by Laura Ruby
We? thought Lily.
Vaz stood. “Let’s find out what happened to Max.”
“How do we do that?”
“Your favorite thing. We start reading.”
Hoodlums
The woman dug around in her voluminous straw bag with the energy and determination of a squirrel. “Where is it? I know it’s in here somewhere.” The flowers on her cap helicoptered furiously, as if they were attempting lift her off the ground.
The man was lying flat on his back, towel over his face, his white belly like a great heap of bread dough. His wife poked him in the gut until he threw the towel away.
“Can’t a guy get a little sun around here without somebody pestering him every minute?” he shouted.
“There’s no need to yell,” said his wife.
“What the heck are you digging for? That scratching sound is driving me nuts.”
“My book. Where’s my book?”
“How should I know?”
The woman dug around some more, then snapped the bag shut in disgust. “Nothing is going right today.”
“Oh, quit complaining. You can buy another book.”
“That’s not what I mean. Did you hear what that little hoodlum said to me?”
“Which hoodlum?”
“The one in the short skirt. She told me that I was dead, that’s what she said. I think she was threatening to kill me.”
“Keep your shirt on. Nobody’s going to kill anyone else.”
“Well, I don’t like it,” she said. “Kids today have no respect.”
“You’re right about that,” he said.
“There’s something wrong with that girl,” the woman said. “She’s up to no good. I can feel it.”
“Just as long as she bothers somebody else.”
“And then you knocked over that other girl’s sand castle and made her cry,” the woman continued.
He propped himself up on his elbows. “Aw, will you get over the sand castle already? If you have to talk, talk about the weather. Talk about...”
He trailed off as another man, about twenty-five, shambled in front of their beach blanket, a black, pony-sized dog with dinosaur fangs nipping playfully at his heels. “He’s harmless,” the man gurgled. “A sweetie. I don’t know what everyone’s so worried about.” One side of his neck looked like beef casserole.
Husband and wife stayed completely still and silent as the man and dog shuffled away, following the figures with their eyes until the man and saber-toothed dog were out of biting range.
The woman grabbed for her purse. “I don’t know what the world’s coming to. I truly don’t. Hoodlums. Dangerous animals roaming free. I just wish I had my book to distract myself. I know I packed it.”
The man grabbed his towel and dropped it on his face. “Yeah, sure,” he said, voice muffled. “Just like you packed the lemonade.”
“Maybe the concession stand is open,” the woman said hopefully.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
Chapter Ten
“I hate the library,” Lily grumbled.
“Quit yer bellyaching,” said Vaz out of the corner of his mouth, like a cartoon pirate. She didn’t complain again, since he had gone back into the house to get their coats.
The library was a tiny yellow building on a patch of crispy brown grass. Inside, the librarian sat by herself behind a large counter, frowning at a computer monitor. Her nameplate said A. REEDY.
“Hi, Ms. Reedy,” Vaz said.
The librarian was the kind of woman Lily’s mother would have called handsome. She had a square, strong-featured face, iron-gray hair cut in a severe wedge, lean, powerful shoulders. She had tried to soften her look with a pretty neckerchief, but it was like trying to decorate a dam with a daisy.
“Good afternoon, Vasilios,” said Ms. Reedy. “You didn’t finish all those books already, did you?”
“No, I’m still working on them.”
“That’s just fine. Just make sure you have them back on time.” She tapped the monitor that seemed to have perturbed her so. “Ten cents a day for every day that a book is late,” said Ms. Reedy. “It doesn’t sound like much, but it adds up.”
“I know. I’ll return everything on time,” said Vaz. He curved his mouth into a smile designed to charm testy librarians and everybody else. “I always do.”
Ms. Reedy melted a bit. “Yes, I suppose you do, don’t you?” She stood and placed her palms on top of the counter. “What can I do for you today?”
“My friend and I are working on a research project for school. We’re studying the history of Cape May.”
