The Skeleton in the Smithsonian

by Ron Roy

  “No problem.” The man pointed to a small table. “There are drinks and pastries over there. Help yourself.”

  “Thank you,” KC said. She turned away, then spun back. “By the way, is Mr. Fisher in?”

  “Mr. Leonard Fisher, the musician?” the clerk asked. “Yes, he went up about ten minutes ago.”

  KC stared at him. “Musician? I thought he was a gardener,” she said. “Are there two Leonard Fishers staying here?”

  “I don’t think so.” The man tapped a few keys on his computer. “No, it’s showing only one Leonard Fisher. I was here when he checked in. He was carrying a long black case. When I asked about it, he said he played in a band. Would you like me to ring Mr. Fisher in his room?”

  “Oh, no, thank you,” KC said. “We’ll just wait. We want to surprise him.”

  “Suit yourself,” the clerk said.

  KC sighed and sat in an armchair where she could watch the elevators. “Gardener, musician. Marsh, there’s something very weird going on,” she said.

  Marshall bit into a jelly doughnut and relaxed in the air-conditioned lobby. “I know someone who has an overactive imagination,” he said. He wiggled deeper into his chair. “I wonder how much a room costs in this place.”

  “A lot more than you have,” KC said. “Unless you use some of that Monopoly money you stole.”

  “I didn’t steal any—”

  “Shhh! There he is!” KC said. She ducked behind a tree as Leonard Fisher stepped out of the elevator. He was wearing shorts, sneakers, and a light blue shirt. He was also carrying a black instrument case. The case was as tall as KC and had a handle on the side.

  KC and Marshall watched Leonard Fisher cross the lobby and walk outside.

  KC counted to five, then stood up. “Come on, Marshall,” she whispered. “Don’t let him see you!”

  KC and Marshall followed Leonard Fisher. When he stopped to buy a newspaper, they hid behind a Dumpster. When he looked in a window at some clothing, they slipped into an alley.

  “I feel like a jerk,” Marshall said. “Tell me again why we’re following this guy?”

  “Because I don’t trust him,” KC said.

  Marshall snorted. “You don’t trust him? You don’t know him, KC.”

  Before KC could respond, Fisher continued walking.

  KC and Marshall followed.

  “Can you read what it says on the back of his shirt?” KC asked.

  Marshall squinted. “Um, I think it says CENTIPEDE something.”

  KC squinted, too. “No, I think it says CELLOPHANE something.”

  “Maybe it says CELLO PLAYER,” Marshall tried.

  Just then Fisher stopped again. He set the black case on the ground and bent down and tied his sneaker lace.

  KC whipped out her camera and snapped a picture. She heard a whirring sound and realized that she had just used the last frame. She popped out the roll and put it in her pocket.

  When KC looked up again, Leonard Fisher had disappeared.

  “Where did he go?” she asked, turning to look all around her. There were plenty of people carrying briefcases, shopping bags, and pocketbooks. But KC saw no one with a musician’s case.

  “Maybe he went down there,” Marshall said. A few yards away, a ramp sloped down to an underground parking garage.

  “Let’s look,” KC said, already walking down the ramp.

  The underground garage was quiet and dark. Hundreds of cars, vans, and small trucks were parked in lines. KC smelled gasoline, dust, and dampness.

  “Do you see him?” she whispered, peering into the dim corners.

  “Um, can we go?” Marshall asked. “This place is creeping me out.”

  “Yeah, okay,” KC said. They walked back up the ramp into daylight. KC realized that she had goose bumps on her arms.

  “I want to drop my film off and buy another roll,” she told Marshall. “And when we get home, we’re going to play Monopoly again. And this time, don’t cheat!”

  “I don’t have to cheat,” Marshall said, tapping the side of his head. “I’m a better player than you.”

  KC chased him all the way to their building.

  4

  The Cemetery Bus

  The next morning, KC and Marshall took a few shortcuts and reached the camera shop in ten minutes.

  KC paid, then opened the cardboard packet that held the pictures and negatives. Marshall looked over her shoulder. There were pictures of KC’s kittens, one of Marshall in the garden, and one of the kids petting a cockroach in the Museum of Natural History.

