The Missing Skull

by John Wilson

  Grandfather nods encouragement occasionally as I talk. When I finish, he stares intently into the fire, concentrating hard. I sit patiently, happy to luxuriate in the warmth and comfort. I catch myself nodding off just before Grandfather looks up at me and begins his explanation.

  “The first, and most important, thing you need to know is that I messed up. Yes, I set up this mystery game for you, and I didn’t tell you all the details before it began, but I feel terrible that you were put in danger, and I apologize from the depths of my heart for that.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Everything’s turned out fine.”

  “It’s kind of you to forgive me, but I must take responsibility for what happened. The other thing I want to say right up front is that I am immensely proud of you and how you handled yourself in very difficult circumstances. You didn’t panic, and you kept thinking. You kept looking for solutions, and that’s an admirable quality that will serve you well throughout your life.”

  “Thank you,” I say softly. Grandfather doesn’t have to know about the terror I felt when Sophie fired the pistol or when the canoe overturned.

  “Having said that,” Grandfather goes on, “what you did in this cabin was incredibly dumb. Distracting Sophie and throwing yourself at her when she had the pistol pointing at me was astonishingly brave, but dumb.”

  “The gun was loaded with blanks,” I say defensively. “You said that.”

  “I did say that,” Grandfather agreed, “but only after it had all happened. You didn’t know there were only blanks in the gun when you acted. That’s what makes your actions brave—and dumb. And you went about it the wrong way. When someone’s waving a gun about and you decide you have no choice but to take them on, go for the gun, not the person. There’s no point in knocking the person over if they then shoot you. Grab the gun and hold on to it as if your life depends on it, because it probably does.”

  I nod. That makes sense. Then I ask, “How do you know that? Have you ever had to do that?”

  “No, of course not,” Grandfather says. “I read it in a book somewhere. Now, to get on with explaining your day. Several things went wrong, and the first one was because of you.”

  “Because of me? What did I do wrong?”

  “You did nothing wrong. In fact, it went wrong because you did something too right. As I said I would, I set out several clues for you to follow. I made them more complicated as they went on, but the first one was very simple. Do you remember it?”

  “Yes,” I say. “It was on the scrap of paper in the Nero Wolfe book. It said Begin at the beginning. The third along. Check the empty space at the front.”

  “Well remembered, and you worked out that it referred to the third lot along the lakeshore, the empty one.” I nod and Grandfather goes on. “Good work, except I wasn’t being that clever. You noticed that I arranged the books on the mantel in alphabetical order by author name.”

  “Yes,” I say, a sinking feeling forming in my stomach.

  “And the beginning of the alphabet is A…”

  “And the third book along was the one you brought up from the cottage.”

  “And the second clue was on a piece of paper tucked inside the front cover.”

  “So I wasn’t supposed to go to the vacant lot at all?”

  “Not then. That’s why Jason looked so surprised to see you. You got there just as he was arriving to add a later clue where you would find it. He panicked and told you to go over to the island. You weren’t supposed to go there until much later. That was why he had to go over and bring you back.”

  “So it’s my fault it all went wrong?” I say, feeling miserable that I spoiled Grandfather’s elaborate game.

  “Not at all. In fact, you did brilliantly. It’s not at all your fault that you interpreted the first clue the way you did. It’s my fault for giving you a clue that could be understood in more than one way. Shall I top up the hot chocolate before we continue?”

  “Yes, please,” I say, glad of a breathing space to absorb what I’ve been told already.

  SEVENTEEN

  As Grandfather pokes around in the kitchen, I think about what he has told me. My misinterpretation of the first clue makes sense, but there’s still a lot that doesn’t. I try to fit it all together, but I’m tired and my brain isn’t working as well as it should, so I’m glad when Grandfather returns with more hot chocolate to tell me the rest of the tale. “Where did the second clue lead me?” I ask when he has settled back down in his chair.

  “The second clue told you to go to the resort next door and ask to speak to Mr. Koval.”

