Disappearing Acts
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1 - HERCULEAN ON THE RUN
Chapter 2 - TO DIE LAUGHING
Chapter 3 - A PREMONITION
Chapter 4 - MISSING PERSON
Chapter 5 - THE GUY-ETTE
Chapter 6 - STAGE FRIGHT
Chapter 7 - THE BUSY BODY
Chapter 8 - THE OLYMPIC SCREAM
Chapter 9 - PROOF POSITIVE
Chapter 10 - NAME OF THE GAME
Chapter 11 - NINETEEN EXPOSURES
Chapter 12 - MEAT ON HIS OWN
Chapter 13 - BAD NEWS
Chapter 14 - UNCLUCKY SEVEN
Chapter 15 - THE MESSAGE
Chapter 16 - A B0DY IN THE CLOSET
Chapter 17 - PHONE CALL
Chapter 18 - THE FACE IN THE CROWD
Chapter 19 - THE SMILE ON THE CROCODILE
Chapter 20 - MERCULEAH’S HAIR
Chapter 21 - A STAB IN THE DARK
Chapter 22 - MACHO MAN
Chapter 23 - THE EARTHQUAKE
Chapter 24 - THE GOTTA-GO GENE
Chapter 25 - THE NEXT MYSTERY
Teaser chapter
THE CLUES
As he turned to go, Meat noticed a lipstick halfway between where he had found the wallet and the door to one of the stalls. He didn’t pick this up. He just stared at it as if trying to make a connection.
The wallet ...
The lipstick ...
His eyes continued to look.
A hair brush—a dainty one with speckles like confetti in the plastic.
The objects began to take on the feeling of a trail, things leading to something.
And Meat knew that at the end of the trail there was going to be something he didn’t like.
Something that would change his life.
And not for the better.
“Readers should be prepared to read this in one breathless sitting.”—School Library Journal
BOOKS BY BETSY BYARS
The Herculeah Jones Mysteries:
The Dark Stairs
Tarot Says Beware
Dead Letter
Death’s Door
Disappearing Acts
King of Murder
The Bingo Brown books:
Bingo Brown, Gypsy Lover
Bingo Brown and the Language of Love
Bingo Brown’s Guide to Romance
The Burning Questions of Bingo Brown
Other titles:
After the Goat Man
The Cartoonist
The Computer Nut
Cracker Jackson
The Cybil War
The 18th Emergency
The Glory Girl
The House of Wings
McMummy
The Midnight Fox
The Summer of the Swans
Trouble River
The TV Kid
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)
Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India
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(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)
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Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published in the United States of America by Viking,
a division of Penguin Books USA Inc., 1998
Published by Puffin Books, 2000
This Sleuth edition published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2006
Copyright © Betsy Byars, 1998
All rights reserved
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE VIKING EDITION AS FOLLOWS:
Byars, Betsy Cromer.
Disappearing Acts / by Betsy Byars.
p. cm.—(A Herculeah Jones mystery)
Summary: Herculeah stumbles onto the trail of her friend Meat’s long-lost father
while she and Meat are investigating the disappearance of a dead
body from the men’s room of a comedy club.
eISBN : 978-1-101-12782-7
[1. Fathers and sons—Fiction. 2. Mystery and detective stories.]
I. Title. II. Series: Byars, Betsy Cromer. Herculeah Jones mystery.
PZ7.B9836Di 1998 [Fic]—dc21 97-29434 CIP AC
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume
any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
http://us.penguingroup.com
1
HERCULEAN ON THE RUN
April Fools’ Day started with a pretend murder and ended with a real one.
It was Saturday morning, ten o‘clock, and Herculeah Jones came around the comer, fast. Her hair flew out behind her as she ran.
Meat was sitting on his front porch. He had been watching for Herculeah, smiling in anticipation of telling her his big news. As soon as he saw her, he stood and moved to the steps.
Herculeah glanced toward him.
Meat saw her expression. There was something in her face, her manner, that instantly alarmed him. His smile of anticipation faded.
He checked to see if her hair was frizzing. Herculeah had what he called radar hair. It reacted to danger like an animal’s fur. It got bigger.
At that moment, Herculeah’s hair did look bigger than normal, and that increased his feeling of dread.
He hesitated, and then hurried down the steps. “What happened?” he called.
Herculeah didn’t answer. She waved him off with her arm as if she didn’t have time to stop.
Meat hurried across the street, not even pausing to check for traffic.
“What is it? What’s happened?”
“Meat—” But she was too out of breath to continue. She pressed the fingers of one hand into her side.
“What?”
“Meat—”
“What? What? I can’t stand this. What’s happened? Don’t do this to me!”
