The Pacific Giants by Jean Flitcroft Page B

it, and think about it.
    â€œWhat do you think I should do? I mean, should Idiscuss it with Lee?” Vanessa mused. “Or find out as much as I can first?”
    The sightless eyes stared at her.
    â€œMaybe you’re right. Keep silent for the moment. Knowledge is power, or something like that. Caesar said so.”
    Vanessa turned off her lamp and lay down.
    â€œNight, Toddy,” she murmured as she tucked him under her pillow. She always hid him when she was going to sleep in case someone came into her room.
    It was Sir Francis Bacon who said that, actually
.
    It was the gentlest of whispers that tickled her inner ear, but Vanessa heard it and laughed.
    She closed her eyes. “You’re such a know-it-all!” she replied.

CHAPTER 27
    In September 1963 the carcass of a sea creature was found near Oak Harbor, Whidbey Island. Although it appeared to have a head that resembled a horse, Mr. Welander of Fisheries is said to have thought it was a basking shark.
    â€œCan I borrow the bike again, please, Frankie?” Vanessa asked politely the next morning after breakfast.
    Mrs. Bouche frowned. “I think you know why that’s impossible, Vanessa,” she said sternly. “Wayne was really very upset last night.”
    â€œI only borrowed it for a few hours, Frankie,” Vanessa said defensively. “I’m sorry I was late back.”
    â€œNew tires will have to be sent from the mainland,” Frankie said, as if she hadn’t heard her. “It could take weeks, not to mention the money involved.”
    Vanessa stared at Mrs. Bouche, shocked to see how upset she was.
    â€œIt was very, very careless of you,” Frankie said crossly. “I think you should apologize to Wayne. He was so generous, lending it to you in the first place.”
    Fighting an internal battle between her rising indignation and the worry that she had somehow damaged the bike without realizing it, Vanessa stared wildly at Mrs. Bouche. She didn’t point out that it was Frankie who had done the lending. Wayne wouldn’t have let her anywhere near his bike.
    â€œI’m sorry, Frankie,” she said eventually. “I really don’t know what you mean. I rode it back from Jack Noire’s and it was fine.”
    â€œWell, I’m not sure how two punctured tires can be called ‘fine,’ Vanessa. I checked the bike myself this morning when Wayne told me, and it’s true.”
    â€œBut that’s terrible,” Vanessa said hotly. “Of course I’ll find Wayne and sort it out with him.” Shemumbled something under her breath and then finished with the words “pay for it.”
    Mrs. Bouche looked up and gave her a small, grateful smile.
    â€œThank you, Vanessa. It was the fact that you said nothing that bothered Wayne, more so than the money. But we do appreciate your offering to pay.”
    Vanessa nodded silently. She would make Wayne pay for this all right. She felt a cold fury growing in her chest and she pursed her lips for fear of what she might say. She excused herself and then flung herself out the back door into the yard.
    â€œI’m going to kill him,” she whispered over and over as she searched for Wayne, slamming the doors of the various outhouses and sheds as she went.
    Vanessa could see that Mrs. Bouche was staring out of the kitchen window at her. She looked really sad and that made Vanessa even more furious. Why had Wayne done it? Was it just spite—or did he have a screw loose?
    Vanessa found the bike sitting against the outside wall of the utility room. Kneeling down, she inspected the tires. It was obvious to her that they weren’t just punctured. They had been slashed with a knife.She felt another wave of intense fury wash over her, and she kicked the wheel so hard she hurt her foot. Why? Was Wayne trying to get her in trouble? Make things so horrible that she’d want to leave?
    Any vestige of pity that Vanessa had