Chapter Eight
Bobby searched every inch of the old equipment shed.
His mom was right—it was a good place for Cleo to hide.
Thick trees and bushes practically hid the large wood structure, protecting the space from the worst of the weather.
And it was about halfway between his house and where the Mendozas lived.
Not too far for the stray to wander. And there were probably mice for her to catch.
Still, he was super careful, because it was old and there were lots of sharp tools and even a broken tractor.
He knew, because he’d played on it before.
He remembered when he was eight, when his dad bought the property, and he’d come with him to inventory the space.
Little was usable, but his dad salvaged some of the tools and one small tractor that he brought home and fiddled with until he got it working again. They now used it for small jobs.
The storage shed was the size of a small barn and smelled like damp, moldy wood and ancient oil.
Rusted tools hung on crooked nails, and piles of forgotten chicken wire made little metal nests in the corners.
In the center, the tractor tilted to one side, the wheels on the right gone.
Bobby crouched low, peeking under a warped workbench where an old tarp was bunched up like a nest.
“Cleo?” he whispered. “C’mon, girl … Let me take you home. You can come in the house.”
His mom wouldn’t like that, but he might not tell her. At first. He wouldn’t lie—he never lied to his mom—but not saying something wasn’t exactly a lie, right?
“Cleo, it’s me—”
A sudden clang made him jump, something metallic clattering on a shelf behind him. Bobby’s heart thudded in his chest before he saw a rusty can rolling lazily across the floor.
“Cleo?”
He pulled out his flashlight and turned it out, flashing the light toward the rusty can. Two rabbits froze in his beams.
He sighed and frowned. It wasn’t Cleo.
Still, he searched the entire shed, carefully looking behind and under everything he could. He found more rabbits and a hole in the far corner where they could come and go as they pleased. Smart for the rodents—they’d be safe in here.
He walked back outside. It was late morning, but the sky was already darkening. The heavy clouds overhead pressed low, and the wind carried the sharp scent of rain and manure. Bobby moved around the perimeter, calling softly.
“Cleo? Hey, girl? You hungry?”
A bush rustled behind him. He froze.
Then—squawk! A pheasant burst out of the brush in a chaotic flurry of wings and feathers.
Bobby yelped, stumbled back, and landed on his butt in the mud.
After a moment of silence, he grinned and shook his head. He didn’t get scared of much, but that one got him.
Pulling out the walkie-talkie clipped to his belt, he clicked the side button. “Avery? You there?” Static. He tried again. “Avery, I’m at the shed. No sign of Cleo. You see anything?”
Only more crackle and hiss. Bobby frowned.
“She’s probably ignoring me again,” he muttered. Or left her radio on the ATV when she went inside. Typical.
Avery pretended she didn’t like him, but he knew she did.
Still, whenever she was around her friends—especially Ryan Perez, her boyfriend—she acted like Bobby was just her annoying little brother.
And Avery thought Gianna was awesome—she was older, had gone to college before her accident, and was very pretty.
Bobby didn’t really pay attention to that, but Jake’s best friend, Andy, had said that Gianna was hot.
Bobby had to ask Jake what that meant. He’d laughed and said that it meant that Gianna was beautiful.
Why couldn’t Andy just say she was beautiful? Dad always said to say what you mean and mean what you say.
Bobby looked toward the horizon, where the three structures of the Mendoza property loomed in the distance.
The barn, the garage, and their house. They looked hazy in the damp air.
He wanted to keep looking for Cleo, but Avery told him thirty minutes, and he was already late.
If he was much later, she’d tell their mom, and he might get in trouble.
And if he got in trouble, he couldn’t keep looking for Cleo.
Maybe Avery had found her? No, she would have told him because she knew he was super worried. And she was worried, too; she liked Cleo, even helped him look for her after school all week.
He climbed onto his ATV and fired up the engine, heading across the muddy field toward the Mendozas, which was shorter than going back to the road.
Thunder crashed in the sky, and a few drops of rain began to fall, barely anything, but that meant it would start raining before two.
And Mom told them they had to be home before the rain.
He was really worried about the cat, but he also didn’t want his mom to worry.