“We have some wonderful books that talk all about the founding of Cape May, how it began as a shore resort for wealthy Philadelphians way back in the 1600s. The city was so hot and crowded and dirty in the summer. Those poor people were looking for a little relief.” Ms. Reedy’s tone and expression said that she believed that cities were still as hot and crowded and dirty now as they were more than three hundred years ago. “Did you know that privateers once patrolled the coast, searching for ships to plunder and places to hide?”
“We’re interested in more recent history, Ms. Reedy. The twentieth century?”
Mrs. Reedy blinked. “The twentieth century?” It didn’t seem to be her favorite century.
“We’re interested in some of the families that lived around here. What they were up to.”
“What they were up to,” Ms. Reedy parroted, and frowned again, clearly wondering what Vaz was up to. She turned to Lily. “I don’t believe I’ve met you before. Are you a new student?”
“This is Lily…Lily…”
“Crabtree,” said Lily. “I just came to town a couple of weeks ago.”
Ms. Reedy’s gold-brown eyes searched Lily’s face and hair. “I don’t suppose you could be related to the Wood family?”
“Uh…” said Lily. “Um…”
Vaz grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the desk. “Excuse us a minute, Ms. Reedy.” He leaned in and whispered, “Don’t tell me you don’t know your family’s last name.”
“My mom doesn’t like to talk about her family, okay? And I never asked. All I know is our last name. My mother never changed hers. She was born Arden Crabtree and she stayed Arden Crabtree.”
Vaz shook his head. “Arden Crabtree? What is it with rich people and their funny names?”
“Look, just because my uncle has money doesn’t mean that he gives us any.” And just because he offers us money doesn’t mean my mom will take it, she thought.
“Vasilios,” said Ms. Reedy. “I’m sure I can help you if you tell me what it is you need to find.”
“Well, Lily just moved in here, like she said, and she’s staying at her uncle’s on Perry Street--”
“206 Perry?” said the librarian sharply.
“Yes,” said Lily. “How did you know?”
“206 Perry is the Wood house. I had heard that the Wood daughter married a Crabtree.”
“Lily wants to research her family. We thought you might have some newspapers that we could look through,” Vaz said. “Unless you already know something about them.”
Ms. Reedy grabbed both ends of the kerchief she wore and tightened it with a tug. “There are many, many families in Cape May. Why would you think I knew something about one of them?”
“Because you know everything about everyone,” said Vaz, grinning.
Ms. Reedy smiled with half her mouth. “That makes me sound like a gossip columnist.” She pulled out a stack of cards began stamping them with the date. “I have some newspapers on microfilm that might intrigue you.” Stamp. “If you give me some dates, I can fetch them for you.” Stamp. Stamp.
Vaz looked at Lily, and she shrugged. “Why don’t we start around 1900?” he said. “Do you have stuff going that far back?”
“Of course we do, Vasilios,” said Ms. Reedy. “But those are on microfilm, unfortunately. No budget to put them on the computer. You wait right here and I’ll get the
reels from the back.”
“Vasilios?” Lily whispered.
“Something wrong with Vasilios?”
“No,” said Lily, grinning. “It’s just that it sounds like something you use to treat diaper rash.”
“Sorry to hear that you’re still having that problem.”
Lily shocked herself by whacking him in the arm and smiled when he whacked her back. It was amazing to her that she could be scared out of her wits and having fun at the same time. Maybe guys did that to you, made everything else seem smaller. Maybe that’s why her mother just kept going back for more.
“Here you are. I’ve got issues of The Star and The Wave from 1907 to 1970. Will that do for now?”
“Yes, thanks Ms. Reedy.”
“You be careful with that machine,” Ms. Reedy said, pointing at the sole machine on a table in the corner. “It’s been repaired so many times that I’m not sure it could survive another day at the shop.”
Vaz nodded solemnly and took the small reels of microfilm. They sat down at the machine and turned it on. It whirred to life, sounding a lot like the propeller of an airplane.
