Herculeah Jones Tarot Says Beware

by Betsy Byars

  “It makes people feel guilty to be fingerprinted.”

  “Well, if you’d been home instead of out looking for a kidnapped dog—”

  “Let’s not get started on my jobs,” Herculeah’s mother said, cutting him off. There was a silence. Then in a more conversational tone she said, “As a matter of fact, I was never thrilled about her going to Madame Rosa’s when nobody was there but that fool parrot.”

  “Then why didn’t you stop her?”

  “Have you ever tried to stop Herculeah from doing something she wanted to do? For some reason, Herculeah liked the woman.”

  “I take it there were people who didn’t.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Who? Any names?”

  “No. She came to see me one time. Did I ever mention it to you?”

  “No. When was this?”

  “About a month ago.”

  Herculeah listened more intently now. She hadn’t known Madame Rosa had consulted her mother.

  “About what?”

  “Well, she was vague. Apparently some woman had come to her for a consultation—she wouldn’t tell me the woman’s name: The woman wanted to know if Madame Rosa could tell whether someone was capable of murder.”

  “If she could do that, the department could have used her,” Chico Jones said.

  Mim continued thoughtfully, remembering. “I believe the woman’s son had threatened her with a knife, and the woman was frightened.”

  “She could have come to us.”

  “She didn’t think so. Anyway, Madame Rosa told the woman to bring her something belonging to the son. The woman came back with the knife itself.”

  “Did she describe the knife?”

  “No. Madame Rosa took the knife in her hand and closed her eyes. After a moment, she became very upset. She dropped the knife as if she’d been burned and cried, ‘Yes! Yes! Your boy will kill with this knife. Your boy will kill!’ Then she was so overcome that she fainted. When she came to, the woman and the knife were gone.”

  “And she never gave you a name?”

  “No, but I got the feeling it was someone local, because Madame Rosa was afraid for her own life. She was afraid the son might find out what his mother had done and come after her. She began to ramble then, talking about the month not being auspicious—cards, bad omens, things like that. Finally I broke in and asked, what was it exactly that she wanted me to do. She said, ‘That is the trouble. There is nothing anyone can do.’ ”

  Listening upstairs, Herculeah thought her mother did a good job of imitating Madame Rosa’s voice. But then Madame Rosa had a distinctive voice.

  “I told her she should go to the police. She said, ‘But I have no proof. I only have’—she put her hand on her chest—‘a feeling.’ Even though I don’t believe in that sort of thing, Chico, the way she said the word ‘feeling’ made me shiver.”

  “Anything more?”

  “No, she got up then and left. I really didn’t take the thing seriously, although maybe I should have. After all, she was killed with a knife.”

  “Yes.”

  “But do you think the two things could be connected?”

  “It’s possible.”

  The phone rang then, interrupting the conversation. Her mother answered, “Mim Jones.”

  She listened and said, “Yes, he’s right here. It’s for you, Chico.”

  Her father’s voice made a series of nothing remarks—“ Yes.... No.... None? ... I see.... Yes, it does look that way.”

  He hung up the phone. Herculeah raised up on one elbow to hear what her father was going to say.

  He said, “They just got the results of the fingerprints.”

  Herculeah got to her feet and moved toward the door. Her hand covered her heart.

  “The only fingerprints on the knife were Madame Rosa’s.”

  Herculeah didn’t wait to hear any more. “She didn’t kill herself!” she yelled.

  She ran out into the hall.

  “She didn’t! There was somebody downstairs. I don’t care what you say—Madame Rosa didn’t kill herself!”

  She flew down the stairs. Her parents came into the hallway and looked up at her. Their faces were lined in mutual concern.

  “Go back to bed,” her mother said. “I’m coming up to talk to you.” She turned to Herculeah’s father. “You’d better go, Chico. She’s had too much for one day.”

  “I agree,” her father said. “I want to say one thing first.”

  “You’ve already said too much.”

  “Herculeah, I’m very sorry you got drawn into this—sorrier than you can imagine. However, I never once thought that your involvement was anything other than the very unfortunate accident of finding the body.”

  “Are you through, Chico? Will you please go now?”

  “No, I am not through.” He looked up at Herculeah. “Hon, you did everything exactly right. You didn’t touch anything vital. You called the police. You gave us your help.

  “But now, your involvement is over. I will keep you posted on anything you need to know. In the meantime, I want you to get on with your life and leave this investigation to us.”

  Herculeah paused. The strength that had sent her flying down the stairs now left her. She put out one hand and gripped the banister for support.

  “She did not kill herself,” she said stubbornly.

  “On that point we agree,” her father said.

  10

  A KEY AT MIDNIGHT

  Herculeah awoke at midnight. She was so twisted in her covers that she had to work to free herself. She got to her feet. She saw her moonlit reflection in the mirror.

  The ribbon that had bound her hair had come loose, and her hair was extra wild. She smoothed it down and went into the hall.

  The house was quiet. Slowly, she started down the steps.

  Her first thought when she awoke was not of Madame Rosa. She had not even dreamed of Madame Rosa, as she had feared she might. Her thoughts were of Tarot. What had become of the parrot? Who had taken him? She should have thought to do that herself.

