by Joe Meno
vain that there will be some way out of this awfulness?
i’m afraid i already know the answer: that
everything, in the end, will always be a mystery to me
The boy detective stares down at the torn diary page, quickly discovering the secret message his darling sister has left behind. The cursive letters unstitch themselves from their perfectly-straight lines. Their tiny loops begin to uncurl, the sweep of each curve revealing the secret kept hidden now for more than ten years. He sees all but a few letters simply fall from the page. It is now very clear: MILLER’S CAVE. Reading the missing entry, starting with the first letter of each sentence and then every other on down, he smiles at Caroline’s charming inscrutability. He folds the small paper in half, slips it in the pocket of his blue cardigan, and, grabbing Mr. Pluto’s hand, dashes back toward the waiting taxicab.
TWENTY-EIGHT
In his room once again, the boy detective lifts off the newspaper clipping that reads, THE HORROR OF THE HAUNTED MINE: WHAT LURKS INSIDE MILLER’S CAVE? He puts on a new blue sweater, opens the dresser, and takes out the detective kit.
He lays the kit on the bed and stares at it for a moment. Then he leans over and, very slowly, very carefully, he opens it. All of the items are coated in a ghostly sheen of dust. The magnifying glass has been terribly cracked. The pencil has been altogether broken. The lock picks are missing. The pair of binoculars have been separated at the joint. The mustache and beard are wilted and fall apart in Billy’s hand. The only item that remains is the flashlight, narrow and silver, which somehow, miraculously, still works. Billy switches it on and nods, then stands.
The boy detective glances at himself in the mirror, and frowns suddenly, his heart beginning to rebel, to retreat. The boy detective thinks, I was wrong before many times. He thinks, What if I am wrong once again? He stumbles around the darkness of his room, searching for an antidepressant and frowns as he remembers that no, there are none. He can hear himself whimpering now. He can feel his knees wobbling.
The boy detective thinks, The only thing all men have in common with one another is their inherent capacity to make mistakes. He reasons, But there is wonder in the attempt, knowing we are all destined to fall short, but forgoing reason and fear time and time again so deliberately. He takes a deep breath, grasps the trusty flashlight, and hurries back into the night.
TWENTY-NINE
The boy detective is riding in the backseat of the taxi, staring as the dark woods flicker by. Shadows like the limbs of the dead fall across his face. The cabbie, red-bearded and bright-eyed, speaks to Billy, mumbling over his own shoulder.
“Awful suspicious, if you ask me, driving to the woods in the middle of the night. Awful suspicious, I’d say.”
The boy detective does not reply.
It is raining as the boy detective exits the taxi. Without another word, the cab pulls away, its taillights disappearing into the dark. Billy, looking terrified, his glasses foggy, his flashlight held tensely at his side, creeps past the wooden barricade and signs which read, Miller’s Cave and No Trespassing and into the entrance of the cave.
Strnge noises, water dripping, animal sounds, moans reverberate in the dark. He lets out a small whimper and makes his way beneath the soft wood barring the entrance. A scream rises, coming closer. Billy begins to back away as the scream gets louder. He turns to run but falls in the wet mud and just then sees an owl fly past, screeching as it goes. He laughs softly, admonishing himself, shaking his head. OK, Billy, he thinks. You’re OK. He stands, brushes the water and mud off, and continues on. Further along, he walks, holding himself up against the cave roof, which is slick. Water rushes around his feet. Billy stops, rubbing his fingers, and looks up, glimpsing hundreds of small bats. He shouts as the bats take flight, fluttering around him. Further still, he discovers a number of blind baby rats, nearly drowning in the rushing water, scurrying about, squeaking and hissing. He looks around, finds a small hunk of rotten wood, and places each baby rat, one by one, on the plank, sending it along. Further still, he comes to the end of the cave. He touches it with his hand, feeling the cave wall, disbelieving. It is the end. There is nowhere else to go. Only blackness. Only nothing.
