The Secret of the Missing Grave Page 11

  At the top, she flipped the latch quietly, opened the door toward her, and stepped into the front hallway.

  The only sound was the maid trying to sort out the jumble of furnishings that had been placed in the parlor. Ab tiptoed past the double door just as the maid had turned her back, and she was out through the entry and into the night in a heartbeat.

  “Ab,” said Bean breathlessly as he ran out of the shadows across the street. For some reason, they threw their arms around each other, which Bean decided was a good idea. He could feel her heart pounding. “Are you okay?”

  She drew him quietly out of the glow of the streetlight. “Bean, you’ll never guess what I found.”

  “You’ll never guess what happened to Mr. Proverb and me,” said Bean, hardly listening to what she said.

  “Let’s go get an ice cream and talk about it up at the bandstand,” Ab suggested. For Ab, ice cream was the answer to everything. It occurred to Bean that if the world was coming to an end, Ab would want to get an ice cream cone and talk about it.

  On their way, Ab told Bean what had happened to her. But she didn’t tell him about the white canvasses. She would save that for later.

  Once they were settled, Bean began to tell his story.

  13

  TOO MUCH TROUBLE

  “ANYWAY,” SAID BEAN, wiping the ice cream from his mouth with the back of his hand, then wiping it on his pants, which Ab tried to ignore, “there we were, with the floor almost all the way down and Mr. Proverb passed out—just lyin’ there—and smoke so thick we couldn’t hardly see nothin’.”

  Ab was too eager to hear the rest of the story to correct her companion’s English.

  “And I must’ve been leanin’ against the wall, or somethin’, ’cause all of a sudden I felt this loose brick. I couldn’t get my fingers into the cracks anywhere, so I just hit it as hard as I could.” He held out his bloody knuckles for her inspection and, when she had shown the required amount of sympathy and he had said, “Aw, it don’t hurt much,” he continued. “Anyway, one end of the brick swung out just in time to stop the slab. I mean, if I’d been half a second slower, even an eighth of a second—”

  “I get the picture,” Ab cut him off. She didn’t need any more drama in her life at the moment. “Then what?”

  “Well, I took off my shirt and smothered the fire with it, but it was mostly out already. That newspaper burns some ol’ fast, and the smoke was gone in no time. As I said, the slab comin’ down forced the smoke through the tunnel and into the walls on Maud’s side.”

  “What happened to poor Mr. Proverb?” asked Ab. She had finished her sugar cone and was dabbing daintily at the corners of her mouth with the soggy napkin.

  “He came to after a second, groanin’ and holdin’ his head and his knee. But as soon as he remembered where he was, he was on his feet, howlin’ out that crack between the slab and the floor—where the brick was—but ’course the door was closed, so it didn’t do any good.”

  “But how did you get out?”

  “That’s the funny thing. I figured we’d just have to sit tight ’til you come to find us, but all of a sudden the water started rushin’ and the slab started to rise all by itself.”

  “Not all by itself,” said Ab. “I bet that’s when Maud came down and started collecting those bags I told you about.”

  A light went on in Bean’s eyes. “So that’s what happened. She tripped it on her side.”

  “Just the way she did when you and I were trapped down there.”

  “You mean, she didn’t find the note?”

  “I don’t see how she could have,” said Ab, vividly recalling Maud’s studio. “There wasn’t anyplace for it to come through.”

  “But it went somewhere,” said Bean, perplexed.

  Ab thought of something. “You say you took a brick out of the wall. What was behind it?”

  “Behind what?” said Bean. “The brick?”

  “Don’t tell me,” said Ab, holding up her hand. “I already know. It was plaster.”

  Bean reflected thoughtfully. “No,” he said. “I mean, it was hard to see with the smoke and all, but I’d say there wasn’t anything there. Just space. The tunnel, I guess.”

  Ab’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “That can’t be,” she said. “I saw the end of the tunnel myself. It was plastered on Maud’s side.”

  “Well, that’s easy enough to check out,” said Bean. “All we have to do is go look at the place where I took out the brick. But let’s go to my house first. We need a decent flashlight.”

