Cheney Washington
June 25th, 1984
Monday morning dawned bright and clear. The tow-truck driver, Mel, was jovial and friendly as he arrived to take the boys over to the garage. Dan sat sandwiched between the driver and Jim for the short ride, where the tow-truck driver turned out to also be the mechanic. Jim paced in the waiting area, absently thumbing through outdated magazines, while Dan occupied himself by assisting the mechanic.
“Hey kid, hand me that three-eighths,” Mel called out. As Dan handed over the requested tool, Mel let out a low whistle. “Well, now. That’s odd.
“What?” Dan leaned in to look. There, lodged in a ridge of the radiator, was a small brass key hooked to a green twist tie.
“Did one of you boys lose a key?” Mel asked.
“I’ll ask Jim,” Dan replied, putting the key in his pocket. “It must belong to someone at the rental agency.” Or to the vandal, he thought.
By two o’clock, the spark plug wires had been replaced, the bills paid, and Jim pointed the car towards Metaline. Dan reached into his pocket and pulled out the key. “This isn’t yours, is it?” he asked.
Jim shook his head. “Nope. It looks like a safety deposit box key. Where’d you get it?”
“Mel found it in the radiator,” Dan explained. “I’m wondering if it belongs to whomever ripped out the wires.”
“You sound like Trixie,” Jim said with a grin. “It probably belongs to someone at AmeriCar West. Hold onto it, and we’ll get it back to them when we return the car.”
“I thought we were returning the car in Metaline.”
“Dad suggested we keep it while we’re here,” Jim focused on the road, trying to ignore the surge of color creeping up his neck. “The agency would have to send someone out to get it, and Dad thought we might want to get away and sight see between camp sessions.”
“That was very thoughtful of him,” Dan replied formally. He glanced over at his friend. “Seriously, Jim, think about it. We’ll be able to duck into town whenever we have a break, instead of depending on the camp transportation. That is really great.”
Jim relaxed. “You just like driving it,” he claimed.
“Guilty,” Dan grinned at him. “That, and I don’t have a lot of faith in camp chow. I have a feeling we’re gonna need a burger break at some point.”
Jim laughed. “Now you sound like Mart!”
“Well,” Dan said, joining the laughter, “A guy’s got to eat. Speaking of which...” Dan pointed to a familiar fast food logo, looming in the distance. I could use a snack, how about you?”
“A guy’s got to eat,” Jim replied, moving toward the exit.
The chow bell was ringing when Jim pulled the 4Runner into a flat space behind the camp dining hall. Not only could they hear it, they could see it being rung, as a young man with spiked blond hair was banging vigorously on the triangle bell hanging from the porch.
As Jim and Dan exited the vehicle, the bell ringer came to greet them. “Hey!” he called genially, the wide smile on his freckled face making him look like an artist’s rendition of Tom Sawyer. “Welcome to Camp Kensey, home of Nature Trek. I’m Bill Murdock, but my camp name is either Billy the Kid, Kid, or Billy-Boy. I answer to any of them. You must be Wheeler and Mangan.”
“Can she bake a cherry pie?” Dan asked jokingly, extending his hand. “I’m Dan Mangan.”
“I’m Jim Frayne,” Jim said, shaking Billy-Boy’s hand, and putting emphasis on the name Frayne.
“My bad, doesn’t matter who you are, you’ll have a camp name by the time the kids get here.” Bill grinned again, his pale blue eyes twinkling, and Jim was unable to stop from grinning back. “Nice truck,” he said. “You’re just in time for dinner; everyone else got here yesterday, so I’ll introduce you all around. You two have cabin three, so we’ll get you settled after dinner. Come on, I’ll let you see Ted--he’s been anxious for you to arrive.”
“How long have you been here?” Jim asked.
“This is my sixth year as the Assistant Camp Director.”
“No way!” Dan said, “How old are you?
“Twenty-seven,” Bill answered with another grin. “I only look as if I’m twelve. Good genes--on my mother’s side.”
He headed inside the dining hall, Jim and Dan on his heels. Two rectangular tables were set up, each with ten chairs. Four boys were carrying place settings and food to the tables, while others were entering and finding chairs. The plank floor was scarred, but swept clean. The walls were hung with banners, proclaiming the names and artistic endeavors of different groups who had attended the camp in previous years.
“Every group makes a banner,” Billy explained. “It’s the last thing we do before we unleash them back out on society.”
“We send them back out into the world,” a voice said from behind them, “hopefully with tools to help them succeed.” Jim and Dan both turned to see a slender man in his early forties. His thinning sandy hair stood up in tufts, and his glasses were slightly askew on his tanned face. “I’m Ted Jannings.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you, sir,” Dan said, shaking the proffered hand.
