It was one word with several of the letters smudged. It started with MA, and ended with an X.

  Mailbox!

  Chapter 19

  As I ate my waffles early Saturday morning, I wondered how I could find out about Mrs. Garcia if she wouldn’t talk to me. If it was personal, like a guy leaving her, I was sunk. But if it was a car accident or some other tragedy, maybe it’d be in the files at the newspaper.

  Little Dylan came down the stairs with half his car collection stuffed in his pockets. I had to wonder if he’d slept that way. He picked out about five boxes of cereal and some cherry Pop-Tarts. I knew what was going to happen next and didn’t need to watch, so I cleaned my plate and went into the living room where I sat at the computer.

  I found Mrs. Garcia’s first name in our yearbook.

  I typed in Renee Garcia at the Web site for The Gazette in Colorado Springs. Articles popped up with the name Renee, but none with Garcia as the last name. I checked a couple of the Denver papers too. Nothing.

  I was going to have to go to the bakery to get any answers.

  Chapter 20

  I found Ashley at the computer and told her what I had seen at Randy’s the night before.

  “Did you watch the video?” Ashley said.

  I shook my head. “When that shower turned off, I had to get out of there.”

  “How do you know it’s a video of them smashing mailboxes?”

  “I don’t. But if we can’t find any more clues, we’ll have to grab it.”

  I walked into the kitchen and noticed a list of chores on the blackboard. Mom puts the list up every Friday night, and whoever wakes up earliest gets first pick. Ashley had already picked the easiest—vacuum living room. The others were clean Dylan’s room and doggy cleanup. The last one meant taking a plastic bag out back and picking up dog droppings.

  Leigh came up behind me, snatched the chalk from my fingers, and put a check by “Clean Dylan’s room.”

  “Hey, I was going to pick that!” I said.

  Leigh slapped the chalk from her hand. “You snooze, you lose.”

  I gritted my teeth and wanted to yell at her, but then I remembered she was dating a criminal she’d soon be visiting behind bars. Destroying mailboxes is a federal offense—they’re actually government property, after all. It made me scared for Randy.

  “Have fun last night?” Leigh said.

  I nodded. “Interesting game.”

  “Could you believe the way those players acted?” she said. “That’s one reason I don’t go to church.”

  “Because of softball players?”

  “They’re a bunch of hypocrites,” she said. “Praying before the game and then acting like babies during it. The only reason they want Randy to play is because he’s good. They don’t care about his soul.” When she said the word soul, she made quote marks in the air.

  Ashley and I had tried to be nice to Leigh and prayed for her, but she had a habit of knocking church and Christians. Mom told me we needed to love her and not argue, but that was hard.

  I wanted to tell her she shouldn’t judge all Christians by a few jerks and that calling people hypocrites is an easy way to ignore your own faults.

  Instead, I got two plastic bags from under the sink and went on poop patrol.

  Chapter 21

  I parked my ATV at Mrs. Watson’s house and walked into town to the Black Bear Bakery.

  I don’t think there’s a better smell in the world than fresh bread, unless it’s when you mix it with cakes and cookies and pies. I’d pay for a slice of the air in that bakery.

  I picked out the cookies I wanted and waited my turn. As the woman at the counter placed them in their own little box, I asked if Mrs. Garcia was still here.

  “Went home early,” she said. “Don’t think she was feeling well.”

  I decided to take a shortcut behind the bakery back to my ATV, but as I headed that way, another woman caught my eye. She sat on the back steps of the bakery taking long draws from a glass of iced tea. Her hair was as white as wedding cake, her face deeply lined, and her apron had bits of dough stuck to it.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “Do you know Mrs. Garcia?”

  She nodded, eyeing me evenly. “What do you want with Renee?”

  “She works at my school. I’m just . . . well, I’m kind of worried about her. She said something about yesterday being the anniversary of something she didn’t want to talk about.”

  The old woman looked like an alligator had jumped out of her tea. She gulped, coughed, then patted her chest. Finally she managed, “You mean the fire?”

  “Fire?”

  “Years ago, before she moved to Red Rock.” She looked away. “If Renee wanted you to know, she would have told you herself.”

  One thing I’ve learned is that when people are through telling you something, they’re through. You can push, but usually people clam up.

  “Where did she live before?”

  “Pueblo,” the woman said, as if this was her last word.

  “Well, thanks,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.” She looked a little scared. “But next time ask Renee, and don’t tell her I said anything.”

  Chapter 22

  Leigh wasn’t dressed up enough to be going out with Randy, but I didn’t want to ask where she was going. When you have an older sister, sometimes it’s better to just try to imagine where she’s going.

  “If Randy calls,” she said, “tell him I went over to Dawn’s. There’s a dance tonight, and she asked me to help with her hair.”

  I wondered why she and Randy weren’t going and how she was getting to Dawn’s, but I didn’t ask. She’d only sneer at me.

  A car pulled up and honked. Leigh grabbed her purse and some hair stuff and left.

