Sammy Keyes and the Skeleton Man (19 page)

She stares at me a minute and kind of moves her lips from one side of her face to the other like she’s got words in there trying to punch their way out. Finally she says, “Do you realize the mayhem you caused? It was complete chaos in there! I was mortified!” Then she sighs and says, “Martin Yates is not the kind of man who likes to be upstaged, Samantha. I doubt he’ll ever agree to give another talk at
this
school.”

I shuffle around a bit. “I really am sorry, Miss Pilson.”

As I’m leaving she says, “Samantha? Why would Heather
do
such a thing?”

I shrug. “I guess she doesn’t like the color of my shoes.”

She looks at me like she doesn’t quite understand, but I leave anyway, knowing that she’ll figure it out—after all, she’s an English teacher.

I slip into math class as the tardy bell’s ringing, and right away I know something’s up. In Mr. Tiller’s class you’re in your seat with your pencil sharpened and your homework out
before
the bell’s done ringing or you’re in trouble. But as I’m sliding into my seat I see half the class waiting in line at the pencil sharpener, and the other half in their seats, stretching their necks around the people in front of them.

All I can see is Mr. Tiller up there erasing the board. So I stretch my neck clear around Henry Regulski, who sits in front of me, but before I can see anything Henry whips his curly head around and says, “Check it out! I don’t believe it.”

“Believe
what?
”

Mr. Tiller turns around and taps on the podium for us to settle down. And looking at him, everything seems pretty normal to me. He’s got on a polo shirt, some random slacks with a little chalk dust on them here and there, and … and … green high-tops!

He gives me a quick grin and a wink and calls, “Hey, you clowns, settle down! We’ve got a lot to cover today. Pass your homework left. Let’s go!”

For the rest of class it was
quiet
in there. Nobody asked about the shoes, nobody giggled, nobody passed notes or whispered. And while Mr. Tiller’s up there moving X around, I start to get the feeling that people are looking at me. When I look to my left, all of a sudden Mary Mertins
and Rochelle Quin go back to looking at the board. When I glance to the right, there’s Isa Jung and Sommer Hernandez staring at me. They give me nervous little smiles and go back to watching Mr. Tiller.

When the passing bell rings, people walk clear around me and act like they’re afraid to look at me or something. And when everyone but Marissa’s gone, I say to Mr. Tiller, “Thanks.”

He grins. “It’s already been a most interesting day—and it’s been my pleasure.” He waves an eraser at us. “Go on. Get to class.”

So off we run, and the whole way to history Marissa’s saying, “I can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it!”

At lunchtime, I give the blow-by-blow about Heather’s little meltdown twice before I remember to tell about finding Chauncy’s books and toasting Mr. Bell. Marissa says, “This is unbelievable! The Skeleton Man’s behind bars and Heather’s safely under sedation somewhere—we should celebrate. What do you think, Sammy? What do you want to do?”

I laugh. “I want to go buy a new pair of shoes!”

She says, “You’re kidding!”

“Nope. I was thinking maybe I’d go down to the Thrift Store—see if anything’s come in. Anyone want to come?”

Dot asks, “Is that the place you were telling me about with that crazy bag lady?”

I laugh. “That would be the one.”

Dot says, “You bet! Let me call my mom!”

So she calls her mom, I call Grams, and Marissa leaves a message at her house. And before you know it, school’s
out and we’re catching the downtown SMAT bus to the Thrift Store.

The first thing we see is CeCe, all wrapped up in orange and pink scarves, dangling jewelry, digging through a box of stuff this man’s brought in.

Dot whispers, “Is that her?”

“Yup.”

“Wow—she’s
something
.”

We go over to a table and pretend to check out cracked dinner plates so Dot can check out CeCe a little better. CeCe says to the man, “Look, I’m not in the business of paying money for garbage. Most of the stuff you’ve got here couldn’t line a dodo’s nest.” She pulls something out of the box. “Look at this—what the devil would you do with this?
Wear
it?”

All of a sudden my heart’s bumping like a basketball going downcourt. I grab Marissa’s arm and say, “Holy smokes! Look!” because I know darn well what you can do with what CeCe’s holding. Put out a fire, for one thing. Wear it on Halloween if you’re a Marsh Monster, for another.

Marissa starts doing the McKenze dance. “We gotta get it! We gotta get it!”

Dot and I block her from view and say
“Shh!”
because the last thing you should let Tycoon CeCe know is that you
want
something.

When we get her to settle down, we go back to checking out cracked plates. CeCe tells the man, “I couldn’t give you ten bucks for the whole box. This stuff just won’t move.”

He stands there a minute, thinking, so I step up to him and say, “
I’ll
give you ten bucks—for just that sweater.”

He holds it up. “For
this?
”

Very gently I take it from him and check the label. Sure enough, it’s a Louis d’Trent. I dig a ten-dollar bill from my pocket. “Yeah. Here you go.”

He laughs. “Done!”

Well, CeCe’s looking like a bee in a pickle jar. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

The man shrugs. “These ladies just paid me ten dollars for the sweater. You wouldn’t give me ten for the whole box!” He picks up his stuff and says, “I think maybe I’ll have a garage sale after all,” and walks out the door.

CeCe stands there blinking over the top of her glasses at him. Then she turns to me and says, “What’s the big idea?”

Now I just want to get
out
of there. Trouble is, Marissa’s so excited about finding the sweater that she says, “I don’t believe it! This is so cool! That just saved us four hundred and ninety bucks!”

CeCe’s ears perk up like a coyote at a gopher hole. “I don’t get it. How’s this save you four ninety?”

