Now when I thought of Hudson helping me open the safe, I wasn’t picturing having to flip around a dial for hours and hours. I was picturing Hudson going into the Pup Parlor with a few tools and some experienced fingers, and coming out with the doggy door wide open.
He looks at me and says, “Not exactly what you were hoping to hear, eh, Sammy?” He chuckles and says, “It may seem rather dull to you, but a yegg’s best tool’s his brain.” He taps my head and says, “It’s better than a crowbar or a diamond drill or a truckload of nitroglycerin, so don’t you roll your eyes and sigh at me, young lady! It’s probably the only thing that’s going to get you past an S&G lock, nearly an inch of reinforced steel and shielded bolts.”
I sit up. “I didn’t roll my eyes and sigh!” Then I kind of mumble, “But it’s not like I want to break into Fort Knox!”
He shakes his head. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy … Some safes may be easier than others, but the concept’s the same. Stethoscopes and cracker fingers are a myth. You can’t get into a safe that way! And torching the mechanism or trying to drill it is just going to make it lock up.
“Which leaves you with ripping a hole in the side or using your brain.” He eyes me. “Which do you prefer?”
I guess I wasn’t looking too happy because he says, “Come on now, Sammy. Chin up.”
“I don’t want to try eight thousand different combinations! I’d rather dissect dog poop!”
He laughs. “Well, there is another way to go at this.”
“What do you mean?”
“It comes down to the fact that people are creatures of habit.”
“How’s that get you into a safe?”
“Imagine, if you will, that for your birthday I gave you a brand-new Browning safe and you had to decide on a combination that you wanted the lock to have. It could be any combination of three numbers, zero to ninety-nine. What would you choose?”
“Doesn’t the safe come with a combination?”
Hudson laughs, and says, “Ah-ha! Very good! Choice number one—the factory setting. Usually along the lines of 25–0–25, and the first combination you should try when confronted with a lock.”
“What do you mean?”
He smiles. “People are also lazy. Some will leave the combination on the factory setting because it’s too much work for them to figure out how to give the safe a new combination.” He rubs his hands together. “But you are not lazy, so you would come up with your own combination. What would it be?”
I’m in the middle of thinking when he says, “Would you pick random numbers? Say, 17–85–12?”
“No. I’d forget them—unless I wrote them down.”
He claps his hands. “Another possibility! If it’s a random combination, or one that they’re afraid they’re going to forget, most people write it down and then put it someplace concealed but convenient. Like they write it inside their desk drawer or tape it to the back of their safe.” He laughs and says, “There’s not much sense in having a safe if you’re going to tape the combination to the outside of it, but people do it all the time.”
He goes back to petting Rommel. “Now, I know you’ve got more marbles than to do that, so what combination would you use? And remember—this safe is something you’re going to have for a long, long time.”
I sit there for a minute, thinking. Then I say, “12–34–56. That’s what I’d use. 12–34–56.”
Hudson stops mid-stroke. “Twelve-thirty-four–fifty-six?”
“That’s right.”
“It’s not a date, then.”
“Nope.”
He picks Rommel up and puts him in his lap. “Okay. I give up. Why that combination?”
I laugh. “I couldn’t think of anything. You were putting me on the spot, so I just went up the number line!”
He gives me a disgusted look. “I suppose I should’ve known you wouldn’t be conventional. Most people don’t go up the number line, Sammy. Most people choose a memorable date of some kind, like their birthday or their spouse’s birthday or their anniversary. That’s the most common thing people use. Then comes the first digits of their Social Security number or their phone number—something along those lines. A number that has to do with some other aspect of their life.”
He lets a little smile escape. “The more you know about someone, the easier it is to crack their safe, so what I suggest you do with Meg and Vera is find out everything you can about them, write it all down, and then look for combinations. Find combinations in everything they give you. And Sammy, keep your mind open. If you keep your mind open, I predict you’ll have it cracked in under an hour.” He laughs and says, “And if you can’t get it open, then I guess Dot’ll have to do her dirty deed, which isn’t the end of the world.”
So I walk away from Hudson’s without so much as a water glass to put up to the dial, and the closer I get to the Pup Parlor, the more I’m thinking that maybe Hudson’s never cracked a safe in his life. I mean, what he’d told me about safecracking sounded like something you’d get out of a statistics book, not the Safecracker’s Bible.