  “Here he is,” KC said. In the snapshot, Leonard Fisher was bending over to tie his sneaker lace. Next to him rested the black instrument case.

  “Before we lost him,” Marshall said.

  The picture showed the back of Fisher’s shirt, but the words printed there weren’t clear enough to read. “CELERY something something,” KC muttered.

  “Wait a sec, I have an idea,” Marshall said.

  He turned to the clerk. “Can you make this picture bigger?”

  “Sure, but it would cost six dollars and take about a week,” the clerk said. “I’d have to send it out.”

  She reached under the counter and pulled out a magnifying glass. “Here, try this,” she suggested.

  “Thanks a lot!” KC said. She placed the round magnifying glass over the picture of Leonard Fisher. The words on his shirt were suddenly clear.

  “CEMETERY STAFF, BOWIE, MARYLAND,” Marshall read out loud. He and KC stared at each other.

  “Cemetery staff?” KC said. “He told us he made gardens for rich people!”

  KC slid the pictures back into the packet. She tucked it into her backpack and headed for the door.

  Marshall thanked the clerk and followed KC. “Why would the guy lie about his job?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” KC said, “but it can’t be good.”

  “What would your mom say if she heard you say that?” Marshall asked.

  KC started humming over Marshall’s voice.

  “She’d say, ‘Katherine Christine, don’t jump to conclusions!’” Marshall trilled. He sounded a lot like KC’s mom.

  KC stopped and looked at Marshall. “Marsh, don’t you think it’s weird that Leonard Fisher told the president he was a gardener but told the hotel guy he was a musician?” she asked. “And what’s up with that shirt?”

  “Just because his shirt has CEMETERY written on it doesn’t mean he’s lying,” Marshall said. “I have a shirt with a picture of a beetle on the back, but I’m not an insect.”

  “Says who?” KC asked, walking faster.

  “Very funny,” Marshall said. “And where are we going?”

  “Back to the Dupont Inn.”

  “Oh, brother,” Marshall muttered under his breath.

  “Don’t worry,” KC said. “All I want to do is ask him whether he’s a gardener, a musician, or a gravedigger.”

  Marshall hooted.

  “And don’t tell me he has three jobs,” KC said.

  When they walked into the lobby, the same clerk was behind the counter. “Back for another breakfast?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “No, thank you,” KC said. She gave him her brightest smile. “We need to talk to Leonard Fisher.”

  The man shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Mr. Fisher is gone for the day.”

  “Where did he go?” KC asked.

  The clerk sighed. “Miss, I can’t give out that kind of information,” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I—”

  “Probably gone home to Bowie, Maryland, right?” Marshall asked.

  “That would be my guess,” the man said. His phone rang and he picked it up. He turned his back on KC and Marshall.

  They walked back out through the revolving doors. “Pretty clever, Marsh,” KC said.

  “No problem,” Marshall said.

  KC unzipped her pack and counted her money. “I think I have enough,” she said.

  “For what?�
� Marshall asked.

  “Two bus fares.”

  “Uh-oh,” Marshall muttered. “I have a feeling I know where we’re going.”

  KC led Marshall toward a bus stop. “If your feeling is Bowie, Maryland, you’re right,” she said.

  “But that’s … that’s three towns away!” said Marshall.

  A man in a white shirt and necktie was sitting on the bench reading a newspaper The headline said HEAT WAVE STRANGLES D.C.

  “Excuse me, do you know which bus goes to Bowie, Maryland?” KC asked him.

  “I think you want the number thirteen,” he said, pulling a bus schedule out of his pocket. He studied the schedule for a moment, then folded it back up. “Yes, thirteen is the one. It should be here in a few minutes.”

  “So how do we find Leonard Fisher when we get there?” Marshall asked KC.

  KC hadn’t thought that far ahead, but she was saved from having to answer Marshall. A silver bus with a 13 in the front window rolled to a stop. They climbed aboard the nearly empty bus. KC paid the driver, and she and Marshall took the seat right behind him.

