Old Bones by Gwen Molnar Page A

finding something and buzzing it. We’ll find them, then we’ll figure out what to do about it.”
    â€œI’ll hoist you up to the right-hand seat, Casey. Goodbye Mandy.”
    Mandy walked as far as she could from the road as Mad Dog gunned the engine. Clouds of dust billowed up. By the time the dust cleared, the plane was well on its way. Mandy waved. The end of a white scarf flowing out of the cockpit waved back.

Chapter Seventeen
    â€œSo, your name’s Casey.” Mad Dog pointed for Casey to put on a pair of earphones and a microphone and adjusted his own set. “Casey what?”
    â€œTempleton,” Casey said.
    â€œAgain?” asked Mad Dog.
    â€œTempleton,” Casey spelled it out. “T-E-M-P-L-E-T-O-N.”
    â€œThought that’s what you said.” Casey felt Mad Dog staring at him and looked over into his eyes.
    â€œAny chance you’re related to Constable Colin Templeton, RCMP?” asked Mad Dog. The engine sound was just a dull roar.
    â€œMy dad’s Chief Superintendent Colin Templeton, RCMP, retired,” Casey answered.
    â€œHe ever serve up north?” Mad Dog asked.
    â€œYeah,” Casey said, “when he was first in the force he was stationed at Fort Smith and Fort Resolution.”
    â€œWell, I’ll be darned.” Mad Dog was smiling. “Gotta be the same guy.”
    They were flying quite high and Mad Dog said, “Casey, I’m going to try something with the radio, you take the controls.”
    â€œMe?” said Casey. “I don’t know anything about flying.”
    â€œJust grab the controls and keep her steady,” said Mad Dog. “I’ll take over if anything goes wrong.”
    Casey couldn’t believe it. He was actually flying a plane. The wind pulled hard at his hair and the sun almost blinded him, but here he was, actually flying a plane. It was so easy.
    â€œTilt her a little to the left,” Mad Dog called out. “Not so much! Not so much! ” Mad Dog grabbed the controls; as he did, the radio crashed to the floor. “Okay, Casey, take her again.”
    I never want to land, Casey was thinking. This is so great.
    â€œWell” — Mad Dog sounded frustrated — “the stupid radio’s shot for sure. I’ll take over now. Our only hope is to get a bead on that car.”
    He swooped down and was flying so low Casey was sure he was going to hit telephone lines.
    â€œYou know, you look like old Colin,” said Mad Dog, “and that report you made to me in point form? Exactly like how he made reports.”
    Mad Dog was silent for a while then continued, “You say he’s retired now? Don’t see how he could ever retire. He was such an eager beaver. What’s he do? Play golf and sit around watching TV?”
    â€œNo,” said Casey. They were above a secondary road now; the only car on it was a shiny green RV. “Dad’s mayor of Richford and he’s on a federal commission dealing with hate problems. He doesn’t have time for just sitting, let alone golf — says it takes too long.”
    â€œYou ever hear him talk about me?” Mad Dog asked Casey.
    â€œNot by the name Mad Dog,” said Casey.
    â€œHow about Harry Thirst?” asked Mad Dog.
    â€œI’ve heard that name, and I’ve seen a picture of Dad and someone that might be you in front of an old plane.”
    â€œI know that picture.” Mad Dog was smiling. “That was my ‘Kaydet’ — that’s what they used to call the Boeing-Stearman PT 17s. Had her converted to a crop-duster a long time ago. Flew that Kaydet ’til I bought this one a couple of years ago — only Tiger Moth Jackaroo in Canada, all the rest are in South America and Australia. It’s multipurpose, this here Jackaroo — got a crop-dusting tank up front and these two seats so I can give flying lessons and take people up for rides.”
    He grinned.