When I walk into the Pup Parlor and Meg says, “Sammy! What brings you back so soon?” I really felt like saying, Uh … never mind, but what came out of my stupid mouth was, “I’m here to crack your safe.”
They both stare at me. And then Meg starts laughing. And pretty soon she’s laughing so hard that her little red bows are shaking around her poodle-do like mutant moths and she just has to sit down. Finally, she wipes the corners of her eyes and says, “I’m sorry, Sammy. It’s been a long day.”
Vera comes from behind the counter. “What makes you think you can open the safe?”
I look down and say, “I don’t know. I just have an idea about it, all right? Will you at least let me try?”
Vera looks at Meg and they both kind of shrug. “Have at it, girl.”
I pick up a pencil and a scratch pad and say to Vera, “You have to give me some information.”
“Like?”
“Like your husband’s birth date, your birth date, Meg’s birth date, your anniversary, your phone number, everyone’s Social Security number, your driver’s license number, your husband’s driver’s license number …”
Meg shakes her head. “My father’s driver’s license number? Why do you need that?”
But Vera nods and says, “This makes sense. I should’ve tried this years ago. I just always had the key.” And before you know it, she’s giving me dates and numbers and I’ve got a whole paper full of combinations to try.
I sit cross-legged on the floor and I start, first with his birthday, then with Vera’s. And it feels kind of funny, sitting in front of someone else’s safe twirling the dial around while they’re standing behind you shaking their heads, muttering. And the more combinations I try, the louder Meg mutters until finally I’m out of combinations and she comes right out and says, “I knew it wouldn’t work.”
Well, I am feeling pretty stupid, but I’m not quite ready to give up. I sit there thinking, and then I ask, “Have you always lived at this address?”
Vera says, “Yup.”
“Has your phone number always been the same?”
“Yup … wait, no! We had one way back when—let me see … 2-2812. Yup that was it. Walnut 2-2812.”
“Walnut? What do you mean ‘Walnut’?”
Meg says, “When I was your age, that’s how we used to say phone numbers. The WA in Walnut translates to 92. Look at the phone—that’s what the letters are there for.”
I pick up the phone and sure enough, ABC is on 2 and WXY is on 9.
Vera says, “Yeah, that was back when you just needed the last five numbers.”
“What do you mean? You didn’t have to dial the nine and the two?”
She shakes her head. “Our number was 22812. You could dial the WA if you wanted to, but no one did it. No need for it.”
This was all news to me, but I wasn’t going to stand around and chat about how things used to be. I went right
back over to the safe and tried 22–81–2, and as I turned the dial around to 2, I pulled down on the handle and … nothing. I said, “Darn!” Then I tried 22–8–12, and shook the handle when it didn’t give.
There was only one combination left. I spun the dial around a couple of times, then very carefully went clockwise to the number 2, back to 28, and as I got back to 12, I pulled the handle down.
And there I was, with the door to their safe swung open in my lap.
Meg was surprised more than happy about the lock, probably because of all that muttering she’d done about me not being able to open it. And seeing how it was gaping at her like a baby bird needing bugs, she couldn’t really say much.
But Vera says, “That’s amazing! I can’t believe it actually worked! Why, all this time it was our old phone number.”
Meg picks up a broom and starts sweeping. “Yeah, and now we’re gonna have to get the combination changed.”
I look at her and say, “I won’t tell anyone what it is!”
Vera says, “This is Sammy, Meg. She’s more trustworthy than a locksmith, and I don’t think I need to remind you that she’s trusted us with a few secrets of her own.”
Meg keeps sweeping up dog hair and pretty soon she sighs and says, “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She looks at me. “Ma and I are much obliged, Sammy.”
Vera says, “And if there’s ever anything we can do for you, just let us know.”
I head home, and after I sneak past Mrs. Graybill the first thing I do is call Hudson and say, “Thanks!” And I can just see him, smiling like a silver fox, when he says, “That’s my girl!”
I call Dot and say, “Guess what? You are officially off poop patrol!” and let me tell you, that is one happy girl.
All night I had so many dreams about spinning dials ’round and around that when Grams woke me up in the morning, it took my brain a second to quit feeling dizzy.
After we’re done cleaning up from breakfast and it’s time to get going, Grams says what she always does when she drags me to church, “We have got to get you some decent shoes.”
And I say what I always say, “If I can’t wear my high-tops, I’m not going.”
She just sighs, and we head over to Hudson’s.
When we get there, he answers the door and says, “Good morning, ladies,” then winks at me and says, “Perfect day for church, isn’t it?”
