Dead Guys Talk

by Barbara Joosse

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Wanted Advertisement

  1. Reeks Like Foot Juice

  2. X Marks the...

  3. One Big Monster

  4. Surveillance

  5. Big Voice

  6. Mr. Briefcase

  7. Bodyguard Service

  8. Some Slimeball

  9. Something About That Name

  10. Wizard of Worm

  11. POP!

  12. Ka-Ching!

  13. Voice from the Grave

  14. Pay Dirt

  15. My Dead Friends

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  Clarion Books

  a Houghton Mifflin Company imprint

  215 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10003

  Text copyright © 2006 by Barbara M. Joosse

  Illustrations copyright © 2006 by Abby Carter

  The illustrations were executed in black colored pencil and wash.

  The text was set in 14-point Palatino.

  All rights reserved.

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this

  book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Company,

  215 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10003.

  www.houghtonmifflinbooks.com

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Joosse, Barbara M.

  Dead guys talk : a Wild Willie mystery / by Barbara M. Joosse;

  illustrated by Abby Carter,

  p. cm.

  Summary: In the dead middle of summer, the Scarface Detectives

  investigate their creepiest case yet when a mysterious client

  sends them to Oak Hill Cemetery, where Loonie Loraine is buried.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-618-30666-4

  ISBN-10: 0-618-30666-8

  [1. Cemeteries—Fiction. 2. Detectives—Fiction. 3. Friendship—Fiction.]

  I. Carter, Abby, ill. II. Title.

  PZ7.J7435Dea 2006

  [Fic]—dc22

  2005027748

  QUM 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For my friend Sarah McEneany, who gets it

  —B. M. J.

  To Samantha and Carter

  —A. C.

  1. Reeks Like Foot Juice

  It was the dead middle of summer. At the beginning of summer, there are a million things to do. Building forts, fooling around, solving crimes. At the end, you have to moosh in all the stuff you forgot. But in the middle?

  You know what I mean.

  Plus, it was hot outside. Really hot. The kind of melty hot where your leg skin sticks together. The kind of hot where your nose breath is the only air that's moving. The kind of hot where you don't like where you are ... but don't want to go where you're not.

  One of the reasons my detective partners call me Wild Willie is that I have great ideas. But today? Well, maybe my ideas had boiled in my brain. Because I couldn't think of a single good thing to do.

  My best friend, Lucy, and I were drinking soda in my room. We had shoved some of my stuff under the bed so we could sit on the floor. Which is where we were now. Which is where we had been for an hour.

  "Willie," said Lucy. "Your room really stinks."

  "I know," I said. "There isn't that much to do in here. And this is a really old house. So we don't have air conditioning."

  "No," Lucy said. "I don't mean it's a crummy room. I mean it reeks, like foot juice."

  "Really?" I said.

  "Yuk," said Lucy, holding her nose. "Don't you smell it?"

  "I guess not," I said. "Probably I'm used to it."

  "Where's the smell coming from?" Lucy sniffed the air and followed the stink trail. Her nose got to the garbage. "Here," she said.

  I stuck my nose in there. "Eeew."

  "What's in there, anyway?" Lucy asked.

  "Well, some tissues with slimy stuff on them. Some sandwiches that are maybe a little moldy. And a banana I found under my bed. I had to scrape it up with my sock. My sock's there, too."

  "Aha! Under your bed!" said Lucy.

  She lifted the bedspread and looked underneath. Stink blasted out. "WILLIE! THIS IS DISGUSTING! It's even grosser than your garbage. What's under there?"

  "I don't exactly know," I said. "But old soccer socks, for sure. And some food. Sometimes when Mom makes liver or fish or vegetarian, I hide it under my bed."

  "Oooh," groaned Lucy. "Willie, how often do you clean under there?"

  "Clean?" I asked.

  "STOP!" said Lucy, holding up her hands. Her face looked green, like mold.

  "You don't look so good, Lucy." I opened the window. But it was hot outside, so even the outside smelled rotten. "Maybe we should go someplace that doesn't smell so bad. How about headquarters?"

