Searching for Yesterday: A Shelby Belgarden Mystery

By Valerie Sherrard

Commended for the 2009 Best Books for Kids & Teens

Annie Berkley, a schoolmate of Shelby’s who has appeared in previous books, lives in a foster home and has become depressed. Shelby is concerned and eventually wins over Annie’s trust in order to find out what’s bothering her.

Annie’s mother disappeared several years ago, leaving with her boyfriend when Annie was 8. she was never in touch with her daughter again. But now, the boyfriend has returned, saying that he lost touch with the mother and doesn’t know what happened to her.

Shelby suspects that something more sinister is going on, and as she digs through clues, discovers that the boyfriend knows far more about the mother’s whereabouts than he’s letting on. But the attempt to uncover secrets puts Shelby and Annie’s lives in danger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dundurn
• Release date: Jun 23, 2008
• ISBN: 9781554885992

Valerie Sherrard

Valerie Sherrard is the author of 12 previous novels for young people, including the Shelby Belgarden Mysteries, Watcher, Sarah's Legacy, Speechless, and her first historical novel, Three Million Acres of Flame. Her work has been shortlisted for numerous Canadian awards, including the Red Maple, White Pine, and Arthur Ellis Awards. She lives in Miramichi, New Brunswick.

Book preview

ways.

CHAPTER ONE

It’s funny how you can know someone pretty much your whole life, and then find out that you really don’t know that person at all. At least, you don’t know the things that really matter about them.

In a town as small as Little River, where the same people tend to be in the same places year after year and you see the same faces day after day, it starts to feel as though your whole world is familiar in a boring, nothing-ever-happens way.

Except it isn’t like that. Not really. It just seems that way.

There are always things going on behind the scenes, behind the faces, things that you’d never guess. People have secrets — some good, some dark and horrible.

Underneath the smooth surface of small-town life are both unseen kindnesses and hidden cruelties. Those human acts we never hear much about, and yet which occur on our streets and in our towns every day.

Displays of goodness. A box of groceries left anonymously for an impoverished family. A donor card signed to offer someone hope even at a time of terrible grief. Medical care paid to save an injured stray. Donations made of money and time and caring, unknown and un-applauded apart from the recipients.

But there is also evidence of malice. A child, mistreated and left to console himself. A cold heart turned away from a plea for help. A pregnant cat, dropped off on the roadside and left to face the birth of her kittens homeless and hungry. Heartless, hurtful acts of selfishness and spite. Outrages for which the culprits rarely face discovery or consequence.

The frightening thing is that you often can’t tell them apart — the good Samaritans and the evildoers.

There is so much we don’t know, so much that goes on behind what we see. Good fortune is celebrated and suffering is endured behind closed doors and closed faces.

I found out a little about this shortly after Christmas this year. There was still more than a week left in the winter break and my best friend Betts and I were planning a skating party on the Green Pond. That’s the best spot around here for outdoor skating. We’d called a bunch of kids from school — mostly our friends in grade eleven, but there were a few from other grades too.

Annie Berkley happened to be one of them. She’s a quiet girl who’s always struggling to lose weight. She has trouble fitting in with a group and tends to hang back when she’s someplace where there’s a crowd. Recently, she’d become even more reclusive than usual.

I made the call to Annie, and her foster mother, Pearl Norton, answered the phone. When I asked for Annie, she hesitated, then I heard low voices, which sounded like a whispered argument. After a silent pause, Annie finally came to the phone.

I could hear it in her throat when she said hello: that tight, strained sound of someone who’s trying to sound normal. So, of course, I was way too cheerful, trying to act like I didn’t notice anything.

I told her about the party, no doubt going way overboard with the enthusiasm. It was as if I had the idea that, if I could just make it sound like it was going to be the most fun ever, she wouldn’t be able to resist the invitation.

Yeah, well, thanks for letting me know, Annie said. If she had any enthusiasm for the idea, she managed to keep it well hidden.

So, you think you’ll come?

I might. Again, not even a hint of real interest.

I could tell that she was just saying what she had to say to get off the phone, and that she had absolutely no intention of going to the party. But that’s not the kind of thing you can confront someone about, is it?

