“The devil took your shoes,” Dale said.
I tried to slow my galloping heart. “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you for saving my life.”
* * *
“So that’s quicksand,” Dale said, pushing the reeds aside and staring across the flat. “It looks so sweet.”
He was right. The mudflat looked serene as the inside of an oyster shell. “That old pit’s a great place for treasure. In fact . . .” He froze, his eyes taking the same distant look he gets when he’s writing a new song. “What’s Mary’s riddle again?”
I rubbed warmth into my feet. “Cross over resting, loose beside still . . .”
“Quicksand,” he said, very firm. “That’s the answer. “That’s why the Xs. Quicksand is loose sand beside still. And there’s only one way to cross quicksand: by resting on top, like you’re dreaming of flying. Cross over resting. The treasure’s here. We just got to find a way to get it out.”
The reeds stirred and Queen Elizabeth looked up at us, her brown eyes laughing. “There you are,” Dale said, leaning down to smooth her ears.
Across the cement-colored flat, the grasses quivered. A rabbit peeked out.
Queen Elizabeth froze, her eyes locked on the rabbit. She tensed her muscles and shifted her weight. “Liz! No!” Dale shouted, grabbing for her collar.
Too late.
Queen Elizabeth sprang forward and stretched out on the air as the rabbit disappeared into the brush. She landed with a sickening thwack six feet from firm ground. She began to swim—and to sink. “Liz, stay still,” Dale cried. She tossed her head and looked at us, her ears back, her eyes glassy with fear as she paddled, stirring the quicksand with her paws.
She sank one inch deeper, two inches, three inches.
The quicksand slurped up her ribs, to her shoulders. Her hips sank, her tail.
“No,” Harm whispered, shrugging the rope off his shoulder and throwing it near her. “Not Liz.” The rope splatted in the quicksand. She turned and paddled toward the rope, the quicksand grabbing the arch of her back and jerking her down.
She strained hard, holding her head up, her eyes rolling in terror as she looked back at Dale one last time.
“No!” Dale screamed. “You can’t have her!”
And before I knew what he was thinking, he dove straight out from our solid place of safety, and sailed in behind her.
* * *
For one incredible heartbeat, Dale lay stretched out on the quicksand like Superboy flying across air. “Shhhhh, stop it, Liz,” he said, his voice shaking, as he swam in slow motion, inching his way forward, the muck kissing his chin. “Shhhhh, we’re okay, girl. Settle down.”
Harm reeled the rope in. I grabbed it, and tied a loop in it.
Why are my hands so stupid? Why can’t I move faster?
“Dale,” I said, stepping back into briars. I felt thorns sink into my feet, but no pain. “I’m throwing the rope.”
“Not yet,” he said in the same gentle tone. “Liz, shhhh. I’m coming, puppy. Dale’s coming.”
Harm stood beside me. I listened for his breath and didn’t hear it. Somehow his silence stopped my world.
Dale took a deep breath and sloshed onto his back, his left arm stroking back to grab Queen Elizabeth. He hauled her close, and rolled her onto her back, her thin legs frantically kicking at the air.
The move cost him. The quicksand found a new fingerhold.
Dale began to sink as Queen Elizabeth flailed at the air. She’s going to kill him, I thought. Her fear is going to kill him. “Liz,” I said, trying to sound like Dale. “Play dead. Now. Treat, Liz. Play dead.”
Liz rolled her eyes so hard I could see the whites, but she stopped kicking.
“Good girl,” I said, trying to smooth my voice.
I was shaking. When did I start shaking?
“Dale, I’m throwing the rope,” I said, still trying to keep my voice calm.
“Don’t try to catch it,” Harm said. “If we miss you we’ll try again until we hit you. Lie still, Dale. Don’t move. You’re right. Moving makes you sink.”
Harm tied one end of the rope to a sapling. I coiled the rope and swung it, swung it, threw. The rope snaked out and landed too far to Dale’s right.
Dale lay serene as a prayer. The quicksand rose to his ears, framing his face. His lips turned blue from the cold.
He’s going under. It’s not going to work.