  “He was a part of the game?”

  “Of course,” Grandfather says. “Everyone was, but because you misinterpreted the first clue, you began to do things in the wrong order. Yuri was supposed to tell you to go to the vacant lot next door, where you would find the next clue. That one would lead you over to the island, where a map in a bottle would lead you this way.”

  “The Coke bottle I found on the point?”

  “Yes, but we never had the chance to put the map in it. On your way down here, Sophie and Jason were supposed to pretend to kidnap you and then allow you to escape here, where you would find the last clue that would tell you where the skull was hidden.”

  “So none of the stuff about you bringing something valuable up here so that Mr. Koval could get back to the Ukraine and Sophie and Jason wanting to steal it was true?”

  Grandfather shakes his head. “Are you sad about that?”

  “A little bit,” I say. “It was a good story.”

  “Not bad,” Grandfather agrees, “especially since we had to make most of it up on the spur of the moment. Yuri came up with much of it when we discovered what had happened at the vacant lot. As you may have noticed, Yuri loves to tell stories. We decided that I should become the pretend kidnap victim, and your task would be to rescue me. Of course, we didn’t allow for the thunderstorm springing up so quickly. Carl came within an ace of jumping in to save you when the canoe tipped, but he saw you were managing and left you to it. When you got lost in the woods and were in danger of becoming hypothermic, he stepped in.”

  “Who’s Carl?”

  “He’s the son of an American friend who comes up here from time to time to go wilderness trekking. Carl’s a survival expert, and he’s been your minder all through this adventure. He’s shadowed you everywhere, making certain you were never in any real danger.”

  I think back to unexplained noises I’ve heard and shadowy forms I’ve thought I glimpsed out of the corner of my eye. “There were times I wish I had known he was nearby and looking out for me,” I say.

  “I imagine there were, and I’m sorry for having put you through that. It was never my intention to scare you—well, not too much,” he adds with a grin.

  “Who are Sophie and Jason?”

  “Sophie’s the granddaughter of another friend of mine. She’s training to be an actress at Ryerson University, so I thought she’d be perfect for the role.”

  “She was very convincing,” I agree.

  “Occasionally a bit too convincing,” Grandfather says. “As they say in the theater, she inhabited the role. Personally, I thought she took it a bit far, but she felt she had to overdo it in order to convince you after you spotted her by accident at the cottage—she and Carl don’t shovel my snow, by the way. I had to make that up on the spur of the moment when you came unexpectedly around the corner of the cottage. We should have been more careful about my meeting Sophie. Jason’s her boyfriend. I didn’t particularly want him involved, but Sophie insisted she needed more help, so we brought him in as the heavy.”

  “You went to a lot of trouble for this,” I say.

  “I never doubted that you were worth it,” Grandfather says. “I’m just sorry it didn’t go as smoothly as planned.”

  “It certainly made it more exciting than the game of Clue I was expecting.”

  “It did that. Have I explained everything to your satisfaction?”


  “I still have a few questions,” I say.

  “Fire away.”

  “If Sophie overreacted and Carl was looking after me, why didn’t he respond when he heard the gunshot in the cabin?”

  “Because he didn’t hear it,” Grandfather says. “He was in the resort talking with me and Yuri. Jason sending you over to the island and then bringing you back threw us for a loop. At that point we were ad-libbing and busy working out an alternative story for you.”

  I nod. It makes sense. “Was it coincidence that I stumbled into Yuri’s suite at the resort?”

  “Partly. Carl was talking to the security guard when he saw you come through the trees on the monitors. When the guard went to check you out, Carl saw you come through the door by the garbage. He knew you were most likely to come up the stairs. It was either that or end up in the kitchen, so he ran upstairs and warned me. We were in room 135. When we heard you come along the corridor, we made a lot of noise, hoping you would try to escape through the only unmarked door, the one to Yuri’s room.”

