The Tutor

by Peter Abrahams

  Manny went all suspicious. “What’s it to you?”

  “We’re supposed to ask. My teacher’s very strict.”

  Manny pointed a huge blackened finger at a camera on the wall.

  Remarkable, my dear fellow. Ruby had no Watson to say it for her, so she had to say it to herself. “Just so I can tie them together,” Ruby said, which didn’t make sense, even to her, “does the camera take pictures of the pay phone?”

  “Nope,” said Manny. “We don’t own the pay phone.”

  “Ah,” said Ruby.

  She thanked Manny and went outside, paused by the pay phone. She began reading the instructions for making different kinds of calls, mostly because it was hard for her not to read if written words were visible. It gave emergency numbers down at the bottom. Police—911. Ruby had never dialed 911 before, but of course the anonymous caller had. He’d picked up the receiver just like this, pressed these three little numbers and—

  “Nine one one, recorded line,” said a man on the other end, a tough-sounding man, real fast-talking. “What is your emergency?”

  Ruby whipped the phone back on the hook, like it might bite any second. Manny was watching her through the window. She gave him an innocent little wave as she got on her bike, but probably not convincing; her mind was elsewhere. Recorded line: that meant one thing and one thing only. The voice of the anonymous caller was on tape, down at the police station; like the camera solution, but a bit more complicated. All she’d have to do, Ruby thought as she rode across the gas station lot, was listen to the tape, then go around the neighborhood striking up conversations with all the neighbors until she heard the same—

  “Ruby?”

  Ruby turned. The other cyclist, over at the air hose, had called her. Surprise, surprise: it was Julian.

  “Julian!” She was real happy to see him. For one thing, she was still lost, not lost, really, but he’d be a big help anyway. He always was.

  Julian looked down at her. “No school?” he said. “Or am I missing something?”

  “I’m on my way,” Ruby said.

  Julian checked his watch. “At ten fifteen?”

  “Ten fifteen?” How did that happen?

  “And I thought the school was on River Drive,” Julian said. “The gas station is in the exact wrong direction from your house.”

  “Maybe it’s a little roundabout,” Ruby said. “But I’m working on something.”

  “Oh?”

  “A case.”

  “That sounds interesting.”

  “The Mystery of the Anonymous Caller.”

  “I like the title.”

  “Thanks.” She was very pleased. “But this isn’t make-believe, Julian. It’s a real case.”

  “God forbid,” said Julian.

  Ruby laughed. “It’s all about the woods, and Brandon and Dewey and Sergeant D’Amario and—”

  Julian held up his hand. “Whoa,” said Julian. “There’s a Starbucks a few blocks down. You can tell me the whole story over a cup of hot chocolate.”

  “I already had hot chocolate today.”

  “Another cup won’t kill you,” Julian said. “Then I’ll get you on the right track to school.”

  Another cup of hot chocolate sounded great, actually, but she didn’t want to take advantage of Julian. He probably didn’t have much money, a grown-up riding around on a bike all the time. It was only fair to warn him. “I don’t have any money on me.”

  “My treat,” Julian said.

  20

  Ruby realized one thing right away: her hot chocolate was better than Starbucks. Maybe one day she’d go against them, head to head: Ruby’s Hot Chocolate Heaven, coast to coast.

  “Biscotti?” Julian said.

  “Thanks,” said Ruby, taking the chocolate-coated one. “How come everything’s in Italian here?”

  “To justify the price,” Julian said.

  Ruby laughed. Julian was very funny. She considered dipping her biscotti in the hot chocolate, but maybe it wasn’t polite.

  “Feel free to dip,” Julian said. “I won’t tell.”

  Very funny, and uncanny too. Ruby dipped the chocolate-coated biscotti in the hot chocolate. Bliss.

  “Have you ever been to Italy, Julian?”

  “Questo è l ‘inizo della fine.”

  “That sounds so beautiful,” Ruby said. “What does it mean?”

  “ ‘Where is the bargain shopping?’ ” said Julian. “Loosely translated.”

