by Betsy Byars
“It is not—hey, you’re right. It is time for us to go on. Everybody on stage. It’s time for us to go on.”
Herculeah said, “Come on. I feel like watching puppets.”
“I hate puppets,” Meat said.
“You can’t hate puppets, Meat. They’re toys.”
“I hate puppets. I hate mimes. I hate clowns. I have a real reason for hating puppets, though,” he said as he reluctantly followed Herculeah toward the show.
“What’s that?”
“There was this girl in my kindergarten class and she wore mittens that were like puppets. One was a dog and one was a cat. And she’d come up to me and say in a high voice, ‘You better pet us or we’ll bite you,’ and I’d reach out to pet the stupid things and before I could, they’d bite me. And it hurt. And she only did it to me. She’d let everybody else pet them. I was the only one they bit.”
“Oh, Meat, mittens can’t hurt.”
“These could. They had teeth—little pearls. Killer puppets, I called them.”
Meat broke off his story to say, “I bet that’s Madame Rosa’s booth over there. The amulet guy said it was across from the theater.”
Herculeah turned and looked at the empty booth. She could imagine Madame Rosa there, laying out her cards, bending over palms. Unbidden, tears filled her eyes and she curled her fingers around her amulet.
“He told me something else. Madame Rosa saw something that terrified her. She saw it somewhere here in the flea market. And that’s not all. She was muttering something about a—”
“Tell me later, Meat. We need to back up and let these little kids up front,” Herculeah said.
The children arranged themselves on the floor in front of the curtain. The curtain opened and Frankie, the puppeteer, stuck his head out.
“She was muttering something about a knife,” Meat whispered.
Herculeah looked at him then, but her question was drowned out by the puppeteer’s hearty, “Hi, gang!”
“Hi.”
“Let’s try that again. I didn’t hear you. Hi!”
“HI!”
“That’s better.”
Herculeah wanted to ask about the knife, but her eyes focused on the puppeteer.
“Who is he?” she asked Meat in a whisper.
“Some guy.”
“He looks familiar.”
The puppeteer said, “Want to get on with the show?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t hear you.”
“YES!”
The head of the first puppet appeared. It was a prince.
“There’s something familiar about him, too,” Herculeah mumbled.
“I read somewhere that the puppeteer models his characters on real people,” Meat whispered back.
The prince looked up at the sky. “Ah, beautiful night! Bring forth my loved one!” Then to the crowd he said, “I am waiting here for the most beautiful girl in the world.”
The ogre’s head appeared behind him, bringing cries of delight from the audience.
The prince swirled around, but the ogre was gone. “Did you see her?” he asked the audience.
“YES!”
“Was she not the most beautiful girl in the world?”
“NO!”
“I will try again. O beautiful night, bring forth my loved one.”
A witch appeared, flying down from above and disappearing almost immediately on the other side of the stage.
The audience laughed in delight. Again the prince asked, “Oh, did you see her?”
“YES!”
“Was she not beautiful?”
“NO!”
Herculeah reached for Meat’s hand and held it. Meat was so stunned that for a moment he almost made a terrible mistake and jerked his hand away.
He glanced at Herculeah, but her eyes were on the stage.
“Did you see the witch?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you notice anything about her?”
“Not really.”
“Not even who she looked like?”
“No.”
“Madame Rosa.”
13
WHICH WITCH
The show had ended. The puppeteer had taken up a collection, and he had reminded the audience, “There’ll be another show at four o’clock—a completely different show. Don’t miss it. This one’s going to be sca-a-a-ry!”
Herculeah and Meat followed him backstage.
“Hi, I’m Herculeah Jones,” she said. “We really enjoyed your show.”
“Well, thanks. I’m hoping for a bigger audience at four. Come back. Check it out.”
“I think it’s really neat the way you model your puppets on real people.”
The puppeteer’s look sharpened. “I’ve seen you around somewhere. Let me think.”
“Her mom’s a private eye,” Meat said, more to get into the conversation than to be helpful.
The puppeteer turned his sharp gaze on Meat. “I’ve seen her sign, over on ...”
He paused as if waiting for Meat to supply the name of the street, but Herculeah interrupted.
“Are all of your puppets based on real people? I thought I recognized one.”
“Hey, maybe I’ll do a puppet of you sometime,” the puppeteer said, sidestepping the question. “You’d make a good ... let me see ... Amazon.”
Meat looked quickly at Herculeah to see if she had been insulted, but she was smiling, apparently pleased.
“You’d have to use a lot of yarn for my hair,” Herculeah said.
“Well, don’t do one of me,” Meat interrupted, “or you’d have to use a lot of—” He stopped abruptly.
“Stuffing,” the puppeteer finished.
Meat turned away as if he’d been slapped. He did feel insulted. He wasn’t secure like Herculeah.
“Can I ask you something else?” Herculeah said.
“Shoot.”
“You used to know Madame Rosa, didn’t you?”
“Who?”
“Madame Rosa. She had that booth over there.” Herculeah pointed to the now-empty booth across the way.
