Sammy Keyes and the Skeleton Man (13 page)

Well it
did
seem a little strange to me, but to tell you the truth I didn’t spend much time thinking about it. I had other things on my mind. Like the Borsch-man and the Bush Man.

And exactly what I should stuff into my backpack, so that after dinner I could get to work nailing Heather Acosta with her own lie.

TWELVE    

You’d think that with the monitor under her bed and all, it would have been easy to catch Heather in the Lie, but it wasn’t. First of all I had to get a tape recorder. Grams didn’t have one, and I didn’t really want to borrow Marissa’s. It’s about the size of an ice chest and has detachable speakers—not exactly made for covert operations.

Besides, Marissa couldn’t even go. Her mom was making her and Mikey go out to the Landmark for dinner so she could show off to some new clients how her kids knew which one of the fourteen forks to use when. I can see taking Marissa, but Mikey? He’ll be shooting peas across the room and tripping the guy with the dessert tray before anyone’s salted their filet mignon.

Dot couldn’t go, either, so I didn’t even bother to ask her about a tape recorder. I asked Hudson.

The trouble with asking Hudson was that I had to do it in front of Grams. And even though she understood about Heather, I really didn’t think Grams would let me do what I was planning to do.

Sure enough, she asked, “What do you need with a tape recorder?”

I kind of smiled at her and said, “It’s for a research project, Grams.” It sounded good to me.

She didn’t buy it. “Research? For what?”

“For school, Grams. I need it for school.”

I could tell the next question was going to be, For what
class?
but Hudson came to my rescue. “You bet I have one. What kind do you need?”

“It doesn’t really matter. Anything that works.”

He takes me into his study and starts pulling recorders out of a drawer. “I’ve got micro, standard, reel-to-reel …”—and before you know it, his desk is covered with tape recorders and cords and little microphones. He stops and looks at me. “You, ah, probably don’t want to be encumbered by a power cord, am I right?”

My mouth gives me away with a little smile.

“Perhaps size is an issue?”

“It can’t be
too
big.”

He nods like he knows exactly what I’m going to be doing with his tape recorder, and as I watch him I get the feeling that Hudson has all these recording devices not so he can listen to music or seminars, but because he’s spent a lot of time
spying
on people.

And I’m about to ask him if that
is
why he has so many recorders, but a little corner of my brain is telling me that if I ask him, he’ll turn right around and ask
me
. So, when he hands me a tape recorder that’s not much bigger than a bar of soap and says, “This one should do the trick,” I take it and say, “It’s perfect!”

He digs through another drawer until he finds a tape, then says, “You’ll be needing some fresh batteries, too. Let me see what I’ve got.” He disappears and comes back a minute later with two AA cells and then assembles the recorder for me. He
hands it over with a twinkle in his eye. “The perfect research implement. And now, how about a piece of pecan pie?”

I ate my pie in two seconds flat. And while Grams and Hudson are chatting and nibbling on theirs, I’m playing with the recorder, getting used to pushing the right buttons without looking. The last thing I want is to be in the dark pushing the
wrong
buttons when Heather’s in the middle of pretending to be me.

After dessert Hudson says, “You know, it’s a beautiful night out. Why don’t we all go for a walk?”

I say, “I can’t. I’ve got to get going on my research, but you go ahead.”

Grams gives me a worried look. “But—”

I say, “Don’t worry, Grams. I’ll be fine. I’ll just see you back at home later, okay?”

“You still haven’t told me what this research is for, Samantha.”

“For school, Grams!”

Hudson interrupts Grams before her next question even starts. “Sammy seems like a very responsible young lady to me. I think we should let her do her research, and I think you should join me in an evening constitutional. It always does me good, and I’d sure enjoy the company.”

Grams studies us for a second, then nods and says, “Well, at least you’re doing homework. I was beginning to wonder if they weren’t assigning any, or if you just weren’t doing it.”

It was true. I hadn’t spent any time doing homework in days. But I couldn’t exactly go home and crack the books now. I had real work to do! So I just said, “See you soon,”
gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and hurried out the door.

It
was
a nice night out. It was clear, and the moon was like a little white saucer up there, trying to scoop up stars. I kept looking up at it as I walked, and it almost felt like I had company on my way to Heather’s house.

The minute I got to the row of oleander bushes by Heather’s fence, I took a quick look around, then dived right in.

If Grams had seen me do this, she would’ve had a fit. Not just because I was hiding in someone else’s bushes, but because the bushes I was hiding in were poisonous. Not poisonous like poison oak or something; poisonous like wild mushrooms, where if you
eat them
, you’ll be more than sorry.

I wasn’t planning to snack on oleander, though, so it didn’t bother me a bit. I just looked around for signs of anyone else nearby, and when I was sure I was alone, I scooted along the fence until I was behind a bush near Heather’s window.

I pulled the monitor out of the backpack and turned it on. I played with the volume a bit, then took out the tape recorder and tested it a couple of times just to make sure it was working right. Then I huddled up and waited.

And waited and waited and waited. And let me tell you, in no time I’m
cold
. And after about an hour I’m shivering, my teeth are chattering, and inside my green shoes my toes are turning blue. And I’m starting to think that maybe the monitor isn’t working right or that maybe I’m out of range, because all I can hear is some soft static.

