the notebook. The counterfeiter's blue tattoo was on his earlobe. This tattoo is on the guy's cheek."
I was suddenly enormously relieved.
We made our pizza decision and went back to the counter. It was only after we placed our order that I realized that Becca had melted to the back of the group. She was still keeping a close eye on the salad-making tattooed man.
"Becca," I said softly. "It’s okay. See? It’s just a tattoo. Like . . . like permanent makeup. Or face-painting."
"I don't like it," said Becca firmly.
She kept watching him while she ate her pizza. And she looked back over her shoulder half a dozen times as we walked home.
"He's not going to hurt you," I reassured her. "He's just an ordinary guy, you know. With a tattoo. Lots of people have tattoos."
"Yes," said Becca.
There was only one thing to do.
Back at the Pikes', I whispered in Mal's ear. • "I'll ask Mom," said Mal. "Great idea. I'll be right back."
She returned in a few minutes with a shoe-box full of old makeup.
"I'm not wearing makeup," said Nicky immediately.
"You mean you don't want a tattoo?" asked Mallory.
That got his interest. It got everyone's — except, at first, Becca's. She still hung back. She watched as we drew designs on the Pikes' arms and cheeks with eyebrow pencil and eyeliner, then filled them in with eyeshadow and lipstick.
Then suddenly, she asked, "Could I have a butterfly tattoo?"
"Sure," I said casually.
We played "tattoo" most of the afternoon. I was getting ready to leave when I heard Vanessa say, "Oh, oh, oh, let it snow, snow,
snow."
I stepped outside and looked up at the sky. Sure enough, big, fat, white flakes were spiraling down.
I hoped they were doing the same at Shadow Lake.
Chapter 14.
Kristy.
Isn't it beautiful?" said Claudia, holding out her mittened hand to catch the snowflakes that were falling, faster and faster, from the gray sky.
"Beautiful," I said. "Come on." I took off down the trails we'd been wandering around all morning and hustled everybody back to our cabin, so we could eat a quick lunch and grab Abby's and my skis. Claudia barely had time to slip a Ring Ding into her jacket pocket for nourishment out on the slopes before we were standing in line at the ski rental desk.
The guy behind the desk was cute. His blue eyes matched his shirt. I noticed this, but I wasn't interested.
Stacey and Claudia noticed it, too. But I didn't let them hang around. "Here," I said impatiently to Stacey. "You buckle your ski boot like this."
Stacey and the staff guy looked startled, but at least she had her boots on.
As I straightened up, Abby put her elbow into my side. This is a bad habit she really needs to break. Where does she learn these things?
I was about to point this out to her when she said, "Look!"
I looked. In fact, we all looked.
I'd dropped my ski gear bag at the end of the bench, along with Abby's, plus Stacey's backpack which she'd brought along (I suspected she had stuck her purse in there). The guy with the eye patch was bending over them.
"I could kill them," he said as clearly as if no one at all was standing around listening. "They'd deserve it. No jury in the world would convict me. ..."
He looked up. His face was twisted and his eye blazed.
We shrank back.
"Mr. Federman?" said the staff guy uncertainly.
Mr. Federman spun around and stomped away.
"Wow," breathed Stacey. "I hope I don't run into him out on the slopes."
I was staring after Mr. Federman. "Let’s check our stuff. The way he looked, I want to make sure he didn't stick a bomb in there or something."
"Why do you think he was so angry? Was he angry at us?" Claudia asked.
"Why would he be? We've never seen him before, until this morning," Abby answered practically.
We got our gear (it was bomb-free) and
stowed it in the lockers. Then we headed out to the lifts.
I kept seeing Mr. Federman's face and the way he had looked at us. Had we done something to offend him? Did we know him from somewhere else? It
I was suddenly enormously relieved.
We made our pizza decision and went back to the counter. It was only after we placed our order that I realized that Becca had melted to the back of the group. She was still keeping a close eye on the salad-making tattooed man.
"Becca," I said softly. "It’s okay. See? It’s just a tattoo. Like . . . like permanent makeup. Or face-painting."
"I don't like it," said Becca firmly.
She kept watching him while she ate her pizza. And she looked back over her shoulder half a dozen times as we walked home.
"He's not going to hurt you," I reassured her. "He's just an ordinary guy, you know. With a tattoo. Lots of people have tattoos."
"Yes," said Becca.
There was only one thing to do.
Back at the Pikes', I whispered in Mal's ear. • "I'll ask Mom," said Mal. "Great idea. I'll be right back."
She returned in a few minutes with a shoe-box full of old makeup.
"I'm not wearing makeup," said Nicky immediately.
"You mean you don't want a tattoo?" asked Mallory.
That got his interest. It got everyone's — except, at first, Becca's. She still hung back. She watched as we drew designs on the Pikes' arms and cheeks with eyebrow pencil and eyeliner, then filled them in with eyeshadow and lipstick.
Then suddenly, she asked, "Could I have a butterfly tattoo?"
"Sure," I said casually.
We played "tattoo" most of the afternoon. I was getting ready to leave when I heard Vanessa say, "Oh, oh, oh, let it snow, snow,
snow."
I stepped outside and looked up at the sky. Sure enough, big, fat, white flakes were spiraling down.
I hoped they were doing the same at Shadow Lake.
Chapter 14.
Kristy.
Isn't it beautiful?" said Claudia, holding out her mittened hand to catch the snowflakes that were falling, faster and faster, from the gray sky.
"Beautiful," I said. "Come on." I took off down the trails we'd been wandering around all morning and hustled everybody back to our cabin, so we could eat a quick lunch and grab Abby's and my skis. Claudia barely had time to slip a Ring Ding into her jacket pocket for nourishment out on the slopes before we were standing in line at the ski rental desk.
The guy behind the desk was cute. His blue eyes matched his shirt. I noticed this, but I wasn't interested.
Stacey and Claudia noticed it, too. But I didn't let them hang around. "Here," I said impatiently to Stacey. "You buckle your ski boot like this."
Stacey and the staff guy looked startled, but at least she had her boots on.
As I straightened up, Abby put her elbow into my side. This is a bad habit she really needs to break. Where does she learn these things?
I was about to point this out to her when she said, "Look!"
I looked. In fact, we all looked.
I'd dropped my ski gear bag at the end of the bench, along with Abby's, plus Stacey's backpack which she'd brought along (I suspected she had stuck her purse in there). The guy with the eye patch was bending over them.
"I could kill them," he said as clearly as if no one at all was standing around listening. "They'd deserve it. No jury in the world would convict me. ..."
He looked up. His face was twisted and his eye blazed.
We shrank back.
"Mr. Federman?" said the staff guy uncertainly.
Mr. Federman spun around and stomped away.
"Wow," breathed Stacey. "I hope I don't run into him out on the slopes."
I was staring after Mr. Federman. "Let’s check our stuff. The way he looked, I want to make sure he didn't stick a bomb in there or something."
"Why do you think he was so angry? Was he angry at us?" Claudia asked.
"Why would he be? We've never seen him before, until this morning," Abby answered practically.
We got our gear (it was bomb-free) and
stowed it in the lockers. Then we headed out to the lifts.
I kept seeing Mr. Federman's face and the way he had looked at us. Had we done something to offend him? Did we know him from somewhere else? It
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