Free Green Boy by Susan Cooper Page A

Grand said. “Whoever did this is costing me four thousand minimum.”
    The policeman whistled between his front teeth. “You got any personal idea who might have done it?”
    Lou, beside me, started making an agitated humming sound like a kettle beginning to boil.
    But Grand didn’t say anything, and I couldn’t bear it. I started to say, “It’s the people who—” and Grand kicked me. The policeman didn’t notice me or the kick; he couldn’t see me over his high countertop.
    â€œThank you for the report, Mr. Peel,” he said. “We’ll do what we can. Let us know if you find any of the boats.”
    Outside the police station I said indignantly, “You know who stole them, it’s the people who want to shut you up, the people who wrecked the farm!”
    â€œDid you see them, Trey?” Grand said. “Can you prove it?”
    â€œNo, but—”
    â€œLet’s go see Grammie,” he said.
    We walked to the bank in the baking sunshine, down the dusty road. It’s very hot in our islands in July, and there were hardly any people about, only a few chickens. The man who sells dollar bags of peanuts to tourists waspropped against the wall of the market in the shade, asleep. Inside the door of the bank, the air-conditioning made the air wonderfully cool; it was like walking into a cold shower.
    I love seeing Grammie behind the tellers’ counter at the bank, looking all dressed up and dignified. She’s a different person, there; she smiles at us quietly, and it’s the other teller ladies who make a fuss of us. Or of Lou, really, because he’s still young enough to be thought cute, though I can imagine what he’d say about that if he could talk.
    Grand was cashing a check, and Lou was being clucked at by the ladies, when I saw Mr. Abbott the bank manager coming out of his office, looking solemn and businesslike. With him were two of the men I’d seen on Long Pond Cay, the ones I thought were French. The men who wanted to turn it into Sapphire Island Resort.
    Lou turned his head, the way he so often does when he senses something in my mind. He saw them too, and at once his eyes went wide and he began to gasp, in that scary rhythmic pattern that can be the start of one of his seizures. Mr. Abbott and the two men glanced across, hearing him, and the taller of the two men caught sight of Grand, and paused. He stared at him for a moment, and stepped forward.
    â€œMr. James Peel,” he said, in his accented English. “Our adversary, I believe.”
    â€œGood day, James,” said Mr. Abbott nervously.
    Lou was hooting and gasping, and I dragged him toward the door.
    Grand nodded at Mr. Abbott, smiling. Then he looked at the Frenchman, and his smile dropped away. “Good morning,” he said.
    The tall man was wearing dark slacks, and a floppy white shirt that looked silky and expensive. He said easily, “I am Pierre Gasperi, and I am so sorry you do not approve of us. Mr. Abbott here will tell you that we are very sound people, financially. We shall be good for these islands, Mr. Peel.”
    â€œNo, you will not,” said Grand.
    Mr. Gasperi’s voice rose a little. “We are a force of nature, my friend.”
    Grand said, “No. Nature is a force against you.”
    Mr. Gasperi took a pair of dark glasses from his shirt pocket and put them on, as if he were setting a barrier between himself and Grand. He said softly, “If you are a wise man, you will change your mind.”
    And I don’t know what Grand said to that, because Lou was making such a racket that I had to open the door and take him outside. He was better, once he was away from the Sapphire Island people.
    I’ve never forgotten Mr. Pierre Gasperi’s voice. It was very quiet and gentle, and really scary.
    Grand said hardly anything all the way home, and when we got back he stopped the truck at the jetty, to look again