“We’re sorry for the delay,” Jim added.
“Not a problem,” Ted assured them. “We’re still getting to know each other, and the kids won’t be here until next Sunday.” He turned and gestured to the two boys setting the nearest table. “These are some of your fellow counselors. This is Tyler Gibson, known as “Zip”, and “Frisco”, aka Jeremiah Tunson.” A tall boy with long dark hair pulled back in a pony tail, smiled. The short, stocky boy with blond tipped brown hair and dark eyes, shook hands. “Zip” is from Versailles, Missouri, and Frisco, well, I think I’ll let you guess where he’s from.”
“Hmmm. Let me think,” Dan mused, shaking the short boy’s hand. “San Antonio, Texas?”
“Close,” Frisco joked. “San Francisco, California. You two are from New York, right?”
“We have cabin two,” Zip told them. “Those two are Mark Stevens and Tommy Richardson. They’re still looking for their camp names.” He broke off as Tommy dropped a stack of plates with a crash and a thud. “Although we are leaning towards “Crash” for Tommy. That guy is a total klutz. They have cabin four.”
“Billy told us we have cabin three.” Jim looked around the hall. “There are four other counselors, right?”
“Yeah.” Frisco counted off on his fingers. “Cabin one is Davis “Raisin” Ramirez and Paul “Yogi” Bruine. Cabin five has Mitchell “Goose” Yang and Dennis Loring. Denny’s camp name is ‘Digger’.”
“What’s wrong with using our real names?”
“Individuality and anonymity,” Zip answered. “You can tell the kids your name, but Ted says it helps make everything lighter if we have goofy names.” He looked at Jim’s hair. “We could call you “Red” if you like. It fits.”
“Not my first choice,” Jim said, “but I’ll leave it up to you.”
Zip grinned, a wide flat lipped smile that split his lean face. “Good answer.” He nodded at his co-counselor. “Wait until we get to know you, and then we’ll come up with something good.” He turned his head toward the door. “Grab a seat. Here comes the rest of the crew.”
It would be a relief to finally unpack. Dan looked around the cabin, assessing his temporary castle. The rectangular structure was divided into three rooms. Walking in the doorway he faced the main bunk room. Four twin size beds stood against each long side. A night stand with two drawers stood between each two beds, while a metal footlocker sat at each footboard. Against the far wall hung a large mirror; beneath it was a long shelf, and four sinks. Directly to the right was the bathroom, holding four shower stalls, four toilet stalls, and a single sink. To the left was the counselor quarters.
Walking through the door-less doorway, Jim asked, “Which bed do you want?”
“You choose,” Dan answered absently, still checking out the room. Jim tossed his bag on the bed closest to the bathroom, leaving the other for Dan. Dan set his duffle bag on the bed and unzipped it. The room was spartan, the beds separated by a window, under which stood a night table identical to those in the main room. Instead of footlockers, though, there were two small closets, each with four built-in drawers, and a small rod with five hangars. Quickly stowing his clothes neatly in the closet, Dan pulled out his shaving kit, tossed his duffle on the closet shelf and headed into the bathroom. Small, with a corner shower, toilet stall and a sink, it was clean scrubbed and gleaming. Unpacking his toiletries, Dan called back to Jim, “I’m taking the bottom two shelves in the mirror cabinet. That okay?”
“Fine with me,” Jim replied, turning as Dan came back into the room. “What do you think?”
“I think we’re going to appreciate the privacy,” Dan said. “I didn’t expect we’d have our own room; I thought we’d be bunked with the kids.”
“So did I,” Jim said. “This is nice. We’ll have privacy, but we’re right by the door, so we’ll hear them if they try to sneak out.” He grinned. “I need to write the design down, so I can remember it for my school.”
“That’s going to be some school,” Dan joked, dropping down on his bed and kicking off his shoes. “How long do you think it will take to decide which of the many designs you’ll use?”
Jim frowned in mock concentration. “Seven years,” he said decisively. “But who says I have to pick one design? I think I might just lump them all together.”
Dan chuckled. “Now that will be a sight to see.”
“Yup,” Jim grinned. “They’ll call it Frayne’s Fantastic Facility of Friendly and Fabulous F...F...” he stopped. “Uh-oh. I’ve run out of F words.”
“I know a few,” Dan offered, a wicked glint in his eyes.
“No, thank you,” Jim held up his hands. “I think we should stop while we’re ahead. Or behind. So, goodnight, John Boy.”
Still chuckling, Dan stretched out. “Goodnight, Mary Ellen.” He ignored Jim’s groan.
The boys were silent, unwinding after their long day, but neither really ready for sleep.
“Jim? Can I ask you something?” Dan’s voice was quiet.