  In the morning she would call her dad and find out. He might let her keep him until a relative was found. She recalled there was only one.

  Herculeah walked into the darkened living room. She crossed to the window where she had stood just that afternoon. It seemed a long time ago.

  She looked up the street at Madame Rosa’s house. Then she rested her forehead against the cool glass.

  Outside, the street was deserted. There had been a light rain, and the streetlights gave a soft glow to the parked cars. She lifted her head and glanced again at Madame Rosa’s house. Her look sharpened.

  There was a light on in the living room downstairs. She could see a thin crack of light through the partly opened draperies. Herculeah didn’t think the strip of light had been there when she first looked. If it had not been, then someone had just turned on the light.

  She tried to shake off the thought. I do have too much imagination, she thought with a sigh.

  She glanced down, saw the binoculars, and picked them up. She lifted them to her face. She noticed two things.

  1. The police barricade had been broken.

  2. The light was no longer there.

  From the doorway her mother said, “Herculeah, what are you doing at the window?”

  “Mom, listen, I woke up and I thought about Tarot and I came downstairs. I was just standing here at the window, and I noticed that a light was on in Madame Rosa’s living room. And then I picked up the binocs to check it out and the light went away. Either someone turned off the light or someone pulled the drapes closed. Mom, somebody’s over there. If you don’t believe me, look, the police barricade’s down.”

  “Anybody could have broken that. Anyway, this is your father’s business. You can call him in the morning.”

  “But, Mom, in the morning he’ll be gone. And what if it’s the murderer?”

  “If it’s the murderer, it’s up to your father
to catch him, not us. You heard what your father said. He wants you to stay out of this, and for once I agree with him. Now, good night.”

  “Mom, just let me tell you one thing.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “We could go over there. We could check it out. Mom, listen, I’ve got the key.”

  “What key?”

  “The key to Madame Rosa’s. She gave it to me so I could look after the parrot.”

  “Where is this key?”

  “In my drawer upstairs. I’ll go get it.”

  “We’ll both go get it.”

  “Mom, you’ll actually do this?” Herculeah asked. She didn’t feel tired at all now. She was always exhilarated by investigation. “We’re going?”

  “We are going to bed, young lady.”

  “Mom, you know I hate it when you call me ‘young lady. ”’

  “In this case, it’s a compliment. I could call you a lot of other things.”

  “Like what?”

  “If you are trying to distract me from that key, you have not succeeded. I want it.” She held out her hand. “And I want it now.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  Her mother took Herculeah by the arm and led her upstairs. She waited at the door to Herculeah’s room.

  Herculeah went into her room, opened her top drawer, and took the key out of the old cigar box where she kept her valuables.

  She handed it to her mother. “There.”

  “Thank you,” her mother said.

  Herculeah watched as her mother went into her bedroom. She listened as her mother opened a drawer and dropped the key inside.

  Herculeah knew which drawer her mother had opened—the one in her bedside table. Satisfied, Herculeah went back to bed.

  11

  THE SHADOW

  “Do you get the feeling we’re being followed?” Herculeah asked uneasily.

  “Who would follow us?”

  “I don’t know,” Herculeah said. “The Shadow,” she added in a theatrical voice. She glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t know. Meat, I have the feeling that I saw something yesterday afternoon that ought to make sense to me and it doesn’t. Or maybe somebody thinks I saw something. It’s like I’m in a daze.”

  “I know. That’s why we’ve come to the flea market—to take your mind off it.”

  “There was something wrong about that body.”

  “Yes, it was dead.”

  Herculeah grimaced.

  “You want my opinion, Herculeah?”

  “About what?”

  “About why she was killed?”

  Herculeah glanced at him.

  “Blackmail,” he finished.

  “Why blackmail?” Herculeah asked.

  “Because people told her things, like I spilled my guts about my dad. Herculeah, you get in that little room, and it’s like being in a psychiatrist’s office—only darker and more secret. You tell things.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Take it from me. You tell things.”

  Meat and Herculeah were making their way through the open-air part of the flea market. They sidestepped around baby strollers, young kids with Sno-Kones and cotton candy, families of shoppers.

  “I saw Madame Rosa in here once,” Meat said. “She was handing out flyers. I took one.”

  “Do you remember what it said?”

  “‘I know your future—do you?’ That was in big letters. Below that, it said she did readings, contacted departed loved ones, located missing people—that was what made me go to her about my dad. But, of course, she didn’t help me—at least she didn’t get to finish helping me.”

  The flea market was spread over the grounds of an old cotton warehouse. During the week, it was nothing but a stretch of cracked tarmac and a dusty field, but on the weekends, the vendors set up booths or sold from the backs of station wagons or from blankets on the ground. There were music and balloons in the air.

  In the old warehouse itself were permanent booths—concession stands, furniture and antique stalls, a puppet show, and a video-game arcade.

  Herculeah looked at Meat. “You’re uneasy, too.”

  “I am not.”

  “I can always tell.”

  “How?”