“Help!” I screamed to no one. A flock of birds boiled into the sky.
“Dammit,” Harm whispered, frantically reeling the rope to us. He coiled the rope, and let it fly again. It landed across Dale’s chest. Dale didn’t move.
“Dale, listen to me. Loop it around your free arm and hang on even if you go under,” Harm said, his voice filling with tears as Dale slipped a breath lower in the muck. “We’ll pull you out. If you can’t hold on to Queen Elizabeth, you have to let her go. I know you don’t want to, but it would be okay. She’ll understand.”
Dale pursed his lips as he looped the rope over his arm.
When did I start crying?
“Pull,” I cried. Harm and me dug into the mud and pulled. We turned Dale slightly, and he sank a whisker deeper.
“Pull!” I shouted, and we plowed him through the quicksand, sliding him sideways toward shore. He weighed a ton with the greedy earth grabbing hold.
Dale closed his eyes and tightened his arm around Queen Elizabeth’s chest.
He’ll never let her go, I thought.
“PULL!” I screamed as he sank lower. He frowned that stubborn frown he gets when he knows he’s right and people say he’s wrong.
The quicksand licked the side of his face and slipped toward his nose.
“HELP US!” I shrieked. “Dale, hold on.”
Dale took a deep breath and slipped beneath the surface.
Someone reached around me. “Now!” Attila said, digging her fancy hiking boots in by my sock feet and leaning against the rope. “PULL!”
We pulled like nobody this side of dead ever pulled. The rope inched along the surface like somebody had grabbed Dale and was dragging him down.
A bubble of air broke the surface.
“PULL!” Harm screamed, his voice shredding.
We pulled. The rope zigzagged nearer.
“Don’t let go, don’t let go, don’t let go,” I prayed.
Another air bubble.
Dale rose up at our feet and slung Queen Elizabeth onto solid ground. He rolled out coughing and gasping as we grabbed his jacket and hauled him in. I fell to my knees and raked the mud off his face as Queen Elizabeth scrambled away.
Harm whipped off his jacket and draped it over Dale’s shoulders as he sat up, spitting and coughing and crying. Tears rolled down Dale’s cheeks, leaving a clean trail through the mud.
I gazed at Dale as he gasped for breath. At the thin, freckled face I’d known all my life. The sand-flecked lashes. The eyes I trust, the eyes that trust mine.
Dale Earnhardt Johnson III. My best friend for life.
For one rare, tender moment, I thought I might kiss Dale, or write a poem. The moment passed. I socked him in the shoulder as hard as I could. “You idiot!” I bellowed, kicking at him. “You almost died! Don’t you ever do that again!”
I pointed at Queen Elizabeth. “You either!”
I looked at Harm and Attila, who stared at me wide-eyed. “Leave me alone, all of you,” I shouted, and burst into tears.
* * *
Dear Upstream Mother,
Do you believe in curses? I never did but when Dale disappeared beneath that quicksand, I felt cursed to my soul. Surge of blood, snap of bone, loss of mortal breath.
Attila helped us to Gabriel’s camp. Kat drove us home.
The Colonel says going face-to-face with death can break you, or make you strong. F
ingers crossed Dale and Liz ain’t broke.
Liz looks shaky, but I think Dale may be okay, because he asked Gabriel for his top three tips for a first kiss.
Gabriel said, “Don’t ask, move fast, think like a movie star.” Then he tossed his car keys to Kat, and we climbed in the Jag.
About our search for you: We got a no at Miss Effy’s place and now also no’s on twelve Always Man letters. But after a lifetime of no’s, that ain’t nothing to a girl like me.
Mo
PS The quicksand stole my shoes!
Chapter Twenty-one
Dale Has Another Plan
Word of our near-death experience hit different people different ways.
Miss Rose checked on Dale every ten minutes to make sure he was still breathing. Queen Elizabeth went clingy. On Sunday afternoon, Miss Lana and the Colonel offered a free CPR class at the café and twenty people showed up.