  When they arrived at Bean’s house, they were surprised to find Mr. and Mrs. Proverb and Ab’s mom and dad there. They could see them through the kitchen window, sitting around the table, talking earnestly with Mrs. Carver.

  “Vh-oh,” said Ab. “This doesn’t look so good.”

  Bean agreed.

  Tentatively, they opened the back door and walked into the entryway. Instantly all conversation ceased. They opened the door to the kitchen, which wasn’t usually closed at this time of year, and stepped into the room.

  The looks they got from the adults made the room seem smaller than it was.

  “Hi,” said Bean as casually as possible. “What’s up?”

  “Hi, kids,” said Mrs. Carver. Her hands were folded tightly in front of her on the table, and her face seemed flushed and tense. “Come on in and take a seat.” Ab started to close the door behind her. “You can leave that open,” said Mrs. Carver. “It’s a little warm in here.”

  Bean and Ab sat down in the big, squeaky wood rocking chairs by the two windows. They looked apprehensively at each other, then at their elders.

  Mr. Petersen turned to Mrs. Carver. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?”

  “I will,” said Mrs. Carver, sitting up stiffly. Her hands were still folded and unmoving, but her knuckles were white. As she looked at Ab and Bean, her eyes softened. “You guys have really put us through the wringer lately.”

  “What do you mean?” said Ab innocently.

  “I mean, it was one thing when the two of you were running around pretending one thing or another.”

  “Nobody got hurt,” said Mrs. Petersen, anxiety evident in her eyes.

  “That’s right,” said Mrs. Carver. “Nobody got hurt. But lately things have gotten out of hand.”

  “But—” Bean began to protest, but Mrs. Carver held up her hand.

  “I know. I encouraged you,” she said. “I shouldn’t have. I didn’t realize how really dangerous things had gotten.”

  “And I’m to blame, too,” said Mr. Proverb. “I got all caught up in the thing, like a darn fool.” Mrs. Proverb patted him on the shoulder. “And I can’t say you should know better, when I should have known better myself. All this,” he indicated the bandage on his head and his hurt knee, “is my own fault. I just want you to know that neither of you are to blame for what I brought on myself. But when I think what could have happened to you, Bean ... Well, it won’t happen again. I’m going to see to that.”

  “But, Mom,” Bean interjected. “I think one more trip down the tunnel and we’ll be able to figure it out. You know the brick I took out of the wall. .. ?”

  Mr. Petersen shook his head, raised his eyebrows, and looked beseechingly at Mrs. Carver.

  “No, Bean,” said his mom. “There won’t be any more trips to the cellar. We’ve had two near misses already, and I think Mr. Petersen’s right. The whole town has been turned inside out in one way or another because of you two. Next thing we know, they’ll be storming up the walk with torches in their hands, like the villagers in a horror movie.” She stopped and smiled at them. “Well, before it comes to that, we’ve decided ... that is ... ” She hesitated.

  Mr. Petersen took over. “We’ve decided that you and Ab shouldn’t spend time together anymore.”

  Ab was on her feet instantly. “But Dad!” she protested. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “Listen to your father,” said Mrs. Peters
en sharply. Clearly, recent events had taken their toll on her emotionally. Her eyes, usually warm and sparkling, looked haunted and tired. Only now did Ab begin to appreciate what she’d put her mother through. Suddenly, she was sorry.

  “It’s time you two went your separate ways,” said Mr. Petersen.

  Bean flashed a desperate look of appeal at his mother, who averted her eyes. She’d never done that before. Mr. Petersen was clearly in control. Now more than ever, Bean wished his dad was home.

  Mr. Petersen continued. “I think you’ve both got too much imagination for your own good.” He attempted a smile. “And you just kind of feed on each other, until you’ve lost all common sense. Before you know it,” he snapped his fingers, “you’re in over your heads. It’s bad enough to endanger yourselves, but now your games have endangered others and are causing no end of trouble.”

  “The idea of starting a fire,” Mrs. Petersen exclaimed. “Why, I can’t imagine what ever—”

  Mr. Petersen held up his hand, and she fell silent. “Please, Jill, we’ve been over that. The point is,” he said, turning again to the kids, “it just won’t do. So we think it’s best if the two of you don’t spend any time alone together.”

