Matt would like nothing more than to forget the corpse that he and his best friend Parker found in Indian Creek. But Parker is convinced that his mother's new boyfriend, Mr. Evans, has something to do with the dead man's death. Against his better judgment, Matt accompanies Parker on an investigation of Evans's antique store, where the boys unearth evidence that Evans is involved in a cocaine ring. But before the pair can report their findings to the police, gang members are hot on their trail. Thus begins a hair-raising chase that winds through the town's Halloween parade and finishes in the boys' secret hideout. Thanks to the help of a classmate and the dubious efforts of two bratty kid sisters, Parker and Matt outwit the villains and bring them to justice. A combination of crackling language and plenty of suspense, this fast-paced yarn is likely to appeal to even the most reluctant readers. Ages 9-13. (Mar.)
The Dead Man in Indian Creek
Narrated by Pete Cross
Mary Downing HahnUnabridged — 2 hours, 58 minutes
The Dead Man in Indian Creek
Narrated by Pete Cross
Mary Downing HahnUnabridged — 2 hours, 58 minutes
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Overview
Editorial Reviews
Gr 5-7 --Parker and Matt decide to camp out one last time before the weather turns too cold--and stumble upon a dead man. Parker swears he saw George Evans (his widowed mother's boyfriend and his least favorite person) at the scene of the crime. So begins a bumpy, peril-laden adventure. The boys spy out a cocaine ring in which Parker's mother and George are involved; a thug kidnaps everyone. Rescue comes when Parker's dog corners the thug and Matt's little sister pushes a doll carriage with a cocaine-packed doll through a Halloween parade into the police station. There's more than enough action, and Hahn's effortless mastery of kids' dialogue makes this an easy read. But there are illogical gaps: Why is Parker's mother, previously loving, so remote? How likely is it that 12-year-olds go camping alone? Why is it that Matt's flagging self-image shows little repair after such heroics? At the conclusion, when all of the drug traffickers are apprehended and Parker's mother is hospitalized and awaiting charges, Matt assures Parker: ``Whatever happens, my mom says you're staying with us.'' Readers will find this less than reassuring. With the abundance of good juvenile who-done-its available, this one is dead in the water. --Carolyn Noah, Worcester Public Library, MA
"Good, well-constructed entertainment." —Kirkus Reviews —
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940176305166 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Dreamscape Media |
| Publication date: | 02/04/2021 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
| Age Range: | 8 - 11 Years |
Read an Excerpt
Chapter One
If Parker Pattengill hadn't wanted to go camping, we never would have found the dead man in Indian Creek, and, believe me, we would have been a whole lot better off. But isn't that the way it always is? You look back on some little decision you made and realize all the things that happened because of it, and you think to yourself "if only I'd known," but, of course, you couldn't have known.
Anyway, there Parker and I were, sitting on my back porch one Saturday afternoon, enjoying the sunshine as we watched the leaves slowly fall through the quiet October air. It was Indian summer, and the day was so warm and lazy I could have sat there forever.
But not Parker. Lately he'd been edgy and restless, always wanting to go somewhere, meet somebody, do something. If we stayed in the same place for more than five minutes, he'd start drumming his fingers on tabletops or tapping his foot or biting his fingernails.
Nervous energy, my mother called it, but he wore me out.
"Hey, you know what we should do?" he said.
"Nothing," I said, and I meant it. I was perfectly content just feeling the sun warm my back and smelling something that might be brownies baking in the oven.
"No, seriously, Armentrout." Parker poked me in the arm, just hard enough to hurt. Since we started junior high school, he's been calling me by my last name; I guess he thinks it sounds cool and sophisticated, but it kind of gives me a pain. I mean I've been answering to Matt or Matthew all my life, but now all of a sudden it's Armentrout this and Armentrout that, and it takes getting used to.
"Let's camp out tonight," Parker went on. "This might be thelast good weekend."
His straight blond hair was hanging in his eyes, his bony knees were poking out of the holes in his jeans, and he had the eager look on his face he always gets when he's excited about something. I often see the same expression on his dog Otis's face when he's begging for a walk.
"Where do you want to go?" I asked, unable to fuse the slightest bit of enthusiasm into my voice.
"How about Indian Creek? It's still warm enough for swimming, and we could fish in the morning. We might even see that blue heron again." He gave me another little punch. "Come on, what do you say?"
Well, I wasn't really in the mood to pack up my camping gear and ride my bike eight miles out of town and who knows how far down the creek. But no matter what I said, Parker kept insisting, and finally I gave in. He was, as my parents often pointed out, a natural-born leader, and I was a natural-born follower.
I went into the house to tell my mother about Parker's and my plans, but she was too busy making a bunch of little bread-dough Christmas tree ornaments to pay me much attention. She only had a couple of weeks to get ready for the Woodcroft Fall Festival, and she was counting on her sales to bring in extra money for Christmas shopping.
What I'd thought were brownies baking in the oven were more ornaments, so I took a handful of cookies out of a box and poured glasses of milk for Parker and me. After a while, I cleared my throat and said,"Mom, Parker and I are camping out at Indian Creek. Okay? "
She looked up from the bread dough and frowned. "Overnight, Matthew?"
I knew what Mom was thinking. She always worries I'll get into trouble under Parker's influence. According to her, his mother, Pam, doesn't keep a close enough eye on him. It's true that Parker spends a lot of time alone, but it isn't his mother's fault. His father was killed in a car crash when Parker was a baby, and she has to work. So what if she goes out at night and
leaves Parker home by himself once in a while? No matter what Mom thinks, Parker doesn't take advantage of it.
"We want to go one more time," I said, "while it's still so nice and warm and all." I munched a cookie and waited for Mom to answer. I was kind of hoping she'd say no and save me all the trouble of getting the tent, an old K-mart special, out of the attic.
But you know how parents are -- if I'd been dying to go, she would have said no, but since I wasn't all that hot on it, she said yes.
Then she had to add, "The exercise, would do you good."
That made Parker laugh. For some reason, he and I are developing at very different rates. A year or two ago, we were about the same size, but now that we're twelve, Parker is getting taller and leaner every day, and I seem to be staying the same height but getting rounder. I've even developed this awful little spare tire around my waist like a middle-aged man, and I sure didn't appreciate Mom's drawing Parker's attention to it.
Leaving Parker with Mom, I got the tent out of the attic. Then I threw some stuff in my backpack. On my way to the kitchen, I had the bad luck to pass my little sister Charity in the hall. If ever a kid was misnamed, Charity was. At the sight of me, she and her friend Tiffany started cackling like chickens in a barn.
"Fatty, fatty two by four," they chanted. "Can't get through the kitchen door!"
I paused and glared down at her. Should I care what a couple of six-year-old twits said? "Stupid," I muttered.
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