SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2 Read Free Page B

back and hurried to stand in the doorway, listening.
    Mom’s voice floated upstairs. Ashley Horton was on the line. “Take the call in Skip’s room if you’d like,” she suggested.
    I hurried down the hall to my brother’s vacant bedroom. “Hello?” I said as I picked up the portable phone and sat on his bed.
    “Hi, Merry. I was wondering about that photography contest at school. I suppose you’re going to enter.” It was almost a question, but not quite.
    “Well, yes. I plan to.”
    “I thought maybe you could give me some ideas for subject matter—you know, the types of scenery or things that took first place other years.”
    Was this girl for real?
    “Well, I suppose there are lots of things you could do,” I said, trying not to patronize or give away any of my own genius ideas.
    “Could you give me some examples of shots that might be winning photos?” she asked.
    “Oh, sure…things like windmills and Amish settings. White dairy barns might be a good choice, or rustic tobacco sheds. Let your imagination go. But watch your lighting, depth perception, things like that. Since photos taken with digital cameras aren’t allowed, you won’t know what you’ve got until after you’ve developed your film.”
    “Oh, Merry, those are such good ideas!” she gushed. “Thank you so much.”
    “It was nothing.” Then remembering about an important taboo, I warned, “Be careful around the Amish. They don’t want to be photographed, so I wouldn’t advise flaunting a camera in front of them.”
    “Aw, but they’re so adorable in those cute long dresses and aprons. Those black felt hats the men wear…and their long beards.”
    Oh please , I thought. I don’t believe this!
    “Whatever you do, Ashley, if you care anything about the Amish people, you won’t sneak shots of them.”
    “So you really think taking pictures of Plain people is a problem?” She sounded as if she was speaking alliteration-eze.
    I wanted to make her promise not to offend the Amish that way. “Please, don’t do it, Ashley. I’m serious.”
    That seemed to subdue her. “All right,” she said. “But I guess I don’t understand.”
    Ashley and her family had moved here last year from somewhere north of Denver, Colorado. Naturally, they wouldn’t know much about Amish tradition.
    I explained. “If you want to know the reason why they don’t approve of having their pictures taken, read the Ten Commandments—Exodus twenty, verse four. They take the verse literally. We’ll talk more tomorrow at school.”
    “Okay. And thanks again very much. You’ve been a big help.”
    “See ya.” I hung up.
    I could imagine Ashley rushing off to her father’s study at their parsonage to look up the Bible verse this very instant. That was Ashley.
    I hoped I’d convinced her to keep her camera lens away from the Amish. It’s strange how people often want to do the very thing they’re told not to do. Must be human nature.
    Anyway, as I headed back to my own room, I decided to make a list of my top-five favorite scenes to photograph in SummerHill by tomorrow.
    Tomorrow…
    Chelsea and I would search for clues at her house tomorrow. I hoped that if there were any, they’d lead us to her mother.
    And tomorrow evening Skip was coming home.
    I hurried downstairs to gather up my brood of cats for the night. Skip despised my pets. “Maybe if they weren’t ordinary alley cats, I’d feel differently,” he’d told me once.
    But I knew better. The real reason he resented my precious, purry critters was his snobbish mentality. Skip wished I’d be more selective about my pets. Stray cats—stray anything—disgusted him. For a person studying to become a medical doctor, his nose-in-the-air approach to life didn’t fit. Not in my opinion.
    Downstairs, I picked up Lily White and cuddled her as I opened the back door. “Come to beddy-bye, little boys,” I called out into the night.
    Shadrach and Meshach came running. They were only slightly