“Why?”
“I was never sure, but my guess was that our Chief Johansson’s father asked the editor to shut me down. That was apparently enough.”
“What did you learn about Beatrice that you were trying to investigate?” Henry asked.
“It’s funny how you all talk about her as if you knew her. I like that. That’s the way it has to feel when you’re reporting, the good and the bad. You have to remember that names are not just names, if you understand me. Flesh and blood deserve our best efforts at the truth.”
I leaned forward. “We read your articles, and there seemed to be stuff going on between Beatrice’s sister, Roberta, and Beatrice’s boyfriend, Anil Singh.”
“Good catch,” said Delores. “Something was going on with them, yes, and it was hard to figure out what. The sister was angry at the boyfriend, and the boyfriend was so terribly upset.”
“It sounded like Roberta blamed Anil for what happened.”
“It seemed like that, yes. But I spoke to a girl who told a different story. When I tried to confirm it, neither Anil Singh nor Beatrice’s sister would do so on the record, but they didn’t deny it, either. And it matched up with what else I had learned. Apparently, the older sister was jealous of the younger sister’s boyfriend. She liked Mr. Singh, too. And so, at a Halloween party, she pulled him into the woods to tell him her feelings. Sisters can be like that sometimes. Things evolved, as they can, and that’s when Beatrice found them.”
“Oh, man,” said Natalie. “I hate when that happens.”
“What did Beatrice do?” I said.
“She was young,” said Delores. “She was hurt. She felt betrayed by both of them and so she did the only thing she could think of doing. She ran away from the party, away from her sister and her boyfriend, into the woods. My source told me Anil tried to go after her, but the sister held him back. He had to knock her down to get away. She had a bruise on her face at the funeral, which I didn’t write about, but which I noticed and which confirmed the story.”
I thought about Beatrice’s sister, complaining that Anil Singh hadn’t taken care of Beatrice like he should have, and how she must have thought the very same thing about herself. That’s a heavy load of bricks to carry all those years.
“Where was the party?” I said. “Do you remember?”
“No, dear, I’m sorry.”
“Did Anil ever find Beatrice?” Natalie asked.
“Not according to what I heard. She ran, he chased, she disappeared. And two weeks later they found her body, poor thing.”
“And then the editor killed your investigation,” I said, nodding.
“Oh no, dear. I chose to leave be that part of the story. I told what I learned to the police and kept all my notes, in case it became relevant later. But we didn’t follow up the story of the sister and the boyfriend because it would have raised a false assumption—that the boyfriend was involved, when there was nothing else that pointed to him. It seemed unfair. The story was more a piece of high school gossip than something newsworthy. That’s not why I became a reporter.”
“But you said your editor spiked your investigation,” said Henry.
“Not that part of it.”
“So what part?” said Henry.
“I thought there was something that deserved looking into more deeply. It turned out that shortly after Beatrice’s body was discovered, a young man from the area was involuntarily committed to a state hospital for the mentally ill.”
“An insane asylum?” said Henry.
“They don’t call it that anymore—they didn’t even call it that back then—but yes, that’s where he was sent. The poor boy. There was a judge’s order sending him to the high-security ward and keeping him hospitalized indefinitely. He was still a minor, so his name wasn’t disclosed on the record, but we caught wind of it.”
“I bet I know who it was,” I said.
“I’d be surprised if you do, dear.”
“Vance Johansson, the chief’s big brother.”
Delores looked at me, tilted her head. “Aren’t you something. Aren’t you just the slyest piece of something. And how did you know that?”
“A lucky guess?”
“I doubt that very much. Now, there wouldn’t be a notable connection between the two events, except for the timing. The boy went into the hospital right as I got word there was a suspect in the case. And, it turned out that Beatrice had been especially kind to Vance Johansson, who was a troubled boy. They explored the woods together, took care of injured wildlife they found, that sort of thing. They had been close since grade school. She was sort of his protector with the other children.”
“That’s sweet,” I said.
“Yes, it is. From what I discovered, Beatrice was an extraordinarily kind young woman.”
“But why wouldn’t the editor want you to look into a connection with Vance?” said Natalie. “It seems like it might explain what had happened, don’t you think?”
“It might have. But there is politics in everything. I thought it was interesting that the police weren’t following up on any leads that might have led to the chief’s son. So I started raising some questions. But the chief asked my editor to stop my investigation, as did the mayor. I was told in no uncertain terms to back off. I complained about it, yes, all the way up to the publisher, not that it did any good. But that editor, he didn’t like me going over his head like that. He took me right off the Beatrice Long case, right off the police beat, and sent me to cover a bunch of other stories: tax issues, a lawsuit against the county, a sewage problem at a school. These were issues, he said, better suited to a woman reporter.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s low. What did you say to that?”
“I said, ‘I quit,’ is what I said. And I did.”
“You were like a superhero,” said Natalie, “fighting for truth and justice.”
“Nothing like that, more of a Lois Lane. I was just a reporter who believed reporting mattered. I worked the crime beat for the Philadelphia Inquirer twenty years after that and loved every day of it. That’s why it does my heart good to see the pack of you ignoring the warnings, trying to get to the truth of things, for whatever reason. Any of you working for the school newspaper?”
