Casey Templeton Mysteries 2-Book Bundle. Gwen Molnar

opening the front door to a large hall with polished dark oak floors, an oriental carpet, and huge Chinese vases.

      Casey searched for a place to put his skates. He was afraid they might drip on the floor, so he put his coat down and the skates on top of it.

      “Honest, Casey, I don’t know why I did it.”

      “Well, tell me what it’s all about.” Casey followed Bryan up a carpeted staircase, along a hall, and into a huge bedroom. “Wow!” He stared at a computer setup that blew Hank’s out of the water. “Is there anything you don’t have?”

      Bryan sat on his computer chair and sagged. “Not much.”

      “So tell me.” Casey sat opposite his friend. “Start at the beginning and tell me what’s going on.”

      “Okay, you’re new here and we’re friends if not buddies, but you’ve seen how all the other kids and even the teachers treat me. The only teacher who ever showed any interest in me was Mr. Deverell. If he dies … oh, Casey, if he dies I’ll be partly responsible. I’ve just got to have someone understand why I did what I did and maybe help bail me out. And I’ve got to try to make up for it.”

      Bryan clenched his fists and closed his eyes for a moment. “Anyway, I’ve never been asked to be a part of any group or club at school. I don’t know what it is about me that puts people off. More than one thing, I guess. We’re never here for the summers or for any of the holidays, and my parents … well, they’re different from other people’s. And I never know what to say to get people to like me.”

      “You seem to be able to talk to me.”

      “That’s because right away you talked to me. You’re the first kid to take any notice of me in years. Anyway, I never feel part of things.”

      “What about your family?” Casey glanced around the beautifully furnished room. “You’re part of your family, and they obviously care a lot about you.”

      “You think so? My parents were married ten years before they had me, and they still really only care about each other. They can afford it, so they buy me anything I want just to keep me out of the way.”

      “Really?” Casey thought how his parents got along great with each other but still always concerned themselves about their sons.

      “Well, as you said, I’ve got a great computer. It’s about my fifth, and I’ve been exploring the Web for years. There are three chat rooms I really like, and I have real friends in them from all over the world. You know what I mean by chat rooms?”

      “Of course I know,” Casey said. “My brother, Hank, has a great time arguing with people in his groups.”

      “Well, about a year ago one of the chat rooms started getting messages from an outside group suggesting we get in touch with them for exciting new conversations and ideas. I resisted for ages, but they kept on and on about what we were missing, what did we have to lose, and that once we contacted them we’d be in with technologically elite kindred spirits.”

      “So you went for it?”

      Bryan sighed. “About eight months ago I contacted the website they said to and made the awful mistake of giving them not only my real name and email but even my home address.”

      “Oh, boy!” Casey shook his head. Hank had always told him how careful you had to be on the Internet.

      “At first it was pretty exciting, and I felt I finally belonged to an easy bunch to talk to. A lot of their messages were based on Bible teachings and were written so powerfully that I got caught up in it all. And then … then …”

      “Then what?” Casey pressed.

      “Then they asked me to distribute some anti-gay pamphlets. They said it would establish me as a real worker for the cause.”

      Casey could hardly believe his ears. “You’re the one who delivered all those pamphlets last month? You must have spent the whole night at it!”

      Bryan seemed ashamed. “I did. And after that they sent me some drugs.”

      “Drugs?”

      “So I’d feel obliged to them, I guess,” Bryan explained. “I hid the parcel in here.” He walked over to a tall cupboard, opened the bottom doors, pulled out a stack of books, and showed Casey a small, tightly sealed package.

      “How did you know what was in the package?” Casey asked. “It’s sealed shut.”

      “Oh, I resealed it very carefully. It’s got pills in it stamped with butterflies. That’s how Ecstasy’s sometimes marked. I found that out on the Internet. I had the package for about a week and was going to send it back when I got an email that said if I didn’t do what they wanted next they’d tell my parents I was on drugs.”

      “Why didn’t you just throw the package out and stop emailing them? And besides, they still could be any kind of pills and not something illegal.”

      Bryan looked miserable. “Sure, I suppose they could be something harmless, but how do I know for sure? And I can’t ask anyone who might know. As for throwing the whole thing out, I thought of doing that, but the group said if I did that they could still let the police know I got the package and what was in it.”

      “So what did this group want you to do?” Casey asked.

      “Steal some money and send it to them.”

      “You didn’t do that, did you?”

      “They said they’d tell my parents if I didn’t.”

      “So you stole money? From who?”

      “No, I didn’t steal it. I sent them my own money.”

      “How much?”

      Bryan looked at the floor sheepishly. “Four hundred dollars. They think I did steal it, and now they’re saying that if I don’t keep doing what they order me to do, they’ll tell the police.”

      “Bryan, you can just tell the police they’re lying.”

      “Yeah, but what if the group tells the police about the pamphlets and the drugs and the other stuff?”

      “What other stuff?”

      Before Bryan could answer they heard the front door open and close.

      “My parents!” Bryan cried.

      “They’ll have seen my skates and coat in the front hall, so they know someone’s here,” Casey said. “Take me down and introduce me.”

      “But they’ll think it’s strange. I never have anybody over.”

      “Well, you have now.” Casey headed out of the room. “How about you come over to my place sometime tomorrow afternoon and you can finish telling me about all this?”

      “Thanks, Casey,” Bryan said softly.

      They were at the bottom of the stairs now, and Bryan’s parents were coming out of the living room.

      “Mother, Father, this is Casey Templeton.”

      Mrs. Ogilvy smiled. “Hello, Casey.” She was a very pretty, beautifully dressed woman about his mother’s age, Casey figured. “You’re a friend of Bryan’s?” She might as well have said, “But Bryan doesn’t have any friends.”

      Casey grinned. “Yes, ma’am, I am. I was just asking Bryan to come over to our house tomorrow afternoon.”

      “Templeton, Templeton …” Mr. Ogilvy, a tall, thin, sandy sort of man in a formal navy blue suit, appraised Casey thoughtfully. “Your father’s that army type who’s moved back here, right?”

      “He’s a retired RCMP chief superintendent,” Casey said, taking an instant dislike to Bryan’s father.

      “Ah, yes …” Mr.