Читать книгу Casey Templeton Mysteries 2-Book Bundle - Gwen Molnar - Страница 9

“Mom and Dad, you remember Bryan Ogilvy?” Casey had answered Bryan’s doorbell ring on Saturday afternoon and taken him right into the living room.

Casey’s mother smiled at Bryan. “Hi, Bryan! Nice to see you. Casey’s dad and I have known your father for a long time.”

“How do you do?” Bryan shook hands stiffly.

“I was telling Casey last night that I started grade one with your father,” Casey’s dad said. “We haven’t met your mother, though. She’s from …?”

“Montreal,” Bryan offered. “Dad met her when he was at McGill University.”

“I didn’t realize your father had gone to university,” Casey’s father said, amazed. “Somehow I thought he’d stayed here all his life.”

“Well,” Bryan said, “he went to McGill but just long enough to meet my mother.”

Casey’s dad nodded.

“Bryan and I have things we need to do, so we’re going upstairs now,” Casey announced to his parents.

“When you’re done, come down for something to eat,” his mother suggested.

“Sounds good.” Casey glanced at Bryan, who nodded and smiled thanks.

Bryan followed Casey up the stairs.

“Where did we leave off, Bryan?” Casey asked as they settled into chairs across from each other after Casey closed his bedroom door.

“Have I told you about the music yet?”

“No. What kind of music?”

“Hate music. White power rock and roll. It’s got violent lyrics that call for murdering black people or starting a holy war. Anybody surfing the Net can find sites selling hate music or offering it free for downloading.”

Casey whistled. “Really? Did you buy any?”

“I bought a few, and I’ve done some research on the music,” Bryan admitted. “They sell huge numbers of white power CDs every year in North America. I bought some, like I say, but I didn’t ‘buy’ into them, if you know what I mean.”

“Yesterday you told me the online group asked you to steal for them and that they said they’d tell your parents and the police about the stealing and the drugs if you didn’t do the next thing they wanted. So what did you do?”

“I distributed hate propaganda — some of the stuff you found in the Old Willson Place and … and …”

“And what?”

“I made that pipe bomb they used on the Finegoods’ store. I got instructions off the Web.”

“But you’re only a kid!” Casey cried. “Nobody’s going to get a thirteen-year-old to make a bomb!”

“They think I’m nineteen,” Bryan said, “and I told them I knew how to make one.”

“Have they ever seen you? Have you ever seen them?”

“No.”

“Do you know who they are?”

Bryan hesitated, then said, “No. But they know my name. There’s a mail drop where I pick up and leave stuff — a locker at the bus depot. They sent me a key to it. The thing is, Casey, I know telling you about all this isn’t good enough. I know I should tell my parents. Only I just can’t.”

Casey knew there was only one way to go — talk to his dad — but it was up to Bryan to decide. “There’s no way I can help you.”

Bryan gazed out the window sadly. “Do you think I could talk to your father instead of the local Mounties?”

“Sure.” Casey was glad he had already mentioned the possibility to his father. “My dad will know what to do.” He opened his bedroom door and went to the head of the stairs. “Dad, can you come up here for a minute?”

Bryan and Casey’s father talked for half an hour. At one point Casey’s mother came into the room with a tray of sandwiches and cookies and a jug of hot cocoa.

Casey’s dad took the tray. “I was just going to call you, Mary. You’ve got good instincts about things like this.”

“Things like what?” she asked. “Is Casey involved in something?”

“No, it’s Bryan,” Chief Superintendent Templeton said. “Here’s what’s going on.” Casey’s mother listened to the point-by-point report of Bryan’s involvement in the hate group.

“His parents have to be told now,” she said, turning to Bryan. “Can you do that on your own, Bryan, or do you want one of us to come with you?”

“I don’t know,” Bryan said anxiously. “My dad can be very difficult.”