“Oh, her.”
“Herculeah was the person who found her body,” Meat said. At least when he did get into the conversation, he had something interesting to say.
The puppet in Frank’s hands took an involuntary step in midair.
“Yeah, well, she had that booth, but she hasn’t been here in a while. I can’t even remember the last time I saw her.”
“Did you ever notice who her customers were?”
“Mostly women.”
“Any regulars?”
“I didn’t watch that closely. It looked like an impulse thing. People would see her sign and, ‘Hey, I think I’ll find out about old Uncle Abe’s will.’ ”
Herculeah smiled, but Meat didn’t. A sudden thought hit him. “I was just talking to that guy who sells jewelry, and he said that Madame Rosa came running out of here like she’d seen a ghost—like the devil himself was after her—that’s the way he put it.”
The puppeteer gave a shrug. “So?”
“So I was wondering if you saw anything that could have scared her.”
“No, but I was probably in the middle of a show. I don’t notice anything then but the puppets. Man, I’ve got a cast of hundreds.”
Herculeah was watching him intently. “I noticed the witch sort of resembled Madame Rosa. Was that on purpose?”
“Nah, I’ve had that puppet for years.”
“Her cloak was like the witch’s too.”
“A cloak’s a cloak—a piece of black cloth. Look, it’s been nice talking with you, but I got another show in fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks for your time,” Herculeah said.
Herculeah and Meat walked away from the theater, past the stalls and booths, and out into the open air. They started for home.
“That man,” Herculeah said, “knows something he’s not telling.”
“You might as well finish your state
ment,” Meat said tiredly.
Herculeah looked at him, puzzled.
“‘That man knows something he’s not telling ...”’ Meat repeated, then he supplied the ending, “‘and I’m going to find out what.’ ”
Herculeah smiled grimly.
14
FOGGING OUT
Herculeah and Meat were sitting across from each other in Herculeah’s kitchen. They both stared down at the papers in front of them on the table.
“You make up a list of suspects,” Herculeah had said to Meat, “and I will, too. Then we’ll compare notes.”
Herculeah was eating a toasted peanut butter and carrot sandwich as she worked on her list.
So far she had:1. Madame Rosa’s last remaining relative.
2. Someone Madame Rosa was blackmailing.
3. The boy whose mother had consulted Madame Rosa about the knife.
4. Meat’s mother.
Herculeah realized she couldn’t show the list to Meat, because his mother was on it. She glanced at him across the table. He was nervously tapping the point of his pencil on the table.
So far, Meat had three items on his list:1. The mime.
He had been so ashamed after he wrote this that he was going to erase it, but Herculeah had given him a pencil without an eraser. Also there had been something about the mime’s unreadable eyes that still troubled him.
He added:2. The puppeteer.
3. Any clowns in the area.
Now he was even more ashamed of his list. However, he had always had a deep suspicion of anyone hiding in a clown suit.
“You’re sure you don’t want one of these?” Herculeah asked, indicating her sandwich. “This is the first time I’ve been able to eat anything since the—since yesterday.” She still liked to avoid the word murder.
“No, thanks,” he lied.
She put down her sandwich and crossed out Meat’s mother’s name.
“Who are you crossing out?” he asked, looking at her sharply.
“Nobody important.” She smiled. “That’s why I’m crossing them out. You know who my best suspect is? I don’t know if I told you this, but Madame Rosa came to talk to my mom.”
“ ‘Oh? Why didn’t she just look in the future?”
“Meat, be serious. This could be important. Some woman came to Madame Rosa because her son had threatened her. She wanted Madame Rosa to tell her if the threat was real or not. Madame Rosa told her the same thing she told you about your dad. ‘You gotta bring me something belonging to the boy.’ Now I’m imitating her.”
“What’d she bring?”
“She brought the knife.”
“The same knife she was stabbed with?”
“We don’t know that. Anyway, Madame Rosa took the knife—like she did your father’s ring—only the vibes were so terrible, so threatening that she fainted. When she came to, the woman and the knife were gone.” She smiled ruefully. “But I think the woman had her answer.”
“Who was the woman?”
“Madame Rosa didn’t say.”
Meat was staring intently at Herculeah’s sandwich. She noticed and said, “I’ll put pickles on it.”
“On what?”
“The sandwich.”
“No, I better not. Even if I do get to be six feet four, it wouldn’t take all that many peanut butter sandwiches to fill me out.”
“Dill pickles.”
“Oh, all right, I’ll have a peanut butter and pickle sandwich, but hold the carrots. Then he added, ”Open face.“ He felt easier after this decision.
Herculeah put the sandwich on a paper towel and set it before Meat. Then she said, “Maybe I ought to try putting on my glasses.”
“What?”
“Those glasses that make me think better.”
“How would that help?”
“I don’t know. There are a lot of things I don’t understand. Anyway, it can’t hurt. I need to fog out.”
Herculeah went into the living room and came back with her pair of granny glasses. She had bought these in a secondhand store on Antique Row because when she put them on they turned the world into a blur and allowed her to think better.
