Along the back wall they found two more holes and confirmed the story of the first window. As far as they could tell, the windows opened to nothing more than a solid wall.
“Does this make any sense at all?” asked Jack.
Eight the next morning they were up. They figured Jack’s mom would get suspicious if they had too many mornings of sleeping late, so their plan was to get up and dressed by eight-thirty. Groggy, Jack tried to force himself to act normal. His dad was working at home that morning — catching up on paperwork.
Ben and Stephen sat at the kitchen table and poured cereal. Jack stood near the refrigerator and debated what to have. His mom walked in and sat a bag of newspapers on the counter.
“Oh, hi boys, you’re awful quiet — I didn’t know you were in here,” said Jack’s mom.
“Hey mom,” said Jack.
“Hi Mrs. Randolph,” said Ben.
“Good morning, Ben,” she said. “Do you want something cooked for breakfast?”
“No thanks. Cereal’s good,” said Ben.
Jack’s dad materialized from the door to the office. “Hey,” he said, “everyone’s here!”
“Hi dad,” said Jack.
“Jack, Ben, Stephen, I’ve got a favor to ask of you this morning,” said Jack’s dad. “I was talking to the sheriff yesterday afternoon.”
Jack studied his father for a sign of trouble and, sensing none, tossed a look of caution to Ben and Stephen who had stopped breakfast mid-chew.
Jack’s dad continued: “He’s very interested in the shells you found at the pits. He said they match the type used by the boys he suspects of killing dogs. He’d like to talk with you this morning.”
“Okay!” said Jack. “When?”
“Hand me a glass — would’ya Bub?” said Jack’s dad. “He’s coming by this morning some time, so just stay in the house until he comes by.”
Jack handed him a glass from the cabinet and his dad filled it from the sink.
“No problem, dad. We’ll just hang out in my room,” said Jack.
Jack started to head out of the kitchen towards the stairs.
“Aren’t you going to have any breakfast?” asked his mom.
“Oh yeah,” said Jack as he turned and went back to the kitchen table.
Sheriff Kurtwood sat in the big chair in the living room. Rather, he sat on the edge of the big chair. When Jack was a kid he used to curl up in that chair sometimes and take a nap so he could hear his dad working in the adjoining office. The sheriff hunched forward over the coffee table, where his notebook and day-planner were open — he was flipping through his calendar.
Ben, Jack, and Stephen sat on the couch opposite the sheriff.
“So,” the sheriff began, “you said you were hiking on the fifth?”
“Yes,” said Jack. “July fifth — it was the day after we went to the fair.”
The sheriff flipped backwards to the previous page of his notebook. “Huh,” he said. He scanned down the page with his finger and tapped the page. “Your dad said your mom found the casings when she was doing laundry on Sunday. But you found them on the fifth.”
“Yeah,” reiterated Jack, “it must have been before the sixth, because I still had my sling on.” He pointed to his right arm.
“That’s right,” said Stephen. “He reached for the casings, but couldn’t get them because of his arm, so I had to get them.”
The sheriff studied Stephen during his interjection, and then looked back to Jack: “How long were you wearing a sling?”
“Three weeks. It smelled like cheese,” said Jack, wrinkling his nose.
“I bet,” he smiled. “And you were still reaching for things with your bad arm after three weeks?” asked the sheriff.
“Yeah, I guess,” said Jack.
“So, did you see who was shooting?” asked the sheriff.
“Nope,” said Jack.
Sheriff Kurtwood wrote a note on his ledger and then turned to Ben. “You’re quiet.”
Ben simply looked back.
“You boys aren’t in any trouble with me,” said the sheriff. “Your dad said he grounded you for being over at the quarry, but I don’t think you kids were up to any harm. You can tell me exactly what happened over there — I’m not going to be angry. You may just do something good; those are bad guys.”
“Honest, Sheriff, we just found those casings,” said Ben. “There wasn’t anybody there but us when we found them.”
“Okay then,” said the sheriff. He wrote a few more notes and then looked up. “You can go. Send your dad in here please.”
Downstairs Jack and Ben grabbed a soccer ball and headed outside. Stephen was on the phone talking to his mother about extending his stay. Outside, Ben and Jack congratulated each other on surviving the pressure of talking to a sheriff without cracking.
“Don’t know yet,” said Stephen as he caught up with his friends.
The three boys sat down in the grass. They had settled about halfway to the woods so Jack’s parents wouldn’t hear them talking. In a rough triangle they rolled the ball to each other while they talked.
“What’s the problem?” asked Ben.
“She’s got to get the flight changed,” answered Stephen. “And I was supposed to have a swimming class.”
“Hey, you know what’s weird?” asked Jack.
“What?” asked Ben.
“When that sheriff was talking I had an idea about the letter,” answered Jack. “He asked me why I was still reaching for things after three weeks.”
Stephen had the ball; he tried to twirl it on his finger. “Yeah — that was dumb of me to say that,” he said.
“Yeah it was,” agreed Ben.
“Well anyway,” continued Jack, “why would that guy set up a trust to pay the taxes, but say he can’t keep pouring money into the thing without getting anything back?”
“Nothing about that letter made sense though,” said Stephen.
“Yeah, but this guy is so intent on protecting that place, but he gave up and moved away?” continued Jack.
“And there’s clearly something going on with that button,” said Ben, joining the conversation.
“Do you think there’s concrete behind all the windows?” asked Stephen.
“How would you get in?” laughed Jack.
“Maybe that’s the point,” said Ben. “It’s like full of zombies and shit — he doesn’t want people to get eaten.”
“Sounded like grinding concrete when you were hitting that button,” said Stephen.
“Hey!” said Jack. “Maybe it was opening one of the windows.”
“Maybe a secret door or something?” asked Ben.
“We’re never going to get any sleep again, are we? We’ll just keep waking up at three o’clock to try to figure out that stupid empty building,” joked Jack.
“How often do you get seven hundred dollars and a crazy empty hotel to figure out?” asked Ben.
That night rain ruled out any adventures. They curled up in their fort, with special viewing holes to see the television. The sound was turned down, and they only payed attention every ten minutes so they could see the local radar on the weather channel.
Huddled beneath their blanket ceiling, their conversation rambled and turned through a variety of subjects while they passed the time, but the subject kept returning to what their lives would be like when they were older.
“I think I’m going to live in southern California mostly, but I’ll have a place in the mountains too. Maybe the Rockies,” said Stephen.
“My dad says it’s a terrible time to buy real estate,” said Ben. “You should think about getting an RV and driving back and forth.”
“No way — I’m not living in a tin can,” sneered Stephen.
“I’ve seen some cool RV’s, but I don’t know if I’d want to live in one,” added Jack.