  A few minutes later the phone rang, and it was Randy. “Is Leigh there?”

  Randy didn’t even acknowledge that I was breathing. Ashley and I called him The Creep, and right then I thought it was pretty accurate. “She went to Dawn’s,” I told him.

  Randy paused. “Do you have that number?”

  “Nope. Sorry.”

  “Well, give her a message,” Randy said. I heard someone laugh in the background. “Tell her I can’t go out tonight. Something came up. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” I said. “She’s going to ask what happened.”

  “Just tell her it was kind of an emergency.”

  Chapter 23

  Leigh was upset with Bryce when she got home. I guess he hadn’t asked the right questions or something, because she kept asking where Randy had gone. Of course, Bryce had no idea.

  I ran upstairs and sat with Bryce on Dylan’s bed. “You think we ought to tell somebody what we know about Randy?” Bryce said.

  I shook my head. “If you had seen the video, maybe, but we don’t really know anything yet. I’d kind of like to believe The Creep wouldn’t do something like this.”

  “What’s it going to take to convince you?” Bryce said. “I could go back and get the tape. He’s obviously not home tonight.”

  Dylan just watched us, perched on his bed and yawning. His pillow was lumpy, and I found a bunch of trains stuffed inside. Bryce went out while I sang to Dylan and tucked him in. I guess we had worn him out, because instead of asking a million questions about what we were having for breakfast the next day and wanting more songs, he was snoring within five minutes.

  Later, down in the living room, I told Bryce, “We can’t accuse Randy of anything until we have proof.”

  Bryce bit his cheek and took a deep breath. I could tell it was a struggle not to tell me off.

  Chapter 24

  The next morning I jumped in the shower, then dressed and went downstairs. Pippin and Frodo scratched at the back door, and I let them outside and grabbed the paper. I love looking at the Sunday paper for the comics (the first section I read) and to see what’s coming out on DVD.

  In the middle of the Metro section I found a picture of a smashed mailbox with a sad woman from Red Rock next to it.

  Vandalism Causes Heartache

  A wave of mailbox vandalism has hit the Red Rock area hard in the last week. Another round of smashed boxes was reported last night.

  The local postmaster, Arlin Hempkin, said area residents have reported numerous problems in the past few days, with many mailboxes damaged or destroyed.

  “My husband and I moved here from Denver to get away from this type of thing,” said one resident who wished not to be identified. “People should have more control over their kids.”

  The article went on to give tips on what to do and not do when repairing a mailbox, but I could only think of one question.

  Where had Randy been last night?

  Chapter 25

  After church I got an idea about Mrs. Garcia. If she had lived in Pueblo, maybe there was a story in that local newspaper about the fire. On the Internet I found that the Pueblo paper wasn’t available online. I racked my brain, then turned to the best source of information I could think of—the local library.

  I called and asked for the reference department. A lady answered, and I said I was looking for information about a fire in Pueblo that had happened in the last few years. I gave her the date and Mrs. Garcia’s name. I said she could just send it via e-mail if she found anything.

  Suddenly I felt a little hope that I’d find out the truth about Mrs. Garcia.

  Chapter 26

  Ashley rode ahead of me to school the next day, and as we pulled up to Mrs. Watson’s barn I noticed something strange in her front yard. She has one of those cheap plastic mailboxes with the little flag that never goes up right. The mailbox was gone, and black stuff ran down the metal pole. A black wire covered with plastic lay at the bottom.

  “Looks like a sparkler,” I said.

  Mrs. Watson came out in her robe, and I showed her the mailbox. “That must have been what Peanuts was barking at last night,” she said. “He was going crazy around midnight. Guess those hooligans have been at it again. This used to be such a nice little town. You could leave your doors unlocked. Now I have to keep my pistol loaded.”

  “You really have a gun?” Ashley said.

  “Second Amendment, my dear.”

  We’d studied the right to bear arms in school. Half the class thought everybody should have guns, and the other half thought nobody should have them. “Guns don’t kill people,” somebody said. “People kill people.”

  I pictured Mrs. Watson and a group from the sewing circle at church organizing a militia of gray-haired ladies. Maybe there would be fewer smashed mailboxes.

  “Bryce, could you and your dad help me put up a new mailbox?”

  “Sure.”

  At school Randy’s little brother, Derek, was near the flagpole with a bunch of his friends.

  “How’s your brother?” I said.

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “What happened to him Saturday night? He said it was kind of an emergency.”

  Derek shrugged. “He went out with a bunch of his friends from the softball team, I think.”

  Chapter 27

  I raced home to look at my e-mail, but Leigh was on the computer. “Wait your turn,” she said.

  After I put my stuff away she was still there, listening to music as she read. I wanted to see if the library had found anything. All I had to do was copy it to a disk and take it to the computer downstairs.

  Leigh moved like a glacier, and Mom was no help. “She’ll be done in a minute,” she whispered. I had heard the saying “walking on eggshells,” but this was the first time I knew what it meant.