She unfolded the glasses and looked at them. “The trouble is that as far as I’m concerned, the whole world is already a blur.”
She hooked the thin metal hoops around her ears and stared into the thick glass.
Meat waited in silence as long as he could. “Nothing?” he asked finally.
“Well, I wouldn’t call it nothing.”
“What?”
“I see that room.”
“The scene of the crime?”
“I see those pictures ...”
“What pictures?”
“Madame Rosa had family pictures lined up on this old chest. They were relatives—a dozen of them, she told me once. She also told me that they were all dead but one. Then she said two, because she forgot to count herself.”
Meat bent forward over his sandwich.
“There was a picture of Madame Rosa with a child—a boy,” Herculeah was saying thoughtfully, “but I did-n’ t see it that afternoon—not when I came back downstairs. I wonder if the murderer took it.”
“She could have gotten rid of it herself.”
“I don’t think so. Those pictures were always there—only that afternoon they had been disturbed. And when I was straightening them—waiting for my mom to answer the phone-I couldn’t find that picture.”
“Maybe you overlooked it.”
Herculeah took off her glasses and looked directly into Meat’s eyes. “I want to go back in that house and see if that picture is there.”
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t break in. Didn’t you learn anything from breaking into Dead Oaks last month?”
“Yes, I learned that it’s a lot easier when you have a key.”
“So where are you going to get a key?”
“From my mother’s drawer upstairs.”
Meat stared at her with his mouth slightly open.
“But, of course,” she said, “we’ll have to wait till dark.”
Meat sighed. “Of course.” He took the last bite of his sandwich.
“Beware! Beware!” a raucous voice screamed from upstairs.
Meat put his hand over his chest where his sandwich had lodged in a hard, painful knot. “What was that?” he gasped.
“Just Tarot,” Herculeah said. “Didn’t I. tell you? My dad agreed I could keep him until they find Madame Rosa’s relative.”
“You could have warned me.”
Herculeah grinned. “Beware, beware.”
“Thanks a lot.”
15
WALK-INS UNWELCOME
“Your father would definitely not approve of this,” Meat said sternly.
It was night. Herculeah and Meat were slowly walking up the sidewalk to Madame Rosa’s house.
Herculeah didn’t answer. In her pocket, her fingers curled around the key to the front door. In her other hand was a flashlight.
“And my mother wouldn’t approve, either,” Meat added. He was talking out of nervousness. “Though half the reason I’m doing this is because I’m mad at my mom.”
Herculeah paused at the walkway. The sign was still there. Herculeah clicked on the flashlight and shone it on the sign. “See, Meat, it says ‘Walk-ins Welcome.”’
“That makes me feel so much better,” Meat said.
Herculeah glanced up and down the street. No cars or people were in sight.
“Quick,” she said, “before somebody comes.”
She opened the gate and pulled Meat in behind her. Meat was always amazed at Herculeah’s strength. Then almost before he knew what was happening, she had closed the gate and the two of them were pressed against the thick shrubbery.
“A car’s coming!”
Herculeah slipped into the shrubbery as easily as if she were a cat. Meat, trying to follow, crashed forward like a hippo.
Th
e car went by slowly. “That looked like a cop car,” Herculeah said.
“I wouldn’t know,” Meat said. He was still facedown in the shrubbery. “Could it have been your dad?”
“No, he doesn’t drive a black-and-white. I think that’s the same police car that’s been driving by every hour. I told my dad about seeing the light in the house last night. That’s probably why they’re still checking. Anyway the car’s gone now.”
Meat started backing out of the bushes, but Herculeah held him. “Sometimes they go around the block and come right back.”
“Oh.” Meat settled in for a wait. “So who were the people on your list of suspects? You never told me.”
“Nobody important. You?”
“Same.”
“Though I did put down that it could be Madame Rosa’s last living relative, but I just did that because my dad says most murders are committed by someone the victim knows.”
She broke off as car lights passed, lighting up the fence. “See, aren’t you glad we’re not up on the porch unlocking the door?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Meat said firmly. That was, it seemed to him, the only thing he had to be glad about in this terrible evening.
When the police car disappeared for the second time, Herculeah said the words Meat had been dreading, “Let’s go inside.”
They climbed out of the shrubbery. Keeping to the shadows, they moved up the steps.
“You wait there out of sight”—she indicated a chair—“while I unlock the door. The lock’s old. Sometimes I have to work to get the door open.”
Meat stood behind the chair. “Remember the last time you broke into a house?”
“This isn’t breaking—I have the key.”
“I wonder if there’s anything in there about my dad. Did she keep files?”
“I never saw any.”
“I sure would like to see the file on my dad, if there is one.” He watched Herculeah’s efforts with the key. “Maybe somebody else might want the same thing—their file. That could be the reason somebody’s returning to the house.”
“You could be right, Meat. You really could.”
Meat felt a moment of pleasure, heightened by the fact that the lock wasn’t turning.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. What does your mom do when she wants to find a missing person?”