The Prisoner of Snowflake Falls (11 page)

Judge Barnaby sighed. “Change is hard, isn't it, Henry? Did you know that you're my last Second Chancer? After we see how things work out for you, I'm retiring from the program and going fishing.”

When I said I hoped he caught a lot of fish, the judge looked at me kindly and told me not to steal anything in Snowflake Falls. “There are people there whose job it is to keep an eye on you and send back written reports.”

“You mean like secret government spies?” I asked. “Snowflake Falls sounds like a great place.”

I don't think Judge Barnaby appreciated my sarcasm. “I'm handing you a genuine opportunity, Henry,” he said. “Don't waste it.” Then he added, “Besides, you might find Snowflake Falls more surprising than you expect.”

“What's so surprising about it?” I asked.

“Nothing.” And then he thought for a second and said, “Nothing and everything.”

“I don't get what you mean,” I said.

“You will,” said the judge. And then he began to laugh all over again.

SEVEN

R
ight after my mother died of cancer, Uncle Andy said that life is the biggest con artist of them all. I think he was trying to tell me that just when you think your future is going one way, fate will hand you a surprise that is virtually guaranteed to knock you on your butt.

I was reminded of this on the way to Snowflake Falls, a town on northern Vancouver Island that was stuck somewhere between too small and officially midsized. Way back when, there was a very busy pulp and lumber mill in Snowflake Falls, but it was barely operational now, and a lot of people had moved away.

When I googled the town's name on Judge Barnaby's computer, it didn't look like I'd be able to keep up with my program of cultural enrichment. I mean, there was no opera company and no restaurant like Chez Maurice. A lot of the businesses were only open a few days a week. I don't know if you could call the town sleepy. But it sure seemed to take a lot of naps.

It just didn't look like my kind of place. Of course, I figured that I wouldn't be staying there long, since my plan was to escape as soon as possible. Unfortunately, Judge Barnaby had anticipated this, which is why he gave me my own personal escort to Snowflake Falls. His name was Leon Tully. Even though he was wearing cargo shorts and a T-shirt that read
I Love Texas Hold'em
, he was definitely an official government youth worker. You know, the kind of twenty-something guy who was paid to relate to wayward juveniles such as myself. In spite of his youth, Leon had already escorted a few other Second Chancers to Snowflake Falls, and while serious about keeping an eye on me, he was also very chatty. He talked quite a bit while driving to the ferry. The first thing he said was, “I've read your file, Henry. I gotta say, I'm impressed.”

When we were on the ferry and I asked if it was okay if I went to the washroom, Leon said, “I'm afraid it is my sworn duty to accompany you to the facilities.”

“You're going to go with me to the washroom?” I replied. “I can't believe it!”

“Boy, that's really good,” said Leon admiringly. “The way you sound genuinely indignant and all.”

“I am genuinely indignant.”

Leon explained that he almost lost his last Snowflake Falls escort when the guy tried to climb through the window of a gas station mens room on the way to the ferry. “And he wasn't nearly as escape-prone as you.” Leon grinned at me. “So shall we answer the call of nature?” he asked, like we were going to hit the buffet table together. “If you use the stall, please make sure that your feet remain on the floor at all times.”

I had a sudden picture of Leon watching my feet in the toilet stall and decided I didn't have to go to the washroom after all. This didn't seem to bother Leon, who was very upbeat. “As soon as I deliver you to your sponsor family, I get to return to actual civilization,” he explained. “I have discovered that the most exciting thing about Snowflake Falls is the well-paved road out of town.”

“I wouldn't mind a little boredom,” I said, trying to look on the bright side of things. “It sounds rather peaceful.”

Leon actually snorted. “Peaceful? You won't get any peace staying with the Wingates.”

Of course, I wanted to know more. Fortunately, Leon felt that there was no harm in giving me “an officially unofficial briefing on the Wingates.” He made me swear to keep it just between us. Then he leaned over and whispered, “If you ask me, I think it's cruel to leave a guy totally unprepared for the Wingate experience.”

“So what are they like?” I asked.

“Well, there's the dad, Harrison Wingate,” said Leo. “He owns Wingate's—the town's oldest department store. It's been in the family for generations.”

“So?”

“So lately he's been all stressed-out because a new Biggie's has moved in across the street.”

“Biggie's Bargin Barn?” I said. “They sell everything there is to sell.”

“Everything from barbells to barbecues,” agreed Leon. “Dirt cheap too.” Leon began singing the Biggie's jingle. All about how Biggie's was “cheap, cheap, cheapest because we're big, big, biggest.”

I got him back on track by asking, “How many kids do the Wingates have?”

“Only two,” Leo said. “But after a while it's going to seem like a lot more.” He shook his head in wonderment. “There's Charlotte, who's this book-crazy brainiac. She's eleven, and she reads instruction manuals for fun. She's gonna wanna run your entire life.”

When I asked how Leon knew this, he laughed. “Because Charlotte wants to run everybody's life,” he said. His eyes widened. “She actually tried to give the last guy in your situation a haircut. And she has no barber training whatsoever.”

Leon's eyes started to glaze over so I had to nudge him along. “You said there were two kids?”

“There's Oscar. He's almost three.” Leon rolled his eyes. “The good news is, he keeps to himself and doesn't talk much.”

“What's the bad news?”

“He screams.”

“A lot?”

“Oh yeah. I think it's a weird form of communication. One of your predecessors said there seemed to be a wide variety of screams that only the family could understand. You know, like one scream for milk and another for cereal.”

“That sounds awful.”