“Nothing. There’s nothing here. No answer.”
Billy sadly turns and begins to walk away, when he notices the water around his feet. He shines his light at the cave floor and sees all the water rushing deeper still. He follows the water with his flashlight, finding a very small opening in one of the cave walls beneath dozens and dozens of stacked rocks. Frantic, Billy begins removing the stones. A strange silvery-blue light emanates from the opening and Billy kicks the rocks aside, faster, more desperate. Finally, there is room for him to crawl through and he does, getting covered in water and mud.
Billy stumbles around in the dimness, following the bluish light, casting his own flashlight along the cave walls. Then he stops, frozen, looking up. Upon a flat expanse of smooth rock is a small handprint. He looks very closely at it. Beside the handprint is a single word, written with dirt: Abracadabra.
Billy shines the light around more and sees hundred and hundreds of handprints everywhere. Looking for an answer, Billy calls out.
“Caroline?”
He runs his hand along the message.
“Caroline?”
Billy presses on, taking off his jacket, then his sweater. He wipes his face and notices dozens of articles of clothing along the path: high heels, purses, stockings, ribbons, dresses, undergarments, sweaters. Billy stops, investigating, opening a purse. It is filled with money. He continues on, following the trail of clothing. Up ahead, he sees a shiny white sweater, with the monogram, DH. He stops, picks it up, and nods. It is soft and light and turns to dust in his hands. Beside it, lying on the ground there, is the silver-jeweled, monogrammed pin. The ruby pulses red like a heartbeat, Billy’s flashlight making it glimmer and move. He detaches the pin and turns it over. An inscription on the back of it reads, To Daisy, from Daddy.
“Daisy Hollis … It was not Killer Kowalzavich after all.” He holds up the silver pin. “Surely, he would have pawned this.”
Billy sets the pin down and moves on. The bluish light becomes brighter and brighter until finally, following the water and trail of floating clothing, Billy finds the end. It is a large pool of water, with a rush of small waterfalls among shiny silver and brown rocks. Pointing the flashlight into the water, Billy discovers a naked body, a girl’s body, her long hair rippling like seaweed. Her eyes are each covered by a silver dime. Covering her body, and piled beside it, are hundreds of other dimes, nickels, quarters, and pennies. Billy lets out a cry, covering his mouth.
“Oh no … no.”
Billy flashes the light away and notices a second body in the pool, another girl, also naked. Again, there are more silver coins, flashing brightly. Billy leans closer to the water, trembling, terrified, holding his hand over his face, and sees the full horror of his discovery: The secret pool is filled with dozens of bodies, all young girls, all naked, like mermaids, their hair gently drifting in the current, their eyes open and glassy, sunken among thousands of quarters, pennies, dimes, and nickels.
Billy shines the light up and sees a small opening, about a hundred feet up. He stares, squinting through the dark.
Through the opening and into the night—which has cleared and reveals small pricks of white stars in the sky—Billy hears someone laughing. Someone else giggles, and in a moment, two small dimes drop from the opening, down into the water.
Billy holds his breath, whispering his realization.
“A wishing well …”
The bodies, eyes full of silvery dimes, look up at Billy.
Billy, in horror, begins to crawl away, then stops. He turns back and stares at the water.
“Who? Who did this? Why? Why would anyone do this?”
For a brief moment, Billy stares into the water and sees Caroline lying there, the sight of her in her casket drifting beneath the water, looking back
up at him. The flashlight cuts out for a moment and when it clicks back on, she is gone. Billy stares down into the pool and understands what happened to his sister, finally.
He smiles, staring into the water, whispering.
“You found your way down here, didn’t you? You were smart enough.”
Billy leans in closer to the water.
“You found your way down here, and then … saw all of this. You saw all of this and you couldn’t find the answer. You couldn’t find the answer because there was no answer for all this, was there?”
Billy places his hand out, touching the water, just for a brief moment. He apologizes both to his sister and the poor girls he could not save.
