that will carry us back to the moon,” I replied.
“I work on the Ares Project at Marshall Space Flight Center. I have more pins and some posters I was going to send back with your dad for you and your sister.”
“Thank you,” I said as I clipped the pin to my shirt pocket.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “Okay, are you both ready to go? Do you have any checked luggage?”
“No, just the carry-on,” said my dad.
“No, just the carry-on,” I said. “And my shiny new iPod.”
Dad gave me a smirk, and we all headed to the airport parking lot.
“I thought you might bring one of your telescopes,” Angie Warrensburg said.
“I figured we would have all the telescopes we could use up on the mountain at the observatory,” said my dad.
“Well,” she said, “I thought we might need more room than what we’ll need for just a couple of carry-on bags and a, what did you call it, Jason? A shiny new iPod? I borrowed Stephen’s van.”
“Stephen’s driving?!” I almost shouted. Didn’t mean to; did it anyway. I’m sure Angie Warrensburg heard the disbelief in my voice.
“Oh, believe it,” she said. “You know, Stephen’s almost seventeen now. He’s come a long, long way since you saw him last year.”
When we got to the parking lot I saw how Stephen A. Warrensburg could come—and go—a long, long way since I saw him last year. The van was a full-sized Ford Econoline, midnight blue with gray trim and dark tinted windows. As we approached, Angie Warrensburg clicked a remote control, and the side door slid open revealing a platform that could extend and lower to the ground.
The interior of the van was not much smaller than my bedroom back home. The ceiling was raised. At the back, there was a plush black leather bench seat that would hold three people. Up front were two black captain’s chairs. Secured to the wall opposite the sliding door was a folded wheelchair. I figured it must be a spare since Stephen Warrensburg wasn’t in it.
“Watch this,” said Angie Warrensburg.
She clicked another button on the remote, and the driver’s side captain’s chair swung around toward the middle of the van.
“With the remote control,” she said, “Stephen can raise himself into the van, swing his driver’s seat around, scoot into it, and pivot back into position at the steering wheel. Frankly, with all the hand controls on the steering wheel, this thing’s hard for me to handle.”
She chuckled to herself and said, “Stephen was a little testy about me borrowing his van. Let’s not tell him that you two only had a couple of carry-on bags.”
“And a new iPod,” said my dad. “Where is Stephen now?”
“Home,” said Stephen’s mom. “We probably won’t see much of him this week.”
I smiled at my dad. He frowned at me.
Sweet, I thought. A week with my new iPod and no Stephen A. Warrensburg. This would almost make up for the week I had to spend with the guy last year.
4
“One of you killed my father. I’m going to find out who and see that you pay.”
That’s how Stephen A. Warrensburg greeted the Space Cadets as they were gathered for dinner on Monday night—their first night together in Huntsville. And, yeah, I was there too, so I guess I was one of his suspects.
Up until that point the day had been uneventful. Angie Warrensburg drove Dad and me from the airport to our cabin at the Monte Sano State Park. Along the way we passed the Space and Rocket Center. Looking up at the replica of the Saturn V, it seemed even taller than it had from the plane. I hoped I would get a chance to see the real deal. The Saturn V was the powerful rocket that propelled mankind all the way to the moon.
“That large building to the right of the replica is the Davidson Center where the real Saturn V is housed,” said Angie Warrensburg. “And there are models of the Ares I and Ares V rockets.”
“I’d love to see them,” I said.
“I’ll get Stephen to bring you,” she said.
Maybe I’ll call a cab, I thought to myself.
At the foot of Monte Sano Mountain, we stopped at a place called the Star Market to pick up food for the week. Then we headed up the winding road to Monte Sano State Park. About halfway up I first saw the Man in the Red Flannel Shirt. I doubt I would have noticed him if not for the shirt. It was half buttoned and not tucked in, which made it work more as a jacket. June in Alabama, it’s already hot and humid. Monte Sano is about 1,600 feet above sea level—not that high as mountains go—and the temperatures wouldn’t be much, if any, lower than down in the valley. Why would anyone wear flannel, red or otherwise, in this heat? He was standing next to a black Dodge Durango that was parked at a scenic overlook. With binoculars, he looked out over the city of Huntsville. As we passed he seemed to catch sight of us out of the corner of his eye and lowered the binoculars. I was in the seat at the rear of the van, and when I turned to look out the back window the Man in the Red Flannel Shirt was staring right at me. He twisted around in a hurry and raised his binoculars.
All of the Space Cadets including Angie Warrensburg were staying in cabins at Monte Sano State Park.
“You could stay in your own home, couldn’t you?” I asked her.
“It wouldn’t be much of a Space Cadet expedition if I stayed in my own house, and the cabins are just a few hundred meters from the observatory,” she told me.
My dad said, “And this mountain road can be treacherous at night.”
“Yes,” agreed Angie Warrensburg. “Yes, it can.”
“Will Stephen be staying up here?” I asked.
“Some of the time,” she answered. “In fact, he specifically asked me to let him greet the Space Cadets when we all get together for dinner tonight.”
The Monte Sano cabins were . . . I guess the best word to describe them would be “interesting.” They were made of large stones, and other than the stones, there was nothing large about them. Behind each cabin was a large, concrete picnic table that made the cabin look even smaller. From the outside you would have thought there was no room inside for a bathroom. You wouldn’t be far from wrong. Inside was one room with a closet; the closet contained a toilet and a shower. Everything else—sink, stove, refrigerator, table, chairs, sofa, and bed—were in the one room.
“I’ll take the couch if you want the bed,” said my dad. “After all, I got you into this.”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “The couch looks more comfortable.”
“Thanks,” said my dad.