“Plus, there's a rumor that the kid bites,” said Leon. “I haven't seen any actual teeth marks or anything, but the last guy in your position was pulling a double shift at Top Kow Burgers just to keep outside Oscar's bite zone.”

“What's Top Kow Burgers?” I asked.

“Pretty much the social center of Snowflake Falls,” said Leon. “Unless you count the new Biggie's.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Top Kow Burgers is the big fast-food chain, right? The one where the cow is wearing the top hat?”

“Yeah, that's the one,” said Leon. “Anyway, where was I?”

“The last guy, pulling a double shift?” I said.

Leon nodded gravely. “He said he'd rather mop the floor at Top Kow Burgers for the next six months than listen to one more scream from Oscar.”

“What happened to him?”

“I think Charlotte developed a little crush on him,” confided Leon. “After a few weeks, he was practically begging to be tossed in jail.” He leaned toward me and whispered, “For the Wingates, that makes three straight Second Chancers who never actually stood a chance. They have the worst record of any sponsor family in the program.”

“So why are they still allowed to take people in?” I asked.

“Harrison's a good friend of Judge Barnaby's,” explained Leon. “The Wingates really need the extra money that the program provides. You know, what with the new Biggie's sucking the life out of their business and all. The Wingates need you as much as you need them,” he said. “If you don't stick it out for the whole program, they're going to be cut off.” Leon looked at me sympathetically. “Knowing you're their last chance might give you some leverage. It's just something to remember when you can't stand it anymore.”

“Thanks, Leon. I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well, you should have seen what Charlotte did to the last guy,” he said. “I wouldn't wish that haircut on a bank robber.”

We got off the ferry and began the drive into Snowflake Falls. I noticed that it was quite a hike from the ferry terminal into town. Escape on foot would be difficult. Of course, I'd have to put any thought of escape on the back burner. Leon had given me a lot of other things to think about. We didn't speak again until we were just outside the entrance to town. There was a big wooden sign that looked like it had been carved by a giant lumberjack. It read
Welcome to Snowflake
Falls Where
.

“Where what?” I asked Leon.

“I don't think they've made up their minds yet,” said Leon. “The town council's been trying to think of a slogan for ages. I hear they're having a contest to find a saying that best captures the spirit of the community. I've been thinking of entering.” It was hard to miss the sarcasm when he added, “But I guess ‘Welcome to Snowflake Falls Where Nothing Much Ever Happens' isn't the best way to attract tourists.”

In a few minutes we were on the main drag of Snowflake Falls, where we got out of the car to stretch our legs and take a look around. At first glance, the hub of town seemed like a bunch of tired-looking buildings huddled together for mutual support. At second glance, you couldn't help but notice a lot of peeling paint. “Things were a lot more prosperous around here before the pulp mill went to a three-day week,” explained Leon. “Someone told me there even used to be a video arcade way back when.”

Even though it was the middle of the day, there were only a few people on the street. I was about to point this out when Leon said cheerfully, “Man, it's really busy this afternoon. The hardware store must be having its closing-out sale.”

“You mean it doesn't get any busier than this?” I asked.

“Well, there's Pumpkin Fest coming up in the fall,” said Leon. “Then there's this holiday sing-along on Boxing Day that's a big deal. In between, it can get a little sparse. Unless you're into monster truck shows or the occasional professional wrestling match.”

A few people waved at Leon while we were standing in the middle of the street. Leon waved back. “This town is big on waving,” he said. “You better get used to it.”

An older man in checked golf pants called out in a booming voice, “Hey, Leon. What's new?”

Even though we were only a couple of feet away, Leon raised his voice as he backed away from the man. “Not much, Mr. McHugh.” I think he was hoping Mr. McHugh would keep on going. Instead, he headed straight for us.

“Who's your little friend?” Mr. McHugh said, chuckling like this was a joke all three of us could appreciate.

“This is Henry Holloway,” said Leon. “He's going to be staying with the Wingates for a while.”

Mr. McHugh's smile faded a bit. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I think I heard something about that.”

“Mr. McHugh won the prize for the biggest squash at last year's Pumpkin Fest,” Leon said to me. And then he added, “Henry here is very interested in competitive gardening, aren't you, Henry?”

Mr. McHugh perked up. “Is that so?”

“Not really,” I said. Leon looked at me, all disappointed, until Mr. McHugh leaned forward and said, “Speak up, Hank. I can't hear worth spit.”

I spoke up. “I'm very interested in vegetable-growing contests.”

Mr. McHugh grinned. “Well, stop by the house sometime. I'll give you a few pointers.” We shook hands. “Good luck, son,” he said. “Watch out for that littlest Wingate. He's hell on wheels.”

As soon as Mr. McHugh's checked golf pants were out of sight, I said, “How come you told him I was interested in growing vegetables? I couldn't care less about a festival for pumpkins.”

“You say that now,” replied Leon. “But in a few months you'll be judging zucchini bread and carving jack-o'-lanterns out of sheer boredom. Believe me, I'm just saving you time.”

As we began walking down the street, a woman with a blue tinge to her gray hair stopped to chat. She looked at Leon and said, “Aren't you going to introduce us?” When Leon did, she said to me, “It's always a pleasure to meet one of Leon's special projects. Call me Sylvia, young man.” And then, turning to Leon, she asked, “Have you told Henry about Pumpkin Fest?”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Leon. “He's very excited about it.”

“Where's he staying?” asked Sylvia, like I wasn't standing right in front of her.

“With the Wingates,” said Leon.

“Oh, my,” said Sylvia. She looked at me sympathetically and said, “I live just a few doors down the street. Drop by any time you feel hungry. I don't care what he's done, Leon. They wouldn't serve Theodora's pot roast in a maximum-security prison.”