Curse of the Arctic Star by Carolyn Keene

people moved aside, and I noticed Scott standing nearby. He was talking to a man I’d never seen before—his face wasn’t one anyone could forget, given the large, jagged, ugly scar bisecting it. Scar Guy was maybe a few years older than Scott, dressed in ripped jeans and a grimy plaid flannel jacket. The two of them were leaning close together and appeared to be deep in conversation.
    Then Scott quickly looked around, though he didn’t notice me watching. He stuck one hand into the pocket of his windbreaker, pulled out something I couldn’t see, and shoved it at Scar Guy. Scar Guy tucked whatever it was into his jacket, then took off without another word in the direction of the docks. Scott put both hands in his jeans pockets and started walking fast in the opposite direction.
    What was that all about? I wondered. Somethingabout what I’d just witnessed had set all my sleuthing instincts on high alert, though I wasn’t quite sure why.
    I took a few steps after Scott, keeping him in sight, not certain what to do. Sure, Scar Guy looked kind of seedy. But so what? Scott could easily have friends or acquaintances in various ports, and I knew better than to judge someone on appearances. There could be a million perfectly innocent explanations for what I’d just seen. And Scott wasn’t even on my radar as a suspect. Why waste time worrying about what he was doing?
    But sometimes a girl just has to go with a hunch. Besides, it wasn’t as if I had a better plan in mind. Putting on a burst of speed, I followed Scott as he rounded the corner and headed deeper into town.

CHAPTER TEN

Catch as Ketchikan
    THIS IS A WASTE OF TIME , I THOUGHT AS I ducked into a doorway.
    I’d already followed Scott for several blocks. Every so often he paused and glanced around, and I’d been careful to stay out of sight. It wasn’t hard, since we were still in the touristy part of town and there were plenty of people around. Maybe if I was lucky I’d come across Wendy or one of my other suspects, and that would give me an excuse to give up this crazy idea of tailing Scott.
    The crowd thinned out a little as we turned to head off the street and up a short walkway toward a low-slungwooden building. I hung back until Scott disappeared inside, then hurried forward. A sign by the door identified the place as the Totem Heritage Center.
    “Cool,” I murmured as I saw several intricately carved faces grinning or scowling down at me from a tall totem pole near the building.
    But I wasn’t here to sightsee. Pushing in through the door, I glanced around.
    It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The place was small, making the collection of towering totem poles seem even taller as they loomed up in the center of the room.
    There were a couple of older tourists wandering around, but I didn’t see Scott anywhere. I wandered farther in, staring up at the poles. My footsteps echoed, seeming to bounce off the impassive totems. The place was cool, but a little creepy, too.
    This is silly, I told myself. I’m sure Scott’s just here scoping out this place to include on future tours, or some other ship business like that. I should go, maybe try to track down Wendy or something.
    But I couldn’t help remembering how Scott had acted as he walked here—stopping every few minutes to look back, as if he didn’t want anyone to see where he was headed. If he was just going about his normal business, why would he act like that?
    Besides, I was already here. I might as well follow through.
    By now the tourists had disappeared into the adjoining gift shop. I glanced in there, but there was no sign of Scott, so I kept going, circling around the totems huddled at the center of the room.
    Where’d he go? I wondered.
    When I reached the back wall, I heard the sound of muffled voices. Spotting a door, I pushed it open, revealing the bright glare of daylight—and Scott’s surprised face.
    “You!” he blurted out harshly, freezing in place.