Old Bones by Gwen Molnar Read Free Book Online

the backpack; he never went anywhere without it.
    â€œYou don’t have to wait up,” he said from the open door.
    â€œI’ll wait up,” his mother replied. “Have fun.”
    Casey and Mike didn’t talk much as they crossed the field to the Old Willson With Two L’s Place. Was Mike thinking the same thing he was ? wondered Casey. That this might not be the single smartest thing they were doing ? But the night was warm and the sky was still light and it would be fun to see the old place again.
    â€œYou bring any matches for the fire?” Mike asked.
    â€œNo,” said Casey. “Didn’t you?”
    â€œNo.” Mike stopped. “A lotta good this wood I’m carrying’s going to do. Shall I pitch it?”
    â€œMaybe there’ll be matches there,” Casey said, but he didn’t believe it. “Maybe other people have been using the old place like we used to before.…”
    â€œYeah, before those Hate Cell guys almost finished off old Deverell and you both almost froze to death. I’ve heard. I’ve heard.”
    â€œWell, don’t remind me.” Casey did not want to remember the last time he’d hiked across this field to the old house and found Mr. Deverell unconscious, almost covered by snow, and with a huge gash in his head.
    â€œYou did bring a flashlight?” Mike asked.
    â€œSure,” Casey reassured him. “If we can’t have a fire, we can prop the flashlight in the fireplace. It’ll be better, really. We won’t have to worry about sparks flying around.”
    â€œSure no signs of life out here,” Mike said as they climbed the sagging fence round the Willson property when they found the high gate locked. “We’ll have a great time on our own.”
    â€œSure.” But Casey was anything but sure. They were near the house now. The evening sun should have been reflecting from the windows. There was no reflection.
    â€œThe windows are boarded up,” Casey said.
    â€œHope the door isn’t,” Mike said as they turned the corner of the house.
    â€œNo boards,” Casey said, not sure if this was good or bad. “Maybe it’s locked.” He led the way up the front steps and tried the door handle. The door swung inward and as it did a siren wailed louder and louder and louder.
    â€œOhmygosh,” Casey yelled, “let’s get the heck out of here!”
    They did. They fairly flew across the field back to the edge of town, their backpacks thumping, their hearts pounding.
    When they could talk again, Mike stopped, dropped the wood from his backpack in a heap and asked, “What now?”
    Casey thought a minute.
    â€œNow we go to Greta Maitland’s fancy end-of-school-year party.”
    â€œWe do?” asked Mike. “We never said we’d come.”
    â€œWe never said we wouldn’t,” Casey replied. “Nobody’s going to care if we show up.”

Chapter Eight
    The bright lights on the Maitlands’ front porch looked welcoming, but all the curtains were drawn.
    â€œI can’t hear any music.” Mike stood listening. “Can you?”
    â€œNo,” Casey said, ringing the doorbell. “They’re probably still eating. I sure hope so,” he added, “and I sure hope there’s some left for us.”
    The door opened wide and Greta’s father, in a pair of very tight jeans and a red-checked flannel shirt, turned back into the hall and shouted, “Hey, Greta, your lost sheep have arrived!”
    â€œCome in, boys,” he said softly, ushering them inside. “Am I glad to see you! Greta went upstairs in a sulk; couldn’t believe anyone would refuse to come to her party. I swear she was ready to send everyone home.”
    â€œSo,” Greta said reprovingly, as she stood on the stair landing, “you finally deigned to come to the party I’ve been working on for weeks. Well, Dad and