Missing on Superstition Mountain by Elise Broach Page B

where?”
    â€œJust for a bike ride, Mom,” Simon told her impatiently.
    â€œAgain?” Mrs. Barker stood over them with her hands on her hips.
    â€œWe’ll check in this time,” Simon promised.
    â€œWe’re going with Delilah,” Henry volunteered. “She doesn’t have anyone to play with otherwise.”
    A cheap appeal to Mrs. Barker’s sympathies often worked rather well. “Okay,” she relented. “It must be hard for her, not having any brothers or sisters. I think it’s nice that you boys are trying to include her in your activities. Remember to put on sunscreen.”
    Jack opened his mouth to complain, but Henry grabbed his arm and pulled him up from the floor, where he was struggling with his shoelaces. “We’ll take it with us,” he told their mother, snatching a tube from the kitchen counter. “Come on,” urged Jack, “she’s waiting for us.”
    â€œBoys, listen to me! I want you to come home for lunch,” Mrs. Barker called as they dashed out the door.
    *   *   *
    They rode to Delilah’s house and turned into the driveway.
    â€œYou get her, Henry,” Simon ordered, and Henry dropped his bike and ran to the front door. Moments after he knocked, a woman with wavy reddish hair and Delilah’s same smile opened it.
    â€œHi,” Henry said, a little nervous. “I’m the one who called last night.”
    â€œOh, hi, hon,” the woman said warmly, holding the door wide. “I’m glad to meet you. Delilah certainly has been talking about you Barker boys. You have such a pretty cat! We just love her. Come on in.”
    â€œActually, we were wondering if Delilah—”
    Delilah herself appeared before he could finish, slipping past her mother and joining Henry on the porch. “We’re going to ride our bikes,” she told her mother.
    â€œOkay,” her mother said easily. “You have your key? I have to go in to work later.”
    â€œYeah, I have it,” Delilah answered. She was already hoisting up the garage door to retrieve her bike.
    â€œAll right, have fun.” Mrs. Dunworthy closed the front door, and Henry ran down the steps after Delilah.
    â€œYour mom is cool,” he said. “She doesn’t ask a ton of questions about where you’re going and when you’ll be home.”
    Delilah nodded. “She doesn’t bug me about that.”
    â€œAnd she doesn’t even make you have a sitter when she’s gone?” Henry asked enviously.
    Delilah paused, looking a little embarrassed. “No, not anymore. That’s too expensive. But I’m really responsible.” She added this matter-of-factly, not like she was boasting. “And she trusts me.”
    â€œYou’re lucky,” Simon said. “Our mom grills us about everything.”
    â€œBut your mom’s nice too,” Delilah said. “She makes lemonade.”
    Henry wondered whether the kind of mom who made lemonade was also more likely to grill you about everything. He wasn’t sure why that would be true, but it seemed like it might be.
    *   *   *
    Superstition Cemetery stretched over a large plot of land surrounded on three sides by a white concrete wall. The front of the cemetery had an ornate wrought-iron fence and a tall gate through which you could see rows of pale tombstones facing the street. It was so quiet and orderly, it almost looked like a classroom, Henry thought … except with graves instead of desks. Small, colorful bouquets of flowers leaned against some of the tombstones.
    â€œHold your breath!” Jack whispered as they walked toward the gate. They always held their breath when they passed the cemetery in the car or on their bikes—Henry couldn’t remember why, exactly; something to do with not breathing in the spirits of the dead. But that clearly wouldn’t work today.
    â€œJack,