“You did?”
He grunts, which I know in Borsch-speak means yes.
“And?”
“And Ofelia Ortega’s bones are all laid neatly together except for the skull. It’s gone.”
I slap him across the arm. “See!”
“I know, I know—I shoulda listened.” He shakes his head. “But come on, Sammy. Even after reading about it online, it’s still unbelievable.”
“Yeah, but they probably think it’s unbelievable that we pump people full of chemicals.”
We’re both quiet a minute, and then I ask, “So what are you going to do about it?”
He sighs. “I don’t know. He’s long gone by now. I called the Roggazini ranch to get some information on Ofelia Ortega, but the answers I got were pretty sketchy. My guess is she was an illegal who died suddenly. The Roggazinis probably didn’t know anything about her roots, greased some hands to get the paperwork through and avoid any legal hassles, and had her buried here.” He shrugs. “So where’s the actual crime? In this country it’s illegal to desecrate a body, but she shouldn’t have been buried here. She should have been returned home where apparently digging up your relatives’ skulls is something done out of respect and honor.” He takes a deep breath. “So what am I going to do? Nothing. I’ve got my hands full with this double-burial nonsense.”
“How are you doing on arresting the actual killer?”
He frowns. “The feds have taken over.”
“The feds?”
“Turns out we’re dealing with organized crime. Our three missing people seem to be part of a much bigger story.” He gives me a stern look and says, “Organized crime, Sammy.” He shakes his head. “Why did I think I could take a night off and go to dinner and a movie with Deb?”
I laugh. “Tell her I’m sorry!”
He frowns. “You have a way of messin’ up our dates, you know.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“In my wildest dreams,” he grumbles, but under all the gruff he’s smiling. Then he says, “One more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Danny Urbanski’s hearing was yesterday.”
“And?”
“And that young man is fortunate he’s not three months older. If he was fifteen instead of fourteen, things would not have gone so easy for him. I can honestly say, though, that he’s showing remorse. I’ve never seen a grown boy do so much crying.”
“So what’s going to happen to him?”
“The court set him up with probation and community service, and his parents will be paying for Reverend Pritchard’s medical expenses.” He raises an eyebrow. “Reverend Pritchard also requested ‘a discourse about the Lord’ with him. Of course the courts couldn’t order that, but Danny’s parents have agreed.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. We’ll see how that goes.”
So after that the only thing that was still really unsettled was Casey and me. Not us, but how to deal with his mom’s rules about us. We had been talking pay phone to pay phone at school, but other than that, I hadn’t seen him since the showdown at the Crypt Corral.
Grams totally stuck by her guns about it, too, but being a local news junkie, she did eventually piece together that the “minors who unearthed the serial killer’s dumping ground” included Casey and me. I played everything way down, but it caused some sort of shift in her. I couldn’t tell what it was, exactly. At first I thought she was mad, or worried in hindsight, but I really couldn’t tell. She was just … quiet. I’d catch her staring at me as I was doing my homework, and when I’d ask her, “What?” she’d just shake her head and go back to reading her book or fixing dinner or whatever.
But then last night she picked up the phone and dialed a number like she was on a mission and nobody better get in her way. And when someone on the other end answered, she said, “Candi? … Yes, this is Rita Keyes, Samantha’s grandmother? I’d like to invite you and Heather and Casey to join Samantha and me on a picnic tomorrow.…”
I look at her with huge bug eyes and she gives me one of her prim old lady looks and puts a hand up like, Don’t mess with me!
“Mmm-hm,” she says after a short pause. “Well, I was hoping we could start over. Get to know each other a little bit.” There’s another short pause and then all of a sudden Grams pulls the phone away from her ear, so even I can hear Candi screeching on the other end. Then the line goes dead and Grams stares at the phone a second before hanging it up.
“That went well,” I tell her with a grin.
“The language,” Grams gasps, and slowly she goes from pale to flushed. “How dare she!”
“Welcome to my world,” I tell her.
She storms around the kitchen for a little while, then pops a fist on her hip and says, “If you want to break her house rules, you go right ahead!”
“Thank you!” The next day was Saturday so I might have just had Billy relay a message to Casey to meet me for a picnic at Sassypants Station, but all of a sudden I get a flash of a different idea.
A better idea.
I want Grams to be there, too.
Her and Hudson and the zombies!
So I call Holly and tell her, and at the last minute I tell her to invite Meg and Vera, too. And then I call Marissa and tell her to bring Mikey, and I call Billy—because I’ve finally got his number—and tell him about the picnic and to get Casey to come.
And while I’m at it, I call Officer Borsch and tell him to bring Deb and Dusty Mike and Elyssa and Mrs. Keltner.
“At the graveyard?” he asks. “You want to picnic at the graveyard?”
“High noon tomorrow! Bring a blanket and a side dish. Be there!”
So the next day Grams and I pack the biggest picnic lunch you’ve ever seen, plus I bring my whole sack of leftover Halloween candy. Then I make Grams put on her red high-tops and we get Hudson to give us a lift in his sienna rose Cadillac.
“I like the look,” he tells Grams when he sees her shoes and jeans.
“You’re next,” I tell him.
So everyone shows up and Dusty Mike leads us to a perfect spot near the Garden of Repose where we put down the blankets and spread out lunch. And pretty soon we’re telling stories and eating and laughing our heads off.
In a graveyard.
So even though death still scares me, even though I don’t know if I want to be buried or cremated or dropped in the sea, even though I have no idea if there’s a heaven or a hell or a purgatory that you can get prayed out of, I do know that somehow when I’m in the graveyard with my family and friends, I feel happy.
Peaceful.
It’s a place where I appreciate life.
So maybe it’s as simple as that.
Maybe it’s not about how you’re buried or where you’re buried or who prays for you or what you believe.
Maybe the way to rest in peace is to find some peace in life.
Wendelin Van Draanen spent many years as a classroom teacher and is now a full-time writer. She is the author of many award-winning books, including the Sammy Keyes mysteries, Flipped, Swear to Howdy, Runaway, Confessions of a Serial Kisser, and The Runing Dream.
Ms. Van Draanen lives with her husband, two sons, and two dogs in California. Her hobbies include the “three R’s”: reading, running, and rock ’n’ roll.
Sammy Keyes and the Night of Skulls Page 23