The Man with the Red Bag by Eve Bunting

only reason he circled them.
    And that was the logical answer to the meaning of those words. But there could have been other meanings. I sucked on the pencil eraser (which is a very bad habit I have), then wrote:
    Before long it will all be over.
    Because???
    a) The trip is almost over, or
    b) He’s going to give the bag to someone, or
    c) He’s going to leave the bag somewhere, or
    d) He’s going to stop carrying it around.
    I tried to remember the tone of his voice as he spoke. Not angry. Not pleased. Almost tired, as if he’d come to the end of a long road.
    My heartbeat was so loud I thought I could hear it.
    My last possibility, the absolute worst one, was, He’s ready now to detonate the bomb. But where? When?
    I put my head down on the desk and took a shuddery breath.
    The worst one, and one that was absolutely possible.
    Once Dad had told me that people believe what they want to believe. I also knew that a person was innocent till proven guilty. I’d read that in mystery novels a gazillion times. But what if “Before long it will all be over” was as creepy as it sounded?
    â€œI’m on a seesaw,” I said out loud. “I just don’t know. But I know I need to tell someone.”
    I took the sheet of paper and my key and went back along the corridor.
    Passing Grandma’s room I knocked on her door and said, “I’m going downstairs again. Back in a couple of minutes.”
    Her voice came faintly from inside. “I’m about to get in the shower. Tell the bellman if you see him to hurry with the luggage.”
    â€œOkay.”
    Declan always gave us his room number when wearrived in a new hotel. “In case you want to complain about something,” he would say, rolling his eyes.
    I was glad now for the information.
    Number 32.
    I slowed and took deep, even breaths. If I tell him, I thought, it’s not on me anymore. He can decide if Charles Stavros is a risk or not. It was kind of a relief. Mystery writers always have the hero/detective solve the case. But people could die if I didn’t solve this one in time.
    What if Declan wasn’t in his room?
    But when I knocked he came to the door right away. He was wearing sweatpants and a navy T-shirt and white socks. No hat. Slightly bald head. He didn’t even look like Declan without his big cowboy hat and one of his flashy shirts, but he was. He didn’t seem particularly happy to see me.
    â€œWhat’s up, young Kevin?” He held the door open only a bit, I guess hoping whatever was up he could fix with a word or two.
    â€œMay I come in?” I almost stuck my foot in his door. He’d better let me in, that was all.
    â€œSure, kiddo.” He stepped back.
    His room was small and not as nice as mine. Not that I’d seen mine for more than a couple of minutes. He waved me to the only chair and perched on the bed.
    â€œSo, what’s the problem?”
    I gulped. “It’s Charles Stavros. I think he has something—something dangerous—in his Star Tours bag. You know the way he carries it all the time? And when we sort of asked him, it was Millie who actually sort of asked him, although I did before and…”
    I stopped.
    Declan was looking at me as if he thought I’d gone wacko.
    I got up and thrust the paper at him. “I’m worried, because this is what he just said. And I don’t know what it means.”
    He read the words. His feet in their socks wiggled like two squirmy white rats.
    â€œAnd you think…?” he said at last.
    â€œWell, I don’t know. I thought I ought to tell you.”
    Declan rose, gave me back the paper, stood looking down at me where I’d collapsed again into the chair, and said, “You can stop worrying, my friend. I know what he’s got in the bag. I know why he carriesit around. I know why it will all be over soon.”
    â€œYou do?” I was astonished.
    â€œI asked him, too.