Free Something Suspicious in Sask by Dayle Gaetz Page A

She stood, stepped closer to Rusty and managed a quick glimpse of a tall slim figure with hair that stood long on top of his head but was cut bluntly over his ears.
    â€œYou’re drawing Scott?”
    Rusty covered his work, but his smile told Katie he was pleased she had recognized the figure. “I’m training myself to draw faces from memory.”
    â€œWhy?”
    He shrugged. “I dunno. Something to do. It makes me more observant.”
    â€œJust faces?”
    Rusty shook his head. “No, the whole person, clothes, everything.”
    â€œCan I see? Please?”
    He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
    â€œBecause,” she hesitated. “Okay, your drawings are good, Rusty. I like seeing them. Besides, I want to compare it with my notes about Scott.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI’ll tell you after I see it.”
    Rusty leaned over his work, pencil in hand. “Maybe, in a minute, when I’m done.”
    Katie sat back down and tried to concentrate on her notes. A clatter of dishes and the chatter of voices that drifted from the kitchen told her the rest of the family would soon wander out here. There wasn’t much time.
    She tapped her foot impatiently until at last Rusty put his pencil down. Katie snapped her notebook shut.
    â€œCan I see it now?”
    Rusty shrugged. “I guess.” He held his sketchbook toward her.
    Katie studied the drawing. A tall young man looked up at her, remarkably like Scott, right down to his white T-shirt and jeans that were a bit too short for his long legs.
    â€œWhat about the cell phone?” she asked.
    Rusty frowned, thinking. “I don’t remember a phone,” he admitted.
    â€œMe neither. Cliff must be more observant than us.”
    She sighed, “You know what? I’m so full I feel sick.
    Want to walk up the driveway with me?”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI told you, I’m full from eating too much cake, so I need some exercise.”
    â€œHa! I bet you want to see where that red truck was parked.”
    There was no point in denying it; Rusty knew her too well. “Okay, I might want to do that too, but I really am full, aren’t you?”
    Rusty put down his book and patted his stomach.
    â€œYeah, kind of. If I’m going to eat more cake later, I need some exercise.”
    They walked the length of the driveway, swatting mosquitoes with every step. The evening air was hot and sleepy. It smelled like dust. At the road they turned right and walked to a grove of poplars that grew just inside the barbed wire fence bordering Aunt Margaret’s farm. Between the fence and the road was a small slough where red-winged blackbirds balanced on the tips of tall brown reeds. The birds filled the air with squeaky little songs and fluttered their short black wings. Here and there red shoulder patches flashed bright in the evening sunlight that filtered through the trees.
    Long green grass grew alongside the slough but turned brown near the dirt road where the kids stood. Two wide tracks of flattened grass made a wide semicircle away from the road and back again.
    â€œIf Scott parked here,” Rusty said, “he was on the wrong side of the road. I’m going to check out the other side.” He ran across the road.
    Katie bent to study the tire imprints on the grass. Rusty’s footsteps thudded back across the dirt.
    â€œNothing’s been parked over there,” he said. “No,” Katie said. “His truck would be better hidden on this side.”
    A short shrill whistle made Katie’s breath catch in her throat. It was followed by loud flapping, like a strong gust of wind catching an awning. Every blackbird took to the air in an instant.
    â€œWhat the heck was that?” Rusty whispered.
    The whistle sounded again; then more flapping and a huge splash. The kids turned toward the slough in time to see a large, brown speckled duck land in the water, wings fluttering.
    They