Jem’s eyes narrowed. Scorn twisted his handsome features into someone Wally barely recognized. “I wouldn’t think of offending your precious friends,” he said, still smiling in that humorless way. He stashed his hands hard into his pockets and backed away. “Thanks for the ride. And thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Jem!” He didn’t want him to walk away mad. He wanted to believe his brother hadn’t taken the money. Most of all, he wanted to help Jem if he was in trouble. “Come on back with me, Jem. Peggy will have supper ready.”
But Jem didn’t turn back. He just kept walking, bobbing from side to side in angry strides. He raised one arm in a kind of farewell salute. Wally was suddenly fourteen again, feeling lost and empty as he watched Jem stalk off.
14
Jem forced himself to walk and not run as he left the loading dock, past the lumberyard, and into the shel- ter of trees. He wouldn’t look back, though he could feel Wally’s eyes on him and hear the soft whine of the dory’s outboard motor. He straightened his shoulders and held his head high, anxious to reach the stretch of woods where he could disappear from those accusing eyes.
Blast it all! He’d been so careful. When he stepped into the service station and found the cash drawer open, he’d slipped the bill out from under the drawer without touching the others neatly stacked on top. It was a fierce temptation, but he fought against taking more.
“Tell me you didn’t steal that hundred-dollar bill from the Gas N Go.”
The charge rang in his ears, and he felt the heat rise up his neck like a creeping flame. You’d think he was a serial killer or something. The town was flush with tourists spending their wads. What were a few bucks? No big deal. Besides, he’d only taken what he absolutely needed. As it was, he’d maxed out his credit cards and could no longer afford a hotel.
He had to sleep in his camper, a jerry-rigged van he’d gotten at an auction. No wonder he hadn’t looked fresh as a daisy when Wally saw him. It was hard to look well groomed under such conditions, but he was careful to keep the thing out of sight. It didn’t exactly decorate the landscape, and it was important to look successful. He couldn’t let people see him driving around in that monstrosity, so he’d rented a car until his credit card had hit its limit.
He’d left the camper at the far end of a rundown trailer park and paid a few dollars for use of the facilities, which, he realized, he needed right now. His shoes were dull and worn, and he hadn’t noticed the frayed hems of his pants. He’d have to get some new threads and soon. But he needed the hundred for food, especially now that he would probably be unwelcome at Wally’s.
When did Wally turn into such a choir boy? “The kid’s being blamed. His mother’s sick and depends on him.” And he had looked at him with those critical eyes, half puppy-dog and half she-bear. The boy’s name was Skeeter, Stretch, something like that. He’d seen the spiky-haired kid with the goofy grin pumping gas and wiping windshields. Well, the fool kid deserved losing his job for leaving the register standing open for anyone to pilfer from.
Wally probably believed he was guilty, though Jem hadn’t confessed to anything. And he wouldn’t rat on him anyway. Would he? They’d been buddies once—two orphans trying to hold things together. Blast! He needed to keep on good terms with his brother, to keep his connection to Grey Gables and the valuable canvases. But Wally would be watching him now.
He paused at the edge of town. He was tired, really tired. It was all that traipsing after Tara, and then scrambling down the bank when Wally had called. Drat those binoculars! He hadn’t slept well, and his stomach was pleading for attention. What he really wanted was a drink. Wally used to be good for a few beers before he’d turned into another small-town groupie. They’d turned him into one of them, praising him for his fine carpentry and his handcrafted toy sailboats that everyone couldn’t get enough of.
“We think a lot of him around here.”
Annie Dawson had beamed fondly at Wally, and he’d turned pink around the edges. All because the rich lady of Grey Gables threw him a bone or two now and then! She was using Tara too. Getting her to scrub and clean like a washerwoman. She’d been all sweaty and messed up the afternoon he found her cleaning the stupid chairs on the porch like a common maid. His beautiful Tara with her smooth cheeks and soft lips. And Tara was falling for it. She was eating it up. It was all Annie’s fault.
“She’s been good to me, Jem. Please, can’t we just forget about the canvases? I’ll have money by Friday. You can have it all. Only, I can’t do this, Jem.”