At The Edge – Nora MCclintock

Why had I decided to go looking for James instead? If Morgan was right about those flowers, then I had a pretty good idea where James had gone—the cemetery, the one he had a map for. A map that, for some reason, he hadn’t wanted his father to see. Maybe James was acting the way he was because of whoever was buried in Plot XI, Lot 333.

Maybe it had something to do with what his dad had said to him yesterday. Maybe he needed someone to talk to. Maybe I could help. It took me two buses and forty-five minutes to get to the cemetery—which turned out to be even larger than I had expected. Just inside the cemetery gates, on a large display board, was a full-color version of the map that I had seen in James’s car. Plot XI was on the far side of the cemetery, down a path in what turned out to be a lovely green valley.

Lot 333 was tucked away against a hedge. I recognized it instantly by the fresh calla lilies and white roses that had been set into a metal vase in front of the headstone. I looked around. No sign of James. I approached the stone and read the name on it: Gregory Paul Johnson. Greg—like the tattoo on James’s arm. I looked at the dates on the tombstone. Gregory Johnson had been nine years old when he died—exactly five years ago.

I thought about the photos I had seen in Mr. Derrick’s room. That boy looked about nine. Were they pictures of Gregory Johnson? Who was he? What role had James played in his death? And why did that name sound vaguely familiar? . . . “Have you guys seen James today?” I asked Morgan and Billy when I caught up with them the next day at lunch. “He wasn’t in homeroom this morning.”

“I haven’t seen him,” Billy said. “Maybe he’s sick,” Morgan said. “Maybe.” But I was pretty sure he wasn’t. He had been at the cemetery yesterday, delivering flowers on the fifth anniversary of the death of a nine- year-old boy—a boy whose death James might have been involved in. “I think I’ll go by his place after school and see how he is.” “Good idea,” Morgan said, winking at me. “Get over there before you- know-who gets her claws into him.” I thought about telling her that wasn’t the reason I wanted to check up on him.

I also thought—not for the first time—about telling her what I had seen and overheard at James’s house. Usually I let Morgan in on everything. But something stopped me. James was so shy, so vulnerable, and so obviously unhappy.

All U.S. rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review. Darby Creek A division of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc. 241 First Avenue North Minneapolis, MN 55401 U.S.A. Website address: www.lernerbooks.com The image in this book is used with the permission of: Front cover: © Peeter Viisimaa/Vetta/Getty Images; © iStockphoto.com/Jaroslaw Wojcik, (boy).

Main body text set in Janson Text Lt Std 11.5/15. Typeface provided by Linotype AG. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data McClintock, Norah. At the edge / Norah McClintock. — 1st U.S. ed. p. cm. — (Robyn Hunter mysteries ; #9) ISBN: 978–0–7613–8319–2 (lib. bdg. : alk. paper) [1. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Title.

PZ7.M478414184So 2013 [Fic]—dc2 2012017533 Manufactured in the United States of America 1 – BP – 12/31/12 eISBN: 978-1-4677-0965-1 (pdf) eISBN: 978-1-4677-3052-5 (ePub) eISBN: 978-1-4677-3051-8 (mobi) 1kitap1.com/en T he way I had imagined it, the first few weeks in September would be pure heaven, total bliss, life as it should be—well, apart from having to go back to school. The source of all this potential happiness? I would be staying with my father while the renovations to my mother’s house, which had started during the summer, were finally completed.

But, much as I love my dad, it wasn’t the prospect of his company that filled me with joy. I was looking forward to a few weeks at my dad’s place because that meant that I would be able to see Nick every day. Nick lives in an apartment on the second floor of my dad’s building. My dad is his landlord. But, as is so often the case where Nick is involved, things did not go according to plan.

The morning of my first day with my father—also the first day of the school year—found me bending over in the park across the street from my dad’s building, hand thrust deep into a plastic bag so that I could pick up after Nick’s enormous black dog, Orion. The city’s poop-and-scoop law is one of the two reasons I have never wanted a dog. The other reason: a serious case of dog phobia brought on by a nasty bite when I was in elementary school.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: 2c1b73a35c4cc3c6
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 2,508,127 bytes (2.392 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• ISBN: 9781467709651, 9781467730525, 9781467730518
• Pages: 136
• Language: English (en)

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• Estimated Reading Time: 217.41 minutes
• Total Words: 43,483
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• Average Words per Page: 319.73
• Average Characters per Page: 1692.21

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