Adam Canfield of the Slash (11 page)

“How much was there?” said Adam.

“Nearly half a million dollars,” said Mrs. Willard, and glancing at Adam’s face, she added, “Knocked my socks off, too.”

He wanted to know how Miss Bloch had picked the charities.

“As best I can tell, most were just places that helped out when she needed them. She left money to the Tremble rescue squad — they took her to the hospital a bunch of times. The volunteer fire department pumped out her basement after a flood. Nurses at the hospital named in Minnie’s will were kind when her brother was dying. The animal shelter —”

“That one I know,” said Adam. “How about Harris?”

“Well,” said Mrs. Willard, “Minnie had very peculiar ideas about the schools. Since she had no kids, I think all she knew was what she saw on the TV news — teenage suicide, drugs, eating disorders, bomb threats, sexual diseases, guns in the classrooms. She used to say to me, ‘Betty, it’s a miracle those children get out of high school alive.’”

Mrs. Willard believed that Miss Bloch had picked Harris because Mrs. Willard’s two children — both now grown and moved away — had gone there years ago.

By now Adam was on his second notepad, scribbling a mile a minute.

“What’s that, pharmacy writing?” asked Mrs. Willard. “You take shorthand?”

“Just my own scribble,” said Adam.

“You can read that?” asked Mrs. Willard. “I’m getting wore out just watching you. Any more questions? I got errands to run.”

This made Adam nervous. He had been holding the most important questions for last and now worried he might miss his chance.

“Just a few,” he said, trying to sound casual. He wondered if Mrs. Willard happened to remember how much Miss Bloch left to Harris.

“I believe it was seventy-five thousand dollars,” she said.

He wondered if Miss Bloch happened to have included instructions in the will about how the money should be spent.

“My memory is she left it a little general,” said Mrs. Willard. “Guess she didn’t want to restrict things too much. The will said something about using the money to generally improve the life of deserving children who do not have an easy time of it. To be honest, I think Minnie was thinking of someone like herself when she was a girl.”

“The money was supposed to be spent on kids?” Adam asked.

“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Willard. “Definitely for kids. That was the whole idea.”

Adam needed to see that will. He asked for the lawyer’s name.

“I should have his card here,” she said, digging through the pile. “Nice old man. Jewish fellar, I think.” She found it, and Adam copied down the name and number.

“One more thing,” said Mrs. Willard. “Minnie wanted people to know in some little way that the money was from her. Nothing big or showy. But the will says something about giving her recognition — you know, a plaque or a scholarship named for her.”

“Or a story in the newspaper?” asked Adam.

Mrs. Willard paused. “I didn’t think of that,” she said. “But, yes, I guess a story in the paper about Minnie’s gift would cover it. That why you’re here?”

“Yes and no,” said Adam. “Yes and no.”

Adam couldn’t wait to tell Jennifer all the great stuff he’d found out about Minnie Bloch, but he was getting nowhere with the Herbs. It wasn’t from lack of trying. They had become a daily item on his To Do list:

Whenever he called and it was a man, he was sure it was a Herb. But each time, those men, they denied being Herbs. Adam was keeping a tally sheet. Three times he had “just missed them.” Four times they were in a meeting. Twice they were on their way in from the field. More than once Adam had asked if there wasn’t someone beside a Herb who could help him. “There has to be somebody in a big place like Code Enforcement who could answer one simple question,” Adam had said.

“Oh no, honey,” the woman had replied. “One thing you learn when you devote your life to code enforcement: nothing is simple. But listen, you keep trying. I recognize your voice. You’re one of our regulars. You’ve been close several times. I have a good feeling about this; I think it’s going to happen for you.”

And then Adam hit pay dirt. He was up early Monday — his before-school/after-school voluntary/mandatory that day was before school. He hit auto dial. The phone rang once.

“Yeah,” a man’s voice said.

“Herb Green!” said Adam, trying to sound like a long-lost friend.

“The one and only,” said Herb Green.

Adam could not believe his good luck. He’d almost guessed Herb Black.

