Top Wing (10 page)

“What!” Mr. Bellamy looked shocked. “The
Crawfords
started this rumor?”

“Well, they haven’t taken out an ad in the newspaper,” said Mrs. Bellamy. “But almost all the neighbors are talking about
it.”

“And Letitia doesn’t even speak to me in school,” said Christy. She thrust out her lower lip in a pout.

“That’s nothing compared to how Benton’s been acting toward me,” said Dana. “Especially during Anchors’ games.”

Mr. Bellamy’s face was flushed with anger. “I just
can’t believe it,” he said. “We’ve been friends with the Crawfords for so long, ever since they moved next door.” He shook
his head back and forth.

“Don’t get excited, dear,” said Mrs. Bellamy.

“But they should know I wouldn’t do anything but my best for them,” Mr. Bellamy continued. “And I’m not exactly new to electrical
work.”

“That’s what I tried to tell Benton, but he won’t even give me the time of day,” said Dana.

“Letitia stuck out her tongue at me,” said Christy.

“It’s just unreal,” said Mr. Bellamy. “I saved Ben-ton’s life that night — and hers, too.”

“That’s what makes it all so awful,” said Mrs. Bellamy.

As he sat there watching the sadness in his father’s face, Dana knew he had to do something. There had to be some way to prove
that it wasn’t his father’s fault.

“If only I could get to Benton,” Dana said. “Remind him of all the fun we used to have together — on the soccer field, watching
videos, playing cards in his secret hiding place. …”

“Secret hiding place?” echoed Mrs. Bellamy.

“Well, it wasn’t any big deal,” Dana explained.
“Benton used to call it that. It was just a little corner of the attic, behind some trunks and boxes.”

“So, why’d he call it secret?” Christy asked.

“ ’Cause he had this big overstuffed chair and stuff up there he could use when he wanted to be alone. He likes to read up
there, and once I saw this metal box with a
DO NOT TOUCH
sign on it. I guess that’s where he kept his lucky key rings and stuff like that.”

“Oh yes, I remember seeing that when I was looking over the attic,” Mr. Bellamy said. “There’s an old fan up there and-a few
outlets. That’s the only part of the house I didn’t rewire. The Crawfords insisted that it wasn’t necessary, since no one
ever spent much time up there, but I did warn them not to plug anything into those outlets.

“Funny thing, though, just a few weeks ago, Mert decided they wanted to have the work done after all. So I went ahead and
ordered the parts.”

“Did you do the work before the fire happened?” Dana asked.

“No, the parts hadn’t come in yet,” said Mr. Bellamy.

A tiny light bulb suddenly switched on in Dana’s head.

T
he next morning, with his father coming home later that day, Dana knew he didn’t have much time to act. He had to do something
to prove the Craw-fords were wrong about the fire.

He was no expert, but he knew the Crawfords’ house almost as well as his own. He might be able to see something the pros had
missed. He had to get in there and check things out — especially up in the attic.

It had been a while since his mother had asked him not to go next door. Surely it was a lot safer now. She wouldn’t object
to a quick look around — especially since it was so important.

He put on his heavy sneakers with the grooved soles. They’d help keep him on his toes.

He slipped under the yellow plastic tape that surrounded
the house and walked inside the front doorway. There hadn’t been a door on it since the fire fighters had pulled it away.

A big piece of the roof was now gone. A rough-edged gap showed where it used to be. He could see the brick chimney that was
now all blackened with smoke on the outside.

Dana wandered about the downstairs. Most of the Crawfords’ furniture was still there, ruined by the fire and water from the
fire hoses.

These terrible sights made him sad. He had shared a lot of good times in this house with Benton and his family.

The staircase to the second floor looked the same as always. Above that, he could make out the entrance to the attic. There
was the string that pulled down the folding attic steps. The first time Benton had taken him up there, he was so proud of
his “secret hiding place.” He remembered the old stand-up radio that Benton had gotten to work, even though the sound was
sort of scratchy.

“This is my private hideout,” Benton had announced. “Nobody comes up here except me.”

