The Great Circus Train Robbery Read Online Free PDF Page A

and rock. Hung with webs full of dead flies, it was more underground cave than cellar. There was the usual furnace and hot water heater, but the floor was clay dirt, and anything—any body —could be buried beneath. She pointed down and lifted an eyebrow at Spence.
    “I’m not digging,” he said, crossing his arms.
    “Whisper, please.”
    “I’m not—”
    “I heard you. Just look for signs of digging. Or places where the rock might’ve been removed in the walls.”
    “It’s not all rocks,” Spence hissed back. “First you dig a big hole and then you line the dirt sides with fieldstone and mortar. I know for a fact. My grandfather has a basement like this.”
    “Uh-huh. Well, just start looking.” Upstairs she heard a thump. Spence started for the outside steps; she grabbed his sleeve. “It’s just the cat.” At least there might be a cat. She held Spence’s gaze. Stick to your guns when you believe in something, her father always said, and she was sticking.
    They tapped and rubbed and stuck their fingers in crevices. They breathed in the stench of mice and mold.  Once she saw a dead rat and bit her lips hard to keep from crying out.  But saw no sign of a human body. “He’s not dead yet,” she concluded.
    “He?”
    “Or she. You know what I mean. The generic he.”
    “The what?’
    “Never mind. Just follow me.” She started for the rickety wooden steps that led to the rooms above. “Come on,” she urged when he held back.
    “This is crazy. Either we get shot or we get arrested for trespassing.”
    “Have faith. I’ll go up first and case the joint.” She’d heard that phrase on one of her dad’s thriller videos, it revved up her courage. She crept upward and shoved open the door to the house. She blinked in the sudden light—she’d encountered a pair of green eyes.
    She cried out—then fell back a step when a hand grabbed the seat of her pants.
     

7
     

MYSTERIOUS MESSAGES ON THE E-MAIL
     
    “Oh, it’s you. Let go!”
    “I was only trying to rescue you,” Spence said.
    “I don’t need rescuing. It was the cat that startled me.” It was a huge green-eyed cat, big as a dog. A Maine Coon cat probably, with an enormous black-striped furry tail and paws like a tiger. She’d heard of that breed that would even retrieve a ball. Maybe it could talk and tell her where the body was hid.
    “Mer-row-w,” the cat said, and she jumped, then giggled. The cat had its own language.  She meowed back but the cat looked bored and jumped up on a table.  The cat’s litter box was underneath. So that’s what she’d smelled! The box needed cleaning.
    She signaled Spence to come up. “Coast is clear. No one here but the talking cat.”
    “The what?”
    “Never mind.” They were in a kitchen that opened into a sort of dining-living area. The walls were pale yellow, left over, she supposed, from the lampshade ladies. The refrigerator was practically bare except for a pound of butter, half a gallon of milk, some takeout Chinese, a pair of sunglasses, canned cat food, a bottle of Liquid Sleep (was his guilt keeping him awake at night?), a quart of root beer, and three bottles of some other kind of beer. It was like he shopped only once a month and today was the day. A pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey sat in the freezer compartment, along with—a frozen owl? Hmmm. That was a bad sign.
    The dining area held a round oak table set with a single straw placemat with ketchup spilled on it, and an oak buffet with two framed photos. In one of the photos a dark-haired woman glared at the camera. Was she Boomer’s mother? He’d had a deprived childhood which was why he was a criminal now? She never ever hugged him?
    The other photo, a black-and-white, showed a train with a skinny boy waving at it; she nudged Spence to come and look. The boy was wearing short pants and a shirt half tucked in and half hanging out.  He wore a striped engineer’s cap on his head.
    “What do you make of that?”