“Adam Canfield here,” said Adam, determined not to miss a beat. “Herb, just had a quick question for you on this new deal on accessory structures in the front half of housing lots — 200-52.7A.” There was quiet on the other end, but Adam was not about to allow Herb Green any wiggle room. “Wanted to know what sort of structures you’ll be applying that to, Herb.”

More quiet. “I know you’re the man they look to for interpretations of the law,” continued Adam. “And I know accessory structures are your specialty. Just wanted to see where we’re heading on this one, Herb.”

Adam wouldn’t let himself exhale; he didn’t want to miss a syllable of anything Herb Green said.

And then Herb Green began, speaking slowly and carefully. “It’s true, accessory structures are my specialty,” he said. “And it’s true I do handle
some
code interpretations. But unfortunately, the accessory structure code is not a code interpretation I handle.”

Adam could not believe it. This wasn’t fair. He had played by the rules, caught a Herb, and now that Herb was trying to squirm free. Adam was losing strength for this. All the juice was going out of him. “Who would that person be?” said Adam quietly.

“Herb Black,” said Herb Green.

“Let me guess,” said Adam. “Herb Black is in a meeting.”

“No, he’s not,” said Herb Green.

“I just missed him,” said Adam.

“No,” said Herb Green.

“Out in the field?” said Adam.

“No, he’s right here,” said Herb Green. “Want to talk to him?”

“Well, yes,” said Adam. “That would be nice.”

“Hang on,” said Herb Green. “I’m going to put you on hold a second and have Herb Black pick up.”

Adam felt exhilarated. At last. It just took persistence. All the great reporters had it. These Herbs, they didn’t seem like such awful guys after all, probably just overworked. He felt bad for prejudging them.

Adam waited. The phone at Code Enforcement played music while he held. It was a radio station, Q-104, the Dove. His grandmother’s favorite. Hard listening for Adam. Something called “Muskrat Love” was on. A minute passed, then two. A new song came on. Something called “We’ve Only Just Begun.” Even harder listening. Five minutes passed. Suddenly the music stopped. The line went quiet. Adam tensed. This was it.

There was a dial tone. A dial tone! Was this some kind of sick joke? He frantically pressed redial. The phone rang five times. Adam kept thinking, Pick up, pick up. A recording came on. The Code Enforcement office was closed, the recording said, please call back during nine-to-five business hours.

Even from across the lunchroom, Jennifer could see Adam was in a foul mood. He looked like a character in the comics with three little dots over his head and a black cloud where his thought bubble should be. He’d placed his baritone case on the lunch table in front of him, so it looked like he was sitting behind the Great Wall of China. When Jennifer took a seat across from him, he was totally hidden from view.

“Like some company?” she asked, sliding his baritone case just enough to peek at him.

He didn’t look up. She pulled out a straw, figured hitting him with a spitball might cheer him up, but then thought better of it. “You OK?” she asked.

No response.

“How’s lunch?” she tried.

“I don’t know!” Adam barked. “I can’t tell what it is.”

“Boy, what’s wrong?” she said. “You are in a rotten mood.”

“It’s the Herbs,” he said. “They’re driving me crazy. I hate them! It’s like I’m having an allergic reaction to the Herbs.”

“Well, then don’t eat that stuff; we can split my lunch,” she said. She glanced at his tray. It appeared to be something with noodles, maybe beef goulash supreme. “They overdo the sauce,” said Jennifer. “They coat that stuff in herbs just so they can call it goulash
supreme.
”

Adam picked up his plate, and for a moment, Jennifer thought he might crack it over her head, but instead he wagged it at her. “Not these herbs!” he yelled, noodling his finger through the goulash. “The code enforcement Herbs! The accessory structure Herbs! The 200-52.7A Herbs! The basketball hoop Herbs!”

