“How could investigating a crime get us in trouble?” I said, wanting to shake her. “Why are you so afraid? What’s wrong with you?”
“Wrong with me? Wrong with me?”
“You didn’t used to be afraid.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but in some ways you’re lucky your dad is dead.”
“Stop,” I said, furious. “That’s—”
“When my father found out I went into the basement with the janitor,” she interrupted, “he beat me with his belt. He said I humiliated him.” She leaned back and closed her eyes.
“His belt?” My mouth went dry.
“Yes, his belt.”
Maggie was talking faster, but I didn’t want to hear any more. I wanted her to shut up. Her words were going round and round in my head, making me sick.
“My father said he was going to show me what it was like to be humiliated. He made me pull down my pants and bend over the arm of the couch—right in front of my mother and Jimmy. Then he whipped me. He whipped me good.” Maggie’s face was flushed. She pulled her knees up against her chest and looked away from me.
My mother did things I didn’t like, but she’d never let anybody hurt me—not even my father.
“Oh, Maggs, I’m so sorry.”
“Remember, I wore slacks the rest of exam week? My mother wrote a note to Sister telling her I had bruises on my legs, so Sister let me wear them.”
“You said you were tired of wearing your uniform,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “I didn’t know.”
I wished I hadn’t told my mother. I wished my mother hadn’t told Maggie’s mother. I wished we never waited in the school that day. I wondered if this was the first time he beat her; maybe Mrs. Miller wasn’t accident-prone…maybe…maybe Doc could help them.
“Nobody knows,” Maggie said, as if she were reading my mind. “If my father finds out I told you, he’ll beat me again—even worse. Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”
“But—”
“Grace, I’ll do anything if you don’t tell,” Maggie said, grabbing my arm and looking me straight in the eyes. “I’ll even help you find the arsonist.”
“I promise I won’t tell; I’d never want to get you in trouble with your father again.”
“Okay, I’ll help you.”
“But Maggie, what if something goes wrong? I’d never forgive myself if your dad whipped you again.”
“I’ll make sure nothing goes wrong; just don’t tell anyone what we’re doing.”
“Girls,” Mrs. Miller called from inside the house, “it’s cookie time.”
CHAPTER 12
The next morning Louanne, Maggie, and I met in my tree house. Louanne’s mother had made arrangements for her to stay at her grandmother’s until the end of August, but she hadn’t talked to either one of her parents about the separation. She said she didn’t care; she just wanted to enjoy the rest of the summer with us.
I got it. If nobody talked about my father, sometimes I forgot. Sometimes I was just me, not the kid with the dead father.
“Darn. I forgot to bring notebooks so we could write things down,” I said apologetically. “We need to make lists and notes.”
“Bring them the next time we meet,” Maggie said. “We’ll remember for a little while.”
“Listen to this,” I said. “O’Malley told Doc that the firemen found an empty pack of Pall Malls outside the Nelson barn. They think the arsonist dropped it.”
“Don’t most people smoke Pall Malls?” Louanne asked.
“Not everybody,” I said, shaking my head. “Doc smokes Camels—so does your aunt Michelle.”
“I know you don’t want to,” Maggie said, “but you’ve got to put Uncle Tony as the top suspect. He was first at the fire, and he smokes Pall Malls. The evidence points to him.”
“He had a pack of Camels in his pocket when we saw him in the attic,” I said, remembering them poking out of his pocket.
“Which one does he smoke, Louanne?” Maggie asked. “Is Grace right?”
“Honestly, Uncle Tony smokes both,” Louanne answered. “He likes Pall Malls better, but when he runs out, he smokes Aunt Michelle’s Camels.”
“Well, that proves he could have done it.”
“That’s circumstantial evidence,” I said. “You’ve got to have real evidence to prove a crime, beyond a reasonable doubt. And just so you know, on Dragnet, the person you least suspect is always the criminal.”
“Then maybe it’s your mother,” Maggie said. “Remember, she had us buy her a carton of Pall Malls last week?”
“Right,” Louanne said sarcastically. “It’s Grace’s mother.”
“You guys, come on, it’s a joke.”
