are set pretty far back from the road,” she said.
    I shrugged.