  “At least it’s air-conditioned,” Marshall said as the bus pulled back into the traffic and headed east.

  KC inched up to talk to the driver. “Excuse me, is Bowie a big town?”

  The bus driver shook his head. “It’s a pretty small place,” he said, turning down his radio. “What takes you there?”

  “We’re looking for someone,” KC said. “He’s a … a friend. We want to surprise him, but we don’t know where he works. He’s either a gardener or a musician.”

  Marshall sank lower into his seat. “Or a gravedigger,” he murmured just loudly enough for KC to hear.

  “Oh yeah,” KC told the driver. “He might work at a cemetery.”

  “Well, there’s only one cemetery in Bowie,” the driver said. “We pass it just before we get downtown.” He looked up into his mirror. “So do you want to go into town, or should I drop you off at the cemetery?”

  KC swallowed. “At the cemetery, please.”

  5

  Caught in the Act

  KC sat back and hummed along with the music coming from the radio. She knew Marshall was looking at her, so she hummed louder.

  “Why do I hang out with you?” Marshall asked.

  KC knew he didn’t expect an answer, so she didn’t give him one.

  “Wow!” The bus driver leaned forward and turned up the radio. “Did you hear that?” he said.

  The music had stopped, and a reporter with a very smooth voice was speaking: “According to White House officials, it has been determined that Leonard Fisher is a direct relative of James Smithson. Smithson is the man whose money started the Smithsonian Institution over one hundred and fifty years ago. Today, Fishers DNA was compared with Smithson’s. It was a definite match. Fishers claim that the Smithsonian fortune is his seems to be true.”

  KC leaned forward as far as she could. Then she heard a different voice.

  “As Mr. Leonard Fishers attorney, I can state that he is very happy that his claim is being honored. But he has no intention of taking over the Smithsonian. He will settle for one hundred million dollars, only a fraction of the total worth of all the Smithsonian buildings and their contents.”

  The reporter took over again. “White House officials will comment later today. Stay tuned for more on this modern rags-to-riches story of a common man who became a multimillionaire!”

  “Imagine, a hundred million smackers!” said the driver

  “Well, that’s it,” Marshall said to KC. “Leonard Fisher really is related to James Smithson.”

  “But then why was he lying about his job?” KC insisted.

  Marshall sighed. “KC, we don’t know if he was,” he said. “It’s possible that he is a gardener and a musician and he works for a cemetery.”

  KC wasn’t satisfied with that answer. She looked out the window and let her mind wander back to when she’d first met Fisher, in the White House. Something about him still bothered her

  The bus drivers voice broke into KC’s thoughts. “The cemetery’s just ahead on the left,” he said. Glancing into his rearview mirror, he added, “You sure you want me to leave you here?”

  “Yes!” KC said.

  “What time will the bus come by again?” Marshall asked.

  “I go back to D.C. in ten minutes,” the driver said. “But I make the same trip again in about an hour. If you’re waiting here, I’ll pick you up.”

  “We’ll be here!” Marshall told him.

  The driver flashed his left-turn signal and pulled over. “Have a nice time,” he joked as the door swooshed open. “And good luck finding your friend.”

  “Thanks a lot,” KC said. She and Marshall got off the bus. The driver waved and pulled back onto the road. In a minute the bus had disappeared around a corner.

  The kids were standing in the grass on the side of a road. There were no buildings nearby. The road into the cemetery passed through a gate attached to two stone pillars. One of the pillars held a sign that said:

  BOWIE CEMETERY

  VISITING HOURS:

  DAWN TO DUSK

  “Come on,” KC said. “Let’s see if Leonard Fisher is in there.”

  They walked through the open gate. Birds were calling to each other in the pine trees. Fresh flowers had been placed near several of the graves. The grass was neatly cut and the bushes seemed well taken care of.

  Marshall looked at his watch. “We have to be back at the gate in fifty-six minutes.”

  KC laughed. “Don’t worry, we will,” she said.

  A blue car was parked at the edge of the road. KC watched a woman take a box of flowers and some gardening tools out of the trunk. A small white dog ran around on the grass, looking as if it wanted to play.