“High tech,” said Vaz as he threaded the film through the machine.
“What are we going to look for?” Lily asked.
“Any mention of your family. We can start with what we know. What’s your grandfather’s full name? Your mother’s father? You know that, right?”
“Richard. Richard Crabtree. He died a few years ago.”
“Sorry,” said Vaz.
“It’s okay. I didn’t know him.”
“Do you know how old he was when he died?”
“My mom always talks about how young he was, but I think he was in his late fifties.”
“Maybe we can find a marriage announcement or something. Let’s say your grandfather was close to sixty when he died. That would put his birthday around 1940. Add twenty something years and we’re talking a marriage in the 1960s sometime.” He removed the reel from the machine, then searched around in the pile for the reel dated 1960. He threaded that one through the machine and turned it on. The issues whizzed by, and Vaz quickly scanned each page before Lily had time to focus. Just looking at the screen made her dizzy.
They finally found the notice in an issue dated February 12, 1963.
Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Wood of Philadelphia are pleased to announce the engagement of their daughter, Ruth Ann, to Mr. Richard Crabtree, son of Mr. and Mrs. Harold Crabtree of New York City. The groom is a tax attorney with the firm Grandin and Pert. The bride’s father is involved with a number of successful ventures, including steel, oil and textiles. A June wedding is planned.
Lily felt strange reading about these strangers, her family. Like she should feel something more than just curiosity. She sniffed. “Mrs. Joseph Wood. Mrs. Harold Crabtree. What happened to the women’s names? And here, they talk about what the groom and the bride’s father did for a living. What about the bride? Did brides just sit around eating bonbons and looking cute? I don’t think so.”
“That’s just how they wrote these things back then.”
“No, that’s how they lived back then. Not so different from how we live now.”
Vaz held up a palm. “Peace, okay? Girl Power and all that.”
Ms. Reedy shelved several books in the bookcase near the reader. “How are you two doing? Can I get you anything else?”
“We’re fine, Ms. Reedy. Thanks,” said Vaz.
“Vaz!” said a voice behind them. “I thought that was you!”
They turned as a very blonde girl ran up to them, dragging a backpack behind her. Lily recognized her as the girl Vaz had been wrestling with on the boardwalk just a week before. At the sight of her, Vaz sat taller in his seat.
“Kami, please don’t drag your bag on the floor,” said Ms. Reedy.
“Sorry!” the girl said. To Vaz, she said, “Hey!”
“Hi, Kam. What’s up?”
“Not much.” She smiled at Lily. She had beautiful rosy skin and wide blue eyes. “I’m Kami.”
“Lily.” Lily could see a silver hoop threaded through the cartilage at the top of Kami’s ear.
“Lily just moved here,” said Vaz.
“You poor thing,” Kami said, half smiling, half grimacing. “Unless you’re into Victorian house tours you’re going to be pretty bored till summer.” She unwound one of the five knit scarves she wore. “How’s the nose?”
“It hasn’t fallen off yet,” Vaz said.
“Yet,” said Kami, squinting her eyes up in a way that Lily assumed was supposed to be cute. Kami reached out and touched the tip of Vaz’s nose with a glittery fingernail. “We may have to glue it on to be sure.”
Vaz grinned even wider.
Kami waggled frayed ends of her purple scarf. “Listen, I can’t hang around, my mom wants me home early today, but maybe we can hang out tomorrow or over the weekend? J. D. might be having a party.”
“Sure. I’ll call you.”
“Cool!” She tossed the end of her scarf around her neck as if she were Amelia Earhart off to fly the world. “Great meeting you, Lily.”
“Yeah,” said Lily. “Great.”
Kami flounced away, dragging her backpack behind her.
“She seems nice,” said Lily. If you like hip, gorgeous blondes.
Vaz’s eyes followed Kami out the door. “Yeah, Kami’s the best.”
Lily watched him watch Kami and worried that he would start barking and drooling. “So, where were we?” she said, swallowing the disappointment knotting in her throat.
“Why don’t we go back a ways and see if there’s anything in here about the Woods or your uncle’s house?”
“My mom said the house has been in the family for a hundred years.”
They removed the 1960s reel and threaded the machine with the first reel, which covered issues from 1907 to 1910. They scanned articles until their eyes nearly crossed, but found no mention of the Woods or the house on Perry Street. They quickly moved on to the 1910 reel. No luck there, either.
Ms. Reedy hovered behind them. “You are being careful with that machine.”
“Absolutely,” said Vaz.
Ms. Reedy looked at the screen. “Finding anything interesting?”
“We found a marriage announcement, but not much else,” said Lily.
“Keep looking,” she said. “A good researcher is always persistent.” She walked back to the front desk.
“I don’t know how persistent I want to be,” said Lily. “This is making me nauseous.”
Vaz threaded the machine with the 1920s reel. He cranked the knob on the machine and tried to focus the picture. The film was blank. The entire reel was blank.
“Try the next reel,” said Lily.
They tried the 1930s reel, but it looked as if nothing had ever been recorded on it at all.
“This is too weird,” Vaz said.
Lily closed her eyes. “You’re telling me. Try the last one.”
Vaz removed the 1930s reel and replaced it with the 1940s reel. He whizzed through the reel, but all they saw on it was a couple of hairs and some particles of dust.
“Wait! Stop! Go back,” said Lily. “I thought I saw something.”
“What? An ant leg? A fly wing?” Vaz asked, but rolled back the reel anyway.
“There!” said Lily.
“What the heck…” began Vaz, but trailed off.
They stared at the screen in front of them. It looked as if someone had held a match under the film, scorching black letters into the plastic:
YOU’RE GETTING WARMER.
What Goes Up Must Come Down
Madame Durriken sat at her table, hands snatching at her fleecy hair as she pored over the tarot books piled all around her. Though she had read the tarot cards for customers every day, sometimes a dozen times a day, she had always been somewhat creative when divining the future with them.
In other words, she just made things up.
“‘The Tower,’” she read. �
�‘Prepare to adjust to new situations. Being irritable is not going to help.’”
“Being irritable always helps,” said Madame Durriken, and tossed the book over her shoulder.
She hadn’t opened the Good Fortunes Shoppe since she had first seen the boy with the burning hands some weeks before. Six separate times now, Madame Durriken had watched the blond woman with the orange cloak scurry down the brick walk with the leering boy prancing behind her like some demented pony.
He was clearly a sick puppy. And he had clearly seen Madame Durriken watching. Madame Durriken was determined to find out who he was and what he was up to.
Her profession notwithstanding, she didn’t have any experience with ghosts, not real ones. But if he was after the woman in the orange cloak, then Madame herself didn’t have anything to worry about, and could go back to cheating her customers as usual. But who knew what a ghost was after?
That was when she decided that it might not be a bad idea to try to read the tarot cards. Really read them. She’d attended many conventions with so-called psychics — kooks and screwballs with just a couple of brain cells among them — and watched them read the cards as easily as they could read a calendar. If the kooks could do it, surely a woman with Madame Durriken’s brains and sensitivity could do it, too.
She pulled a deck of worn tarot cards from the pocket of her satin robe and cut the deck with her practiced hands. Taking a deep rattling breath, she laid down the first card.
Queen of Swords. Madame pulled another tarot book from the pile and read: “‘A quick-witted woman.’” Madame smiled to herself, remembering how often she had savored her own sharp wit.
She placed the second card over the first. The second card was supposed to tell her what forces were operating against her. Knight of Wands. Her eyes narrowed to slits when she saw the picture on the card, a fair young man with a fiery torch held high. The book said that this mischievous young man could be troubling.
“No kidding,” said Madame Durriken.
She placed the third card beneath the first two. Three of Swords. The card depicted a red heart pierced by three long swords with black handles. Blood dripped down one of the swords.