  “It worked,” I say. “Why didn’t Yuri’s suite have a number?”

  “He’s a permanent resident at the resort. Those rooms don’t have numbers. Any more questions?”

  “When we stopped at the cottage, I saw you pick up an envelope. It seemed as if you were trying to hide it, and then Sophie said she was looking for something small and very valuable. What was in the envelope that you didn’t want me to see?”

  “Well done—you’re very observant,” Grandfather says as he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a rectangular envelope. “I picked these up the afternoon before we set off. I thought they might make a nice reward for solving the clues I gave you, but you’re going to have to earn them. I have one more task for you.” “As long as it doesn’t involve guns or falling out of a canoe,” I say.

  “You should be able to do most of it sitting in your chair. Look in the right pocket of the pants I brought you.”

  Puzzled, I reach into the pocket and feel a piece of paper. As I pull it out Grandfather asks, “Was that your last question?”

  “Almost,” I say. “Was the story you told about meeting the fisherman who had Tom Thomson’s skull true?”

  Grandfather smiles. “Read the piece of paper. It’s the last clue.”

  I unfold the paper and read a short poem written in Grandfather’s precise handwriting.

  Congratulations, Super Sleuth,

  You’ve questioned, sought and learned.

  There’s one more clue to reach the truth

  And win the prize you’ve earned.

  It’s tiring work to solve each clue.

  Perhaps it’s time for bed.

  Sleep freshens brains and makes us new

  And helps us get ahead.

  I read the poem three times but still can’t work out a hidden meaning. “What does it mean?” I ask.

  “You must be tired. It’s a well-known fact that we need sleep to help our brains refresh themselves. That’s why you should always try to get a good sleep before an exam at school. Maybe you need to lie down.”

  “I am tired,” I say, “but this isn’t our cabin, and it’s beginning to get dark. Shouldn’t we be heading back?”

  “We’ll stay here tonight. Carl says there’s food in the fridge and he’ll come and pick us up tomorrow. Now go and have a nap while I get supper organized. Your room’s the one on the right.”

  It’s odd that Grandfather is ordering me around, but I’m too tired to worry. I haul myself out of the chair and head to the bedroom. I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but I scream when I see the grinning skull sitting on the pillow. Then I laugh out loud as I remember the last two lines of the poem. Sleep freshens brains and makes us new/ And helps us get ahead. I’ve just gotten a head!

  EIGHTEEN

  “Is that really Tom Thomson’s skull?” I ask once I’ve calmed down and returned to the main room.

  “I wish I could say yes,” Grandfather says, “but it’s only a replica from Skulls Unlimited.”

  “Skulls Unlimited? You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, they’re the go-to place for skulls. You can get real or replica skulls of just about anything, from dinosaurs to humans. I could have got a real human skull, but they’re expensive.”

  “And kind of creepy,” I add.

  “I guess so,” Grandfather agrees. “Bring the skull here and I’ll show you something interesting.”

  I fetch the skull. It’s incredibly detailed and looks very old, but it feels light.

  “This is a replica of a Roman gladiator’s skull,” Grandfather explains. “The original is almost two thousand years old and is in a museum in Rome. See this?” He points to a rough area above the right eye socket. “This is a healed wound, probably one suffered in the arena. This man may have fought for his life in the Coliseum in front of Roman emperors, maybe even Hadrian or Marcus Aurelius.”

  “Cool,” I say, turning the skull around in my hands. It’s certainly very interesting, but it’s not the answer to a mystery I failed to solve.

  I guess a look of disappointment must show on my face. “I’m sorry it’s not Tom Thomson,” Grandfather says. “The story about meeting the fisherman is true, and his cabin did burn down, but I have no idea whether he told me the truth about Thomson’s skull or not. I just thought I could elaborate on the story to create the game for you.”

  “I guess not all mysteries are solvable,” I say.

  “Life is not like a Nero Wolfe mystery. Often there is no answer—and that’s a good thing. Sometimes the most interesting mysteries turn out to have the most boring answers. It’s more fun not to know.”