  Bean rose again in protest, but once more Mr. Petersen held up his hand in a way that Bean knew meant no further discussion.

  “You can still go with the rest of the kids and get ice cream or go for boat rides with the others, but no more motorcycle rides.”

  “Moped,” Bean corrected softly, but his mother gave him a look that let him know that further comment would not be welcome.

  “At least for a while,” said Mrs. Carver, trying to dull the sharp edge of the injunction.

  Mr. Petersen picked up his floppy old Irish walking hat. “Well, I don’t know about that. Maybe it’s time the kids found themselves some new friends. We’ll see. Come along, Abigail.”

  Abby rose from the chair as if in a trance and cast a forlorn gaze at Bean. Did she imagine there were tears in his eyes? Shock and disbelief, anyway.

  “You understand, Bean,” said Mr. Petersen as he ushered his family to the door, “we don’t have anything against you personally. It’s just that you and Ab, who are great kids separately, just seem to lose all judgment when you’re together. So, before anything really disastrous happens ... ” He didn’t finish the sentence but looked around the room, first at Mrs. Carver, who was still looking away, then at Mr. and Mrs. Proverb, who had also risen to leave. “Well, we have to take steps. I’m sure, in time, you’ll understand.” He put on his hat. “Goodnight. I’m sorry it had to turn out this way.”

  He nodded toward Bean’s mom. “Mrs. Carver,” he said softly.

  Ab and Bean locked eyes once more as she stumbled to the door. She tried to say something, but there were no words to describe the sinking, sick feeling she felt inside.

  Bean didn’t know what to do. He looked at his mom, who, for once, seemed as helpless as he. The slamming of the screen door awakened him to the enormity of what had just happened.

  “Mom,” he said, his voice as weak as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him, “me and Ab aren’t bad.”

  “I know that,” said Mrs. Carver warmly. “So do Ab’s mom and dad. It’s just that they’re worried about Ab.”

  “I know, but it’s—”

  It was Mrs. Carver’s turn to hold up her hand. “I can understand how they feel, Bean. Mr. Proverb explained how dangerous that old contraption is, how you nearly got trapped in there, not to mention starting the fire. What if Maud had a heart attack thinking that her house was on fire?”

  Bean hadn’t thought of that.

  “Or Mr. Proverb, for that matter. He’s not a young man anymore.”

  Bean hadn’t thought of that, either.

  “Mr. Proverb said you told him that nothing could go wrong,” Mrs. Carver continued. She sat down across the table from him. “That’s not something you’ll say when you’re a little older and have had more experience. Things can always go wrong, and one little mistake or error in judgment, like tonight, could end up with someone getting badly hurt. Or worse.”

  Bean caught the emphasis and finally understood that his and Ab’s actions didn’t affect just them but a lot of other people as well. All this had obviously not been easy on his mom, either. And he’d promised his dad he’d take care of her. He hung his head. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said at last, and meant it.

  Mrs. Carver smiled. “That’s a good sign. If you’d argued or tried to make excuses, I’d have known you weren’t as mature or responsible as I’d hoped.”

  Bean smiled weakly. “Does that mean I can see Ab now?”

  “I’m afraid not,” his mom said sadly. “Maybe someday her folks will give you guys another chance. Meanwhile, think before you act. Okay?”

  “Okay,” said Bean quietly.

  “And you’re not to go down in Mr. Proverb’s cellar again.”

  Bean shook his head. Somehow, without Ab, it didn’t matter anymore. “No, ma’am.”

  “Good. That poor man’s scared to death of a lawsuit.”

  Mrs. Carver stood up, came to Bean’s side, and, taking his chin in her hand, tilted his head until he was looking up in her face. “I don’t care if there’s fifty million dollars in that tunnel,” she said, her eyes damp and serious. “Nothing is worth losing you. You hear?”

  Again Bean nodded. He reached up and put his arms around her neck and patted her reassuringly on the back, just the way his dad did when he was around. “Okay, Mom,” he whispered. “Okay.”