  "Headquarters is in Kyle's attic," Lucy said. "It's a trillion degrees up there."

  "Your house?" I asked.

  "Forget it. Mom's having a meeting. The women are wearing perfume."

  So it seemed like we'd be stuck in my room forever. Boiling, stinky hot. With nothing to do. But sometimes, when you least expect it, opportunity knocks.

  Knock knock knock.

  "WILLIE!" My other best friend, Kyle, rushed into my room. He was waving an envelope. "Look at this! Somebody sent us something."

  The envelope said Scarface Detectives.

  "Open it!" I said.

  Kyle ripped open the envelope. Inside was a note. It said:

  HELP!

  And that was all.

  "Who's it from?" Lucy asked.

  "There's no signature," said Kyle. He looked again at the envelope. "And no return address."

  "Hey!" Lucy said. "There's something on the other side of the note."

  Kyle flipped the paper over. There was a map on the other side.

  It was the dead middle of summer. But an adventure was just beginning.

  Did I mention it was dead middle?

  2. X Marks the...

  We crammed our heads together and looked at the map. There was an X where we were and an X somewhere else, and a bunch of streets in between.

  "Are we supposed to go to the other X spot?" I asked.

  "I guess," Kyle said. "Maybe it's like a treasure hunt or something."

  Lucy said, "I don't think it's a treasure hunt. The note says 'Help!' Somebody's in trouble."

  "Maybe it's a client who needs our detective help," I said.

  "Or it could be a trick," Kyle said. "The map doesn't lead to Chuckie's house, does it?"

  Chuckie's a kid in the neighborhood. He's bad to the bone. If this was a trick, he'd be behind it. "Noooo," I said, scratching my head. "It's not Chuckie's house. Look." I pointed. "The map leads out of the neighborhood, past the sledding hill, right to the X. So X marks the—"

  "CEMETERY!" Lucy said. She let go of the map, and it fluttered to the ground. "The X is smack in the middle of Oak Hill Cemetery."

  Kyle picked up the map. "Lucy's right," he said. "That is the cemetery" He looked at Lucy and me. "Hey, you guys look pale. You aren't scared of a dumb cemetery, are you?"

  "Well, yeah," I said. "Aren't you?"

  "Naw," Kyle said. "Cemeteries are just full of a bunch of moldy old dead guys. Dead guys can't hurt you. They're dead. But it is funny that somebody wants to meet us there."

  "Yeah," said Lucy. "Very funny. Ha-ha." She wasn't laughing.

  "There's only one way to find out what this is all about. We have to walk to the X. Let's go," said Kyle.

  I wanted to go, but my feet seemed stuck to the floor. "You first," I said. "You've got the map."

  So Kyle led us outside. We walked past
his house, which used to belong to Loony Loraine. When she died, her greedy nephew, Neil, sold it to Kyle's parents. That was Kyle's lucky day. Loraine had been an amateur detective, like us. So her house was full of detective stuff—a secret passage, files full of scoop on everyone in town, detective magazines, and Scarface, a crime-talking parrot.

  The neighborhood ended after Kyle's house. You know how it is in a neighborhood. Lots of people recognize you. Lots of people watch you from their windows. If you yelled "HELP!" in your neighborhood, a million moms and dads would come running. But outside of it...? I shivered.

  We kept walking. We walked onto Bridge Street ... over the creek ... to the sledding hill. Then we saw it:

  OAK HILL CEMETERY

  There it was, big as life.

  Or death.

  We followed the map, tiptoeing past tombstones, fake flowers, trees, and a creepy cement angel. It was getting darker and darker outside. Like somebody was fooling around with the dimmer switch. Finally, we got to the X spot.

  It was on an actual grave. "Yowzer!" I said, jumping off. "We're standing on top of a dead guy."

  Lucy jumped off, too, but Kyle stayed put. Lucy and I mashed together.