Afterward, Harm and me studied the NC map on the café wall, and plotted our next move. “Miss Effy grew up here, in Patesville,” Harm said, sticking a pin in the map. “If she saw the Ugly Trim when she was little, let’s guess the sign was within fifty miles of Patesville.” He drew a circle around the tiny town. “Our rivers flow toward the ocean, to our east. That means Upstream Mother lived somewhere between the western edge of this circle, and Tupelo Landing.”
He crossed his arms and studied the map. “I say we focus there. It’s got just two historic sites with yarn-spinners. I’ll call them, and see what I can learn.”
“And I’ll ask Skeeter to check for sheep farms in that area.”
The phone rang and Miss Lana grabbed it. I heard her murmur, and hang up. “Mo, Miss Thornton wants you to stop by in the morning. She has something for you.”
Excellent, I thought. A perfect chance to follow up on Kat Kline.
* * *
The next day, a Monday, I knocked on Grandmother Miss Lacy’s door. “Hey, I hope you’re doing good. I’m possibly cursed and wobbly from almost losing Dale and Queen Elizabeth, but otherwise well,” I said, stepping inside.
She hugged me tight. “You’re not cursed and you know it. These are for you,” she said, handing me a shoe box. Inside lay a pair of red plaid sneakers, laced in my signature weave. I followed her into the parlor, kicked off last year’s toe-biters, and slipped the new shoes on.
“Thanks. They’re perfect.”
I glanced at a photo on her end table—an image of a sour-faced girl with a ski-slope nose.
“I don’t think you’ve seen that one,” she said. “I put it out yesterday. Myrt Little was fourteen when I took it. She was at the height of her beauty, I’d say.”
I grinned and picked up an old photo of Tinks. “Grandmother Miss Lacy, I heard you forgive Kat before Harm’s dinner, but why? What happened? I can’t figure her out.”
“Oh, a high school prank. Kat and a friend of hers broke in here,” she said, like it was nothing. “I caught her friend red-handed. Kat got away—and let him take the blame. Red and Kat were already at odds over her music, but they never saw eye to eye after that.”
“And Harm doesn’t know? Why didn’t you tell me before?” I asked.
“You didn’t ask me before, dear.”
True.
I picked up another photo. Grandmother Miss Lacy’s mom, leaning against a long, lean roadster. “The Azalea Women say your mother’s birthday is this Sunday.”
She nodded. “I’m putting flowers in the church, in her honor.”
“I’d like to honor her too,” I said. “I could photograph you putting flowers in the church—for your photo albums. If you want me to.”
She smiled like sunrise. “I’d love that, Mo. Can we settle on a price?”
A price? For Grandmother Miss Lacy?
I wiggled my toes in my new shoes. “Your money ain’t worth nothing to me,” I said, and kissed her good-bye. “Thanks for the shoes. And the information. Grandmother Miss Lacy, who was the boy Kat broke in with? You didn’t say.”
“My goodness, look at the time,” she said, and closed the door.
I headed for my bike. Good information, new shoes, and a photography gig. Already I felt my swagger coming back.
* * *
* * *
As I stood at the classroom window an hour later, pretending to sharpen my pencil, a shiny black van pulled up and Tinks hopped out cradling pink gladiolas.
My heart jack-knifed into my belly.
Gladiolas: Tupelo Landing’s funeral flower of choice. “Somebody died,” I announced.
The Exum boys rummaged through their desks for their caps and held them over their hearts as the rest of the class rushed to the window. “Please sit down,” Miss Retzyl said. “People send flowers for all kinds of occasions. Birthdays, Christmas . . .”
Attila headed for her seat. “Mother gets flowers every Mother’s Day and every National Dental Hygiene Day. Father is a dentist,” she said, like we didn’t know.
“What do you send for Dental Hygiene Day?” Harm asked. “Floss-me-nots?”
Tinks rapped at our door. “Flowers for Priscilla Retzyl from a secret admirer.” He placed the glads in her arms and fled.
A secret admirer? Starr would never send flowers. “It was sweet of Starr to send flowers,” I said. “You’re lucky. Boyfriends who love flowers and shoot are rare.”
Dale whispered: “I’m ninety-four percent sure those aren’t from Starr. Only twelve percent of me thinks they are.”