  “Which one is shopping?”

  “Fine.”

  “How do you spell it?”

  “We’ll do some Italian one day,” Julian said. “But right now I’m much more interested in The Mystery of the Anonymous Caller.”

  Julian rubbed his hands, like an eager spectator who couldn’t wait for the play to start. “The thing is, Julian, this is going to have to be like the smoke incident.”

  “Between you and me?”

  “Yeah.”

  He extended his hand. Ruby shook it. Julian’s hand was hot, like he had fever, although he looked fine. No wonder he didn’t mind riding around on his bike in winter. “Deal,” he said.

  “Deal,” said Ruby. “Guess what happened on Saturday night?”

  “Zippy ate the rest of the cake.”

  Ruby laughed. “He didn’t. Must have had an off day. But this is about Brandon. You know the woods?”

  “Nicest feature of the whole town.”

  “They have parties in there, drinking parties. Brandon got busted. Dad had to go bail him out.”

  “Yikes,” said Julian. “I hope there were no charges.”

  “No charges. But Sergeant D’Amario is doing an investigation.”

  “An investigation? Of teenagers drinking in the woods?”

  “There was a little more to it. But the main thing is that Sergeant D’Amario told me they got an anonymous call. Somebody dropped the dime on Brandon and his friends.”

  “Your dog-loving friend across the street, no doubt.”

  “The Strombolis. That’s what I thought. But they’re in the clear.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I did a little investigation of my own.”

  “Meaning Sergeant D’Amario told you?”

  “He’s a cop, Julian. You get nothing out of him.”

  Julian stirred his hot chocolate. “How is it you were talking to him in the first place?”

  “I was out walking Zippy in the woods. Sergeant D’Amario was hunting for evidence.”

  “Evidence of what?”

  Ruby shrugged. She didn’t want to actually lie to Julian, but why go into the whole crack thing, especially when it had nothing to do with the mystery of the anonymous caller, which was about noise, not drugs? “The point is I found a way to solve the mystery.”

  “Oh?”

  Ruby leaned forward. “Get this,” she said. It was fun talking to Julian. He understood things right away. “Those anonymous calls all get taped down at the police station.” She waited, triumphant, for his reaction.

  But there wasn’t one; he just stirred his hot chocolate with one of those little spoons. “I don’t quite follow,” he said, gazing at a chocolate whirlpool he had going, faster and faster, in the cup, a whipped-cream island in danger of getting sucked down. Ruby made a little mental adjustment: he understood most things right away.

  “Don’t you see?” she said. “The voice of the anonymous caller is on that tape. All I’d have to do is go around the neighborhood and talk to people until I find the voice that matches.” No reaction. What was he missing? “I don’t have to bring up the call or the party or anything like that. Like, ‘Hey, your lawn’s looking pretty sharp this year, Mr. Neighbor,’ and then he says, ‘Why, thank you, young lady,’ and whammo.”

  “Whammo?”

  “I got him. From matching the sound of the voice.”

  “I understand,” said Julian. “But then what?”

  “Then what? Mystery solved. Case closed. We could m
aybe drop a stink bomb down his chimney or something immature like that.”

  “So Brandon’s in on this?”

  “My investigation? I won’t need him till the stink bomb stage.”

  “But first you have to listen to the tape.”

  “Right.”

  “Do you think Sergeant D’Amario will let you do that, given that you’re Brandon’s sister?”

  “He doesn’t know I’m Brandon’s sister.”

  Julian had bought a mini-sized jar of strawberry jam at the counter. He opened it now, dipped a biscotti, bit off the red-tipped end. Crunch.

  “At least I don’t think so,” Ruby added, remembering the whole reason why she’d missed the bus in the first place.

  “He didn’t ask you your name, out in the woods?” Julian said.

  “Sort of,” Ruby said. “But then he got distracted.”

  “So you haven’t discussed this idea with Sergeant D’Amario?”

  “No.”

  “Not even as a little joke?”