Great, I said, feeling like an idiot for going along with the pretence. So, I’ll probably see you there.

Right.

I really hope ..., I started.

Listen, Shelby, I’ve gotta go, she said, cutting me off before I could say another word.

Then there was just a dial tone. I hung up the phone, feeling frustrated and, I might as well admit it, a bit insulted.

You’d think, I said to Betts, that she could make some kind of effort. After all, we did invite her. Most people just leave her alone.

"Most people know she wants to be left alone," Betts pointed out.

But that’s not good for her, I insisted. She needs to get out, do things, spend time with kids her own age. I mean, she hardly bothers with anyone at school, and she’s the only teenager at her foster home.

The Meyerton twins are there. They’re not that young, are they?

They’re only eleven! You just think they’re older because they’re so tall.

Whatever, Betts said. She’d clearly tired of the conversation. "Anyway, maybe she will come."

But I knew she wouldn’t. And sure enough when everyone had gathered, when the hotdogs and marshmallows were being roasted and skates were flashing along the ice, Annie was nowhere to be found.

I would have shrugged it off and figured if she wanted to be antisocial it wasn’t my problem, except for something I discovered through a quirk of fate.

You see, as it happened, my boyfriend Greg had a cold. About an hour or so into the skating party he started coughing and coughing and couldn’t get stopped. This went on until he was red-faced and doubled over.

I’m going to get you something for that, I told him. He tried to protest, but a new spasm hit him and I took that opportunity to haul off my skates, toss on my boots, and run up the bank to the road.

I hurried along the street toward the convenience store on a corner about five minutes away from the pond. And when I reached the corner, I saw something down the street that stopped me in my tracks.

It was Annie. Her back was to me as she trudged along, shoulders slumped and head down. I stood there with a horrible, sad feeling in my stomach as I watched her get farther away.

You see, hanging from her left hand was a pair of white figure skates. And I realized that she had come to the skating party — or at least, she’d tried to. I pictured her getting close enough to see all of the kids skating around, laughing and having a good time, and I knew somehow that she’d wanted to join in, but something had held her back.

It tore at my heart to think of her, overcome by shyness or insecurity, turning away and beginning the long walk home ... alone.

On my way back to the party, cough drops for Greg in my pocket, I got thinking about how long I’d known Annie and yet how little I knew her. It seemed that, instead of getting closer to anyone as time went by, she was putting up more and more defences. And right then and there I made up my mind that I was going to do everything I possibly could to befriend this sad, lonely girl.

CHAPTER TWO

It was the day after the skating party and I was standing on the front step of Annie’s foster home. There was no number on the house, but the mailbox said Lucas K. Norton in gold letters, so I knew it was the right place.

I shivered and tugged my jacket closer to me as I waited for someone to answer my knock. I could hear movement inside: vague noises that finally gave way to the more distinct sound of approaching footsteps.

Yes? A tall, thin man stood peering at me over eyeglasses that looked as if they might slide off the end of his nose any second.

Hi. I’m a friend of Annie’s. Is she home?

"Annie?" He sounded surprised, as though he wasn’t quite sure anyone by that name lived there.

Annie Berkley, I said, as if he needed her full name to recognize whom I meant.

Yes, Annie. He smiled. I was just a little surprised. She doesn’t have a lot of friends over. But come in. Come in.

I stepped into the hall, making sure I stayed on the mat inside the door.

Is Annie expecting you?

Not exactly. Even as the words came out of my mouth, I wondered what that actually meant! Is she, uh, busy?

I don’t really know. She spends a lot of time in her room. Let me get my wife to check for you, uh ...?

Shelby.

Okay. Just excuse me for a moment then, Shelby.

I watched as he took a few brisk strides along the hallway, stuck his head through a doorway, and spoke in hushed tones to someone there. Then he stepped back and a woman emerged from the room. She came toward me, stopping just a few feet away at the bottom of a staircase, tilted her head upward, and hollered, Aaa-nnie! There’s someone here to see you!

