paused. “Uh . . . it’s called . . . Murder in the Forest . . . It’s about a murder.”
“In the forest,” Bearman added.
Billy stepped closer to the woman and lowered his voice confidentially. “We play the killers.”
“Awfully young for killers,” the woman said as she pulled a heavy, checked blue shirt off the rack. “Mighty young killers if you ask me.”
“Yeah, well they . . . uh . . . give us makeup to look older,” Billy said. “We murder our partner for the gold we found up in the mountains.”
“Sounds pretty good,” she said, “sort of like the Lost Lemon Mine legend.”
“The what?” Billy looked at the woman.
Bearman poked him in the ribs. “Yeah, something like that, except . . . uh . . . different.”
“It’s very interesting,” Billy assured the woman.
Several minutes later they had a bag filled with shirts, pants and a jacket for each of them. Bearman had winked at Billy as he pulled a jacket off a hanger that looked almost exactly like the one he already owned, minus the dirt. He seemed to be over Billy’s remark that had made him so angry before.
“Thanks a lot for the help,” Bearman told the woman as he led Billy toward the door.
“No problem.” The big lady’s mouth opened in a wide smile. “Always like to help out with drama. That’ll be eight dollars all together.”
“What?” Bearman gasped. “I thought these were free for people who need ’em.”
“They are . . . for the needy. But for groups there’s a small charge.”
“We . . . we haven’t got eight dollars,” Bearman told the woman.
“Doesn’t your drama group have a budget for costumes?” The woman was still smiling. “Eight dollars isn’t very much.”
Bearman didn’t say anything. He seemed to be out of ideas.
Billy tried to think of something to tell her. “There . . . isn’t any money for costumes. It’s . . . uh . . . a free show.”
“Oh . . .” The woman’s forehead creased as she thought for a minute. “Well, in that case, you better just take them. Funny, I never heard anything about any play going on.”
“Yeah . . . well . . .” Bearman sputtered, “we . . . just started practising and . . .”
“Rehearsing,” Billy corrected.
“Yeah,” Bearman nodded, “rehearsing and . . . uh . . .”
“They haven’t started advertising yet,” Billy finished up.
“Yeah,” Bearman nodded. “Anyway, thanks again.”
The two boys exchanged looks as they turned once more for the door.
“Oh, and one other thing.” The woman’s voice stopped them. “If you should see those two kids that did a number on that gang of punks at Long Valley, tell ’em there was a Mountie in here this morning askin’ if I’d seen anybody like that. The Mountie said he figured they’d probably run off to the city, but if they didn’t find them in a few days, they’d start searching the woods. If you happen to see them, you tell them that people are looking for them — they’d be about your ages — so, you know, if you run into them while you’re rehearsing, what was it? . . . Murder in the Forest?”
Neither of the boys turned back to look at the woman when she’d finished speaking. “Yes ma’am,” Bearman said as he reached for the handle of the door, “we’ll tell ’em.”
“Bye,” Billy added as they quickly left the store.
Back in the pick-up, Billy’s voice was shaking as he said, “What do we do? The police are after us.”
Bearman rolled a cigarette with one hand. “You were a lot better liar in there than you were with the pie lady.”
Billy shrugged. “I had more time to work on my story. Besides, I don’t think we fooled her a bit. That last thing she said proves she knows exactly who we are. And now we’ve got the police to worry about.”
“So? We knew they’d be lookin’ for us, didn’t we? All we do is stay hidden where we are. They look for us, they don’t find us, then they give up and leave us alone.”
“You think so?”
“And you know why they don’t find us?” Bearman lit the cigarette. “Because we’re tucked away like two little cozy bugs in our treehouse.”
Billy rummaged through the bag of clothes and pulled out a checkered shirt like the one Bearman wore. He unbuttoned the shirt he’d been wearing and replaced it with the new one. “By the way, what’s the Lost Lemon Mine?”
Bearman nodded his approval at the shirt. “Like the lady said,” he answered, “it’s a legend. A couple of guys supposedly found gold. Not far from here, up in the mountains. One guy — Lemon — killed the other one, a guy named Blackjack. But before he could make his claim, he went crazy, maybe guilt, who knows? Anyway there’s supposed to be an Indian curse on anyone who tries to find the mine.”
“Sounds like a good place to avoid.”
Bearman shrugged, then guided the pick-up slowly out onto the street.
“Speaking of places to avoid,” Billy said, turning to face Bearman, “do you really think it’s such a good idea to go to your dad’s . . .”
“I said we’re going.” Bearman gripped the steering wheel hard and there was an unpleasant edge to his voice. “End of story. We’re going . . . tonight.”
Billy sat back in the seat and looked out the window on his side of the truck but didn’t see much as they drove out of town.
CHAPTER
5
They’d been driving with the headlights off for several minutes. Bearman was hunched forward over the wheel peering into the blackness of the night with its shadows on shadows and the occasional spot of light from a distant farmhouse.
Billy hadn’t spoken since they’d left the camp. He didn’t want to disturb Bearman’s concentration. But mostly, he was afraid. Thoughts piled up on top of each other as he listened to the pick-up’s tires crunch over the gravel road, carrying them closer to a place Billy didn’t want to go.
What was he doing here? He’d never done anything illegal in his life. He’d never even been able to bring himself to snitch a package of baseball cards or a black licorice pipe like some of the other kids regularly did.
He wished he wasn’t the way he was — wimpy about stuff like that. But he couldn’t seem to help it. He felt guilty when he swore, though he didn’t do it often. He’d never before played hooky from school, even though it was another