  “What kind of joke?”

  “One of those fanciful and characteristic nonsequiturs.”

  “I don’t know what that means, Julian.”

  He dipped his biscotti in the jam again, a little too hard maybe, because it cracked in two, one half falling on the floor. He laid the other on the table. “It means nothing,” Julian said. “I’m asking if there’s any reason to suspect that Sergeant D’Amario knows what you’re thinking.”

  “No.”

  “Did you discuss it with anyone else?”

  “Why? Do you think someone else might tell him what I’m up to?”

  “You never know in a mystery,” Julian said.

  “We’re safe, then,” Ruby said. “You’re the only one.”

  Julian smiled, leaned back in his chair. “Quite remarkable on reflection, this idea of yours,” he said. He sipped his hot chocolate. “You’ve been very clever.”

  “Thanks.” She was pleased.

  “Another biscotti?”

  “Thanks.”

  “So what comes next?”

  “You mean how am I going to get to hear the tape?”

  Julian nodded. He had a tiny blob of whipped cream caught in his soul patch. For a moment, biscotti raised, Ruby felt that strange queasiness in her stomach, the same feeling she’d had as a little girl on the car trip when she’d been eating the baloney sandwich and listening to the story about the frog. Now she was older; she mastered it, although her enthusiasm for biscotti vanished temporarily, mixed up as it was now with those facial hairs.

  “You can’t just walk in there and ask to hear the tapes, huh?” she said.

  Julian smiled. “What would happen to anonymous calls?”

  “They’d stop.”

  “Then where would Sergeant D’Amario be?”

  “Out of a job?”

  Julian nodded, suddenly became aware of the whipped cream problem. He dabbed at his chin, surprisingly annoyed, Ruby thought; she could see how he’d be as an old man, the fussy but kindly type.

  “So what’s your plan?” he said.

  “I don’t know,” Ruby said. She realized something important about Julian, something she liked very much: he talked to her like an adult. “Any ideas?” she said.

  Julian took a notepad from his pocket, a nice one, leather-bound, and a fountain pen, also nice. He turned the top page, which had a few interesting-looking lines on it, and on the next one wrote Ideas. Ruby shifted her chair closer so she could see.

  One, he wrote. Technological.

  “What’s that?”

  “These recordings must be digitized. That means they’re on some combination of computer tapes, disks, hard drives, vulnerable to hackers. Do you know any?” Julian wrote: Hacker?

  “Not unless you’re one.”

  He shook his head. “Hackers are reductive.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “They’re basically small-minded, like all techno enthusiasts.”

  Ruby didn’t know about that. She’d have to think. But she did know that Julian was a great teacher. Ms. Freleng never discussed stuff like this. Not only that, she got the feeling he was teaching all the time; Ms. Freleng was out of the parking lot like a shot at 3:01.

  On the next line, he wrote: Two.

  “What’s two?”

  “Your turn,” he said.

  That was it: a good teacher made you think. Ruby racked her brain. She liked that expression. Rack was a kind of torture, right? Didn’t Mel Brooks put Jews on a rack in History of the World, Part One? There was also “cudgel your brains,” same idea. She racked. She cudgeled. Nothing.

  “I can’t think of anything,” she said.

  “Me either,” said Julian. “Maybe it’s not worth the trouble.”

  “What?” said Ruby. “Are you saying just give up? Don’t you want to solve the mystery? Besides, whoever made that call caused a lot of trouble for Brandon.”

  “I don’t see how. Didn’t he get off with a warning?”

  “It’s a little more complicated,” Ruby said.

  “In what way?”

  The cashier came over. “If that’s your bike outside, sir, would you mind moving it? It’s blocking the delivery entrance.”

  Julian rose, went outside. Ruby stared at the notepad page. One: Technological. So two wasn’t going to be technological, at least she knew that. No ideas, technological or not, came to her. She turned back the top page for a little peek.

  negligent is to forsake as

  mendacious is to deceive

  nothing

  Cool. Julian was making a poem out of one of those SAT problems. She had a pretty good idea what all the words meant, except mendacious, but it was clearly something bad. She picked up Julian’s pen—it felt nice—and right away words started coming. She wrote them down.

  negligent is to forsake as

  mendacious is to deceive

  nothing you can’t depend on

  will ever depend on you.