Dana started to go up the stairs, but they wobbled
as he took the first step. Some plaster started coming down, too. He decided to have a good look around the downstairs. After
all, that was where his father had done a lot of rewiring.

Bit by bit, he looked at what he could see of the wall outlets and the lighting fixtures. There was nothing that looked like
a fire had started around any of them.

They’re wrong, he thought. The Crawfords have to be wrong. There isn’t a clue that Dad’s work started that fire. No way!

“Hi! Anybody there?”

The high-pitched voice startled him. He looked back toward the front hall and saw Andrea McGowan.

“Oh, hi,” he said. “Better watch your step. It’s a real mess around here.”

“I thought I saw someone else come in,” she said. “You’re the second ‘private investigator’ who’s been nosing around.”

“You mean besides the cops? And the insurance people?”

“Right.” She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, securing it with a rubber twister.

“Who else has been looking around?”

“Guess,” she said. “Bet you an ice cream soda.”

“No fair,” he said. “It could be anyone. Besides, how do I know you’d tell if I guessed right?”

“ ’Cause I can prove it on video.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. I took a lot of videos after the fire.”

“Oh, wow!” said Dana, all excited. “Can I take a look?”

“After you guess,” she said, laughing.

“Okay, how about the president of the United States?”

“You owe me an ice cream soda,” said Andrea. “Come on, I’ll show you the video.”

They crossed the street to the McGowan house. Andrea led Dana into the den. It was filled with shelves that held books, records,
cassettes, videotapes, models of antique automobiles, sports trophies, and a lot of audio and video equipment. She picked
out a tape and stuck it into the VCR. Then she switched on the remote.

After the opening gray “snow,” a picture appeared on the TV screen. Dana recognized some of the trees in the McGowans’ front
yard. Then he saw a squirrel nibbling on an acorn.

“Hey, I remember that,” he said. “You took it the day we played the Cottoneers. That was a few days after the fire.”

“Right.”

The tape showed the McGowans’ garden, then more “snow,” and then the burnt Crawford house came into view. Andrea had done
a really good job. You could see the whole house and all the damage from the outside.

“I took this later that week,” she said.

A person came into view from the right side. It looked like a kid, sort of tall, wearing a T-shirt and a baseball hat with
the brim low on his face. He approached the house. Then he paused at the doorway and went inside.

“It’s Benton!” Dana said. “I can tell by the way he walks — and I gave him that hat for his birthday last year!”

“Right you are,” she said. “Still owe me that ice cream soda, though.”

It seemed as though Benton was only in the house for a few seconds before he came back out, just like a Charlie Chaplin movie.
He was carrying a small
metal box. He tried to cram it into his knapsack, but it wouldn’t fit.

“I had the camera off for a little while,” Andrea explained. “He was really in there for almost five minutes.”

“Oh.”

Benton still had the box tucked under his arm. The camera followed him as he stopped by a trash can in front of the house.
He lifted the lid and tossed the box into the can. Then he brushed his hands off on his T-shirt, leaving black smudges.

“Hey,” said Dana. “I’ll bet that was the T-shirt he had in his knapsack the day of the Grizzlies game. That could explain
why it smelled like smoke. But what was in that box he threw away?”

Andrea shrugged. “Couldn’t read the label, even on the zoom.”

Too bad, thought Dana. Still, I wonder …

Andrea switched off the tape.

“Thanks a lot, Andrea,” Dana said. “I won’t forget the bet, I promise. But I sort of have to do something now. I’ll buy you
the soda later.”

He left the McGowan house and dashed across
the street. There was the trash can he had just seen on tape. It was in the exact same spot.

He lifted up the battered cover and looked inside.

Empty!

Of course, he thought, groaning. That was a while back. Couldn’t expect it to be sitting there just waiting for me.

Once again, Andrea appeared from nowhere.

“I thought this was where you were heading,” she said. “Looking for what Benton threw away?”

“Right, even though I think I already know.”

“You do? What?”

“I don’t think I ought to say until I know for sure,” he said.

“Like
some
people?” she asked, nodding toward the Crawford house. “I heard what they’re saying about your dad and the fire.”

“You don’t believe those stories, do you?” he asked.

