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police have something better to do than worry about this kind of garbage?”
    â€œYes, I guess so.”
    â€œGood. Now go back and do all those important things that you maintenance people do like pick up some trash or fiddle with your thumbs. I'm going home. And, Clyde?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œRemember, this park is done. Consider this your two-day notice.”
    â€œYou were right,” Gwen declares as Snodgrass ambles back toward the parking lot. “Thanks for covering for me.”
    â€œDon't mention it.” Clyde peers at the backside of the departing Snodgrass. It takes all of Clyde's reserve not to tackle the man right then and there. He stews, His flippant attitude about the closing is one thing. What does he have to worry about? After all, his rich daddy, Art Snodgrass, CEO of Newcastle, Inc., will probably give him some cushy job. But the fact that he does not even care enough to step in and at least check out the disappearance is revolting. Howard Snodgrass has never cared about the park or its guests, and that, at least to Clyde, is a major reason the park is closing.

Chapter 9
    â€œYou have got to be kidding, Jack.” Mason says. His irritation coming through the phone is more than justifiable. “This just won't do—no, not at all. We're leaving in like an hour.”
    â€œI know, I know. But I'm really up the creek here. Look, I blew it this time. How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?”
    â€œJack, what about our plan? The three of us, taking a keepsake from the Enchanted Forrest. There has to be a way you can get out of this.”
    â€œDude, I'm stuck here. I'm just as hacked as you are. You two will just have to go without me. Other than sneaking out tonight, I really have no other options. My mom is not going to give.”
    â€œThat's a good idea!”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œSneak out.”
    â€œOh…I don't know, Mason. I'm already in the doghouse.”
    â€œBut it's our last night at the park—your park.”
    â€œSneaking out? That's about as bad as it gets. If I get caught, I may be grounded forever.”
    â€œDon't get caught. Jack, how late do your parents stay out at the Zuckerman's?”
    â€œOh, I don't know, around 10, but sometimes later.”
    â€œOkay, that's it. We simply get you home by 9:30.”
    â€œMy folks leave around 5. How am I supposed to get over to the park? I can't ride my bike—that would take over an hour.”
    â€œLook I will come to your house around 5:15. I'll call Scotty and tell him we are coming to his house to hitch a ride. We can ride our bikes over there in less than ten minutes. The Carnahans will have no clue you're sneaking out. It's perfect.”
    Jack thinks, You do want this really bad. It's worth the risk.
    A feeble,“Okay,” escapes from Jack's mouth before he can second-guess the heavy decision.
    â€œGood, Jack, see you then. You won't regret this.”
    He's right, Jack says to himself, Everything will work out fine…I hope.
    For the next hour, Jack whirls about his room in quiet preparation. In order for this to go smoothly, he has to account for Blair. She would be lurking around the house, and if she got the slightest notion of his plan, he would be busted.
    Years ago, there had been no sibling rivalry. There are scrapbooks filled with happy pictures that bare proof. One shows Blair, age five, holding little Jack. Another is a shot of them as small children with paint-covered faces, grinning at the camera. And another has Blair, age nine, and Jack, age seven, standing in three inches of snow, proud of a four-foot snowman built with themselves. But those photos, those happy memories, are mere shadows of the past. The rivalry and hostility began the instant Blair turned 12.
    It was an elaborate party. Wallace and Brenna had gone all-out with cake, balloons, family, and friends, all filling the Braddock living room. Brenna had even given Blair a