I gave her my “Oh really?” look, and she laughed. She seemed like her old self today—like everything was okay—not worried about her father.
Louanne sighed. “Maggie, you’re such an idiot.”
“Lou, I hate to say it, but I really think it’s Uncle Tony.”
“You know, Maggie, you make me so mad.” Louanne stood up. “What’s his motive? If you’re so smart, tell me.”
“Don’t blow your top. When people are crazy, even a little crazy—they just do things. Your uncle probably can’t help it,” Maggie said, waving her arms. “They don’t need reasons. Maybe he’s riding his bike and he sees a barn and he just burns it up. I don’t know. Remember the list on his door?”
My father pasted lists on the kitchen walls.
Denny and Jimmy rode their bikes into the front yard. Jimmy’s basket was filled with rolls of red, white, and blue crepe paper. It was obvious the boys were planning to decorate their bikes for the Fourth of July parade—three days away.
“Why are you decorating now?” Maggie called down. “You idiots should do that the day of the parade. What if it rains?”
“Shut up,” Denny said, jumping off his bike.
“We can do it when we want,” Jimmy yelled. “I bought this stuff with my own money. You can’t tell me what to do.”
Our ears perked up, and we smiled at each other. Jimmy made his spending money in a very unusual way. He was a bed wetter, and he used it to his advantage. If Jimmy’s sheets were dry in the morning, Mrs. Miller put a star on his bed-wetting chart in the kitchen, and he’d earn a quarter. Mr. Miller complained about the chart, but it seemed to be working, so he went along with it. Every Saturday morning, right before breakfast, they counted the stars, and ka ching, ka ching!
“Jimmy earned a dollar fifty this week,” Maggie whispered.
Way to go, Jimmy!
Maggie, Louanne, and I had long ago figured out a way to profit from Jimmy’s hard work. He and Denny liked us to tow them on their roller skates behind our bikes. They called it skiing. We’d tie jump ropes to our seats, and the boys would hold on to the handles for dear life while we dragged them around the side streets of Stillwater. Our fee was a quarter for a loop.
“Want to go bike-skiing?” Maggie asked in her nicest voice. She was in such a hurry to get on the ground that she didn’t bother with the ladder—just jumped right out of the tree house. “The rope’s in my basket.”
She sauntered over to her bike, pulled two jump ropes out of the basket, and twirled one in a circle over her head. “Or are you wieners scared?”
The boys had good reason to be scared. Denny and Jimmy had experienced quite a few spectacular wipeouts over the past couple of years, and as a result, the adults in our lives had forbidden us to bike-ski.
“Okay with you, Den?” Jimmy said, tossing the crepe paper rolls up on the porch. “I’ll get my skates and come right back.”
Denny nodded.
“No,” Maggie said, grabbing her brother’s handlebars. The windows were open, and she lowered her voice so Doc didn’t hear. “Meet us in the school parking lot. Don’t let anyone know what you’re doing, and bring your money.”
Jimmy beat us to the schoolyard. When we got there, he was sitting on the brick wall, baseball cap
tilted sideways, skates already on his feet. He threw his wallet into the air, caught it, and smiled.
“Pay up,” Lou demanded, holding out her hand.
Jimmy had burned us before. If he fell—which he often did—he blamed us and kept the money. One time Denny had crashed into the school building before even making it to the street. They refused to fork over the money. Another time, the Amazing Jimbo let go of the rope and skated clean through Mrs. Hogan’s tulip bed, knocking the heads off most of the flowers in her garden.
Mrs. Hogan insisted Doc and Mr. Miller come over and inspect the damage. They weren’t happy about it, and they made us apologize in person and replace the bulbs. Not only didn’t we make money, but it cost us money. Mrs. Hogan called us hooligans, lazy slackers. To this day, if she’s on the porch when we ride by, she yells, “Lazy good for nothings!”
After that, we made the boys pay in advance.
“Okay, okay.” Jimmy took his quarters out of his wallet and jiggled them a few times before he gave them up.
“There better be four,” Louanne said. “That’s the dealio.”
One by one, Jimmy handed them over.