“Not yet,” said Natalie. “Henry swims and Lizzie does math, but you might have sold me. I wouldn’t mind exposing all the dark truths at Willing Middle School West, scouring the detention hall for the real story.”
“There you go. Be sure to listen. People will tell you so much if you really listen. And remember that emotions are the key to a good story. I still remember the grief when they found Beatrice by the creek.”
“Without a head,” said Natalie.
“Why do you say that?” said Delores, startled. “I didn’t report that.”
“We just figured, from reading between the lines,” I said.
“Be careful. Try not to assume too much. I wrote exactly what they told me to write about the condition of the body and nothing more. But I must say, that’s interesting, if true. Very interesting.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Because that young Vance, the boy they put into the hospital? The story was he kept a very special collection. Apparently when one of his injured critters died, he would keep the skull, like a picture of an old friend.”
“That would explain the squirrel skull you found in Beatrice’s box,” said Natalie.
“Before they shut down my investigation,” said Delores, “I found out that the young brother, who’s our current chief, told a friend they were looking for the collection for some reason. Don’t think they ever found it. So a missing head would explain the search. A missing head would explain so much.”
Yes it would, including the shiver that was snaking up and down my spine.
I am running, this time not on four legs, but on two. I dash through a wood lit by a full moon, the soft light slipping past leaves and branches. I run between tree trunks, I leap over bushes
, I slip on dead leaves. My shoes are covered with mud and my heart is breaking. I am angry and hurt. I feel doubly betrayed, doubly humiliated. I want to see no one and nothing, I want to leave all my crushed hopes behind me. And so I run. Through the woods. Away from my life.
This was the last of my nightmares. I had been wondering when it would come. That shiver in my spine was a clue that it was on its way. The dreams about the squirrel and the snake weren’t just the most vivid of visions. They were messages from the other world, preparing me for one message more. Preparing me for this.
For now, here, in the middle of this nightmare, I am Beatrice Long.
My sister has betrayed me. My boyfriend has betrayed me. My life has been ripped to shreds, and now they are laughing at me. What else is there to do but run?
It almost feels good, this mad dash through the woods. To fill my lungs, to pump my arms, to feel the soles of my mother’s old saddle shoes slam upon the earth is comforting. Maybe I am faster than I thought I was. Maybe I should give up cheerleading and run track. There are some cute guys on the track team. Everett Mason is on the track team and he has long blond hair that trails after him as he runs around the turns. Wouldn’t Anil be jealous of that?
I look behind me to see if anyone is coming. To see if Anil is coming. Is Nilly chasing after me? Is he trying to apologize? I look behind me and I see nothing and I keep running, but I keep looking, too. As if looking will make it happen. As if he will come to me and hug me close and kiss my forehead and tell me it was all a mistake, a terrible mistake. And then Everett Mason with the long blond hair will appear and punch Nilly in the face, and I will shake with laughter.
In front of me I see a rock shaped like a boat, the ones that took Christopher Columbus to America and then later the Pilgrims. Until I saw the rock I was lost—I spied the two of them, my sister and my boyfriend, kissing, and took off blindly. I could have been in any old wood, but the rock tells me where I am, and it is as familiar as the hill on which sits my house. It is the rock where we found the dying squirrel, the rock where we caught the snake, it is our rock.
I slow down and stop, lean against the rock, and try to catch my breath. I look back once more to see if Anil is gaining—I hope he is gaining—but he’s not there, he’ll never be there. And I realize I am crying.
I am alone, and I am crying. I miss my sister, but I can’t go to her. And right then I know where I can go, a place so hidden that nobody will be able to find me. Only Vance and I know about it. I can stay hidden there until Vance comes, and I’ll tell him what happened, and he will understand.
I push myself off the rock and march slowly forward. I step between the two narrow trunks of a single tree that shoot away from each other like a great V and continue on through the gloomy woods and up a path that rises above the creek. Even with the full moon it is dark beneath the canopy of leaves, but the path is familiar. I can hear the water gurgle to my left. Beyond this step, to the right, is the anthill. I can just make out the little cage Vance places on top of the hill so the ants can swarm over and clean the skulls.
I keep climbing and then head straight along the high path. Down to the left, the moonlight tickles the water. To the right is pure darkness. And straight ahead, glowing dully now, are the ruins of an old stone house that had collapsed in on itself. Tucked inside the ruins and hidden from the path is a little hut that leans against one of the stone walls. The hut’s walls are painted green, the roof consists of rusted bits of mismatched tin. The windows are shuttered, the door is clasped with a padlock.
But I know where Vance hides the key.
Inside it smells furry and wet and familiar and instantly I feel better. I can hear the animals breathing, scurrying within their cages, alarmed at my presence. “It’s okay, sweeties,” I say out loud into the darkness. With the hint of light bleeding in from the open door I find the candle and the matches. Pull, snap. The sweet smell of sulfur as the match bursts into flame and the hut comes into view. I light the candle and look around. At the back of the hut, the shelves are full of Vance’s collection of skulls. To my right are the cages holding the live animals Vance has found. A baby chipmunk with a bad leg, an injured bird, the snake we caught, four little field mice he has trapped for the snake. The field mice climb over one another in the light, as if they know what awaits them.