  The woman noticed the kids and waved. “Beautiful day!” she chirped.

  “Is your dog friendly?” Marshall asked.

  “Too friendly sometimes! Happy, come to Mommy,” the woman called.

  The dog went scampering over. His owner scooped him off the ground, walked over to Marshall, and thrust the dog into his arms. “His name is Happy.” Happy licked Marshall’s face and wriggled with joy.

  “Do you know someone named Leonard Fisher?” KC asked the woman.

  The woman thought for a moment. “Hmmm, Fisher, Fisher,” she said. “I don’t think so. When did Mr. Fisher pass away?”

  Marshall snorted.

  KC gave him a poke with her elbow. “He’s still alive,” she said. “I think he may work here.”

  The woman smiled. “Then I definitely don’t know him. I’m from out of town, just doing some planting on Aunt Lucy’s grave.”

  “Thanks anyway,” KC said.

  Marshall set Happy on the ground, and he and KC continued to follow the road as it curved into the cemetery.

  Behind them KC heard the woman say, “No, Happy, stay here with Mommy. You can’t play with those children!”

  Marshall grinned slyly. “‘Mommy’?” he whispered. He and KC cracked up.

  Just then they saw a white van driving slowly down the road. It stopped about thirty feet from where KC and Marshall were standing.

  A man in jeans, a baseball cap, and sunglasses climbed out of the van. Around his waist he wore a wide leather tool belt. He reached into the van, pulled out some hedge clippers, and tucked them into one of the loops on his belt. Then he removed his hat and glasses and wiped his face on his sleeve. On the back of his shirt were the words CEMETERY STAFF, BOWIE, MARYLAND.

  When he turned around, KC gasped. The man was Leonard Fisher!

  6

  Creepy Crypt

  Leonard Fisher walked to the rear of his van, opened the door, and dragged out a lawn mower. KC heard him grunt as he lowered the machine to the ground.

  Fisher reached back in and pulled out a red gas can. He unscrewed the cap from the mowers gas tank and poured in the gas. After recapping the tank, he yanked a few times on the mowers starter
cord. The engine sputtered, then roared to life.

  “He’s a lawn guy!” Marshall whispered from their hiding spot. When they’d realized who the man was, they’d scooted behind some trees.

  “Told you he lied,” KC mumbled.

  They watched Fisher mow the grass around a few shrubs and tombstones. He kept looking over his shoulder, as if he suspected someone was watching him.

  KC and Marshall lay flat on the fallen pine needles under a large tree to make themselves less noticeable.

  Leonard Fisher brought the mower back to his van, then let the engine die. He yanked the hedge clippers from his belt and walked over to some bushes next to a small stone building. He started to prune the bushes, stopping every few snips to look over his shoulder. Then he stopped cutting and stuck the clippers back into his belt. He walked quickly over to the van and opened the side door.

  What he took out this time made KC grab Marshall’s arm. It was the black instrument case! Fisher held the case by the handle on its side, then nudged the van door shut with his shoulder.

  As still as statues, KC and Marshall watched Fisher carry the case away from the van. He returned to the small building. To KC, it looked like a stone cottage from a fairy tale. Leonard Fisher set the case down and pulled a key ring from his pocket.

  “What’s he doing? Can you see?” KC whispered. A bush partly blocked her view.

  Marshall stretched out until he could see better. “He’s unlocking that little house,” he said. “He’s going inside!”

  KC got up on her knees. “Come on!” she whispered.

  Crouching, the kids scooted over and hid next to the white van. When KC looked through the window, she saw a square plastic sign on the front seat.

  She poked Marshall and pointed at the sign: ACE AIR-CONDITIONING. “This van was in front of the Smithsonian Castle the other day!” she whispered.

  KC and Marshall tiptoed on the freshly cut grass to the side of the little building. The walls were smooth gray stone, and the sloping roof was slate.

  KC peeked around the buildings corner. The structure had been built partly underground. The door was open wide, and two stone steps led down to the inside.

  A small brass plate was fastened to the outside. In faded letters it said HERE LIE HOMER AND ESTHER FISHER, IN ETERNAL REST.