“Okay, Jimbo, now we’re in business.” Satisfied, Louanne dropped the quarters in her change purse and patted her stomach. “I taste a root beer float in my future.”
The three of us waited while Denny strapped on my old skates, pulled the key out of his pocket, and tightened them.
Maggie and I had tied the ropes to our bicycle seats and tugged on them as hard as we could so they wouldn’t come loose. When Denny was ready, he moved into position behind my bike. Jimmy skated over and picked up his handles.
“Let’s go over a few things so nothing happens,” Maggie said. “We don’t want anyone getting hurt today.”
That was the truth—all three of us were big into safety. Our goal was to make money, not kill anyone. We folded our arms and eyed the boys confidently.
“Listen to our instructions. We’ll ride you around the schoolyard a couple of times free,” Maggie said in her most authoritative yet kind voice, “so you get the feel of it.”
Denny cocked his head to the side as if he hadn’t heard this at least ten times before.
“This information could save your lives. If you start to skid, drop the rope. If you want to turn right, put your weight on your right foot; left, weight on the left foot. You brake like you snowplow by putting your skates in a V, toes almost but not quite touching. Any questions?”
Louanne and I nodded, letting the boys know they were in the hands of three bike-skiing experts. Denny tightened his belt two notches and pursed his lips like he always did when he was nervous. I walked toward him to tell him he didn’t have to go but stopped when he grinned and gave me a thumbs-up.
“Okay, now you guys listen to me,” Jimmy said. “Don’t go fast at the bottom of the hill. Last time was way too fast.”
“Hey, wieners, no more orders,” Maggie said, pointing her finger at them.
“Giddyup, guys,” I yelled. “The ride is about to begin.”
We rode around the schoolyard twice and then headed out on School Street. It was a quiet afternoon—sunny and hot, and the street was empty. Maggie and I rode side by side, the boys a few feet behind us swerving left and right like they were skiing.
“Ladies and gentlemen, presenting the Amazing Jimbo and DenDen the Great!” Louanne yelled, bringing up the rear. “Come on, boys, make us proud.”
Denny lifted the rope over his head. “Woo-hoo!”
“Good start, DenDen,” Lou said positively. “Now the slalom moves. Boys, show ’em what you’ve got!”
Jimmy whined. “I paid a lot of money for this. Go faster.”
Maggie and I picked up the pace. At the top of School Street, I glanced down the hill.
Mrs. Hogan’s yard was empty, her spring tulips long gone, replaced by a bed of bright orange marigolds. Kingfish, her fat, old basset hound, was stretched out on the front porch.
The Stephenson twins came around the corner holding chocolate ice cream cones. One twin noticed us and nudged her sister. This wasn’t good—the twins were the town squealers. If they told their mother, and she called my mother, I’d be grounded for the rest of my life.
Maggie and I exchanged worried looks.
“Just what we don’t need,” Lou called out. “Snitches.”
“Too late now,” Maggie said, waving. “Hi, Twinnies. How’s the ice cream?”
The twins—everyone called each one Twinnie; it saved time trying to tell them apart—didn’t say anything. Their mother was a registered nurse. She never let them do anything fun because she was afraid they’d get hurt. Rumor had it she kept a big supply of penicillin in the house, and whenever they had as much as a sniffle, she’d whip out a needle and give them a shot. I guess the only fun they had was eating chocolate ice cream and tattling. Good thing they had each other because no one liked them.
Jimmy and Denny were yelling like banshees as we started down the hill. Maggie and I stood up to pedal faster, like I did when I raced with my father. He’d get way ahead of me and then slow down to let me catch up, and he’d act so surprised when I passed him. I took a deep breath; the wind felt warm on my face, and the run was almost over—so far, so good.
A car pulled up beside us, honking the horn, and Mr. Kutter leaned out of the driver’s window. “Hey, kids!” he hollered.
My stomach knotted, I slammed on the brakes and my mouth went dry. Maggie’s bike plowed into mine, and I flew over the handlebars, biting back a scream as my head hit the pavement. I skidded across the asphalt scraping the skin off my hands and knees before I came to a stop a few feet away.
The next thing I knew, a twinnie was yelling, “Oh my God! They’re dead! They’ve killed themselves!”