  “You go like this.” Herculeah narrowed her eyes and glanced suspiciously from side to side.

  “I do not.”

  Herculeah smiled. “You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to buy myself a good-luck charm.”

  “An amulet,” Meat suggested. “I get that in cross-word puzzles sometimes. That’s what you want. It means an old charm.”

  “Good-luck charms have to be old. They have to have worked at one time or another.”

  “I think amulets hang around your neck.”

  “Then that’s exactly what I want.”

  “Everything’s half-price,” a woman in a straw hat told them, stretching her arms out over a table of socks and underwear.

  Herculeah shook her head. “We’re looking for something special.”

  She paused to check out an assortment of beads and bracelets spread out on a blanket. “You see anything you like?” the lady asked.

  “I’m looking for something old. An amulet.”

  “An amu-what?” the lady said.

  “Never mind.”

  “The real old stuff’s inside the warehouse,” Meat said.

  They went through the wide doors and were immediately approached by a man in Levi’s.

  “Help you?” he asked.

  “I’m looking for old jewelry.”

  “I got earrings, nose rings, hand rings, toe rings, bracelets, necklaces, anklets—you name it, I got it.”

  “Where are the necklaces?”

  “Right back here.”

  The necklaces were hanging from an old towel rack, and Herculeah looked through them slowly. “Would you call that an amulet?” she asked Meat, showing him a crystal attached to a chain.

  “No—well, maybe. I don’t know. I never actually saw one of the things before.”

  She closed her hand around it. “I don’t get a feeling that it’s lucky.”

  Again, she let her hands roam over the necklaces. She closed her eyes, then said, “Now that feels lucky. What do you think, Meat?”

  She showed him a chain with an acorn-shaped pendant suspended from it.

  “Well, it looks old, anyway.”

  Herculeah turned to the man. “Can I try this silver one on?”

  He unlocked the rack and Herculeah slipped the necklace over her head. “I wonder if there’s anything inside,” she asked, fingering the necklace. “It looks like the top comes off. Does it?”

  “It’s probably something real valuable in there, missy.”

  “I bet,” Herculeah said.

  “I didn’t want to pry the top off,” the vendor explained. “It’s too valuable a piece to ruin.”

  “How valuable?”

  “I’d have to have five dollars for that—‘cause you’re not just getting a chain and a silver antique acorn thing. You’re also getting whatever’s inside.”

  “I’ll give you three.”

  “Three dollars! Missy, the chain alone’s worth three dollars.” He gave her a pained expression. “Four,” he said.

  “Three-fifty.”

  More pain. He shook his head. “Missy, you drive a hard bargain. It’s a deal.”

  Herculeah smiled—her first real smile of the day. She turned to Meat. “Lend me three-fifty,” she said.

  “You don’t have any money?”

  “Not with me.”

  Meat sighed and pulled out some money. “If there’s anything valuable in there, I get half of it,” he said.

  “I promise, but it doesn’t want to open—I tried to force it when the man wasn’t looking.”

  “You better leave it alone. The good luck might get out,” Meat said.

  They walked away with Herculeah smiling down at her amulet. She glanced at Meat.

  “I want a Sno-Kone. Do
you?”

  “I don’t suppose you have any money for those either.”

  “No.”

  He sighed. “Oh, come on.”

  , They walked to the Sno-Kone stand, and a woman in a baseball cap said, “What flavor?”

  “Rainbow,” said Herculeah.

  “Same,” said Meat.

  They took their cones and began walking again. Herculeah’s cone had already begun to drip, but -she didn’t care. She felt good.

  “It’s amazing what a Sno-Kone and an amulet can do for you,” she said, grinning at Meat. “Maybe you ought to get one.”

  They started back down the aisle. As they passed the booth where Herculeah had bought the amulet, Meat paused. “I want to ask this guy something.”

  “I’ll be over here,” Herculeah answered, nodding to a booth that sold used books.

  Meat approached the man. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “There used to be a woman, a fortune-teller, who handed out flyers here.”

  “Yeah, Madame Rosa. She had a booth down across from the puppet theater. She stopped coming here, though.”

  “Do you know why?”

  The man shook his head. “She came flying out of here a few Saturdays ago like the devil himself was after her. I stopped her. I said, ‘Lady, you need some help?’ The woman was as white as if she’d seen a ghost. She muttered something about a knife. I said, ‘Somebody pulled a knife on you? You want me to call security?’

  “She looked at me. I’ll never forget that look as long as I live. I asked again, ‘Did somebody pull a knife on you?’ And she answered—and I’ll never forget this, either—‘No, but they will.”’

  12

  KILLER PUPPETS

  “Puppets!” Herculeah lifted her head. She said, “I hear puppets.”

  Over the loudspeaker an artificially high voice was chirping, “It’s time for us to go on.”

  “It is not. It’s five minutes before we go on.”

  “Frankie said it’s time for us to go on riiiight now.”

  “What does Frankie know?”

  “Frankie knows more than we do.”

  “Huh! He wouldn’t be anything without us.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t be much without him.”

  “Huh.”

  “Well, anyway, it’s time for us to go on.”