No Gun Intended Read Online Free Page A

it.”
    â€œYes. I will give it to you. But I need the other backpack.”
    So, what to do. Tell her I didn’t have it, tell her the police had it, pretend I didn’t know what she was talking about? I opted for the last. “What other backpack?”
    â€œWe switched them, right? Don’t you have mine?”
    â€œNope. Just thought someone stole mine at the airport.”
    I heard her take a deep breath. “Oh, no.” Her voice was trembling. “What am I going to do?”
    â€œWhat’s your name?”
    â€œClaudia.”
    â€œClaudia, let’s meet. You can give me my backpack, and I’ll reward you. How about that?”
    Now she was crying. “I need more than money.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œYour help. I need a detective.”
    Now it was my turn to take a deep breath. “Let’s meet. I’m about to visit the Japanese Garden. Can you get there? I can be at the entrance in ninety minutes. Will that work?”
    She squeaked out a “yes.”
    â€œBring my backpack, too, right?”
    Another squeak, and she hung up.
    I’m not a real detective, and I know the first thing I should have done was call Dawson or Monroe and tell them about Claudia. But I wanted to meet her first. Maybe she didn’t deserve to be in trouble with the police, whatever trouble she was in. Maybe she was just a kid who got herself into some tight spot. And maybe I wanted to prove to myself—and to my parents and Mickey—that I was back on my feet, strong and able, and ready to meet the world, fearless.
    ***
    I could see why the Japanese Garden had become a favorite retreat for my parents. Positioned at the top of a hill, its design is exquisite, with meandering paths—stone, wooden, gravel—weaving around ponds and in and out of groves of trees, with benches placed in perfect positions for observing, reading, sketching, meditating. It wasn’t crowded at all, being a Monday morning. A gallery building, with a deck providing views of a huge Zen garden as well as downtown Portland, featured work by Isamu Noguch. I had never heard of him before, but his sculptures were as soothing to me as the Japanese maples.
    We visited the gift shop and I bought Mickey and me some chopsticks with rabbits on them. We like to get Chinese takeout in New York.
    We were starting down the steep path out of the garden back to the car, when I told Mom and Dad I had left my debit card in the shop, and that they should keep going and I’d catch up. It was a ruse, but this way I could meet Claudia on my own.
    I hustled back up to the garden entrance, looking around for a girl with my backpack. I checked my watch. She was only about five minutes late, but I couldn’t hang around for much longer without Mom and Dad worrying what happened to me.
    I pulled out my phone to call her. But as I was about to tap her number on the incoming calls log, I saw Dad hurrying up the path toward me.
    â€œBea! Quick! Your mother…go help her. I’m going to let the park people know. We’ve called an ambulance. Someone’s hurt.” And he ran by me.
    I raced down the hill on the curvy path through the thickly wooded evergreens, panting with the effort as well as with increasing dread. I careened around a hairpin turn and stopped short when I saw Mom, kneeling over someone lying in the woods. “Mom! What is it?”
    â€œA young woman.” She was tending to her, stanching some bleeding with her scarf. “Hold this here, will you? Someone assaulted her, clobbered her head.”
    I crouched next to Mom and pressed the scarf against the wound, while Mom took her pulse.
    â€œIs she alive?”
    Mom nodded.
    Then something caught my eye.
    A sparkle, lit by a sunbeam.
    It was my silver cricket, perched on my backpack, just a few feet down the hill.

Chapter Four
    â€œMickey, there’s no need for you to come out here. I’m fine. I’m creeped