She looked at him with her clear gray eyes. They seemed darker now. Meat thought that could be because they were clouded with fear.
“What?”
“A body,” she managed to say.
Meat took a step backward. He put one hand over his heart.
“Not again?”
She nodded.
“Dead?”
Again Herculeah nodded.
“Killed?”
Another nod. Meat felt as if he were trying to communicate with one of those dashboard animals that can’t do anything but nod.
“Where?”
“Oak.”
“Oak Street?”
“‘Yes.”
“Herculeah, this is your third dead body!”
“I know.”
He began to count them. “Old man Crewell... Madame Rosa—and I could have been the third! Remember the Bull!”
“I remember.” She gave a helpless sigh. “I don’t want to find dead bodies. I can’t help it.”
He watched her and then he sighed too, as if accepting the unfortun
ate fact.
“Male or female?”
“I couldn’t tell.”
Meat’s hand over his heart tightened so that he clutched his shirt.
“Mutilated?”
“Badly.”
“‘Don’t tell me any details.” Meat began to feel a little sick. “I don’t want to hear any details.” He held up his hand as if to ward them off. “Whatever you do, don’t give me details.”
“Just one.”
“Is it gory?”
“A little.”
“Then I don’t want to hear it! No! I’ll have bad dreams. I’m going to put my fingers in my ears.”
“I’m sorry. You have to hear this.”
Meat waited.
Herculeah smiled.
“The body was a squirrel on Oak Street. A car ran over it. April Fool!”
2
TO DIE LAUGHING
Meat’s expression went from concern to fury in one second. “That is not funny,” he sputtered. “That is really not funny.”
“Oh, come on, admit it. It was a little bit funny.”
“Maybe to you. To me, jokes like that are sick!”
“Don’t be mad at me.”
“I am. I can’t help it. I was having this wonderful day—and I don’t have them that often—and you spoil it with a sick joke about finding a body.”
“Come on it. I’ll make you popcorn. Will you forgive me for popcorn?”
Meat hesitated. “‘No,” he decided. “I’m getting ready to begin a new life tonight—”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Herculeah pulled a small camera from her pocket. “Smile!”
Meat’s frown deepened.
Click.
“Why did you do that? You know I hate to have my picture taken. You’re deliberately trying to irritate me—and you’re succeeding!”
“Meat, listen,” she said, her tone softening. “I bought this camera at Hidden Treasures. I don’t know why I even went in there. I only had one dollar, and nothing in there costs one dollar.”
Meat waited.
“I was drawn to the ”As Is“ table—all items as is. There was something about this table that bothered me. Some of the things were familiar, but ... but I don’t know from where. Anyway, as soon as my hand touched the camera, my hair began to frizz.”
“But why would you pick up something that could put you in danger?”
“A camera? A camera’s dangerous? Be real. Anyway,” she paused to advance the film, “there was a roll of film in the camera and five exposures left. I want to finish the roll. Smile!”
Click.
“I’m going back to my house if you don’t put that camera away.”
Herculeah took his arm. “Did you say something about starting a new life?”
“Yes, but you don’t want to hear about it.”
“I do.”
“You’d rather play stupid tricks on people and take pictures.”
“Come on, Meat. Popcorn ... think popcorn.”
She drew him into her house, then her kitchen. “Sit,” she said, pointing to a chair by the table. Meat sat. Herculeah put popcorn in the microwave, punched in four minutes, and sat across from Meat.
“You have my complete attention,” she said. “Tell me about your new life.”
Meat wished now that they were back outside. Her eyes were too gray, too piercing. He felt she could see through to his brain.
“Well, you’ve heard about Funny Bonz?” he began.
“The comedy club? On the corner of Wright and Peachtree?”
“It used to be there. It’s moved. It’s right up the street now, in the basement of the old hotel.”
“I just passed the hotel. I didn’t notice any signs.”
“Maybe you were too busy looking for dead squirrels. Anyway, they just opened. The club’s under new management—a guy named Mike Howard.”
“Actually, I’m not that interested in comedy, Meat. I’m not a very funny person.”
“Well, nobody’s perfect,” Meat said generously.
“I come pretty close though, don’t I?” She grinned at him.
The silence that followed was broken by the sound of popping corn. Meat’s mouth began to water. Herculeah said, “And you’re going to the club?”
“Better than that—much better. I’m going to be on the stage of the club! I’m going to perform! I’m going to be a stand-up comic!”
“Meat, you can’t.” She stared at him in amazement. “You’re not any funnier than I am.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He was obviously offended. “Just because I don’t run around playing stupid April Fool jokes on people.”
