Ben’s jaw knotted and flexed, but he said nothing. I had never seen him so worked up. He’s not what you’d call an imposing guy, but I wouldn’t have wanted to cross him right then.
The woman noticed us, smiled and said, “Hi, Ben. I thought I might see you down here.”
They obviously knew each other. The man glanced at Ben, grunted, and kept shoveling. Not a friendly type. I began to wonder if there might be more to my mild-mannered, nerdy cousin than I first thought.
Ben pushed forward through the bushes to the putrid pile, waving flies away. I followed, but I wanted to gag. The woman dug in her pocket and pulled out a small jar of VapoRub, which she handed to Ben. He smeared a fingertip’s worth under his nose and motioned me to do the same. “It will cover the odor,” he said.
I tried it and wondered how he knew this. It worked, sort of, but I still knew I was breathing the stink; now it just smelled mentholated. It was still disgusting, just a different disgusting.
“Ally, this is my cousin, Wendy.” Ben pressed back into a bush to give us space and sure enough, Ally reached out to shake my hand. She was slim, maybe thirty, and had short brown hair. Her face was full of sharp angles but her smile softened up everything.
“Ally’s with the DNR,” Ben explained. “That’s the Department of Natural Resources. So is Jackson there.”
Jackson didn’t stop shoveling. He was dumpy, shorter than Ally, and had gray hair. Introductions were over. Ben forgot me and talked to Ally like they were old friends. He kneeled down for a closer look. “What do you think?”
Ally scratched her shoulder. “Don’t know. This is a major shock to the creek ecosystem. The mussel bed will take a long time to recover . . . if it does recover.”
I was amazed they were so worried about a bunch of clams. “These are clams you’re talking about, right?” I said.
Ben sighed and gave me a tired look. “Mussels filter the water. They are a very important part of the creek. Okay?”
Jackson took a break from shoveling and asked, “Benny, why don’t you mind your own business for a change?” His crew cut made the top of his head look like a helicopter landing pad. Dark sweat stains ringed his underarms.
Ben and Ally ignored him. “We haven’t figured out what happened,” she said. “We’ve ruled out muskrats or raccoons. Notice, they have all been forced open. No animal did this.”
I laughed and added, “A shellfish act of destruction.”
Ally, Jackson, and Ben all stared at me and I turned my chuckle into a cough. I guess puns are an acquired taste.
“These are native mussels,” Ben said. “Higgins’ Eye, if I’m not mistaken. Very mature, too.”
Jackson snorted. “Higgins what?”
Ben waved his hand at the mess. “A pearl-bearing species.”
Jackson snorted louder. “Okay, Mr. Know-it-all, maybe you can tell us who did this?” He laughed.
I noticed Ally didn’t laugh, but listened. Ben picked up a stick and singled out a clam with a zigzag in its shell mouth, or whatever the opening between the halves is called. A few of the critters had straight-line shell openings, but as I looked around I noticed most of them looked a bit deformed.
“These mussels are said to be crippled,” Ben said. “They were forming pearls against their shells. Perfect, round pearls are found in mussels without deformities. The nacre builds up in the mantle without touching the shell. I’d say the person who did this was looking for pearls. I can’t tell you who it was.”
“You really think someone pulled these mussels out of the creek looking for pearls?” Ally asked.
Jackson slapped his leg and howled with laughter. “Pearls? That’s a good one!”
Ben didn’t react. “Ordinarily, freshwater pearls aren’t worth much these days, but judging by the size of these mussels, there could have been some exceptional ones.”
“That’s right,” Ally said. “Nobody spends time pearl fishing anymore, especially for freshwater pearls. They’re all cultured now.”
Jackson got control of himself. “Oh, come on, Ally. He’s pulling your leg. Pearls? Give me a break.” He laughed again.
“Could I have some sample shells?” Ben asked, taking sandwich bags from his pocket.
Ally gave Jackson a stern look, and then smiled at Ben. “Sure, Ben.”
“Yeah. Sure, Ben,” Jackson mimicked. “Take the whole bunch. It would save us all this work.”
