and ran downstairs. He was huffing like a sprinter as he raced past the living room, then stopped short. He suddenly had an idea. It was as if Liz, Amy and now Brent in the same day had brought everything to a head. His father’s betrayal. The greed all around him.
He called out to the kitchen. “Come get your money, Brent. It’s all here.”
Brent hustled eagerly into the living room. He stopped cold at the sight across the dimly lit room. Ryan was standing beside the fireplace. He had a stack of bills in one hand. A long, burning matchstick was in the other. An open can of lighter fluid rested on the mantel.
Brent’s voice shook. “What—what you doing?”
“Easy come, easy go.” He brought the match to the stack of bills, lighting the corner.
“No!”
The bills burst into flames, thoroughly soaked with lighter fluid. Ryan tossed them into the fireplace. Brent rushed forward. Ryan grabbed the fireplace poker, cocking it like a baseball bat. “Not another step, Brent!”
He stopped in his tracks, his face filled with anguish. The money was burning, but Ryan looked deadly serious. He was nearly in tears. “Ryan, man. Please don’t burn it.”
Ash fluttered up from the fireplace. The bills burned quickly. Ryan didn’t budge. “You lay a hand on Sarah, I’ll burn it all. I swear, I will burn every last bill.”
“Okay, man. Just be cool, okay?”
“It’s the rule,” he said, as if to remind himself as much as Brent. “No one gets the money. No one tells anyone else about the money. Not until we find out who paid it to my father and why.”
Brent backed away slowly. “Okay, my friend. You’re the man. You make the rules. I’m going home now. Just don’t burn any more of that money. That’s fair, right? You and me just pretend like this little episode never happened.”
Ryan kept the poker cocked, ready to crack Brent’s skull if he had to.
Brent stepped backward to the door. “No problem here. If you say that’s the rule, that’s the rule. I’ll just go home and tell Sarah we gotta play by the rules, that’s all.”
“Get the hell out of my sight, Brent.”
Brent gave an awkward nod, then hurried out the door. Ryan went to the front window andwatched him pull away. He glanced back at the fireplace. The money was a glowing pile of smoldering ash. Thousands of dollars. Gone. Strangely, he felt good about that. He glanced up the staircase, toward the attic. There was still plenty more to fight over.
Or plenty more to burn.
He checked the clock on the end table. Mom wouldn’t be home for another hour. He stoked the ash with a shot of lighter fluid, then threw on some kindling and a dry, split log. As the fire hissed and flames reached upward, he closed the screen and started up the stairs.
16
At 9:00 P.M ., Amy had a date. With Taylor.
The Fiske Planetarium at the University of Colorado was the largest planetarium between Chicago and Los Angeles. All summer long, Fiske sponsored Friday night programs in astronomy, followed by public viewings at the observatory. The evening programs were way over Taylor’s head, more on the level of college students than a four-year-old girl. She had loved the Wednesday morning family matinees, however, learning how runaway slaves had used the Big Dipper to find freedom, and taking a tour of the solar system with a make-believe robot. The simulated displays inside the dome were impressive enough, but Amy had promised to take her to the observatory for a look at the real nighttime sky. Tonight was the night.
They spent more than an hour at the Sommers Bausch Observatory, viewing double stars and galaxies through a sixteen-inch telescope. The big hit, however, was simply viewing Saturn and its rings through a much smaller telescope on the deck. Taylor was full of questions. Her mother had all the answers. Forty hours of graduate study in physics and infrared astronomy hadn’t gone completely to waste.
“This is so cool,” said Taylor.
“You
He called out to the kitchen. “Come get your money, Brent. It’s all here.”
Brent hustled eagerly into the living room. He stopped cold at the sight across the dimly lit room. Ryan was standing beside the fireplace. He had a stack of bills in one hand. A long, burning matchstick was in the other. An open can of lighter fluid rested on the mantel.
Brent’s voice shook. “What—what you doing?”
“Easy come, easy go.” He brought the match to the stack of bills, lighting the corner.
“No!”
The bills burst into flames, thoroughly soaked with lighter fluid. Ryan tossed them into the fireplace. Brent rushed forward. Ryan grabbed the fireplace poker, cocking it like a baseball bat. “Not another step, Brent!”
He stopped in his tracks, his face filled with anguish. The money was burning, but Ryan looked deadly serious. He was nearly in tears. “Ryan, man. Please don’t burn it.”
Ash fluttered up from the fireplace. The bills burned quickly. Ryan didn’t budge. “You lay a hand on Sarah, I’ll burn it all. I swear, I will burn every last bill.”
“Okay, man. Just be cool, okay?”
“It’s the rule,” he said, as if to remind himself as much as Brent. “No one gets the money. No one tells anyone else about the money. Not until we find out who paid it to my father and why.”
Brent backed away slowly. “Okay, my friend. You’re the man. You make the rules. I’m going home now. Just don’t burn any more of that money. That’s fair, right? You and me just pretend like this little episode never happened.”
Ryan kept the poker cocked, ready to crack Brent’s skull if he had to.
Brent stepped backward to the door. “No problem here. If you say that’s the rule, that’s the rule. I’ll just go home and tell Sarah we gotta play by the rules, that’s all.”
“Get the hell out of my sight, Brent.”
Brent gave an awkward nod, then hurried out the door. Ryan went to the front window andwatched him pull away. He glanced back at the fireplace. The money was a glowing pile of smoldering ash. Thousands of dollars. Gone. Strangely, he felt good about that. He glanced up the staircase, toward the attic. There was still plenty more to fight over.
Or plenty more to burn.
He checked the clock on the end table. Mom wouldn’t be home for another hour. He stoked the ash with a shot of lighter fluid, then threw on some kindling and a dry, split log. As the fire hissed and flames reached upward, he closed the screen and started up the stairs.
16
At 9:00 P.M ., Amy had a date. With Taylor.
The Fiske Planetarium at the University of Colorado was the largest planetarium between Chicago and Los Angeles. All summer long, Fiske sponsored Friday night programs in astronomy, followed by public viewings at the observatory. The evening programs were way over Taylor’s head, more on the level of college students than a four-year-old girl. She had loved the Wednesday morning family matinees, however, learning how runaway slaves had used the Big Dipper to find freedom, and taking a tour of the solar system with a make-believe robot. The simulated displays inside the dome were impressive enough, but Amy had promised to take her to the observatory for a look at the real nighttime sky. Tonight was the night.
They spent more than an hour at the Sommers Bausch Observatory, viewing double stars and galaxies through a sixteen-inch telescope. The big hit, however, was simply viewing Saturn and its rings through a much smaller telescope on the deck. Taylor was full of questions. Her mother had all the answers. Forty hours of graduate study in physics and infrared astronomy hadn’t gone completely to waste.
“This is so cool,” said Taylor.
“You
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