“I’m sorry … I’m so sorry.”
Billy nods, turns, climbing out, and stops, seeing Caroline’s message. He touches it and frowns. He stares and then smiles, his eyes filling with tears, turning away. Billy climbs out of the cave and sits down exhausted, beside the opening, too tired to stop himself from crying.
THIRTY
Imagine, if you can, a time-lapse photograph of several police officers arriving at the entrance of the cave, backlit by the flashing lights of an ambulance. The police officers are very serious and ask the boy detective many, many questions. He nods and points. He holds his head up and frowns, exhausted. It rains and it rains and it rains. The chief of police, with his pointy white beard, pats the boy detective on the back, excited, congratulating him. But Billy only stands, soaked by the rain, staring back at the cave.
Our evening newspapers report that every light in our town has switched on suddenly. Unplugging the plug or switching off the switch is useless. The lamps, nightlights, streetlights, flashlights, and headlights of our town all refuse to stop beaming. It is a lovely surprise: the soft song of one million light bulbs humming along in harmony. We stare at the beautiful glow of our small world and wonder why, content with the silent response gleaming there as an answer before our wide-open eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
THE CASE OF THE SECRET TREASURE
We have devised a theme song for the boy detective. It goes like this:
It is a spooky night / but don’t anyone be afraidBecause the boy detective / is close on his wayNo case too big / no case too smallWith his trusty kit / he will solve them allBoy detective / detects every clueBoy detective / solves every crime for youBoy detective / he’s our favoriteBoy detective / ba-da-bum-ba
ONE
The boy detective stands outside Penny’s, covered in mud and water. He looks terrible. We mean terrible. He gazes up at Penny’s window and sees the light is on. He stands for a moment, just watching. What might he say? He does not know. He walks over to the buzzer and presses the appropriate button. Penny answers, nervously, her voice sad and resigned.
“Yes … who is it?”
“It’s me, Billy. May I please come in?”
“Of course, Billy.”
Penny buzzes the door open. Billy rushes in, his wet shoes squeaking like an alarm on the steps. He kicks them off and runs up the stairs barefoot and stares as Penny opens the door and lunges forward, attacking Billy with a flurry of kisses. She pulls him inside. Penny continues to kiss Billy, who smiles, holding her, exhausted.
“Look at you. What happened? What happened to you?” she asks.
“Please, I … I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight.”
Penny stops kissing him and holds him. She wipes the dirt from his face and begins undressing him. They resume kissing, falling onto the couch, knocking over a stack of stolen shoe boxes. From there the boxes fall, spilling over to the window, where Penny’s hand slowly draws the blinds. A lightbulb is suddenly made dark. Outside, two doves huddle in the rain, cooing.
TWO
The boy detective lies on the couch, asleep, with his head in Penny’s lap. Penny sits, staring down at him. He awakes and smiles.
“I thought it was a dream.”
Penny places her finger over his lips, hushing him.
“Shhhh, it’s OK now.”
“No, I should, I really ought to be going.”
Penny kisses him. She places her hand on his chest, then feels something underneath. Billy sits up, smiling. He pats down the small lump on his chest, feels inside his shirt pocket, and finds his notepad, opened to Mr. Lunt’s riddle. He reads it and smiles, handing it to Penny.
“How would you like to solve a mystery with me?”
“A mystery? What kind of mystery?”
“The best kind: one with treasure at the end of it.”
“How do you know there’s treasure?”
“I don’t know for sure, that’s the mystery of it, I guess. Would you like to help me?”
“If you don’t laugh. I get clumsy.”
Billy smiles, staring into her brown eyes.
“We can hold hands if it helps,” he says.
THREE
The boy detective and Penny walk along the street, staring down at the riddle on the paper.
At the beginning of a silver line, and the end of another made of twine, if you have old lungs, the treasure you will find.
Penny is excited, clapping her hands. Billy stares at her and grins.
“Yes, so, where do we begin to look?” she asks.