That accomplished, she turned to me with a warm smile. She’ll be right down, she said cheerfully. You must be a classmate of Annie’s, are you?

Yes ma’am.

Oh, never you mind that ma’am’ business! Makes me feel old. You just call me Pearl."

Okay, I said, wondering if I should have added, Pearl. It didn’t quite seem called for. I smiled instead, feeling awkward and wishing Annie would hurry up and come downstairs.

So, Lucas tells me your name is Shelby.

Yes, m... uh, yes, it is. Shelby Belgarden.

You’re not Darlene Belgarden’s daughter, are you? Pearl peered more closely, as if the answer was on my forehead. It strikes me as odd when someone says you’re not such-and-such a person. Makes it feel kind of strange to say yes you are, like you’re contradicting them or something.

Yes, I am, I said.

Well, small world! Pearl said. I knew your mother in high school. Only, I was Pearl Somerville back then.

I smiled politely. Where was Annie?

And then I saw her. She’d made her way to the top of the stairs and was looking down, but she made no move to actually descend the steps.

Hi, Annie! I called. I gave a little wave.

Shelby. Her shoulders sagged ever so slightly. Made me feel enormously welcome. What do you want?

I, uh ...

Annie, honey, come on down here. You can’t expect your friend to shout back and forth, now, can you?

Annie obeyed, but she dragged her feet and looked so glum that I felt like telling her not to put herself out, I’d be happy to leave her to her misery.

Luckily, with her foster parents standing there, I couldn’t do that, so I just waited, feeling foolish, almost wishing I hadn’t bothered to go there and wondering how soon I could politely make my escape.

It’s really nice to have met you, Shelby, Pearl Norton said. You come back again anytime.

Then she and her husband faded off down the hall and into another room as Annie reached the bottom step.

Uh, did you want something? Annie said. There was no spark in her eyes and her face looked sad and empty. I was instantly reminded of why I’d come, and I resolved to do the best I could to be a friend to her.

I was just wondering if you were doing anything this afternoon.

Not really.

Great! I said, forcing a smile onto my face. Maybe we can hang out then, since you’re not busy.

You mean, here?

I didn’t, of course. I wasn’t in the habit of showing up at someone’s door and inviting myself in. But Annie’s face told me that trying to persuade her to go somewhere else wasn’t likely to be an easy task.

Wherever you like, I told her. Here, or my place ...

My room’s kind of messy, she said, but I thought she looked just a little bit pleased.

Mine too, I said. "It’s pretty well always messy, except when my mom gets on my case."

Yeah, Pearl does that sometimes too. A faint smile. You can tell that she can’t take it anymore when she asks if you need a shovel to clean up.

My mom’s not nearly that subtle, I said, which got another smile from her. "She yells and uses words like barn and pigpen and goes on about how she can’t believe any young lady would let her room get into such a state. And on and on. I think it’s probably PMS."

Well, come on upstairs then, Annie said. Judging from that, it sounds like my room is probably in better shape than yours.

No doubt. I followed her up the stairs feeling really good. After the initial resistance, it looked as though Annie had warmed to the idea of a friend visiting.

As we made our way into her room (which, while a bit untidy, wasn’t nearly as messy as mine) I wondered if we’d find anything to talk about.

Turns out that was the least of my worries.

CHAPTER THREE

The first ten or fifteen minutes were a bit awkward. It felt like Annie was responding to everything I said with as few words as possible, though I don’t think it was deliberate. It didn’t take long until I was feeling the strain of trying to keep a conversation going pretty much on my own.

Things took a turn when I asked her how long she’d been living with the Norton family.

Almost three years, she said. "It’s pretty much the best

Reviews for Searching for Yesterday

[delmas_coulee · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

This book was like an overbearing parent talking to a sixteen year old. Don't do this, don't do that, see I told you something bad would happen. The language is unbelievable - really what girl in grade eleven would call a boy "yucky"? If the characters had been more believable the story line was good but Shelby was just not believable. She is a casestudy in oxymorons (with no flaws of course). The ending of the book wrapped up the messy bits in a happy ending, again, just not believable. I have not read the first Shelby Belgarden book and I won't be reading it or any others.