“Forensics? Hah,” Sheldon said. “They took that gun away in a plastic bag, but I don’t envy the person who has to scrape ’er off, looking for fingerprints. She was pretty well covered in crap . . . oh, excuse me, ma’am,” he added, with a wink at Josée. “Nah, they just locked the door because they want to come back later when the park’s closed and snoop around in there, when everybody’s gone home.”
Alan looked at the others. Was there a clue in there? Would it be possible to be the ones to find it first? It would save Constable Mills the trouble, wouldn’t it?
“We’re staying open, I’m told,” Sheldon said. “I guess the management couldn’t stand to close down the park early and lose all that tourist money. Don’t know how they got around the cops, but it ain’t my business. Too bad—I could’ve used a maintenance day without people traipsing around asking questions and getting in the way. That fence over there needs painting . . .” he stopped suddenly and stared at them as a broad grin crept across his face.
“I was planning to use the sprayer, but I got a better idea.” He called out to a passing staff member, the candle-making woman from the log homestead. “Hey, Joan. Got any of them sacking aprons handy over there?” A few minutes later, Alan, Ziggy and Josée were lined up in front of a long fence beside the general store, wearing aprons made of scratchy brown feed sacks.
“You’ll be in trouble if you get those costumes covered in paint,” Sheldon said, “so be careful, and no paint fights.” He gave them each a thick, bristly brush, and plunked down three wooden buckets of watery white paint.
“Maintenance, the old-fashioned way,” Sheldon said. “Two coats should do it. Have fun.” He walked away, whistling.
“At least we’re together this time,” Josée said, dipping her brush into one of the buckets and slapping some paint on the fence. “This is more interesting than that girl stuff, and I’d rather be wearing what you guys have on.”
“But you have to be our spy in the women’s quarters,” Alan said. “How can we see anything out of the ordinary, if we’re only going to do stupid outside chores like this? At least you’ll get to do cooking and stuff, and you can look around inside the houses.”
“Look around for what?” Josée asked.
“Well, I’ve been thinking,” Alan said. “You know how Sheldon said that the management didn’t want to close this place, because they’d lose all that money? Maybe there’s a safe, somewhere, where all the tourist money is kept. Maybe someone’s planning a robbery. Maybe they stashed the gun until the perfect opportunity came along to make their move?”
“Who would stash a gun in a pile of . . . poo?” Josée said.
“Sheldon, that’s who,” Alan said. “I’ve had my eye on him from the beginning. There’s something weird about him, I’m sure of it.”
“Shouldn’t we tell Constable Mills, then?” Ziggy said. “What kind of weird?”
“Well, he keeps trying to get rid of us, and he gives us these awful jobs, for example. Maybe he wants to keep us out of the way so we don’t mess up his plans.”
“He wouldn’t make you shovel that stuff, if it was him who put the gun in there, would he?” Josée said. “Come on, you guys. I don’t want to do this whole fence by myself. Not that I couldn’t, you know.”
“Want to race?” Alan said. “Bet I can do more boards than you guys in three minutes.” They spread out, Alan at one end of the fence, Josée at the other, and Ziggy in the middle.
“Okay,” Ziggy said, looking at his watch. “Ready, set, go!” and they all started painting as fast as they could. Josée did win the first round. Alan won the second. By the third round, a couple of park visitors had come over to watch and cheer them on, and some man in a floppy hat was taking photographs.
“Dad, let me do it. I wanna try,” said a boy behind him.
“You’ll wreck your shirt,” said a woman, who was wearing the exact same loud print shirt as the camera guy, so it was probably the kids’ mom.
“He can wear my apron,” Alan said quickly, untying his and handing it over. A couple of other tourist kids wanted to try the paint race as well, and soon, Alan and his friends were just standing there, grinning at each other.
“Teamwork,” Alan said. He pulled the others aside and spoke quietly. “Now that job’s covered, maybe we can take a break and explore this place a bit.” When they’d arrived in the morning, they had been promised “the Grand Tour”, as Mrs. Tench had called it, but they’d barely seen anything before Sheldon collared the boys to shovel out the animal pen.
“Let’s check out the blacksmith shop,” Ziggy said. “Maybe the guy in there would let us try making something.” Alan looked back at the fence as they sauntered away. There was a line-up of kids waiting to get a turn painting, and the guy with the camera seemed to have taken over organizing everything, so they should be good for maybe a half hour of freedom, at least.
The blacksmith shop was a long, low building a short distance from the general store. It was dark inside, and hot. They stood in the entranceway, peering in, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the gloom. A large, bearded man in a leather apron was just removing a piece of glowing hot metal from the coals of the fire with a huge pair of tongs. He placed it on his anvil—a massive lump of metal like a table with a beak, and started hammering at it. Sparks flew.
There was a thick smell—hot metal and coal, a spicy, machine-y scent that made Alan’s nose twitch. The blacksmith hadn’t noticed them yet, too intent on what he was doing. His arms were bare and sheened with sweat. He looked like he could lift a car up over his head with one hand, no problem.
Ziggy was grinning. “Now this is my idea of a cool summer job,” he said loudly to the others, over the sound of the hammering. “You’d be covered in muscles in no time. I wonder if he needs an apprentice.” The blacksmith looked up, smiled at them, and tipped his head, inviting them in.
“You’ll be the new go-fers, I bet,” he bellowed. “Mabel Tench told me she had some fresh blood coming in today.” He whacked the piece of hot metal once more with his hammer, lifted the tongs up to squint at his work—he was making a horseshoe, Alan decided—then plunged it into a nearby bucket of water, which hissed in a most satisfying way.
“Ivor Smith, at your service,” he said and extended a large, grubby hand, which they all shook. “Smith’s the name, smith’s the occupation, if you take my meaning.”
“Why is he shouting?” Josée whispered to Ziggy.
“I think maybe he’s a little hard of hearing,” Ziggy whispered back. “Comes of whacking metal all day, I guess.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Alan said, in a loud voice. He’d come to the same conclusion. “I’m Alan, and this is Ziggy and Josée.”
“Glad to make your acquaintance, Len,” the blacksmith said. “Likewise, Iggy and Joey.”
“Is there anything we can do to help around here?” Ziggy asked.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“Can we help?” Ziggy said, louder.
“I’m very well, thanks,” Ivor Smith said. “Now where’d my assistant get to? I need some more coal on the fire. She was here a minute ago. Must have slipped away to the biffy.”
“I’ll get it,” Ziggy said. He’d noticed the large bin of coal as they came in. He filled a shovel with the black lumps and turned to ask