“A silver line, perhaps? That sounds like jewelry.”
“Or a machine of some kind.”
“Or a geographical place, like a mineral deposit. The beginning of the silver line. Perhaps in the mountains? Hmmmm,” he says.
Penny looks up and stares at the bus stop sign on the street corner.
“Or … the bus line.”
“The bus line?” Billy says with a smile.
“The silver line.”
There on the corner is a sign that reads, SILVER LINE: Weekdays, Weekends, Late Hours.
Billy stares at the sign while Penny nods victoriously.
“The beginning of the silver line,” he says, impressed.
Billy and Penny hop on the next bus, excitedly. Trying to solve the next part of the riddle, sitting together, looking at the piece of paper, Billy realizes he cannot concentrate. He is counting the number of freckles on Penny’s nose. He blinks and counts again and realizes there are fourteen beautiful amber dots sitting there.
“The end of another made of twine,” Penny whispers. “That sounds like a rope, doesn’t it? The end of a length of rope. Well, we’ll have to wait and see about that.”
“Yes,” he says, sighing as he stares at her.
The city flies past the windows of the bus. Billy notices he is holding hands with Penny and his face becomes flush, watching as the town hurries by.
“What do you think we’ll find?” Penny asks.
“I don’t know. Maybe we won’t find anything,” he says seriously.
“Oh, we’ll find something. And inside, there will be a giant precious diamond. Or hundreds of rubies. Or a locket, with a photo of a lovely woman from long ago, maybe.”
The bus driver calls out, from over his shoulder: “OK, it’s the beginning and end of the line, folks. Everybody off.”
At the bus station, which is old and silver and dilapidated, Penny and Billy get off the bus and look around. There are some woods, train tracks, a field. Their hearts are pounding. They look around happily.
“Now what? The end of a length of rope. Where would that be?” Penny asks, peering about. She spots something, then grabs Billy’s hand and begins running.
There is a small, rusty gray sewer grate at the end of the train tracks which has caught Penny’s attention. There are several rail ties and rusty lengths of track surrounding it, and she quickly moves them to one side.
Penny and Billy stare past the metal grate, down into the murky sewer. It is dark and dank. Billy shakes his head, still unconvinced.
“It’s down there, I’m sure of it,” Penny says.
“Do you think so?” he asks.
“Yes. That’s exactly where I’d hide something—if I had to, I mean. It’s ve
ry close to the bus. You could hide something and hurry back without anyone noticing.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s such a good idea to go down there,” Billy says.
Penny takes off her glasses and hands them to Billy. With one forceful tug on the sewer grate, she lifts the metal covering aside and places it near Billy’s feet.
“Look,” she says. “They left the rope.” Just as Penny claims, there is a worn-looking yellow rope knotted to a sturdy black pipe, which is caked in rust and grease. Without another word, Penny grins widely and begins to lower herself down the well.
Billy shouts: “Just a minute! Just a minute!”
But Penny is at the bottom of the well, already, shouting back up.
“It’s not very deep at all, just dusty!”
“Be careful!”
“What’s the next part of the riddle?”
“It says, ‘If you have old lungs … ’”
“Maybe they mean the dust? It makes you cough like you have old lungs!”
“What else do you see down there?”
“Well, there’s some change. And an engineer’s cap. And there’s also an old accordion down here. It looks very old. And broken.”
“That’s it!” he shouts, clapping his hands.
“OK!”
“I’ll pull you up!”
Billy pulls Penny up in a hurry. She hands him the broken accordion, which is red and gold and withered. He fiddles with it, pressing the dusty white keys. It doesn’t make any noise at all.
“Well, it seems to be broken, all right,” he says.
Penny gently lifts the accordion, hits a key, then shakes the accordion and smiles.
“There’s something inside of it, I think.”
Billy and Penny carefully find a way to open the bellows, detaching a series of small springs, and there they find a note, which has been blocking the air valves inside. They stare at the note and read it together, silently: