by James Howe
“I know,” Sebastian said. “Cyanide. Nice going, Milo. You’ve accomplished in a few hours what the Board of Health is still trying to figure out.”
Milo smiled. “Yes,” he said, “but how many ten-year-old geniuses do they have working for them?”
29
THE NEXT MORNING, Sebastian went out on his paper route as usual. When he returned, his mother was waiting for him at the door. Not as usual.
“Josh Lepinsky just called,” she said. “There’s school today.”
“School? You’ve got to be kidding. I was planning on going back to bed.”
“No such luck, I’m afraid. Did you have breakfast yet? Good. Then how about washing up while I call the next three parents on the phone tree? And then I’ll pack you a lunch.”
“Terrific,” Sebastian mumbled, climbing the stairs. But by the time he’d reached the landing, his thinking was already beginning to change. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to have school today. It would give him a chance to do some more investigating before he taped his program that afternoon.
He imagined his opening words: “Hello again. I’m Sebastian Barth. And this is ‘Small Talk.’ Tuesday, October the eighth, is a day indelibly etched…” Indelibly etched. He liked that “Indelibly etched on the minds of … on the memory of a town. For on that day, seventy-seven innocent children were cut down in the school cafeteria. To learn the truth about this incredible … no, horrendous … to learn the truth about this horrendous event and the person responsible, stay tuned.”
Person. Or persons. Sebastian still wasn’t sure which. To learn the truth, he thought … stay tuned.
30
THE PRINCIPAL’S gruff voice over the loudspeaker revealed the lack of a good night’s sleep.
“It is incumbent on each and every one of us at Pembroke Middle,” he was saying, “to proceed as if nothing out of the ordinary has occurred. The events here yesterday were horrendous, there is no doubt about it …” He stole my word, Sebastian thought. “But we must not let a case of accidental food poisoning stand in our way. All four eighth grades will meet in the auditorium as one class. Your teachers will come to you. Sixth and seventh graders will follow their normal schedules. For those who forgot to bring bag lunches, sandwiches and milk are being provided by the PTA and may be picked up at the office. You should report to your homerooms for lunch period, since the cafeteria is closed.
“Now, there may be some newspaper and television people on the premises today. Please be courteous to them. You need not, however, I repeat, you need not answer their questions. Should you find that they are intrusive in any way, please come to the office and report the matter to Mrs. Kershaw or myself at once. Thank you. What, Sandy? Oh, yes. Please stand for the pledge.”
Accidental food poisoning, Sebastian thought, as he placed his hand over his heart. What’s Mr. Hogan trying to hide? Or: who is he protecting?
“… with liberty and justice for all.”
Later, during a free period, Sebastian removed his bookbag from his locker and made his way to the cafeteria. Through a window in the double doors, he could see Bea Goode and Lillian Dribowitz playing cards. He knocked.
“Sebastian,” Bea said, opening the door, “you’re not supposed to be here.”
“I know,” he said. “I just wanted to see how everybody was doing. Is Dottie here?”
Bea shook her head sadly. “Poor thing,” she said. “She’s taking it so hard. Lil and I came in, even though there’s nothing for us to do. Somebody’s got to be here to answer questions and show the health inspector around, I suppose. The health inspector and that Mrs. Shea.”
“Who’s she?”
“The new director of food services. Lordy, but she’s a tough nut.”
Sebastian smiled. “My dad said she’s a tough cookie,” he said.
“Tough nut, tough cookie, there are other things I could call her if you weren’t too young to hear ‘em. She’s inspecting this place like she’s the drill sergeant and we’re the new recruits.”
“Be careful what you say about her,” said Lillian Dribowitz, dealing herself a hand of solitaire. “She’s my cousin.”
“That so?” said Bea.
Lillian nodded. “Second cousin, once removed, but family’s family.”
“Family may be family,” Bea said, pursing her lips, “but it seems to me she’s being a little insensitive about this whole thing.”
“She’s thorough, that’s all,” Lillian said. She looked up from her cards. “Are you forgetting all those children who were poisoned yesterday? In this cafeteria? Is she being insensitive to them?”
Bea sighed. “You’re right, I know,” she said. “It’s Dottie I’m thinking of. I just hate to see this happen to her. She’s given twenty-five years to this school. I don’t know what effect all this will have, but it can’t be good.
“What she didn’t want to tell you, Sebastian, is that there’s a big dinner planned in her honor in January. She got wind of it, and was so excited. She’s never been at the center of attention, you know, not once in her life. And now it seems that she never will be, not even when she deserves it most.”
“I’ve worked for the school district for twenty-six years,” said Lillian softly. “You don’t see me making a fuss.”
“For the district,” said Bea. “Not for the same school. Besides, you took time out for your children.”
“Twenty-six years is twenty-six years,” Lillian said.
“And family is family,” said Bea.
Lillian had all four aces out, and was running out of cards in her hand. “It looks like you’re going to win,” Sebastian said.
“You might say so,” said Lillian Dribowitz.
31
“I COULDN’T get rid of it,” Sebastian told David, as the two gathered their belongings after school. He tapped the bulge in his bookbag. “There was no way to get past Bea or Mrs. Dribowitz. Now I really am concealing evidence.”
“Nice move.”
“Tell me again everything you heard in the office, will you? I need to put the pieces in place before we tape.”
“Couldn’t you delay taping, Sebastian? Just this once?”
“You know how the station works. We’ve got our scheduled slot in the studio, and that’s it.”
“Then put the story off until next week. We’ve got the beekeeper for fifteen minutes. Keep him on for all thirty, or put Uncle Harry on the show again.”
“David—”
“All I’m saying is, don’t jump the gun. You don’t know the whole story yet. You have to give people a chance.”
“You have to give people the truth,” said Sebastian. “Tell me again, David. Everything.”
David shook his head and sighed. “Okay. The Board of Health report confirms your—correction, Milo’s—findings. Those weird crushed plants and things were ground up in the food. No one—no one but you and me, that is—knows where they came from. Miss Swille told them that she uses a combination of herbs and spices, which she keeps in a plastic container on a shelf over the oven. And she told them the ingredients.”
“What were they?”
“I don’t remember. Some stuff that sounded like orangutan and margarine, something like that. It doesn’t matter. What matters is she said that she noticed right before everybody got sick that her container was missing and an identical one had been put in its place.”
Sebastian grabbed his friend’s arm. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“I didn’t? I guess I forgot.”
“You can’t forget details like that. The entire container was replaced, that’s important. Do they have suspects?”
“Miss Swille says she doesn’t remember who was in or out of the kitchen between lunch periods yesterday. All she can account for are herself, the other two kitchen ladies and Harley. Oh yeah, and Jason and Brad, who had to sweep up the cafeteria because they’d been caught horsing around in the hall. But she says there was some problem about deliveries being le
ft down the hall earlier, so she and the others had to keep leaving the kitchen to go get things.”
“In other words,” said Sebastian, “somebody could have come and gone without the others noticing.”
David nodded. “It’s possible,” he said. “But that isn’t what it looks like.”
“What do you mean?” Sebastian asked. “Is there something else you forgot to tell me?”
“Not really. It’s just that Harley’s still missing.”
“So everybody’s assuming he did it. I wish we could talk to him. I hate to go on the air without—”
“Are you boys still here? There are no after-school activities today, you know.” Sebastian and David looked up to see the school secretary walking toward them. She adjusted her cardigan sweater, which was about to slip off one shoulder.
“We’re going, Mrs. Kershaw,” said David. “We were just talking about Harley. He hasn’t been found, has he?”
A funny expression came over Mrs. Kershaw’s face. “Not exactly,” she said. “But the police are out looking for him now.”
“Missing person?” Sebastian asked.
“More like wanted. His sister told them that Harley called her.”
“And?”
“And he’s confessed to the whole thing.”
32
“LOOKS LIKE you’ve got your story,” David said, pushing open the radio station door. The boys were met by a blast of frigid air. “Geez, what’s going on in here?”
The receptionist looked up from her desk, where she sat wrapped in two sweaters, a down coat and a half-knitted afghan, trailing a ball of yarn. “There’s something wrong with the hoozis in here,” she said. “The rest of the place is warm as toast.”
“Thermostat?”
“Whatever. Sebastian, dear heart, your father wants to see you.”
“What about, Denise?”
“How should I know? Have you been a bad boy lately?”
“No worse than usual.”
“Well, all I can tell you is he wants to see you pronto.”
Just then, Harry Dobbs shuffled into the room. When he saw the boys, he didn’t say hello. He didn’t even smile.
“You okay, Uncle Harry?” Sebastian said.
“Change, change,” Harry muttered.
“What?” said David.
“Everything has to change. Why? That’s what I want to know, why?”
“Why do things have to change?” asked Sebastian, trying to make sense of Harry’s question.
Harry nodded. “Do you know why I called my program ‘A Few Raisins’? It’s an odd name for a radio show, don’t you think?”
Sebastian smiled and said, “I’m used to it. It seems normal enough to me.”
“It’s from the writer, O. Henry,” Harry went on. “‘Inject,’ he said, ‘a few raisins of conversation into the tasteless dough of existence.’ Raisins, apparently, are no longer in fashion. Instead, we mold the tasteless bread of existence into a loaf that will please the eye even as it deadens the palate and provides no nourishment whatsoever.”
Sebastian glanced at David. “Excuse me, Uncle Harry,” he said, “I think I have to talk with my father.”
The sound of darts landing with a heavy thunk-thunk-thunk echoed down the hallway, as the two friends moved quickly to the station manager’s office.
“I’m sorry,” Will Barth said moments later. He still held a dart in one hand; the other hand had settled, somewhat uncomfortably, on his son’s shoulder. “Herself laid down the law yesterday.”
I know,” said Sebastian. “So you had to cancel Uncle Harry’s show. But do you have to fire him, Dad?”
Will was caught momentarily off guard. Recovering himself, he said, “I’m not firing Harry, Sebastian. I’m not even cancelling his show, for that matter.”
“You’re not?”
“No. Herself wanted me to, but I convinced her to give him a three-month probation period to push the ratings up. The name and format are going to have to be changed, of course.”
“What’s the show going to be called now?”
“‘The Harry Dobbs Show.’”
“Catchy.”
“It was her suggestion. She said it provided a clearer market identity. So be it. Son, what I needed to talk with you about isn’t Harry’s show. It’s yours.” Sebastian felt himself stiffen under his father’s touch. “This isn’t easy for me. Herself insisted that your program be cancelled as well, but … wait a minute, now … I got us four weeks to give her what she wants.”
“Which is what?” said Sebastian.
“More impact. A sense of the here and now. Immediacy.”
“Immediacy?”
“She says the programs haven’t been relevant.”
“Dad, Pembroke’s a small town. There isn’t that much happening.”
“You have to look harder then. Don’t go for the obvious. Find the story beneath the story. You can do that, Sebastian, I’ve seen you do it. David, you’re the writer for the show. We’ll all work together. I’m not happy about this, boys, but we have to give Herself what she asks for. She pays the bills, so she calls the shots.”
“Well, if it’s immediacy she wants,” Sebastian said to David, as the two walked determinedly down the hall to Studio B, “it’s immediacy she’s going to get.”
33
“YOU DID IT,” David said to Sebastian, the moment the beekeeper left them and the red light went off outside Studio B. The show was taped and ready to air at seven that evening. “You’re either real brave or real stupid.”
“Why?” Sebastian said. “I told the truth. Nothing brave or stupid about it. I just did it before anyone else did, that’s all. And unless somebody spills the beans within the next two hours, I’ll have the story on the air first.”
“A scoop,” said David.
“Immediacy,” said Sebastian, pushing through the swinging doors into the reception area.
“It’s freezing in here,” David said.
Noticing that they weren’t alone, Sebastian called out, “Aren’t you cold, Uncle Harry?”
Harry Dobbs looked up from where he sat huddled in a chair. “I’m keeping myself warm, boys. Don’t you worry about me.”
“He’s drinking,” David whispered.
“You want to walk home with us?” said Sebastian.
“That’s all right,” Harry answered, waving his hand. “I’ve got some thinking to do. You go ahead.”
Outside, Sebastian said, “Dad’ll make sure he’s okay. He won’t let him drive home like that. I just wish he wouldn’t drink. You want to come over for a while?”
“I can’t. Dad’s taking Rachel and me out to the mall to buy new ice skates.”
“A little early in the year, isn’t it?”
“There’s a sale. You want to come?”
“No, thanks. I think I’ll go home and do some of what Uncle Harry’s doing.”
“You’re going home to drink?”
“Think,” said Sebastian. “I’m going home to think.”
“What for? You’ve solved the case. There’s nothing left to think about.”
Sebastian picked up a stone and tossed it in his hand. “I wonder,” he said.
34
SEBASTIAN ROAMED the empty house, back and forth past curious cat eyes, looking for something to do. He’d wanted to think, but now it seemed he wanted only to avoid his thoughts. He drank half a glass of milk, pushed the buttons on the remote control, read the same first sentence of the same book over and over.
After awhile, he picked up the phone and dialed David’s number, then remembered that no one would be home. He called Corrie next, but she wasn’t home either.
“She’s at the old ballfield,” Ginny Wingate told him. “The one out on Route 7.”
“Oh,” said Sebastian.
“Shall I tell her you called?”
“That’s okay. But I’d like to talk with Reverend Wingate if he’s there.”
“I’m afraid he isn’
t. He’s over at the hospital visiting the boy who took so ill. He’ll be home by six. Shall I have him call you? Is there anything I can do?”
“No, that’s all right. Bye.”
“Goodbye, Sebastian.”
Sebastian raised the flap of the bookbag lying next to the phone and pulled out his notebooks, being careful to leave the plastic container of herbs tucked away inside. He realized he hadn’t looked at the new Paragon.
“I wonder what Milo’s editorial is this week,” he said aloud, flipping the newspaper to the center page. He was surprised to see that there was none. In its place was the petition Milo had circulated, calling on the administration to take action against the gangs, which were “growing in the student body like a cancer run amok.” Sebastian flinched at the wording and the exaggeration. The gangs supposedly running amok were in fact only one gang, consisting of three students. And even that gang wouldn’t be around much longer. It was almost certain Harley would not be returning to school, and Jason and Brad, left on their own, would surely return to their former selves, just as Adam had predicted.
Sebastian looked at the petition again. Milo had managed to collect only three signatures. It looked more like a letter to the editor than a petition. It made him angry to see his name at the top of the list:
Sebastian Barth
Justin Greer
Lindsay Carmichael
His anger turned suddenly to pity. Poor Milo. He was such a twerp. Here he was editor of the school paper, and he could find only three people to sign his petition. Nobody liked Milo Groot. Nobody, thought Sebastian, but his mother. And Brian Hansen. And maybe his mice.
He folded the newspaper and stuck it in his pocket. Grabbing an apple from the bowl on the kitchen table and his jacket from the hook on the door, he started out. He’d get his bike and ride, he decided. There was a place he liked to go to be alone; perhaps his thoughts would come more clearly there.