“Sure.” Jim rolled onto his side, waiting for the question.
“If your uncle hadn’t died,” Dan hauled himself up, leaning against the wall. “If he had recovered, but wasn’t able, or willing, to take care of you, would you still have let the Wheeler’s adopt you?”
“I really don’t know,” Jim replied. “I never had to think about it, because Uncle James died fairly soon after I arrived.” He went silent, thinking, searching for an answer. “I never even met the man, so I can’t judge how he was. I like to think that he would have taken me in, but really, who knows. Everyone says he was an odd duck--I saw how he lived, so I can’t disagree. I suppose it’s possible he would have tossed me out. It’s more likely that he would have been sent to a nursing home.” Jim paused. “I need to think on it, before I give you an answer. Is that okay?”
“That’s fine,” Dan said. “I don’t really need an answer, I was just curious.”
“I’ll give you an answer, as soon as I have one,” Jim promised. “Can I ask you why you asked me?”
Dan chuckled. “That almost sounded like Honey-speak.” Taking a deep breath, he answered Jim’s question. “Fair enough, I suppose. Mr. Maypenny--just about two minutes before you showed up at the cabin--asked me if I’d consider being adopted by him.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Took me by surprise.” Dan fell silent, chewing on his lip. “He told me to think about it, you know, while I’m here.”
“What does Regan think?”
“I don’t have any idea. He knows, I know that much. I guess he and Mr. M talked about it, but he never mentioned it to me.” Dan tried to hide the pain in his voice, and was almost successful. Jim caught it though, and stayed silent, unsure of how to respond.
“What do you think about the idea?” he finally asked.
Dan sighed. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Part of me is...happy. Someone wants me, and I know that he cares about me. I know that Mr. M isn’t going to hit me, or throw me out in the cold. I know that he’s proud of my accomplishments. I care about him, too. The night that Molinson came about the job...” Dan shuddered at the memory. “I saw that cruiser outside the house, and all I could think was, it’s happening again. I’m going to be alone again.” He stopped, fighting the feelings welling in his chest.
“Okay,” Jim said. “So, that’s the positive side. What’s the negative?”
“Am I being disloyal to my parents?” Dan asked. “My mom wanted me to be with her brother. She wanted us to be a family. If I say yes to the adoption, am I going against my mother’s wishes? Am I disrespecting her? Or...” he stopped, again, and shrugged. “I just don’t know.”
“I can sympathize,” Jim told him, his own voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t sure I would ever think of the Wheelers as my parents. I mean, I had perfectly good parents. They died. Most people only get one set. But...” he hesitated. “But I know that my Mom and Dad, my biological parents, they would never have wanted me to be all alone. Maybe, if I’d had closer relatives, then things would have been different. But that isn’t the way it happened. Instead, I got lucky, and someone who didn’t know me at all, someone who sort of knew my father, stepped up and offered me a family. I won’t say it’s been easy--heck, the money thing still freaks me out a little. It isn’t the family I was born to, but it is still a family, and I like to think that’s what my folks would have wanted for me.”
“My mom always wanted more children,” Dan said softly. “She lost a couple, one at almost the end of the pregnancy, but she kept trying, right up until Dad died. When I was about Bobby’s age, I remember asking her why I wasn’t enough, why she needed another kid. ”
“What did she say?”
“She said that she wanted more children, not because I wasn’t enough, but because the more love you give, the more you have. She said that your love isn’t divided between the people in your life; it grows to cover everyone you love.“
“Your mom sounds like a really smart lady,” Jim said gently.
“She was.” Dan swung his feet over the side of the bed. “She was also a nurse, so I know that I need to go and brush my teeth, to prevent dangerous bacteria from attacking me while I sleep.”
Jim laughed. “Are you sure your teeth brushing urge doesn’t have more to do with the after-taste of dinner, than with bacteria.”
Dan just grinned, and headed for the bathroom. Jim settled back on his bed, listening to the water run with one ear. As he waited his turn at the sink, he thought about Dan’s original question: If Uncle James hadn’t died, would I still have been adopted by the Wheelers?
Wednesday, June 27th, 1984
Ted Jannings looked around at his ten counselors. They were paired up in their cabin groupings, eager for this next to the last training session. He studied the ten faces, knowing that this session could be the make or break point.
“Today we will be looking at indicators of gang involvement and identifiers of abuse. The boys coming in on Saturday are all at risk. Many are currently in foster care. While they are here, one of your jobs will be to observe them, looking for gang signs, colors, and of course, signs of physical abuse. To help you in your observations we will be viewing a thirty-minute video. Bear in mind that this is to be used as a guideline, ONLY!” Ted looked at each young man. “If you should observe any of our campers using gang sign, wearing colors, or showing any of the abuse indicators you are about to see, you are not to intervene. Your job is to inform a lead counselor immediately. We will handle things from there.”
