Mystery of the Missing Fox by Tamra Wight

Author:Tamra Wight
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Islandport Press

Later, when we’d all taken hot showers, changed, and met back at my place, I came up with the great idea of hauling my tent out of the attic and setting it up on the front lawn. We were going to have our first campout of the season!

I was walking down the attic steps backwards with one end of the rolled-up tent, Packrat higher up on the other end facing me, and Roy behind him, holding the tarp and poles. Suddenly, Mom called out from somewhere in the store, “What are you three doing up there?”

“Nothing!” I automatically replied. But I knew that wasn’t going to be the end of it.

“Cooooper!” she warned, footsteps heading our way.

“I’m getting my tent,” I called back.

“Oh! Okay.” Her footsteps walked away, back toward the registration counter. Packrat shifted his end of the tent, as if he were going to take another step down. I shook my head and held up five fingers. I dropped one to make four. Three.

Two.

One.

Mom’s footsteps rushed back. “Your tent?” she called out, just before her head poked around the doorway to look up the stairs at us. “Isn’t it a bit early in the season for that?”

“I checked the weather,” I assured her. “It’ll be dry out.”

“It’s April! It’ll be cold at night.”

“The end of April,” I pointed out. “Our sleeping bags are rated for subzero temperatures; it’s not gonna be minus one degree, is it?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Pointed her finger at us, and opened her mouth again. Finally she said, “I’ve got nothing.” And she walked away.

Packrat gave me a worried look. “Your mom has nothing?”

“Weird,” Roy agreed.

“She’s tired,” I said. “Works to our advantage.”

But I kept thinking about it as we hauled the tent carefully through the store.

Mom had been really distracted lately. When Molly mentioned that we’d climbed the tower, Mom had said, “Oh, really? That’s nice.” And when Roy had slipped up and told her we’d driven the dump truck back to the workshop when Vern forgot it, she had said, “Nice job.” It was like someone had taken my mom and replaced her with an I-don’t-care-what-you-do mom.

I didn’t blame her, though. I kept zoning out, too. I’d be going along, working or talking to the guys, and then WHAM! I’d remember that this wasn’t a regular day. That Dad wasn’t out in the camp working, but he was in a hospital bed. Then I’d picture him lying there, head in his hands, thinking, “If only Cooper had listened to me. If only he’d come right back from the water tower, I wouldn’t have to have surgery on my arm. I’d be home with my family right now, getting ready for the Camping with the Kings taping.”

“Cooper! Watch out!”

Packrat’s yell, and his tug on the rolled-up tent, brought me back from my daydream. I’d come wicked close to knocking over a stack of ceramic loons by Mom’s register, waiting to be priced and put on the store shelves.

Sigh. That’s exactly what I was talking about.

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