I tug on Marissa. “Come on. We’re gonna miss our bus!”

But she’s so excited she keeps right on talking, “That sweater’s a Louis d’Trent! My mom had one just like it, and Sammy used it to put out a fire. You don’t understand—this is going to keep me from being grounded for a year!”

I yank on her and say through my teeth, “Let’s get out of here!”

CeCe comes swooping down on us from behind her cash register. “Don’t you walk out of here with that! Don’t
think for a minute you can come into my establishment, put a monkey wrench in a deal I’m making, and then walk off with a five-hundred-dollar sweater! I was going to buy that box from him—I was just making the deal!” She reaches over, pulls ten dollars out of her cash register, and says, “Here! Take this. That sweater is mine. Come on now, take it!”

By now Marissa’s got the picture, and let me tell you, we’re backing away as fast as we can. And when CeCe says, “Stop right there or I’ll call the police!” we turn around and
run
.

And we keep
on
running until we’re safe and sound on the SMAT bus. After we catch our breath, Dot laughs and says, “You don’t think she’s really going to call the police, do you?”

“CeCe? Nah.” Then I laugh and say, “If you really want someone to call the police on us, we could go to Heather’s house and ask for the monitor back.”

We all bust up, and finally Dot squeaks out, “No, that’s okay! She can
have
it!”

We get off the bus at the mall, and we’re all going off in our own directions when Dot hollers from the newspaper stand, “Hey! Sammy, come here. Look! You’re all over the front page!”

EIGHTEEN

Dot was right. There I was, on the front page of the
Santa Martina Times
. And somehow I wound up there two nights in a row. The first time I was standing between Officer Borsch and Muscles, looking like I was trying to keep them from killing each other. The headline read
COPS CLASH AT COURTHOUSE
and gave what Hudson called a “speculative overview” of what Muscles and Officer Borsch were fighting about. The article wasn’t too far off, so I guess they were shouting even louder than I thought.

The second picture showed me shaking hands with Muscles in front of Bargain Books, and under the picture was the whole story about Mr. Bell and the way he’d robbed Chauncy. That headline read H
ALLOWEEN HEIST! KID CATCHES COSTUMED CROOK
. The article mentioned that Muscles was getting a promotion—to what I don’t know. I don’t think they’ll make him chief of police or anything, but if they give him a new partner he’ll definitely be celebrating.

A few days after I was on the front page I decided to go over to Hudson’s. I found him up on a ladder scraping leaves out of his gutter. He sees me and comes down a few rungs. “Say, young lady, I’m glad you stopped by. Chauncy wants you to pay him a visit.” He comes down the rest of the way. “Why don’t you go over there now?”

Well, it’s not like Hudson to try to get rid of me, so I say,
“Why?” Then I remember that the last time Chauncy talked to Hudson was years ago. “You talked to him! When did you talk to him?”

Hudson grins and says, “The most recent visit was less than an hour ago.”

“The most
recent
visit?” I put my hands on my hips. “All right, tell me everything. How is he?”

He gives me a buttoned little smile and says, “Why don’t you go over and ask him yourself?”

I roll my eyes and say, “Hudson!” but I know it’s hopeless.

So I head over to Chauncy’s, and I’m about to pound on the door when I realize that something’s different. The door still looks like a medieval instrument of torture, but through it I can hear music. The kind Grams listens to late at night when she thinks I’m asleep. The kind where violins answer cellos, where horns shout and oboes whisper. The kind where if you close your eyes and wait, you can feel clouds and rain and sunshine.

Chauncy’s got electricity! And when I realize that, well, my eyes start watering and my nose starts sniffing, and pretty soon I’m standing there in the middle of a bunch of twigs, crying.

And when I finally quit watering twigs, I take a deep breath, reach up, and ring the doorbell. And who answers? Mrs. D.W. LeBard.

She says, “Samantha! Oh, Chauncy will be so happy to see you!”

I mumble a hello and she lets me in, saying, “Follow me.”

The Bush House might have looked the same on the outside, but inside it was really different. And it’s not that
there was new furniture or anything; it’s just that the curtains were open, and with all that light you could see that there were definitely no vampires in Vampire Heaven.

Anyhow, I followed Chauncy’s sister-in-law to the back window and we watched Chauncy and Douglas pointing and passing the binoculars back and forth. After a minute Mrs. LeBard says, “It almost destroyed all three of them.”

“What did?”

“The smoking. And the blame. But look at them now. They’re talking again.” She takes a deep breath. “I can’t thank you enough.”

I’m about to tell her that all I did was stick my nose where it wasn’t supposed to go, when Chauncy notices me and waves me outside.

As I’m walking out there, I see something I never really thought I’d see—Chauncy LeBard smiling. Really smiling. From ear to ear, from head to toe, he’s smiling. And his eyes are twinkling as he buzzes, “Miss Sammy, I am forever in your debt.” He motions to his brother, “I know you’ve met Douglas …”

I grin and say, “You bet.”

D.W. grins back. “Please forgive my previous lack of manners. I’m afraid I was being a stubborn old goat.”

We all laugh a little, and then Chauncy says, “Good news! Princess’s eggs hatched.”

“Baby Fuzzballs? Can I see?”

He smiles and hands me the binoculars. Sure enough, there’s Fuzzball, busy as a bee, hopping around her nest, pushing who-knows-what down the throats of her chicks. When I get all done looking, I hand the binoculars back to
Chauncy and say, “Congratulations!”

Just then Douglas comes back from inside the house and says, “My brother and I have discussed what we could give you as a way of saying thank you for all you’ve done, and we’ve decided we’d like you to have this.”