“Twinnie,” I said, trying to sit up, but everything went black and spun around. I felt sick to my stomach.
“Grace! Maggie!” Louanne said, running over. “Oh, my God, are you guys okay?”
“I think so,” I said, watching everything around me whirl in circles.
“Why did Mr. Kutter honk the horn?” Maggie said, cupping her bloody chin. “It scared me half to death.”
The Amazing Jimbo sat on the curb holding his left wrist. His hand dangled in a weird way, and he was wailing bloody murder. His knees were scraped raw, and one of his skates was missing.
I hated to think about what my mother and Doc were going to say.
I tried to stand up, but my feet were pretty unsteady, and everything was going round and round.
“Twinnie ran to get Mrs. Miller,” Denny said, looking at Jimmy’s floppy wrist. “Is his hand…”
“Looks like he broke it,” I said, feeling the bump on my head. “Ouch.”
Mrs. Miller raced up the street, trailed by Twinnie, running faster than I’d ever seen her run. She bent down and pulled Jimmy into her arms. “It’s okay. Don’t cry, honey.” She wiped the tears off his face with the hem of her skirt.
Jimmy cried louder. “My wrist hurts. It hurts.”
“Maggie, what on earth were you thinking?” Mrs. Miller said, glaring at Maggie. “Your father is going to be furious.”
Maggie’s face turned white, and her lips trembled. She stuck her hands in her armpits and rocked herself back and forth. “Mom, I didn’t mean—”
“It wasn’t her fault, Mrs. Miller,” I said. “I’m the one who wanted to do it. Don’t blame Maggie.”
Blood poured out of the deeper cuts on my legs, and the bump on my head throbbed. My elbow squirted blood whenever I moved, but worse than the pain was knowing that my mother and Doc were going to be so upset.
Mr. Miller roared up in his car. He jumped out, threw his arms up in the air, and yelled. “Damn kids, you just don’t listen. How many times have I told you someone was really going to get hurt?” His face got redder with every word. The veins on his neck were throbbing, and his eyes looked like they were popping out of his head.
“Daddy, it wa
sn’t our fault,” Maggie said, crying so hard I could hardly understand her. “Mr. Kutter freaked us out when he blew his horn.”
“That’s right, Mr. Miller,” Twinnie said. “We saw the whole thing.”
CHAPTER 13
Denny and I tried to sneak upstairs and clean up, but Doc cornered us.
“Ruth Miller called and told your mother and me what happened,” Doc said, walking into the hall. “Denny, you go upstairs and wash up. I’m glad you’re not hurt. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Right.” Denny raced up the stairs two at a time, leaving me to face the music.
“Grace,” Doc said in his stern voice. “Let me see where your head hit the pavement. Your mother’s already called Dr. Whalen to take a look.”
“I’m okay,” I said, pushing my hair back to show him. I didn’t need Dr. Whalen; I just needed to put something on my scrapes and bandage my elbow.
“Grace, I’m glad you’re not really hurt, but I’m very disappointed in your decision today.” Doc turned around and walked toward the kitchen.
I flinched and followed him down the hall. Motioning for me to sit down, he poured me a glass of water and handed me a wet washcloth. I wiped my forehead with the cool cloth and waited for him to say something.
“It wasn’t that long ago that you gave me your word you wouldn’t tow Denny on the bike.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” I said, trying to figure out how I could convince him. “I really am.”
“Let me make myself clear. You could’ve been killed if you’d swerved into the moving car. A hard fall like yours and a good knock to the head can kill a person. Do you know how lucky you all were?”
I nodded, but I didn’t feel lucky. I’d known that Denny might fall and get hurt, but I didn’t stop him from bike-skiing, and I never even thought about a car running over us.
I was pretty good at putting things out of my mind when I had to, like my father’s accident, but I needed to get better at remembering. It was just so hard. Before my father died, things were different—everything was easy. I never got in trouble. My father always called me his good girl. Tears filled my eyes; nothing was the way it used to be. My mother was gaga over Mr. Howe, Lou’s father left her, Maggie’s father beat her, and everybody thought Uncle Tony was an arsonist.
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