“Shhh,” she whispered, trying to calm him down. Kids were staring. “I’m sorry,” said Jennifer. “I didn’t know you meant Herbs with a capital
H.
”

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve called those Herbs with a capital
H
?” said Adam. “I’ll tell you exactly.” He unzipped his backpack and yanked out a piece of paper. Pistachio nutshells went flying everywhere. He held up his tally sheet documenting each attempt to get hold of the Herbs.

“You’re wasting your time,” Jennifer said softly.

“Wasting my time?” said Adam. “Listen, babe-o, this was your story. You’re the one with the lawyer daddy who knows all about zoning . . .”

Babe-o
? thought Jennifer. He was calling her
babe-o
? Normally Jennifer would not take
babe-o
from Adam, but she could see the boy was in pain and she needed to get him back on track. “It’s a great story,” she said. “But we’re not going to get it over the phone. You’re just kidding yourself, making all those calls.”

Adam slumped in his seat like a goulash noodle.

“They’re dodging you,” Jennifer continued. “You think the Herbs want to give notice to every kid in Tremble that the hoops are coming down? They’ll have a riot on their hands. We just have to go to their office in the county building. They’re public officials. We are the public. They have to talk to us. We just have to catch them first. We are going to have to park ourselves in their office until they show up. That’s how Woodward and Bernstein did it.”

“Who’s Woodward Ann Bernstein?” Adam asked glumly.

“Famous investigative reporter team for the
Washington Post,
” said Jennifer. “Their Watergate stories forced Richard Nixon to resign as president.”

“Great,” said Adam. “Only one trouble. I bet they didn’t have before-school/after-school voluntary/mandatory. I bet they’re not in jazz band or Odyssey of the Mind or Geography Challenge or —”

“I know when we can do it,” said Jennifer.

Adam unfolded a thick pack of stapled papers. “Have you looked at this list Mr. Landmass gave us to memorize for the geography tournament?” he asked. “I’m still in the
E
’s. I don’t know where Eritrea is.”

“Northern Africa,” said Jennifer.

“I don’t know where Ernakulam is,” said Adam.

“Southern India,” said Jennifer.

“I didn’t even know the Erzgebirge were mountains,” said Adam.

“On the German-Czech border,” said Jennifer. “Relax. We’ll study together. We can do it on the bus to the county building.”

“When?” asked Adam.

Jennifer reminded him there was a half day of school later that week for teacher training workshops. Adam looked away. He’d been hoping to spend the day putting together a bunch of kids for a huge game of manhunt on his street. A rare unprogrammed day of fun. “I’ve never ridden the bus,” Adam mumbled.

Jennifer had. Several times. “My live-in baby-sitter used to take me,” she said. “We’d go to the mall. The N-7. You pick it up at Phil & Sol’s Citgo. You transfer to the N-24. Goes right by the county buildings on the way to the mall. It’s slow but kind of neat. I loved it when I was little. It’s like a secret world. You know who rides the bus? People you don’t normally notice. Nannies, cleaning ladies, the dry-cleaner workers —”

“Jewelry polishers,” Adam said.

“Sure,” said Jennifer. “And it’s like, they act different when they’re together, like a mask comes off and you see the people they actually are. Kind of like Phoebe’s story on Eddie the janitor.”

“Kind of like Miss Minnie Bloch,” said Adam.

Jennifer gave him a funny look. “No,” she said. “Rich people don’t ride the bus.”

“Minnie Bloch did,” Adam said.

And he began to tell Jennifer about Miss Bloch and her gift to Harris.

There was so much to tell, he fed it to her in installments, finishing after school, in 306. For a long while, Jennifer was quiet. “Boy, you were right,” she finally said. “There was a lot more to it. What do you think Marris did with the seventy-five thousand dollars?”

Adam shook his head. “Don’t know,” he said. He’d been wondering about that a lot. The Willows lady was so sure the money was supposed to be for kids, but Adam could not think of any new kid project at Harris. Maybe Marris had quietly created a scholarship for deserving students, but if so, why hadn’t she said something during their interview in the Bunker? Wouldn’t she want kids to know so they could apply? A scholarship would be just the thing Marris would make a big deal about.