Ben ignored him. He picked up one of the big, deformed mussels and one that looked normal and sealed them in bags. “I’ll be in touch.”
We said goodbye to Ally and started back up the trail. Ben offered me a tissue from a small pack. What boy carries tissues? But I can’t say I was sorry as I wiped the worst of the VapoRub off my upper lip. “What are you, some kind of junior game warden?” I asked.
“No.”
“You get paid to do this?”
“No.”
“What difference do the lives of a bunch of clams make?”
“That’s a silly question.” He stopped and faced me. “Life is the only wealth there is. It is all that matters!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He smiled but didn’t answer. Instead, he looked over my shoulder and said, “Don’t look now, but we’re being watched.”
Four
Werling
I spun around and saw nothing. Maybe Jackson was right about Ben pulling people’s legs. The bush next to me suddenly raised a branch, like it was waving, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Hi, Wendy,” it said. It had eyes!
“Werling,” Ben said. “Anything to report?”
I recognized the voice. It was Ben’s nerdy school friend, and though my heart was going a million miles an hour, I took a deep breath and tried to be cool. “Jeez, Werling. You join a bush league or something?”
He laughed and pulled back a camouflage hood. A shaggy suit of leaves and twigs covered him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Who’s scared?” I lied.
He looked unconvinced, but didn’t argue. “I think my Ghillie suit improvements are acceptable,” he said to Ben.
“I’d say so,” Ben replied and smiled at me.
Werling was an inch taller than Ben, who was an inch taller than I was at five-seven. The last time I saw Werling, he came over to visit Ben dressed in slacks and a white shirt, the pocket of which was crammed with a supply of pens, an old cell phone, and little screwdrivers. He was built like a stick with ragged brown hair. I had answered the door. I’d hardly said, “Hi,” before he launched into a robotics lecture. It fixed my opinion of him as a complete dork. The leaf suit sure didn’t change that.
“We’ve been watching since the news came out,” Werling informed us. “Only the police and DNR have gone near the scene. I doubt that whoever did this is going to return.”
Ben considered this while I considered everything that had happened so far. “Ben, what’s going on? First there’s something creeping in the woods, then we meet that strange Irish guy—”
Werling quickly looked around and interrupted with, “Cathal’s here?”
“We met him at the meadow bridge,” Ben said.
“And!” I continued over their conversation. “And, I find out you are buds with the park police—”
“Department of Natural Resources park rangers,” Ben corrected.
“And only Officer Ally is friendly,” Werling added. “Jackson’s a jerk.”
I waved my hands. “Enough! Let me finish. Now I find Werling likes to dress up like some bizarre bush. That doesn’t surprise me so much. But put it all together and this is some kind of total weirdness. What is all this? Explain what we’re doing here and what you know about these clams.”
Ben drew a deep breath and gave it some thought, then shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. There’s no time.” He turned to Werling and said, “Eddy will be furious. And I wouldn’t blame her.”
“Eddy? Who’s Eddy?” I
asked.
“She’s the chief creek naiad,” Werling said. “Don’t call her Eddy to her face. Say, Your Ladyship.”
When I still looked confused, Werling added, “A naiad is a water spirit.”
That’s it! They thought I was gullible and stupid. I was not going to let them have another laugh on me. “Okay, Ben. I give up. I’m not saying another word until you explain all this.”
“Excellent. I couldn’t have asked for more.” He ignored me and turned to Werling. “I have to do research. Keep watch downstream. I’ll check in . . .” he looked at his wristwatch, “at fourteen hundred.”
I was boiling mad but they were both clueless about it.
“Right.” Werling pulled his cowl back up, and, right before my eyes, he disappeared into the bushes. “It was very nice meeting you, Wendy. I mean, I’m really glad we met. I hope we can meet again. Soon.”
“Stuff it,” I snapped. “Make like a tree and leaf.”
He laughed. “Whoa. Good one. Okay. I’m leafing now.”
His movement was all that marked him as he disappeared into the leaves. I’d swear his bush was skipping. I lost sight of him. Ben had already marched back up the trail and stopped at a distance. “Wendy. Come on. I’m taking you back home.” He hiked back up the way we had come.