Then the phone rings. And I mean
rings
. I jump and bang my head on a branch, and as fast as I can I turn the
monitor way down. After about the seventh ring, the light comes on in Heather’s room and I hear her say, “Hello? … Hello?” but I guess whoever called got tired of waiting because Heather slams down the phone, and then her room goes dark again.

I should’ve gone home right then, but I didn’t. I sat there, getting colder and colder until I couldn’t stand it anymore. When I finally decided to give up, I strapped on my backpack and started running. I ran all the way home, and by the time I was letting myself into the apartment, I was
almost
warm.

I was expecting to get scolded for being late, but when I checked Grams’ room she wasn’t even home yet. I brushed my teeth and shook the leaves out of my hair, and just as I was snuggling up on the couch, Grams comes in the door.

I mumble “hi” like I’ve been asleep for hours.

She whispers, “Go back to sleep, dear. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” Then she disappears into her room.

The next day, all I could think about was stupid Heather Acosta and how if I didn’t catch her making a phone call I’d be the poor-little-girl-with-the-crush-on-Jared-Salcido until I died. And I guess I wasn’t looking too happy, because around lunchtime Grams says, “You look bored to tears, Samantha. Don’t you have a paper to write for school or something?”

“A paper?”

“You said you were doing research …?”

“Oh, that. Yeah. Um, it’s kind of a big project. I’m going to try to get together with Marissa and Dot tonight to finish it up.”

I could tell Grams was going to ask me some more questions about my research paper, so I jumped up and said, “Hey, I told Mr. Bell that I’d check back about your book. I think I’ll go see if it’s in.”

She mutters to herself a minute, then waves a hand. “Go.”

And I was already out the door and halfway down the hall when I realized there was something kind of strange about Mrs. Graybill’s door. I mean, it was closed all the way, which was strange enough, but sticking out from under her door was the corner of a yellow envelope.

I probably should’ve just kept on walking, but I didn’t. I went clear back to Mrs. Graybill’s door, and before you know it I’m sneaking that envelope out from underneath it. It looked like some kind of greeting card, and written across the envelope in handwriting like a ghost’s was
Miss Daisy
.

I hadn’t looked at the envelope for more than two seconds when Miss Daisy opens her door. She stands there with her hands on her hips, looking like the Mrs. Graybill I’m used to; she’s all bundled up in her dirty pink bathrobe with her hair sticking straight up in back, looking very cranky.

Well, I blushed. Completely. I mean, the reason I think Mrs. Graybill is such a pain in the neck is because she’s always sticking her nose into my business, and here I am, fishing mail out from under
her
door. And all of a sudden I can see myself in fifty years, looking out my window with binoculars, or peeking out my front door at people going by.

And that’s when I get this
awful
revelation: Daisy Graybill hasn’t always been a crabby old lady in a dirty
pink bathrobe with hair sticking up in back. When she was young she might have been a lot like
me
.

A thought like that can send shivers shooting all through you. And a thought like that can leave you with not much to say. I just stood there with my cheeks on fire and held the envelope out to her. “Here. I’m sorry.”

I was expecting her to fly into a rampage about how I have no business being in the apartment building and how she’s going to have the manager arrest me, but she just snatched the card and slammed the door.

I stared at her apartment number trying to shake off the picture of me in Mrs. Graybill’s house slippers, but after a minute I turned around and headed for Bargain Books.

When I walked in, the first thing I heard was Mr. Bell cussing. He sees me and says, “Oh, Sammy, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were there.”

“Is something wrong?”

He pushes up a sleeve that falls right back down. “Oh, it’s nothing.” Then he looks at me with a sigh and says, “It’s just this bank statement. I’m trying to get my finances in order so I can sell this place but—” He slaps around on his desk some. “I can’t even find a pen!”

I stand there a minute wondering if he’s serious or not. I mean, Mr. Bell is one of those people that’s always been around, so you expect him to keep right on being around. It’d be like Father Mayhew saying he was quitting the Church after thirty years at St. Mary’s.

“
Sell
the place? Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am.” He lets out a sigh and says, “How am I supposed to compete with the mall stores? The majority
of people that come in here are ne’er-do-wells and bums. Respectable folks wind up going to the mall. I’ve put my whole life into this place, and what have I got? Negatives in my account.” He puts both hands on his desk and leans forward a bit. “I want to sell it, all right. The only trouble is finding a buyer.” He lets out a laugh that doesn’t sound at all funny. “You know anybody who might be interested in investing in a very used bookstore?”

I study him, wondering if he’s serious or just having a very bad day. Then I say, “If you really want to sell it, Hudson Graham might be interested. He loves books. Him or Chauncy LeBard.”

All of a sudden Mr. Bell gets real quiet. He squints at me. “So you know Hudson Graham.”

“Sure. He’s got more books than anyone I know—except Chauncy, that is. Do you know Chauncy LeBard?”

Mr. Bell shakes his head. “Don’t let that Hudson fool you.”

“What do you mean?”

He frowns. “Just watch your back.”

Before I can ask him what he means, he opens the door and rushes me out. “I’m going to call it a day,” he says, and then bolts the door from the inside, leaving me to watch his
CLOSED
sign swing back and forth.

I stand there feeling pretty strange, and all I can think about is Hudson and what in the world he did to make Mr. Bell think he was a backstabber. And since it was obvious Mr. Bell didn’t want to talk about it, I figured I’d go ask the only other person who would know.

THIRTEEN