held on a large mountain estate near Rock Creek, Colorado. He’d only been there for a week and had managed to duck out of most of the scheduled activities. He was patting himself on the back for slipping away right after lunch to investigate the mountain surroundings on his own.
About a half mile downstream from the large main house and outbuildings, he’d discovered a small cabin built near a swift-flowing mountain stream.
As he slowly moved out of the trees, his eyes darted in every direction.
No sign of anyone living in the place. No telling what kind of loot was waiting inside.
His heart jumped a beat as he boldly walked up the front steps. Shuffling nervously, he knocked on the door. He was glad he was good at reading lips and was ready with a lie about needing a drink of water if anyone opened it.
He’d lost his hearing a couple of years ago when he was running with a gang of older guys and had been experimenting with homemade bombs. One of them had gone off prematurely, injuring both his ears. Things had gone from bad to worse after that. He’d been made a ward of the court and the authorities took him away from his drug-addicted mother. Hating the close supervision and boring daily routines of foster care, he intended to make the most of this summer program for disadvantaged hearing-impaired kids. He’d go his own way and get some kicks this summer any way he could.
When no one responded to his knock, Scotty tried the door. Locked. Maybe he’d have more luck with a back door. A narrow deck circled the cabin and he quickly made his way around to a rear door flanked by two windows.
It was locked. Now what? What about a window? Both of them were locked, too, but he was able to remove one of the screens.
He hurriedly found a rock big enough to use as a sledge and used it to shatter the window glass. Carefully and swiftly, he removed the jagged shards and then hoisted himself through the opening into a small kitchen.
Inside, he hunched down in a waiting position, motionless and animal alert for any sign of danger. In the enveloping silence, he knew he had to depend entirely on sight to alert him. There would be no sounds to tell him what lay ahead, behind or beyond his peripheral vision.
Scotty could feel the skin on his neck prickling. He was alone in his silent world—or was he? Was some second sense warning him? As he fought the temptation to turn and bolt out the window, an inner voice mocked him. You turning into some yellow-bellied coward?
Straightening up and clenching his fists, he walked into the center of the kitchen and looked around. He opened some of the cupboards but didn’t see anything of interest. He couldn’t believe his luck when he spied an ashtray on the table with three long cigarette butts. He’d been dying for a smoke. He carefully put the butts in the pocket of his shirt and looked around for some matches but didn’t see any.
Then a portable radio sitting on the counter caught his attention. For a moment he forgot his deafness and reached for it. Then the truth stabbed him! Never again would he hear rap music blaring out of a radio station.
With childish fury and frustration, he lifted the radio over his head and threw it on the floor. Then, with a vicious kick he sent it sailing across the room.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair!
He knocked over two chairs, swept the counters clean, spilling objects all over the floor. Then stepping over the shattered and broken clutter, he left the kitchen through a doorway that opened into a front living room. Pressing up against one wall, he waited until he was satisfied that it was as empty as the kitchen.
Boldly he moved forward to see what he might find that was worth lifting. If he was lucky, he might even find a full pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
He had just taken a few steps into the room and was looking around, when he froze with sudden terror. Lying on the floor in front of the fireplace was the crumpled body of a man. His chest was bloody and his dead eyes stared straight at Scotty.
In that paralyzing moment, a shadow flickered across the front window, warning Scotty that someone was outside near the front door.
Frantically, he bolted back to the kitchen and pushed himself out the broken window. As he scrambled to his feet, he felt vibrations on the deck boards, warning him that someone was coming around the house.
He ran as fast as he could for the nearby cover of trees, not knowing if someone right behind him might be yelling, “Stop or I’ll shoot!”
Chapter One
As Marian Richards entered a large reception room in the Wentworth mansion, a hum of childish voices greeted her. The spacious, high-ceilinged room had been turned into an activity center, and as director of a summer program for disadvantaged hearing-impaired children, Marian was learning the hard way that the mountain estate with its imposing three-storied mansion had never been meant for a dozen eight-to twelve-year-old youngsters.
The property belonged to Alva Wentworth, a widow in her late seventies who was in a local nursing home. Located near one of the state’s popular tourist areas in southern Colorado the estate was worth a fortune and ripe for development. Countless investors had tried to persuade the wealthy widow to sell the estate but she had stubbornly held on to it. Her only heir had been a grandson, Stanley, whom she’d disinherited when she’d discovered a series of illegal maneuvers of his to get his hands on her money before she died. Everyone was amazed when she agreed to let the Colorado Foundation for Disadvantaged Children use the mansion and grounds for a children’s summer program.
Marian was determined that everything would go smoothly under her leadership. She’d been assistant director at a private school for the hearing impaired when she heard about the summer program and quickly applied for the position. She was delighted and slightly surprised when she was offered the job even though she was the youngest applicant, only thirty years old and still working on a doctorate in social services. She was determined that all would go smoothly, because this experience would be a professional stepping stone to the position of director at one of Colorado’s larger institutions.
Her first challenge had been to evaluate recommended children for the program. After considerable debate with teachers and social workers, she had chosen six boys and six girls of various ages and problems. She’d met with some negative reaction when she’d chosen Scotty Tanner, an eleven-year-old who had both hearing and emotional problems. Even his foster parents had warned her that the boy didn’t do well in groups.
As Marian entered the activity room, she looked around for Scotty but didn’t see the slender boy with unruly blond hair and snapping blue eyes. He usually dominated the Ping-Pong table, furiously venting his anger upon the small ball. Already Marian had learned that Scotty was constantly warring against the acceptance of his deafness and striking out at anything and everybody. He seemed intent upon isolating himself beyond what a hearing loss would create.
Uneasiness began to stir as she walked over to Rob Harman, a middle-aged physical-education teacher who had raised a deaf son and spent his summers working with the handicapped. He was easygoing and patient but at the same time firm enough to maintain control.
Marian had a staff of five people, counting herself, and was pleased they’d developed a summer curriculum that was both instructive and recreational.
“I don’t see Scotty in the room, Rob. Do you know where he is?”
“He was here right after lunch but complained his stomach hurt. He asked to go back upstairs to his bunk but I sent him