“Of course not,” she said. “Neither do my folks. Everyone knows your father’s a terrific electrician.”

“Well, I’m going to make sure no one could possibly think anything else!” Dana said angrily. “And I
think I have just about enough evidence to prove … well, to prove that those stories are wrong!”

“Calm down,” she said. “I just want to know —”

“Andrea, I promise, I’ll tell you everything as soon as I’m sure.”

“Okay,” she said. “Just make sure I get the video rights to the story.”

She left him on the curb.

Walking back to his own house, he ran through the bits and pieces of the puzzle. First, Benton “forgetting” to ask him to
tell his folks about the wedding. Steve was a witness to that. Then there was the “secret hiding place” and the smoky white
T-shirt. And Benton’s dodging him in the school yard. The way he acted on the soccer field. The videotape. The mysterious
box in the trash can.

There were a few questions he still had to sort out, but he was beginning to form a picture.

M
r. Bellamy arrived home later that day. He was so tired, he stayed in bed in his room. Dana and Christy tiptoed around the
house to keep from waking him.

In his own bedroom, after supper and homework, Dana went over his list of “clues.” Once he started to put the pieces together,
everything became clear. He was almost ready to blow the whistle and clear up the fire story once and for all.

But staying up late made him drowsy in school the next day. Instead of paying attention to what was going on in class, he
slipped in and out of dreamland.

And what wild dreams they were: he was up in the attic of the Crawford house … Letitia was dressed up as a bride … the fan
was going round and round, blowing the wedding veil in Benton’s face … Benton
kept coughing and coughing and coughing … until Dana walked in wearing a trench coat, booming “I accuse —!”

A piercing voice interrupted his dream.

“Having a little nap, Dana?” Ms. Doherty, his U.S. history teacher, asked.

“Sorry,” Dana murmured. “I was … uh … just resting my eyes.”

“Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind answering the question,” she said.

“The question?” he asked.

“Yes, the question,” she repeated. There was a pause as she studied the deep circles under Dana’s eyes. “The question about
the Chicago fire of 1871? Can you tell us who or what is generally believed to have been the cause?”

Dana sighed. He was about to admit he had no idea. Then, from the deepest part of his brain, a tiny ray of light opened up.
He blurted out, “Mrs. O’Leary’s cow!”

“Right,” said Ms. Doherty, surprised. The class burst out laughing.

For the rest of the morning, he managed to keep his eyes open. Still, word got around fast. Every now
and then, someone he’d pass in the corridor would call out, “Mooooooo!”

By lunchtime, he was glad he could relax for a few minutes without fear of falling asleep or getting heckled.

Dana sat down in the cafeteria next to Steve. They started right off talking about the Rams game for a few minutes.

“Looks like you’re the leading scorer on the team now,” Steve said. “Congratulations, ‘top wing’!”

“I’d rather be the ‘bottom wing’ and have the team win a few more games,” Dana said.

“We’re getting closer,” Steve said. “Have you straightened out that mess with Benton yet?”

“Not yet,” Dana had to admit. “But I’m getting closer.”

After lunch, the two of them went outside for some fresh air. They wandered around to the front of the school. On the lawn
surrounding the flagpole, dogwood trees and azalea bushes were in bloom. As they sat down on a bench next to a weeping willow
whose branches drooped almost to the ground, Steve pointed toward the toolshed.

“Hey, there’s Benton now,” he said. “Wonder
where he’s headed.” Dana followed Steve’s pointing finger.

“That does it!” said Dana, jumping up from the bench.

“Hey, where are you going?” Steve called after him.

“To put the final piece in the puzzle!” Dana shouted back.

He took a shortcut through the bushes.

“Benton! Wait!” he called.

Benton turned and stared at him. “For cryin’ out loud, Dana, what do you want?”

“Some answers,” said Dana, stepping between him and the toolshed. “Like what you’re doing over here.”

“It’s none of your business,” Benton snarled. “Get out of my way. I’m already late for my shop class.”

Dana didn’t budge. “Shop class?” He looked over his shoulder and pointed. “You’re going the wrong way. It’s back there.”

By the time he turned back, Benton had taken off in another direction, running as fast as he could.