  That night in bed, as Bean stared at the old familiar cracks in the ceiling, he wrestled with about a hundred different thoughts, but two in particular kept bobbing to the surface. First, how was he going to face the rest of the summer without Ab? He’d just left her less than an hour ago, and already there was a rotten, hollow feeling somewhere between his heart and his stomach that wouldn’t go away, no matter which way he turned. Even praying didn’t help much. He couldn’t concentrate on the words. Second, they were so close to unraveling the mystery. If only he could get into the little room one more time.

  Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He crept out of bed and slipped on his clothes, then he squeezed through the back window, dropped onto the shed roof, and slid down the oil tank and onto the ground.

  The night was cool and foggy and the air so sweet and pungent he could almost chew it. Must be low tide, Bean deduced. The grass was tall and wet, so his canvas sneakers were soaked through long before he reached the sidewalk.

  The air was still. The town was asleep. The only sound was the foghorn off Greens Island and the heavy drops splattering from the tips of the leaves.

  For a long time he just walked. He needed to clear his head and collect his thoughts. Before long. though, his feet had carried him to the far end of Frog Hollow. Becoming aware of his surroundings, he raised his eyes and cast a hopeful gaze at the back of the Moses Webster House. It was dark except for one warm rectangle of light that hung like a window in the fog.

  Ab’s room. Like him, she was awake. He walked on in silence.

  14

  SOMETHING SPOOKY

  AB’S PARENTS KEPT HER SO BUSY WITH BOAT RIDES, picnics, sailing lessons, and swimming that she and Bean didn’t get so much as a glimpse of each other for a whole week. So it was with a nervous feeling in his throat that Bean headed out the back door and across the street to the bandstand for Uncle Phil’s ride to get ice cream. Would Ab be there? If she was, how was he supposed to behave toward her? What would they talk about?

  The back of Uncle Phil’s truck was already filled with kids, laughing, pushing, and debating at high volume about what kind of ice cream was best. But Ab wasn’t among them. Phil was leaning out the window of the cab. “Comin’, Beans?”

  Bean wasn’t sure. Nothing was the same without Ab. Even ice cream. “No,” he said as Phil started the engine. “I guess not.”

  Phil shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He placed his ch
in in the crook of the arm that rested on the window. “Too bad about Ab.”

  It was Bean’s turn to shrug. That’s all he could do.

  “Well,” said Phil stoically. “Maybe next week?”

  “Maybe,” said Bean.

  He stood watching as the truck drove away. Some of the kids called and waved for him to jump aboard, but he just stuck his hands in his pockets and turned away, full of feelings he didn’t know what to do with.

  A big chunk of tar had broken off the pavement, and he began to kick it absentmindedly, every now and then glancing down the road at the Moses Webster House. It was easy to imagine Ab running up the street toward him, her hair bouncing all over the place and the peel of laughter that always seemed to precede her cry of “Hey, Beanbag.”

  But it was just his imagination. The street was empty except for two people he didn’t recognize who were walking arm in arm toward the church. He glanced at them idly as he wandered over to the galamander, which stood nearby. A relic of the island’s quarrying days, the galamander was a massive oak and iron wagon with nine-foot rear wheels. It had once been used to carry slabs of granite from the quarries to the cutting sheds. There were pictures of it up at the Historical Society, showing it being pulled through town by a team of twelve rugged oxen. Since then, the galamander had been set up as a memorial to the industry—long since gone—and had doubled as a kind of jungle gym for generations of island kids.

  For the first time Bean noticed that the church parking lot was full of cars. “What’s going on there?” he said to himself. Then he remembered: a chowder supper. His mother had steamed a bucket of mussels and taken them up earlier. If there was one thing Bean liked more than ice cream, it was a chowder supper. But he hadn’t felt much like eating all week, and he didn’t now either. For a few moments he stood deliberating.

  About this time his attention was again drawn to the couple walking up the street, who were now close enough that he could distinguish their features. Although he recognized them individually, it was almost impossible to imagine two more unlikely people together: Maud Vallier’s maid, Mierette, and his cousin Monty. Monty was dressed up in his Sunday best and—Bean hated to admit—looked quite handsome and dashing, in an awkward sort of way. He’d apparently been practicing his small talk, too, because Mierette was giggling delightedly at whatever he was saying.