The Man with the Red Bag by Eve Bunting Read Free Book Online

to explode the bomb somewhere inside that circle? I was almost surethat’s what it meant. Why would he bother to erase it so completely if it was innocent?
    I crouched over the bedside table till my legs cramped, then I hobbled to the bathroom and slapped cold water on my face. What should I do?
    My phone rang. It was Grandma telling me she was just about to call Mom and Dad and I should come talk to them, too. So normal. So ordinary. Should I tell her?
    Before I went to her room, I erased my pencil marks and I put the map in my mystery notebook. I’d have to be first on to the bus in the morning and put it back before Stavros missed it. I wouldn’t even try to hold on to it for his fingerprints. That would be way too dangerous.
    I took out the letter I’d written in Greek and reread it, knowing what it said even though I couldn’t understand a single word. This letter could lead to a denouement, which is mystery-writer talk and means the solution of the plot. I hoped!
    In Grandma’s room we sat on the bed while she called on her cell phone.
    First she talked. “We are having the most glorioustime,” she told Mom. “I feel at peace here. I’m happy.”
    It was my turn to talk.
    I told Mom I was happy, too. I told about how incredible the Tetons were. I did not mention Charles Stavros. I’d decided I would not mention my suspicions to Grandma. She should be at peace and happy. That’s why we’d come on this trip. I wouldn’t tell her. Not yet, anyway.
    After we hung up, she and I dressed for dinner. Grandma looked nice in some sort of loose pants and a white shirt, with her necklace that has the big blue stone hanging from it, the stone that’s the color of peacock feathers. I wore my one good sweater with my jeans and Grandma looked me over and told me how handsome I was. She kissed my cheek.
    â€œDid you stay here with Grandpa?” I asked her.
    She nodded and I looked to see if she was sad, but she was smiling. I guess good memories stay good. I wanted this trip to stay good for her, too.
    I’d put the Greek letter in the bookstore bag, which felt hot in my hand. It felt so hot, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had gone up in flames.Grandma glanced at it once but didn’t ask questions.
    We went up the wide staircase and she took my arm the way ladies do in old movies. At the top of the stairs was a big wide lobby with chairs and couches, but the best thing was the wall of windows that faced us, putting the mountains in a frame. I got that choky feeling again. I think Grandma gets it, too, because we both stood there, not speaking, just looking. Unfortunately, I couldn’t keep my mind from slithering back to the map. To that circle. Of course, I couldn’t be certain-sure that somewhere inside the circle was Stavros’s bomb target. Not certain-sure.
    In the dining room we were led to a table for two by the window. The elegant waiter pulled out Grandma’s chair for her and mine for me. He flourished my napkin onto my knees. I bet we had the table with the best view in the whole room.
    I slipped the bookstore bag under my chair and went over my plan again, what I would do and say. If Stavros could read the question I’d written in Greek, I’d smile a bogus smile. “It’s just that we’ve all been curious,” I’d say. If he couldn’t, well then…Mythoughts went no further. What’s in the bag?
    I glanced around, but I didn’t see him and immediately I panicked. The thing is, now when he was out of my sight I wondered what he was doing and my thoughts got scary. But then he came in, wearing his windbreaker and jeans and a white shirt with a tie. He walked over to an empty table for four, carrying the red bag, of course.
    It was Grandma who said, “Should we move and sit with Mr. Stavros?” She refolded the napkin the waiter had spread so tenderly across her lap.
    It would be a good