“Dale,” Miss Retzyl said, “do you have something to share with the class?”
“No,” he said. “I just hope nobody’s trying to steal your heart.”
“Hearts can’t be stolen,” she said. “Which reminds me, Valentine’s Day is just weeks away. This year, I thought we’d give a Valentine’s gift to the entire community.”
We went still and blank as bowling pins. Even Dale knew not to move.
In Teacher Speak, “gift for family” means lame art. “Gift for friends” equals an Orange and Grapefruit Sale, which last year the entire town got gum ulcers from Vitamin C overdose. Gift to Community can mean only one thing: Performance Art.
I raised my hand. “I think I speak for the entire class when I say it can’t be Performance Art, which is cruel and unusual. I’m guessing a trip to the NASCAR Hall of Fame. Lavender will drive the activity bus if we borrow one. Three cheers for Miss Retzyl! Hip, hip . . .”
“Be quiet,” Miss Retzyl said.
Attila raised her hand. “I’d love to hear your idea, Miss Retzyl.”
“Thank you,” Miss Retzyl said. “This year, we’ll offer a concert of romantic tunes.” If we’d gasped any harder, the windows would have shattered on the floor. “Dale and Harm, you’ll be center stage.”
Is she mad?
Jake raised his hand. “Jimmy and me tap-dance. Mama home-schooled it into us,” he said. “We’ll perform. Come on, Jimmy. Let’s show them.”
“Sit down, boys,” Miss Retzyl said. “You can audition later.”
Dale put his head on his desk. “Help us,” he whispered.
I smiled at Miss Retzyl the way Miss Lana smiles at a salesman who’s selling what she ain’t buying. “It breaks my heart to RSVP you this way, but Regrets. The Desperados got two cases going plus we’re dedicated to sixth grade.” She’s not buying it, I thought. “And Dale and Harm are already booked at the café’s Valentine’s Extravaganza,” I added.
“We are?” Dale whispered, looking hopeful. Dale kills me.
“I don’t believe I’ve heard that around town,” Miss Retzyl said. “And if Lana tells me . . .” The bell gobbled up the rest of her words.
It was still echoing in the hall as I skidded into Skeeter’s office and dialed the café. “Miss Lana? Harm and Dale are playing the café’s Valentine’s Extravaganza. We been planning it for a while in case Mis
s Retzyl asks you.”
“Wonderful,” she said, and I could hear her smile. “I’ll start planning the decorations.”
One disaster sidestepped, I thought. But we had another waiting at the café.
* * *
* * *
“Somebody sent Pris flowers?” Starr said as we dumped our books and shot to Miss Lana’s red velvet cake. “Why? Is it her birthday?”
“No, it’s not,” Miss Lana said, cutting the cake. “But if you didn’t send them, who did?”
“Gabriel Archer,” Dale said. “He already stood her up once.”
Miss Lana frowned. “I don’t think so, Dale. Of course, Gabriel’s handsome. And he’s a treasure hunter—which is romantic.”
“That reminds me,” Dale said, taking his clue pad out and looking at Joe Starr. “I’d love to have your top three thoughts on a first kiss. You too, Colonel.”
Starr ignored him. So did the Colonel, who was working on the jukebox. Starr picked up his hat and headed for the door. “I nearly forgot, Mo. I ran your cocoa powder fingerprint. I didn’t get a match, but I’d guess it’s a man’s print, based on the size. There’s a scar across the tip, if that helps any. Sorry I couldn’t do better for you.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, trying not to look crushed.
“Maybe that’s Always Man’s print, then,” Harm said.
Starr took out his clue pad and flipped it open. “And the blood evidence from Harm’s windowsill was pig’s blood, which is flat-out strange. Nobody’s missing any pigs.”
Harm scowled. “Why would somebody . . .”
“To scare us off the case,” I said. “Just like with the curse. And the strange boot prints.”
Starr turned at the door. “Three tips on a first kiss, Dale. Be respectful, be honest, try not to bump noses.” As he drove away, Dale turned to me.
The Law of Finders Keepers Page 15