Old Bones by Gwen Molnar Read Free Book Online Page B

Richford was famous for its hockey winter and summer, and its summer hockey camp was the best in the province. He loved baseball too, and was looking forward to being the team’s first-string catcher. “The job at the Tyrrell could end any day, so I might be back really soon.”
    â€œTry to be back for the mid-August barbecue,” said Marcia. “If you thought last year’s Halloween party was cool, you’ll be amazed at this party. And as mayor, your dad’ll be front and centre.”
    â€œI’ll sure try to be there,” Casey assured her.
    ***
    â€œWhat a party!” Mike sighed. They’d thanked Greta and Mr. Maitland and started home.
    â€œThe movie was great, the food was wonderful, the music was sensational,” Casey agreed. “And Greta may be a pain in the butt, but her old man sure knows how to throw a party.”
    â€œYou figure he did most of it?” Mike asked.
    â€œLook — Greta’s mother’s in Europe and Greta sure as heck didn’t get all that food and have that room set up for dancing with all the blinking lights and buy all those good prizes. I’m telling you, Mr. Maitland did it all. He must love his daughter a lot, or …”
    â€œOr he feels real sorry for her awful personality and is trying to make people like her in spite of herself.”
    â€œWhatever,” said Casey. “I think we had an even better time there than we would have had on our own at the Old Willson Place.”
    â€œYou figure?” Mike asked.
    â€œI figure,” Casey said, with conviction.

Chapter Nine
    â€œYou’ll need these.”
    Casey put the pile of clean underwear his mother handed him into his big duffle bag.
    â€œI bought you some new socks, too,” his mother continued. “I forgot them in the family room. I’ll go get them; I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
    He walked around his bed to where his father, who’d just got home, was standing, his outstretched hand holding a bright blue plastic folder about three inches square and a narrow dark blue one.
    Casey knew what they were. He’d got the same ones yesterday when he’d opened an account at the Bank of Montreal in Richford, but there was no way he’d disappoint his dad by telling him.
    Casey opened the blue folder and whistled. In the “Balance” column, the total listed was $200.00. Yesterday, when he’d opened the account, the total in the Balance column was $12.00. He opened the cheque book. His name and address were printed on a set of plain, pale-green cheques. Yesterday, he’d ordered cheques with a cowboy in the background and his name and address printed on a saddle logo. Hoping his order for the cowboy cheques hadn’t already been sent in, he said, “Thanks, Dad.”
    â€œI arranged your account from Ottawa. Can’t be making money and not have a record of it,” said Chief Superintendent Templeton. “I suggest you put every cent you make into your chequing account first, then draw out what cash you need.”
    â€œSounds good,” Casey agreed, “and I’ll pay you back that $200.”
    â€œThat’s all right,” said his father. “We’ll be saving a lot more than that not having to feed you all summer. But you’re going to have to pay the Normans for your room and board. It’ll take a big whack out of what you make, but that’s the way it’s done.”
    Casey didn’t think the Normans were going to make him pay for staying with them — after all, it’d been Dr. Norman’s idea — but he said, “Right, Dad, I’ll talk to the Normans.”
    â€œAny idea how much you’ll be making?”
    Casey went over to his desk, picked up a piece of paper and handed it to his father; it was a letter from Dr. Norman confirming the amount Casey would be paid.
    â€œThis came when you were away,” he said.
    â€œSo