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Stay Out of the Basement, Chapter 12

“Go ahead. You’ll like it,” Dr. Brewer insisted, leaning over the table.

Casey watched as Margaret raised the spoon to her lips.

The doorbell rang.

“Who could that be?” Dr. Brewer asked, very annoyed at the interruption. “I’ll be right back, kids.” He lumbered out to the front hall.

“Saved by the bell,” Margaret said, dropping the spoon back into the bowl with a sickening plop.

“This stuff is disgusting,” Casey whispered. “It’s some kind of plant food or something. Yuck!”

“Quick—” Margaret said, jumping up and grabbing the two bowls. “Help me.”

They rushed to the sink, pulled out the waste-basket, and scooped the contents of both bowls into the garbage. Then they carried both bowls back to the table and set them down beside the spoons.

“Let’s go see who’s at the door,” Casey said.

They crept into the hall in time to see a man carrying a black briefcase step into the front entranceway and greet their father with a short handshake. The man had a tanned bald head and was wearing large, blue-lensed sunglasses. He had a brown mustache and was wearing a navy blue suit with a red-and-white striped tie.

“Mr. Martinez!” their father exclaimed. “What a… surprise.”

“That’s Dad’s old boss from PolyTech,” Margaret whispered to Casey.

“I know ,” Casey replied peevishly.

“I said weeks ago I’d come check up on how your work is coming along,” Martinez said, sniffing the air for some reason. “Wellington gave me a lift. My car is in the garage—for a change.”

“Well, I’m not really ready,” Dr. Brewer stammered, looking very uncomfortable even from Margaret’s vantage point behind him. “I wasn’t expecting anyone. I mean… I don’t think this is a good time.”

“No problem. I’ll just have a quick look,” Martinez said, putting a hand on Dr. Brewer’s shoulder as if to calm him. “I’ve always been so interested in your work. You know that. And you know that it wasn’t my idea to let you go. The board forced me. They gave me no choice. But I’m not giving up on you. I promise you that. Come on. Let’s see what kind of progress you’re making.”

“Well…” Dr. Brewer couldn’t hide his displeasure at Mr. Martinez’s surprise appearance. He scowled and tried to block the path to the basement steps.

At least, it seemed that way to Margaret, who watched silently beside her brother.

Mr. Martinez stepped past Dr. Brewer and pulled open the basement door. “Hi, guys.” Mr. Martinez gave the two kids a wave, hoisting his briefcase as if it weighed two tons.

Their father looked surprised to see them there. “Did you kids finish your lunch?”

“Yeah, it was pretty good,” Casey lied.

The answer seemed to please Dr. Brewer. Adjusting the brim of his Dodgers cap, he followed Mr. Martinez into the basement, carefully closing and locking the door behind him.

“Maybe he’ll give Dad his job back,” Casey said, walking back into the kitchen. He pulled open the refrigerator to look for something for lunch.

“Don’t be stupid,” Margaret said, reaching over him to pull out a container of egg salad. “If Dad really is growing plants that are part animal, he’ll be famous. He won’t need a job.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Casey said thoughtfully. “Is that all there is? Just egg salad?”

“I’ll make you a sandwich,” Margaret offered.

“I’m not really hungry,” Casey replied. “That green stuff made me sick. Why do you think he wanted us to eat it?”

“I don’t know,” Margaret said. She put a hand on Casey’s slender shoulder. “I’m really scared, Casey. I wish Mom were home.”

“Me, too,” he said quietly.

Margaret put the egg salad back into the refrigerator. She closed the door, then leaned her hot forehead against it. “Casey—”

“What?”

“Do you think Dad is telling us the truth?”

“About what?”

“About anything ?”

“I don’t know,” Casey said, shaking his head. Then his expression suddenly changed. “There’s one way to find out,” he said, his eyes lighting up.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Margaret pushed herself away from the refrigerator.

“The first chance we get, the first time Dad is away,” Casey whispered, “let’s go back down in the basement and see for ourselves what Dad is doing.”