  When she finally clicked off the music and swished out of the room, I found I had three new messages. One from Marion Quidley said she thought all the bashed mailboxes were space aliens trying to tell us something! Another was from my friend Hayley and didn’t have much to do with anything at all.

  And there was one from the Pueblo Public Library. Attached please find a copy of the article I discovered in a local paper from seven years ago.

  Apartment Fire Claims One

  An infant was killed in an apartment fire late last night on South Pueblo Boulevard. Officials say the blaze began in the infant’s bedroom and was contained there.

  Six-month-old Danielle Garcia was in the care of a babysitter at the time of the fire. Officials did not release the babysitter’s name. Danielle’s mother, Renee Garcia, was working at the time. Upon hearing the news she collapsed and was rushed to the hospital.

  Neighbors described Ms. Garcia as a devoted mother. “She was just trying to earn a living and bring up her child,” one said. “This tears my heart out.”

  Officials say the cause of the fire is still under investigation.

  Chapter 28

  Sam and I went to Mrs. Watson’s house later that day to put up a new mailbox.

  “Think the same people did this?” I said. “The mailboxes up the street look like they were blown up with cherry bombs and sparklers, but none of them was smashed.”

  Sam nodded. “Could be the same people using different methods. Fireworks is a little higher class—don’t you think?”

  I thought about Randy and his softball buddies. “What could happen to these people if they get caught?”

  “A big fine and something like three years in prison for each offense.”

  That took my breath away. “They must have hit 20 mailboxes on our road alone,” I said.

  Sam cocked his head at me. “You know something about this?”

  I shook my head. “Ashley and I are just trying to figure it out.”

  Sam scrunched his mouth and bit his cheek. “I’ve ordered a surveillance camera for the house. You could use it, but don’t take any chances. These guys find out you’re after them, who knows what they might do.”

  Chapter 29

  Losing a baby in a fire had to be the worst thing that could happen to a mother. At lunch the next day I looked for a chance to talk with Mrs. Garcia, but she was busy the whole time. She smiled at me as I went through the line, but that was it.

  I saw our principal, Mr. Forster, outside his office during a class change.

  “Can I ask you a question about Mrs. Garcia?”

  He squinted at me and nodded slowly, as if I could ask but he might not answer.

  “I heard what happened to her a few years ago. Do you know why she moved here?”

  Mr. Forster looked away, then motioned me back into the main office. “Has she been mean to you?” he said as we walked.

  “No, I’ve just been talking with her a little. Finding out stuff.”

  He frowned. “I don’t normally talk with students about the staff. If something happens with one of our employees, I want to hear about it, of course. Mrs. Garcia has problems like all of us. This is her third school in the last three years. Some think she shouldn’t be working with the students because of her demeanor. She’s working on it. And she’s a hard worker, always on time.”

  “Do you think she’ll be at our school next year?”

  From the way he looked at me I knew the conversation was over.

  Chapter 30

  At youth group Wednesday night, our leader, Pastor Andy, brought a bunch of watermelons and cut them in three pieces each. We were supposed to use a spoon and create something out of what was left.

  I thought I’d just scoop the whole thing out and wear it as a hat, but the more I dug around the edges, the more it looked like a mountain. So I kept going and soon had the likeness of Pikes Peak, which I thought would win.

  Wrong. Second place went to a sixth grade boy who carved a 747 (his dad’s a pilot), and first place went to an eighth grade girl who created the image of Abraham Lincoln, complete with the mole on his right cheek.

  Show-offs. These were serious watermelon artists.

  Then we all went outside and gathered around a big hunk of wood. A man wearing plastic goggles started a chainsaw and moved quickly around the wood, kicking out chips that covered the ground. When he was done, he stepped back and we all gasped. The block of wood had become a beautiful owl sitting on a perch.

  Pastor Andy’s point was to show us what even something ordinary can become in the hands of an artist. He encouraged us to give our lives to God, the Artist of the universe, and let him shape us into something great.

  Somehow during his talk I figured out how we could catch the mailbox bashers. Randy or not, they had to be caught.

  Chapter 31

  I cornered Pastor Andy after the meeting. He has a goofy-looking face with short hair and big ears, but he really cares about kids and we all like him.

  Andy has a way of focusing on you and what you’re talking about instead of thinking about the next thing he has to clean up or who else he has to talk to.

  “What’s the best way to get a person to open up about their life?” I said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Good question. Who are we talking about?”

  Andy looked surprised when I told him. He probably thought I was interested in some guy.

  “If you’ve become her friend,” he said, “which it sounds like you have, that’s a great first step. People are a lot more open if you share something personal too. If they sense they can trust you, they’re more likely to talk. Now let me ask you something.”

  “Sure.”

  “Ashley, is something bothering you? You seem kind of upset or antsy.”

  “What do you mean?” I said, my face feeling hot.

  “You’re not your usual self. You look kind of serious.”

  I thought about the change in medicine and what the doctor had said. All I could do was shrug, and thankfully, Pastor Andy didn’t press me.