  "Whoever's underneath here is D-E-A-D. It's not like he cares. It's not like he can feel us standing here." Kyle danced on top of the grave to prove his point. "La-dee-da-dee-da," he sang. "See? Nothing happened. Nobody jumped up and said 'Boo!'...N-n-no bones rattled ... and n-n-nobody whoooo'd. A dead, putrid, glowing arm did not come out of the ground and g-g-grab me."

  Suddenly, Kyle backed off the grave and mashed in with Lucy and me. "I guess it is pretty freaky here," he said. "M-m-maybe we should go home."

  "Well, we ARE detectives," I said. "We can't give up and walk away just because we're scaredies. We have to snoop around. It's our job. Besides, maybe it is Chuckie, playing a trick." I cupped my hand around my mouth. "Hey, Chuckie! We know it's you. Come on out."

  But nobody answered. It was still just us and a bunch of dead guys.

  "It's not funny, Chuckie!" yelled Lucy. "Come out."

  Silence.

  "I guess it's not Chuckie," Kyle said. "If it was, he'd be laughing his head off now, calling us suckers."

  "Let's keep investigating." I circled the grave. On the other side was a weird-looking tree. It was huge. And bumpy, like it had warts. And the roots stuck out of the grass like bony toes. There was a giant hole in it that looked like a screaming mouth.

  "Hey!" I said. Next to the mouth hole was our next clue. "Another note!" We crammed together to read it. It said:

  This is the place.

  Lucy snatched it off the tree. Like before, there was writing on the other side. It said:

  Somebody's trying to

  sell the cemetery.

  We don't want to move.

  We need your help!

  Come back for further

  communication.

  "Oh, man!" Kyle whispered.

  I thought the dark and the map and the note and the cemetery and the skeleton tree were as creepy as things could get. I thought, If this were a scary movie, this would be the worst part. Now things will get better. Only they didn't. Things got creepier, because that's when we read the writing on the tombstone. It said:

  Loraine Lamonde,

  beloved aunt of Neil.

  May she rest in peace.

  3. One Big Monster

  "Yow! This is Loony Loraine's grave!" I said.

  "And I danced on it," said Kyle.

  We backed up, one shaky step at a time. Farther and farther...

  Right into bony arms!

  "AAAAAIGH!" we yelled.

  "Hey," Lucy said. "It's just a bunch of vines." She shook a stem. "See?"

  "Right," I said. "A vine."

  Kyle shivered. "It's no wonder we're creeped out. We're in a cemetery! It's spooky to walk on dead people's graves. And we haven't even met our client. Why isn't our client here, anyway?"

  I looked around. "Maybe she is," I whispered.

  "You don't mean...?" said Kyle, looking over his shoulder. Rumble.

  "...that our client's ... a ghost?" I whispered. A shiver ran down my back. "Maybe."

  Rumble rumble.

  "Is s-s-somebody grumbling?" Kyle asked. "Willie? Is that you?"

  Crack!

  "It's thunder," said Lucy. "It's going to storm!" Split, splat. "Here it comes. Let's run for it!"

  We started to run.

  The sky growled at us: grumble grumble grumble. The sky cracked at us. SNAP!

  The water—split, splat—started coming faster and faster. Suddenly:

  Whooooooosh!

  "Yowzer!" I yelled. "It's pouring!"

  We ran faster. My heart bashed around in my chest and my legs burned like crazy, but I kept running. All of a sudden, it felt like everything mooshed together and turned into one big monster—the thunder, the lightning, the skeleton tree, the bony vine, the dead people in the cemetery, and Loony Loraine. I ran and ran and ran ... like I was running for my life.

  Mom was drinking coffee in the living room. "Goodness!" she said. "You're soaking wet. And white as sheets. Would you like some cocoa?"

  Mom wrapped us in towels and warmed the milk.

  Sometimes I think orphans are lucky. They don't have moms to bug them. There's nobody to make you do chores. Nobody to tell you to do your homework. Nobody to say, "Pick up your room and DON'T forget under the bed. Are you listening to me?"

  But this wasn't one of those times.

  Mom mixed the cocoa and squirted big mounds of whipped cream on top. She set the mugs in front of us, along with a bowl of salted peanuts in the shell. Then she went back to the living room.

