Long Lost, стр. 34

“Charlie Hobbes,” she whispered. “The one who buried the knife here in the first place.”

“Well, not that Charlie Hobbes,” said the boy, like Fiona had just declared that one plus one equals eleven. “I’m obviously not a hundred and twenty years old. That Charlie Hobbes was my great-grandpa.”

“Oh.” Fiona let out a tight breath. Cautiously, she reached out with the tip of the trowel and tapped the boy on the arm. It left a streak of mud on his sleeve.

“I’m alive,” he said calmly. “But that dog isn’t. I mean, not anymore.”

“But I saw . . . ,” Fiona began. She stopped there. Her arms felt suddenly very heavy, and she couldn’t quite remember how to move them.

“I know,” said the boy. He glanced up at the rumbling sky. “We should talk somewhere else. Come on. I know where we can go.”

He walked away quickly. Fiona couldn’t think of anything to do except grab her bag and stumble after him.

The Perch Diner had white beadboard walls and linoleum floors. Rows of blue booths ran along each side, and a counter covered with pie stands stood in between. The scents of coffee, bacon, and cinnamon grabbed Fiona by the nose as she followed Charlie Hobbes through the door.

The Perch Diner. She’d heard that name somewhere before.

“I have a coupon for free oatmeal here,” Fiona said aloud.

Charlie Hobbes was folding up his umbrella. He gave her a slightly puzzled look. “I don’t really like oatmeal.”

“Yeah,” said Fiona awkwardly. “Me neither.”

Charlie led the way to a booth. There were several other people in the diner, all of them much older, scattered around in singles or pairs. They gave Charlie little nods as he passed by. Then their eyes moved to Fiona, and she could feel them evaluating her, trying to place her, realizing that she didn’t belong.

Their murmurs followed her across the room.

“. . . into the Putnams’ old place, down on Lane’s End,” she heard one old man say. “One daughter’s a big-time skater. Thinks she’s going to get to the Olympics or something.”

There was a laugh—not a nice one—in response. Fiona had to fight to keep from turning back and snapping that Arden was going to get to the Olympics. These people had learned the facts about her family somehow. But then they had twisted them all around.

Charlie sat down in a blue booth. Fiona slid onto the vinyl seat across from him, tugging off the hood of her raincoat. The warm air felt good on her clammy skin. Before she could ask him any questions, or even decide which one to ask first, a large white woman bustled over from behind the counter.

“Hey, sweetie.” She plunked down a mug of cocoa in front of Charlie. The tag pinned to her apron read JUDY. “Who’s your friend?”

Fiona’s brain snagged on the word “friend.” Was that what she and this boy were? Friends?

“This is Fiona Crane,” Charlie answered. “Her family just moved here. They live down Lane’s End Road.”

“Ah. So you bought the Putnams’ old house,” said Judy. Her voice was loud and warm, but her face was hard to read. “Heard they’d sold to a family from western Mass. Welcome to Lost Lake.”

“This is my grandma,” Charlie told Fiona. “She runs this place.”

“Hi,” Fiona managed.

“Cocoa for you too?” asked Judy.

“Sure.” Fiona halted, reaching into her pocket. “But I don’t have any—”

Judy was already striding away.

“Don’t worry. You won’t have to pay for it.” Charlie leaned forward. “The knife,” he said, in a lower voice. “Can we look at it?”

After making sure none of the nearby people were watching, Fiona dug the dirty lump out of her raincoat pocket. Charlie made a mat of paper napkins on the tabletop. Fiona set the lump down, and they both craned over it, rubbing it with more napkins until the mud was gone and the mother-of-pearl handle glinted softly in the light.

“Yep. That is definitely Evelyn’s knife,” said Charlie.

Fiona stared into his face. “You’re the one who left me the note, aren’t you?” she asked. “You told me to keep digging.”

“I knew you were trying to figure out what really happened, just like me,” he answered. “I saw you with the book. I heard you asking questions. I thought maybe we could help each other.”

“The Lost One?” Fiona whispered. “You’ve read it too?”

“A few weeks ago,” Charlie answered. “I’ve read part of every section in the library, and all of some sections. I found it when I was looking through the geology books. At first I pulled it out because I knew it didn’t belong there. Then I read a little of it, and I realized it was about Lost Lake and the girls in the story had to be the Chisholms. I tried to check it out, but Ms. Miranda wouldn’t let me, because she said it wasn’t supposed to circulate at all. So then I snuck it home with me. But it disappeared. Right off the desk in my bedroom.” His intent green eyes stared into hers. “Three days later, I found it back at the library again.”

“What?” Fiona breathed. “You—”

Abruptly, Charlie sat up, tossing a napkin over the pocketknife.

Judy marched up to the table. She set down another mug of cocoa and two giant cinnamon buns, winked at Charlie, and marched off again.

“Thanks, Grandma!” Charlie called after her.

“How did the book get back to the library?” Fiona whispered, once Judy was out of earshot.

“Well, I didn’t return it. My family didn’t return it. I knew that something strange was going on with that book, so I’ve been trying to keep track of it ever since.”

“The same thing happened to me when I took the book home,” Fiona breathed.

Charlie nodded, looking unsurprised.

Fiona wrapped one chilly hand around the cocoa mug. This boy had read the story. And, unlike Ms. Miranda, he seemed ready to believe that there was something hidden within it. Something he might help her find. “You said you know everything about this town.”

Charlie nodded confidently. “I do.”

“Then what really