“Ben, you have some explaining to do.”
He took out a notebook and started writing.
“Don’t ignore me! What’s this all about?”
“To quote you, ‘I’m not saying another word.’ You’re quite talkative for someone not saying another word.”
“Fine. Be a jerk.”
He kept walking like he didn’t hear me.
If he wanted to keep his little secrets, okay. I could figure things out for myself. I’m not stupid. I’d put together what I knew and try to make sense of it. Number one was the thing about the clams. Someone or something killed them, maybe looking for pearls. Two was the Irish guy, Cathal. I should put him at number one. He was absolutely beautiful, but I had a hard time remembering what made him so fantastic. In a way, it was creepy. I was so ready to . . . to what? My memory of the whole scene with him was foggy, like it happened last year, not an hour ago. If Ben hadn’t pulled me away, I don’t know what would have happened.
Okay, and number three was Werling. People don’t run around Minnehaha Park dressed like potted plants. But Ben knew about Werly’s camouflage and understood he was watching the DNR guys. In fact, Ben seemed in charge, ordering Werling around. None of this creepy stuff surprised him. And that demanded an explanation, in my booklet.
Five
Research
Ben’s lunch was a peanut butter sandwich, glass of milk, and a handful of carrot sticks, healthful and nutritious. He could be a poster boy for our school nutrition class.
He went up to his room, and I heard the start-up gong of his computer. I guessed he was doing research. I microwaved tuna fish and mayo on toast and mixed up chocolate milk. A bowl of real fruit sat on the kitchen table, so I grabbed a banana, too. The article about the clams was still on the breakfast table. I read it while I ate.
It said that a long time ago clams were “harvested” not only for pearls but mostly to make buttons from their shells. The little guys could live a long time if left alone. Some managed forty, fifty, sixty years or more. The floor creaked behind me, and I jumped.
“I have to go downtown,” Ben said.
“Jeez, don’t sneak up on me.”
He just twisted his mouth up into a lopsided smile and said, “Remember to save the banana peel for the compost.”
“Yes, sir. You doing more research?”
“There’s nothing current online about freshwater pearl fishing. The central library has a book from 1913.”
“I can help.”
“I don’t think so. I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t let anyone in the house.” He slung a backpack over his shoulder, grabbed his bike helmet from a hook by the back door. Out he trotted. “And don’t go outside,” he said before closing the door.
“Fine!” I snapped at the door. I watched him cross the backyard to the little garage and get his bike. If he wanted to be mysterious, fine. Two could play that game, though there wasn’t much point in my being mysterious. And I guessed I’d go outside if I liked. But first . . .
Creeping up the stairs, I realized I was sneaking for no reason. Nobody was home besides me. Still, it was spooky, and I went to my room first and grabbed my stuffed toy camel. I always felt safer when I held it. Its mismatched black eyes always made me feel a little sorry for it. Mom wanted to get rid of it. She was afraid it might have chemicals that would make us sick. She thought Dad was stupid for going back to Iraq to help set up clinics. Did I say he was a medic? Sometimes I missed him more than Mom. I gave the camel a squeeze and tiptoed down the hall.
At home, I never went into my brother Tyrone’s room, mostly because it stank and was disgusting. He also would have pounded the crap out of me.
Ben’s room was like something out of a TV commercial: no food wrappers or pop cans on the floor, bed made, clothes hung up or in the dresser. I couldn’t see one sock on the floor. I liked order, but this was something else.
It was about the same size as my room: space for a double bed, a desk, a set of drawers, and room to walk around. His window faced the house next door. Sun-lit tree branches outside his window waved in the breeze. A group of posters featured Frank Zappa, Captain Beefheart, and They Might Be Giants. There were also sketches of seriously odd creatures, most of them two-legged, all hairy, with claws and good-sized teeth. So, Ben had some deviant interests. It was good to know.