  Grandfather hands me the envelope. “Here you are. It didn’t all work out as I planned, but you’ve certainly earned this.”

  I take the envelope, wondering what else Grandfather has in store for me. I pull open the flap and two tickets drop out—tickets to the Foo Fighters next month at the Molson Amphitheatre.

  For a moment I’m speechless, so Grandfather fills the silence. “Tickets to that concert you wanted to go to. One for you and one for your friend Sam.”

  “Wow. Thanks,” I say, still feeling overwhelmed. “But Mom said we couldn’t go on our own.”

  “I’ve cleared it with your mother,” Grandfather says with a smile. “Besides, you won’t be going on your own.” For a moment I have the horrific thought that Grandfather’s going to come with us. The only thing worse than not going to see the Foo Fighters would be going with my grandfather. “I’d come myself,” Grandfather goes on, “but I don’t think I’d fit in. Apparently, Carl is a big fan, and he’s offered to go with you boys.”

  “That’s awesome,” I say with relief. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Grandfather says, standing up. “I’m going to see what Carl left us for supper. You must be hungry.”

  “Starving,” I say. “I haven’t eaten anything since a bowl of cereal this morning.”

  “And you’ve had a busy day. After the meal we should get some sleep. I thought tomorrow we might go and poke around at the old Mowat Cemetery. Maybe see if we can find Tom Thomson’s grave.”

  “Okay,” I say, “but if we find it, we’re not digging it up.”

  * * *

  The rest of the week at Canoe Lake is fun. Grandfather and I visit Mowat Cemetery but don’t find Tom Thomson’s grave. We do some canoeing around the islands and a little fishing, and in the evenings Grandfather tells me stories or I read Fer-de-Lance. I never see Sophie or Jason again. Grandfather says they have headed back south and that Sophie says she is sorry if she scared me.

  I do see quite a lot of Carl. He drops by several times, and on the last three days of the week he takes me on a wilderness canoe trip, which involves taking everything we need with us and portaging between lakes. One afternoon I catch two trout that we have for supper. Around the evening fires, Carl tells me stories about hiking he has done in Yellowstone Park and Californ
ia and we discuss the Foo Fighters. I’m really looking forward to going to the concert with him.

  On the last morning before we leave for home, Grandfather and I are sitting at the table finishing breakfast. “I have a favor to ask you,” Grandfather says. “Have you finished reading Fer-de-Lance?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I enjoyed it. I think I’ll try the other Nero Wolfe stories.”

  “Excellent. Would you mind terribly if we left the book for Yuri? He loves reading, and he’s run out of books. He has more on order, but it takes some time for them to be delivered. I’ll replace your copy with a newer one if you want to collect the set.”

  I don’t have to think long. I liked the old man in the resort, and I’d rather have a newer copy anyway. “No problem,” I say, “but didn’t you say it was special to you?”

  “I did, but books are meant to be read. Would you mind taking it over to him? I’m sure he’d like to say goodbye. He doesn’t get many visitors.”

  “Sure,” I say, quite happy to go and have a wander around the resort without feeling I am about to be chased out.

  “You might as well take this one too,” Grandfather adds, standing and taking his copy of Homage to Catalonia from its place among the others on the mantel. “We’ll throw the stuff in the Jeep when you get back and hit the road. If you’re not in a hurry, I thought we might take a detour to Leith and visit Thomson’s other grave. That way we can be fairly sure we’ve paid our respects to at least part of the famous artist.”

  “That’d be good,” I say.

  I take the books and head for the resort. This time I don’t climb the fence but head for the road and enter by the impressive gates. At the reception desk in the foyer, I ask to see Yuri Koval.

  The woman behind the desk looks a bit confused and says, “Why do you want to see him?”

  It seems an odd question to ask at a resort, but I don’t have a good sense of how rich people live, so I say, “I’ve brought him a couple of books.”