Footprints Read Online Free Page B

peaked cap and night-stick.
    â€œDo you mean the security guard at the post office?” asks Al. Ed nods.
    â€œWhat about him? Is he bothering you?”
    â€œSays I can’t sit on the bench in front.”
    â€œHe can’t do that,” says Isora. “It’s not on post office land.”
    â€œHe’s growing his empire,” says Al. “I’ve seen him in the mornings hassling the high school kids who wait for the bus in front of the post office. And he likes to take walks down Main Street and stand in front of the businesses as if he owns them. He hasn’t got this far yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”
    â€œWhy don’t the people at the post office tell him to stick to what’s he’s supposed to be doing?” says Isora.
    â€œI guess they’re happy to see him exerting his authority down Main Street,” says Al.
    â€œWhy do we need security guards all over the place, anyway?” says Drumgold.
    â€œThey’re not all over the place, just at government buildings,” Harper points out.
    â€œWhich means we’ve got one on Main Street and another two a block away at the Service Canada offices.”
    â€œThey say it’s for our protection,” says Harper.
    â€œFrom who?” Drumgold demands.
    â€œGood question,” says Al.

4
    When Harper arrives home in the Hill Farm subdivision at the end of Main Street farthest from the highway, he finds a police car parked outside his house.
    He mutters, “Shit,” and contemplates running off until he sees his father beckoning him from the front window.
    Mr. Meating greets him with, “How was school today?”
    Sgt. Chase, from the Back River RCMP, is with him.
    â€œBoring – as usual,” says Harper.
    â€œWas the afternoon as boring as the morning?”
    Harper thinks, He knows I skipped out at noon. He improvises. “There were no classes because the teachers had meetings.”
    â€œFunny Mr. Matheson didn’t mention that when he called.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œWhere were you?”
    â€œWe...I...”
    His father says, “We. Sgt. Chase already told me you weren’t alone.”
    â€œJust went for a walk on the beach.”
    â€œIs that all you did?”
    â€œThen we came back through the woods.”
    Sgt. Chase, who has a big, square head, thinning grey hair, and a fighter’s misshapen nose, asks, “Was that before or after taking a shortcut through Mr. Anderson’s property and assaulting his security guards?”
    â€œYou can’t prove we were on Mr. Anderson’s property, and anyway, they asked for it.”
    â€œOne of the security guards identified you and your friend...er...” Sgt. Chase pulls a notebook from his pocket and consults it. “Monty Drumgold. He remembered seeing the two of you on the soccer team Mr. Anderson sponsored last year. He got your names from a team photo.”
    Harper finds it strange hearing Drumgold referred to by his first name. He always tells Harper and Isora never to use it because he hates it.
    â€œThat’d be the soccer team whose uniforms and travel Mr. Anderson paid for,” Mr. Meating puts in.
    Sgt. Chase glances at his notebook again and asks casually, “Who was the other person with you?”
    Harper says, “There wasn’t one.”
    Sgt. Chase says, “Right.” He puts his notebook away and says mildly, “Nice way of saying ‘thank you’ to Mr. Anderson, eh? Have him pay for your soccer, then run riot over his property – his beach and his garden. He does a lot for this town, you know. He sponsors the ball team your dad and me play on, as well as your soccer team, and he paid for the lights at the ball field.”
    â€œAnd we wouldn’t have a library in the town if it wasn’t for him,” says Mr. Meating.
    â€œThat doesn’t mean he owns the beach,” Harper mutters.
    â€œMaybe not. But