I step to the mice cage, open the door, and reach inside. Gently I pinch the fur at the back of the neck of the smallest and cradle its belly in my other hand. I take the gray little thing out of the cage and close the door. In my palm I can feel its heart race. I gently rub its side with my thumb and nuzzle its back with my cheek, before I lift it toward the snake’s cage.
The snake is hungry. The snake is always hungry. It has a copper-colored head with brown patches over its body. Still injured, it is curled in its cage, quiet, watching things, waiting for the moment when it can strike and then eat. We must either feed it or let it go, but Vance doesn’t want to let it go. And neither do I. It is my favorite of his animals, it is lovely and wary and dangerous. Just what I want to be. So we keep feeding it. I carefully open the cage door to put in its meal when I hear a sound outside. I turn my head reflexively and call out.
“Anil?”
“I know where to find Beatrice’s head,” I said in a low voice in the lunchroom the following Monday. My hair hung over one of my eyes, and I held a sandwich in front of my mouth as I spoke. I was trying to be inconspicuous—trying and failing, based on Natalie’s puzzled expression.
“How do you know that all of a sudden?” said Henry.
“I told you I’ve been having these dreams, but they’re more than dreams. They’re like messages.” I lowered my voice into a whisper. “From Beatrice.”
“Wowza,” said Natalie. “How cool is that?”
“Not very, if you want to know the truth. It’s pretty gross, and way too much drama. But there must have been a connection created when I shoved the alder stake into her heart, because that’s when they started.”
“And what does she say?” said Henry. “Anything about me?”
“Really?” said Natalie.
“I’m just asking.”
“You know she’s dead, right?”
“She doesn’t say anything about you,” I said. “But the dreams have indicated that the thing we’re looking for might be in a rickety old hut on a hill above some creek.”
“What creek?” said Henry. “Where?”
“Whistler’s Creek, I’d bet,” said Natalie. “It was the one in the articles.”
“That’s what I figured, too.”
“But which part of the creek?” said Natalie.
I took a sip from my juice and kept the cup raised. “I think I have a way to find out.”
“Why are you hiding your mouth?” said Natalie.
“I don’t want anyone to read my lips.”
“Well, stop,” said Natalie. “You look like you’re making out with your juice glass.”
Natalie and Henry both laughed as I took a sip of juice. And these were my friends.
“So what do we do now?” said Henry.
“We go get it, of course,” said Natalie.
“But first we have to find out the starting location of her run into the woods. We could go back and ask Beatrice’s sister, but she’d just call the chief on us again, and I really really don’t want to end—”
“Shhhh,” said Natalie. “It’s the Fraydens.”
The Frayden twins in their plaid shirts, trays held just below their chins so they wouldn’t spill, approached our table like frogs approaching the Sun King, bowing and scraping.
“Mr. Harrison, sir,” said Charlie. “Could we possibly join you for our afternoon repast in the empty seats to your right?”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” said Doug.
“Not right now, guys,” said Henry. “We’re talking about something a little personal.”
“Well, then, of course, we are sorry to disturb you,” said Charl
ie. “We’ll just back away.”
“Don’t leave,” I said. “Henry doesn’t mean it, do you, Henry.”
“I don’t?”
“Charlie, Doug, grab a seat.”
“Are you sure?” said Charlie.
“Sit down before she changes her mind,” said Doug, and just that fast they were sitting at our table.
A moan rose from the rest of the lunchroom. It was one thing for Henry Harrison to lower himself to eat with nothing-special seventh graders like Natalie and me—the lunchroom had sort of gotten used to that by now. But with the Fraydens joining Henry, it was as if some final barrier had snapped, sending the whole social hierarchy of Willing Middle School West into chaos. Revolution!
“So, Charlie, Doug,” I said. “How goes debate club?”
“Words, words, words,” said Doug.
“He’s quoting Hamlet,” said Charlie. “That was one of Shakespeare’s plays, Mr. Harrison, sir, in case you didn’t know.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” said Henry. “I would have thought it was a kind of sandwich.”
“Hamlet and a side of chips,” said Doug. The Fraydens showed their chipmunk teeth and laughed their hyena laughs.
“Hey, Charlie,” I said. “When you guys had that internship thing at Singh Electronics, did you ever meet the boss?”
“Oh sure,” said Doug. “We were tight with Anil. Best buds.”
“Really?” said Natalie.
“Well, maybe not the bestest.”
“He sort of waved at us once as he walked by the office where they stashed us,” said Charlie.
“It wasn’t so much a wave as a glance,” said Doug.
“He glanced at us,” said Charlie.
“And we glanced back,” said Doug.
“So you have a glancing acquaintance,” said Natalie.
“Yes,” said Charlie. “That’s it exactly.”
“How late does he stay at the office, do you know?” I said.
Elizabeth Webster and the Court of Uncommon Pleas Page 17