Free Blair’s Nightmare by Zilpha Keatley Snyder Page B

inspect the wrecked bicycle and offer his advice on how to put it back together.
    Amanda stayed in the house. David guessed that she felt he was safe enough with Dad there, so she didn’t have to play bodyguard this time. When Garvey rolled out the pitiful wreck, Dad looked it over and said it was going to have to have some new spokes—which was fairly obvious—but that he thought it could probably be repaired. What he actually said was he didn’t think it was a terminal case.
    â€œTerminal?” Garvey said. “No sir. It’s a genuine Schwinn.”
    Dad turned his back quickly and started checking out the back wheel. Then he lifted the bike up on the carpenter’s bench and started showing David how to put the wheel in the vise and straighten out the rim. It didn’t take very long, but before they were finished Garvey said he thought he’d better be getting home. That was the good news. The bad news was that he also said he was coming back.
    â€œI’ll get me some new spokes and come back over in a day or two. If that’s all right with you,” he said.
    â€œWith me?” David said. “Oh, sure.”
    â€œGreat,” Garvey said. “Good-bye, Mr. Stanley.” Then he came over to David and stuck out his hand with the palm up. “So long, Davey,” he said.
    David stared at the hand for a minute before he realized that Garvey was waiting for him to slap it. So he did.
    â€œSo long—uh—Pete,” he said.

Chapter Eight
    T HE NEXT DAY WHEN D AVID got home from school, Janie was lying in wait for him again, this time in the kitchen. She obviously had something new up her sleeve, and he guessed right away that it probably wasn’t going to be as simple as answering a few questions. She had gone to too much trouble. There was already a glass of milk on the table, and she had a pan of cinnamon toast all ready to go under the broiler.
    â€œHi David,” Janie said with one of her suspiciously cute smiles. “How would you like some cinnamon toast? I made some especially for you.” Cinnamon toast happened to be one of his favorite foods. He didn’t ask any questions. Whether he asked or not, he was going to find out what she wanted sooner or later. Sooner, probably, he thought, grinning—andhe was right. What Janie wanted was for him to take her for a ride on his bicycle.
    â€œLook, Janie,” he said. “Ride it yourself. I’m tired.”
    â€œI can’t. My legs are too short. I just want to go for a little ride. It won’t take long.”
    David sighed. He would have said no, except that by then he’d already eaten most of the cinnamon toast. “Well okay,” he said. “Come on then. Let’s get it over with.”
    Out in the garage he stuffed some rags in his book bag and fastened it on the bag rack to make a seat, while he warned Janie to keep her feet out away from the spokes and not to expect a long ride, because it wasn’t going to be one. Janie kept bouncing up and down on the tips of her toes the way she always did when she was excited. Then she climbed up behind him, took hold of his belt and said, “All right, let’s go. Here we go. This is fun, David. This is so much fun.” And then, as they got to the end of the driveway, “No. No, turn left, David. Turn left!”
    That should have clued him in, but it really didn’t. It wasn’t until she’d insisted on turning off Westerly Road onto Fillmore Lane and then kept saying “just a little farther” every time he suggested going back, that he began to catch on to what she had in mind. They were almost to Mr. Golanski’s driveway before she admitted it.
    â€œI have to interrogate Mr. Golanski,” she said. “I just have to. He probably knows more clues than anybody. He probably saw all kinds of clues in the spring house.”
    David groaned. Janie and her crazy manias. He’d