  I sipped my cocoa and sprayed a whipped-cream mustache on my face. "Yowzer," I said, through the mustache.

  "No kidding," said Lucy. "That cemetery sure was spooky." She squirted herself whipped-cream eyebrows.

  "After we got the note, everything was spooky. I kept getting goose bumps, but it was hot outside. I kept feeling that someone was watching us, but no one was there."

  "Maybe it was the storm coming," Kyle said. He cracked open a nut. "There's a lot of electricity in the air before a storm. Electricity-air can give you goose bumps."

  "That could have been it," said Lucy. "Almost for sure."

  "Read the second note again," said Kyle.

  Lucy unfolded the soaking-wet note carefully and read it out loud.

  "What does it mean?" Kyle asked. "Who's trying to sell the cemetery? What happens to all the dead bodies when a cemetery is sold? Do they throw them in the garbage? Do they put them in another cemetery?"

  "And do we get a reward if we solve the case? And what exactly IS the case?" added Lucy. "This is not your usual mystery."

  Kyle popped a nut into his mouth. "How can we figure out the case if we don't know who our client is?"

  "We need to surveil," Lucy said. "We need to watch the cemetery, to see who comes and goes. Maybe we'll catch somebody leaving a note on Loony Loraine's grave. Then we'll know that's our client."

  "But what if our client is a ghost?" I asked. "Think about it. Those dead guys are nice and cozy in their graves. The note said: 'WE DON'T WANT TO MOVE.' Plus—and this is a very big plus—the second note was on Loony Loraine's personal grave."

  "You mean ... Loony Loraine is our client?" Kyle asked.

  "I'm not saying she is. And I'm not saying she's not," I said.

  "We have to consider all possibilities," said Lucy. "Loony Loraine might be our client. Or maybe it's somebody alive. Really, it could be anybody. We'll just have to stay alert."

  The doorbell rang.

  "Maybe that's our client now," Kyle said, running for the door. He swung it open.

  There wasn't anybody there.

  4. Surveillance

  I woke up the next morning and snapped the shade up. The storm had blasted the heat out of the air. It was clear. You could see a mile away. It was great weather for surveillance, and I had
a plan.

  After breakfast, I gathered up supplies and rode my bike to headquarters. I rang Kyle's doorbell and went in. Then I walked into Kyle's room ... into his closet ... behind his clothes ... through the secret passage ... to headquarters.

  "Man oh man oh man," Scarface said in Loraine's exact voice. Scarface is an African Grey. African Greys are the world's smartest parrots. Scarface knows a million words, most of them detective words. Loraine taught her to talk, so she sounds just like her.

  She paced back and forth on the desk like a short, feathered detective. "Murder. Missing jewels. Stick 'em up," she muttered.

  I was wearing my yesterday shorts and there were some peanuts in the pockets. I held a few out to Scarface.

  "Braaack! Scarface want some?" she said, hopping around on the desk. "Want some, want some?" Peanuts are Scarface's favorite food. She took the peanuts and started chomping.

  "Hi-ho," I said to Lucy and Kyle.

  "Everybody's here," said Lucy. "Let's make plans. We have to observe the cemetery, but we don't want to be watched. We don't know who our client is, and we want to find out."

  Kyle, Lucy, and Scarf ace looked at me. I am the Idea Man, after all.

  "Here's the plan," I said. "We sneak to the cemetery. Kyle and Lucy, you can cover. You watch from the sledding hill. You can see great from up there. I'll walk into the cemetery and look around. Then I'll set up a trap."

  "Gotcha!" said Scarf ace.

  "A trap?" asked Kyle.

  "The note said, 'Come back for further communication.' That means, somehow, our client has to get back to the grave to leave another note. Here comes the trap part. I brought some sewing thread. It's really thin. You can hardly see it. See?" I took the spool out of my pocket. "So I wind this all over Loony Loraine's grave. Later, if there's another note from our client, we check the thread. If it's been moved, then we know a regular person has walked on the grave. If it hasn't..."