He had one of those computer desks with a slide-out shelf for a keyboard and a ledge full of books over the monitor. The books were old histories about the Mississippi River, tales of Native Americans, and descriptions of mythical creatures. He was into elves, gnomes, werewolves, and weird spirits. I poked through papers on his desk and found notes and diagrams for a robot, I guessed the one Werling had talked about. It looked like a footstool with one gangly arm on top.
His computer was on but sleeping. I tugged on one of the desk drawers but it was locked. “Damn.”
The computer’s screen flashed on. It was like a close-up of a red eye. Then it spoke. “State that as a question, please,” came a tinny voice, and I scrambled to the door, my heart pounding. I paused and looked back in. No one was in the room. A series of question marks bounced around on the computer’s screen.
I pulled myself together and approached the desk again. “Did you just talk? To me?”
“Yes.” The screen changed to a pool of concentric red circles, like the reflections in a lens.
“Cool.”
“State that as a question, please.”
“What?”
“A sentence worded or expressed in such a way as to elicit information.”
“Oh. A question.”
“Precisely.”
“What is two plus two?”
“Four.”
“Wow. A talking computer.”
“State that as a question, please.”
“Are you a talking computer?”
“Yes.”
This was over the top, but somehow, knowing this was Ben’s computer, I wasn’t surprised. “Do you have a name?”
“Yes.”
I waited. “Okay, okay! What is your name?”
“HAL 9000 and a half.”
I was tempted to ask what it meant but decided to stick to the things I really wanted to know. Ben could get back sooner than he said. I probably had less than an hour. Right away, I had a very basic question. “Who is Ben Preston?”
“I have 7,210,165 pieces of information related to ‘Ben Preston’ worldwide. Required time in audio format: one hundred fifty-two hours, thirty-seven minutes, twenty-eight seconds.”
“One hundred fifty-two hours?”
“And thirty-seven minutes, twenty-eight seconds.”
Jeez, I never thought
Ben was this well known. For a kid, he must have been ultra famous, but I knew that wasn’t true. “Is there any way to make it shorter?”
“Narrow the scope of your inquiry.”
“How would I do that?”
“Limit your inquiry to a specific Ben Preston by designating a mailing address, phone number, e-mail address . . .”
“Okay, okay.” I understood. Hal 9000 and one half had information on all the Ben Prestons out there—in the world. “I want to know about the one that owns you, Hal. Ben Preston of West River Road in Minneapolis, Minnesota.”
“State that as a question, please.”
I took a breath and held it. Getting mad at a machine would be stupid. But I was beginning to feel like I was playing Jeopardy. “Okay, who is Ben Preston of West River Road, Minneapolis, Minnesota?”
“Access denied.”
“Access denied?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Access requires a password.”
“Password? What password?”
“The user’s password is required.”
“Listen. What can you tell me about Ben Preston . . . of West River Road, Minneapolis, Minnesota? What can you tell me that doesn’t require a password?”
“There is someone at the front door.”
“What?”
“There is someone at the—”
“I know what you said.”
“State that as a question, please.”
The doorbell rang, followed by intense banging.
“Who could that be?” I asked myself aloud.
“Two minions of darkness and a water spirit. House security enabled.”
Minions? A water spirit? “What are you talking about? No, cancel that—I don’t want to know what you’re talking about. Forget it. I’ll find out for myself.”
“State that as a question, please.”
Whoever was at the front door had a determined fist. The whole house shook with every knock. “I’m coming already!” I shouted and snatched up my camel. I couldn’t imagine a neighbor hammering like this.
I put my eye to the peephole lens and got a wide-angle view of two guys in white shirts, dark pants, and black ties. They might have been Jehovah’s Witnesses except for their slightly pointed ears and red caps. I thought the hats were called fezzes, like Moroccans wear—or Shriners. There was no hair around their caps, so they might have been bald. Their faces were identical, blah and emotionless. They could be twins, but it wasn’t because they looked so much alike as they didn’t look like much of anything at all. Three hunchbacked dogs circled their feet. Ugly, mean-looking dogs. Their fur was rough and patchy. I remembered Ben’s instructions not to let anyone in. These guys made his advice easy to follow.
Bearer of the Pearls Page 2