He sped up and halfway across the field, the back wheels spun out.
“Aw, c’mon!” he muttered, rocking the ATV gently with the throttle.
No luck. The tires dug deeper. Jake was going to kill him.
Bobby knew better than to take the ATV through the field after a rain, especially this field, which had been fallow for so long, and now he was going to have to leave it here.
He was supposed to stick to the roads. Fortunately, he didn’t have a long walk—the barn loomed in front of him, on the other side of a small creek that didn’t look all that small anymore.
His boots squelched with each step, up to his ankles, every step heavier and heavier.
He barely made it across the widening creek.
He knew that it met up with Whisper Creek on the other side of the road, and that if this creek started really running, then Whisper Creek would get too high and flood.
Which would be bad for his mom’s vineyard that she walked in every evening because she missed Daddy so much.
He hoped it didn’t flood. It would make his mom sad.
By the time he reached the barn ten minutes later, he was tired and doubly worried about Cleo.
The wooden door creaked as he unlatched it, pushed it open, and stepped into the dim interior.
There was still alfalfa that the sheep hadn’t eaten in the middle of their pen, and they moved around, agitated.
Probably because of the thunder. They bayed and several walked over to him.
He petted them as he passed. He liked sheep much more than goats, who could be mean and butt you with their hard heads and eat holes in your favorite shirt.
Avery said she’d search the barn for Cleo, but the cat only liked Bobby, so maybe she hid from his sister. He called for her, searched everywhere he could think of where a cat might hide, and Cleo wasn’t there.
Why had she left their barn? How did she get out? Why didn’t she come to him? Was she okay? Had she found a good, dry place to have her kittens?
Frustrated and sad, he knew it was time to get Avery and go home.
He exited the barn on the opposite end from where he’d entered and saw Avery’s ATV parked just outside, in the gravel between the barn and the garage. Her radio wasn’t in the holder, so why hadn’t she responded to him?
The side door into the garage was partly open. He went to close it, then heard the door of the house close. He was about to call out hello as he came around the corner, but saw a man he didn’t recognize standing at the base of the ramp that covered the stairs, smoking.
Bobby instinctively ducked back.
That wasn’t Mr. Mendoza. And it definitely wasn’t Avery.
But Avery was here. The man was probably a friend of the family.
Bobby peered around the corner of the garage. The man was big and looked mean. He bit his lip, hesitated, then edged back to the garage door and slipped inside.
It smelled like diesel and hay and something sharper, like antiseptic or maybe metal.
Two trucks were parked inside. One he recognized—it was the Mendozas’ red Dodge. They had a handicap plate because Gianna was in a wheelchair. The other one was unfamiliar. Big and dark.
Careful to stay low, Bobby crept over to the unfamiliar truck. The passenger door was unlocked. He eased it open and peeked inside.
At first, he didn’t see much, just a fast-food bag, a pair of muddy boots, an old thermos, but then his stomach twisted.
Stuffed into the side pocket of the door was a rag. It was dark red, crusted stiff. Could’ve been mud. But it didn’t look like mud.
He stared at it, heart pounding, before slowly pushing the door closed with barely a click.
Bobby backed away from the truck. He looked at the rear license plate. It was white with blue letters and numbers and read Louisiana.
He didn’t know the Mendozas had family in Louisiana. He thought they had always lived in Texas, like him. But people had family from lots of different places. His grandpa, his mom’s dad, lived in Oklahoma. But that was just on the other side of the river even though he didn’t visit much.
Maybe a friend? But it just seemed strange.
He needed to talk to his sister, but he didn’t want to go to the house. Not if … not if something was wrong. He had to find out. Avery had her radio, so why didn’t she answer him?
He quietly left the garage and ran over to the opposite side of the barn, careful to keep out of sight of the house while he did so. He squatted and stared at his radio, thinking. The creek was louder now, running through the trees and brush in front of him, though he couldn’t see it.
What should he say?
Would she even answer?
His lower lip trembled as he thought that something might have happened to his sister. But he had to be strong. He had to be a man, like Jake was a man after their dad died last year. So Bobby raised the radio and clicked.
“Avery, it’s me, I couldn’t find Cleo. Did you? Over.”