Ted started the video and took his seat next to Bill Murdock. As the images began rolling across the screen, Ted watched his Junior Counselors. Most of them had experienced gang activities and/or abuse in their own lives. That was one of the reasons they had been chosen, still, the images they were about to see were intense. Bill leaned back, a bored expression on his face.
Dan found himself closing his eyes when some of the worst photos flashed across the screen. Too many unpleasant memories. Swallowing the nausea, he forced his eyes open, focusing on pieces of the images, rather than the whole. Next to him, Jim was sitting perfectly still, his back rigid and tense, and Dan sensed that Jim, too, was fighting his memories.
As the half hour crept to a close, Ted was pleased to note that not one of the boys had bolted, an event that was not uncommon. A few of them were pale, and all of them looked very serious, but they had all stuck through it.
“I know that was difficult to watch,” Ted addressed the young men. “I show that video four times each year, and it never gets any easier. Never.” He looked around at the faces. “You have the rest of the day free. After supper, we will discuss what you’ve seen, and how to react to any situation that might occur. Go.”
The boys filed out into the sunshine. Jim took several deep breaths. Dan leaned against the porch rail, letting the sun warm his face. Neither spoke, they just were. Finally, Jim turned to Dan and asked, “Want to go for a ride?”
Opening his eyes, Dan nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, horses or car?”
Jim thought for a moment. “Car,” he said. “I think I need junk food.”
Without another word, they headed toward the 4Runner, falling into step as they walked.
Metaline was tiny--smaller even, than Sleepyside. Jim parked the 4Runner in the parking lot behind the bank, and he and Dan set out to explore the town. All five blocks of it.
Block one contained the bank, a five-and-dime, Caravelli’s Stop and Shop, Caravelli’s restaurant and bar, and Caravelli’s Service Station. Block two held a drugstore, bookstore, thrift store, pizza parlor and Dairy Queen. Block three promised two more gas stations and at least three taverns. Jim and Dan decided to stop at Dairy Queen. After a morning spent reliving things best forgotten, neither was feeling adventurous enough to search out local cuisine. There would be time for that, later.
Things lightened immensely over double cheeseburgers, onion rings, root beer and hot fudge sundaes with nuts. The two boys talked of home and hopes, and of nothing in particular. As they meandered past the tidy brick buildings, Dan worried about finding his camp name.
“How about ‘Bandit’?” Jim suggested, only half in jest. “It can be a tribute to your past.”
Dan scowled. “My past does not need a tribute, thank you very much.”
“Okay. Bad idea.” Jim tried again. “Let’s see. How about ‘Wheels’, because you’re good with cars, or ‘Woody’, because you spend so much time with an axe?”
Dan made a face. “They just don’t feel right,” he complained. “You’re lucky. I think ‘Ranger’ is going to stick.”
“I think so, too,” Jim conceded. “I was worried about being called ‘Red’, there for a while. I’m just glad they didn’t come up with something worse.” As they approached the car, he tossed the keys to Dan. “Here, you drive back to camp.”
“Thanks.” Dan caught the keys cleanly. As he bent to open the door, he suddenly stiffened. “Jim?” he asked, his voice tight. “Were these here before we left camp?”
Jim came around the car, looking at where Dan was pointing. A series of scratches marred the paint around both the lock and the window. Jim stared for a minute. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I don’t think so, but I didn’t really look. How do you think they got there?”
“I’m pretty sure I know how they got there,” Dan said. “What I don’t know is when.” He opened the door and slid in on his back, his eyes searching beneath the dash and steering wheel. “Or why. The ignition hasn’t been messed with.”
“Are you saying you think someone broke into the truck?” Jim was incredulous. “Why would someone do that?”
“I don’t know,” Dan admitted. “But I do know what happens to the paint job when an amateur tries to break into a car.” He pulled himself out of the truck and pointed again to the scratches. “Whoever did this tried to pick the lock first. That didn’t work; it usually doesn’t on the newer cars. Then he used a slimjim to pop the lock through the window. It worked, but I’m guessing that the dude was nervous, because he scratched the bejeezus out of the door.”
“But why? And who?” Jim asked.
“Why would someone call camp and tell them we weren’t coming? Why would someone vandalize the 4Runner in Cheney?” Dan shook his head. “None of this makes sense.”
Jim scowled, his forehead furrowing. “I never thought I’d travel across the country only to get involved in a mystery.”
Dan shook his head. “We’d better solve this one,” he said, grinning despite himself. “Or else Trixie will never let us live it down.”