  So the poem was going to be about trust. A real good subject. She could work in the part in That Thang Thing where Problem orders the killing of the wrong girlfriend, the one with the Santa Claus tattoo on her butt. But right now, if she could remember it, would be a good spot for that bargain shopping line of Julian’s, questo something, and fine meant shopping, don’t forget that. In fact, she could sprinkle the whole poem with Italian, bella, signor, latte—they were all great, worth the extra price. The price of trust, that was where the poem wanted to go—shall we break biscotti together, my friend?—whatever friend was in Italian.

  Julian was coming back. Ruby flipped the poem page over, putting Ideas on top.

  “How do you say friend in Italian?” she said.

  “Amico for a male, amica for a female.”

  “They have different endings?”

  “Kind of appropriate, don’t you think?”

  Was that some kind of double meaning? Ruby was shocked and embarrassed, even though she heard way worse things all the time, had even walked in once on an X-rated movie when Brandon and Dewey were down in the entertainment center. She felt herself reddening, then caught Julian looking at her in a funny way. Puzzled, maybe. Perhaps she’d misinterpreted.

  “Lots of languages have gender,” he said.

  Yes, completely misinterpreted; her fault. “They do?” she said.

  “French, Spanish, Portuguese, German—Latin has three.”

  “Three genders?”

  “Including neuter.”

  “English is all neuter, right?”

  “You could put it that way.”

  “All neuter is best,” Ruby said.

  “Why?”

  It just was; she couldn’t explain it.

  Julian gazed at her for a moment or two, then looked down at the Ideas page. “How are we doing on number two?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You were about to tell me why this isn’t just about drinking in the woods.”

&nbs
p; Not exactly. More like she was considering it. “That’s all it is, really,” Ruby said. “This extra thing can’t possibly have anything to do with it.”

  “Absolutely impossible?” said Julian. “Or just improbable?”

  She knew what was coming: “The Sign of Four.” Was anything better than when books and real life came together?

  “ ‘When you have eliminated the impossible,’ ” Julian said, “ ‘whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ ”

  Probably the most important thing Holmes ever said, at least from what she’d read so far. “We’ve still got our deal?” Ruby said.

  “Always.”

  “Crack,” said Ruby. “Dewey’s selling it and Sergeant D’Amario’s on to him.” She felt better right away. Getting it off her chest—a true expression, like there’d been something squeezing her heart ever since she’d found the crack vial.

  “Is Bran involved?”

  “Oh, no,” Ruby said. “Not the selling part.” She couldn’t prove that, just knew. Brandon didn’t care about money—wasn’t that what losing all those wallets meant?

  Julian glanced around. No one nearby; in fact, they had Starbucks to themselves. “Crack is serious,” he said. “For one thing, colleges ask about criminal records on the applications.”

  “Mom and Dad would freak.”

  “Would they not,” said Julian.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “The right thing,” Julian said.

  “You mean tell on Brandon?”

  “Right and wrong can be tricky,” Julian said. “Telling on Brandon, as you put it, could lead, through a series of unpredictable events, to the very result we don’t want—a criminal record.”

  “So what’s the right thing?”

  “Whatever inflicts the least amount of pain on the fewest people.”

  “Which is?”

  Julian laughed. “Who knows?” He reached for his pen and the leather-bound notepad, like he was going to start a new category. The top page flipped back over. His gaze went to it casually, then not so casually. Uh-oh. Probably not nice to write in someone else’s notebook. Was he mad? She couldn’t tell because his eyes were on the page, reading what she’d written. There was something strangely transparent about his eyes, even from Ruby’s angle, something new. It was as though she could see right inside him for a moment, and she saw he was so smart it was almost frightening.