“Meat,” she interrupted. “Sometimes you are funny, but it just pops out. It’s not planned—like when you were little you wanted someone to write books about the Unhardy Boys.”
“I didn’t mean that to be funny.” Now he was really offended.
“Meat, start over. Please.”
“All right. Well, there was this article in the newspaper about the club. It was about how taking lessons in comedy can help people accept themselves. Being funny about yourself is therapeutic.”
“I never felt I needed therapy. I do accept myself.”
“Well, I don’t exactly need therapy either.”
The conversation was going downhill from an already low beginning. Fortunately the popcorn was ready, and Meat took a handful.
“You take lessons ...” Herculeah prompted.
Meat nodded, chewing.
“So there’s a class,” she went on.
“Yes,” he admitted, “there’s a class.”
“How many students?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been there yet. You know, I was all excited about this until you started picking at it. There’s even a graduation night when everyone performs. I was going to invite you, but ...”
“Meat, I have to come!”
He took another handful of popcorn. “No, you’ll laugh.”
“Meat, that’s what I’m supposed to do—laugh!”
“Well, maybe you can come. All we have to do for tonight—it’s like an assignment—is make up a joke about ourselves.”
“What’s yours?”
Meat said, “I don’t know. I’d like to do something about not having a father.”
“But that’s not funny, Meat.”
“I know that! But if I could turn it into something funny, well, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.”
Meat went over the possibilities of all the highlights of his life that his dad missed out on—like what? Like getting an A in spelling in Miss Richard’s room?
He paused. What really hurt was that his dad had hardly missed out on anything.
“If that fails, there’s always my size,” he said glumly. The many possible jokes about that were not appealing. He went over a few to himself.
I’m so big that when I’m around the house, I’m a-r-o-u-n-d the house.
I’m so big I have my own area code.
When I put on my blue suit and stand on a corner, people try to drop mail in my mouth.
He had gotten these from a book of fat jokes at the newsstand. He had spent so long leafing through the book, reading the insults without smiling, that the clerk had come over and asked him if he wanted to buy it.
“This? No, this is a terrible book.” He had returned it at once to the humor shelf where, in his opinion, it definitely did not belong.
Well, he might have to stop by and refresh his memory if he decided to go that way. Ah, yes, the jokes were coming back to him. Meat had good recall, especially of things he did not want to recall.
When I was lying on the beach, Greenpeace tried to push me back into the water.
He broke off his thoughts and turned to Herculeah. “Well, whatever I do, nobody will die laughing.”
Later, that was the remark that Herculeah was to remember.
A remark that would cause her hair to frizzle every-time she heard it.
“Nobody will die laughing.”
3
A PREMONITION
“My hair started doing this when I bought the camera,” Herculeah told her mother. She fluffed out her hair. “And it won’t quit.”
Herculeah was sitting at the kitchen table. A slice of pizza lay untouched on her plate.
Herculeah’s mother glanced at her. “You’re probably just having a bad hair day.”
“No, when my hair frizzles, it’s because of danger. I know you don’t believe it.”
“I never said I didn’t believe it,” her mother answered carefully. “In fact, I sometimes find myself thinking, ‘If I were Herculeah, my hair would be reaching for the sky right now.’”
“Well, Meat knows it’s true. He’s seen proof. He’s seen it work.”
She hesitated.
Her mother watched her, knowing there was more.
“Remember when the Moloch nailed me up in the basement of Dead Oaks? My hair frizzled. Remember when Madame Rosa’s murderer was after me? My hair frizzled. And remember—”
Her mother cut her off. “You’ve made your point.”
Herculeah slumped in her chair.
“Maybe it’s your imagination this time,” her mother suggested.
“How?”
“Well, maybe you expect the things you get at Hidden Treasures to cause you trouble—like Amanda Cole’s coat.”
Herculeah’s expression was serious. “Yes! Mom, you’re right! I was drawn to the ‘As Is’ table in the exact same way I was drawn to that coat. And I just stood there because something about the things on that table bothered me.”
“What?”
“I’d seem them before.”
“Where?”
“That’s what bothered me. I don’t know. Anyway, I picked up the camera, and it had been marked down to one dollar—the exact amount I had. I was meant to buy this camera. For some reason that I don’t know, I was meant to buy this camera!”
Herculeah turned it over in her hands.
“I wonder,” she said thoughtfully, “if it has anything to do with the pictures on the film.”
“What pictures?”
“Somebody took nineteen pictures of something—or somebody—and they’re still in the camera. Maybe when I see those nineteen pictures, I’ll know why I was drawn to the camera. I just wish my hair would stop frizzling.”