I laugh and say, “Perfect,” because it is—it’s overcast and gloomy. Then I point to his boots and say, “Even your feet are ready to be bored,” because they’re not wearing yellow pigskin or green iguana. They’re stuck in black cowhide.
He smiles at Grams and says, “Do we have time for a cup of tea? I’ve got the water hot.”
Grams stays put on the porch. “I’d like to get a good seat. Maybe afterwards?”
As we pass the statue of the Virgin Mary on the church walkway, out of the corner of my eye I notice Father Mayhew by a side door. And I do a double take, because he’s talking to a police officer—Officer Gil Borsch.
Now, my feet were smart—they tried to keep on walking. It’s kind of a long story, but to Officer Borsch I’m like a swig of sour milk that he can’t spit out. If he had his way, he’d spray me all over the walls, but the way things are he just has to swallow and wait for the upset stomach to go away.
So I probably should’ve kept on walking, only I could tell that Father Mayhew was really upset about something. So I say, “Save me a seat, Grams. I’ll be right there.”
Father Mayhew seems happy enough to see me, but Officer Borsch takes one look at me and mutters, “Tell me this isn’t happening.”
I decide I’m going to be nice to the guy, just to see what happens. “Good morning, Officer Borsch. How is everything?”
He looks at me like I’m going to pull a squirt gun from behind my back, but since I just stand there smiling, he finally grunts and says, “Things have been worse.”
I look at Father Mayhew and ask, “What’s happened? Is something else missing?”
Officer Borsch squints a bit. “Something else?”
Father Mayhew closes his eyes and sighs. “My papal cross disappeared earlier this week. It was in the sacristy also. Perhaps the person who took the chalices also has my cross.” He shakes his head. “I should probably also mention that our guests, the Sisters of Mercy, have had an attempted break-in in their motor home.”
While Officer Borsch is writing all this down, I whisper, “What else got taken?”
Father Mayhew says, “Two Eucharistic goblets. I just can’t believe it. All these years and we’ve never had an iota of trouble. Now in less than a week we’ve had three incidents.”
Officer Borsch looks up from his writing. “You mentioned they were gold—gold plate or solid?”
Father Mayhew looks down. “Solid.”
Officer Borsch lets out a low whistle. “And you never lock that room up?”
“Only at night. We’ve kept them there for years. Years and years. As a matter of fact, they were here when I was assigned to the parish nearly twenty years ago.” His eyebrows practically knit together and his complicated eyes look sad and confused. “Please do your best to find out who has stolen these things. It’s more than their monetary or even their sentimental value. Not knowing casts a shadow on the church. A long, dark shadow.” He looks at his watch and says, “It’s time for me to go. Maybe I could speak with you more after Mass? I’ll come to the station if you’d like.”
Officer Borsch agrees, and while Father Mayhew ducks through the side door, I head back to the front door, calling over my shoulder, “Good luck, Officer Borsch!”
He doesn’t quite know what to say to that, so he just grunts and goes back to writing in his notebook.
When I spot Grams at the front of the church, I go up and take my seat like a good little girl, and just as Grams is about to ask me where I’d gone, someone attacks the organ and we all practically jump through the roof.
Now you have to understand, they don’t usually have an organist at St. Mary’s. Someone’ll strum a guitar while everyone sings “Chorus of Faith” or “Amazing Grace,” but that’s about as noisy as we get.
So having a seat near the organ pipes has never been dangerous before, but there I was, peeling myself off the ceiling. Then I notice that behind the organ is Sister Clarice, pounding away and rocking out like Barbie Bebop.
Then all of a sudden Bernice’s voice is booming, “When Heaven, when Heaven calls your name …” from one side of the church, and Abigail’s voice is echoing, “When Heaven, when Heaven calls your name …” from the other. And I’m smiling, because this is more awake than I’ve ever been in church.
Then Sister Bernice and Sister Abigail come swaying through the congregation and over to the organ with their hands up in the air, singing, “I said, Heaven, when Heaven calls your name … You gonna be ready? When Heaven calls your name. Let me hear you now, Heaven! When Heaven calls your name!”
Some people are starting to clap along with the music, but most people are just whispering to each other like they can’t quite believe what’s happening in their church.
I hear Grams say to Hudson, “Good heavens! What is this?”
Hudson says back, “Something this church has needed for a long time!” He starts clapping along, singing, “Heaven, when Heaven calls your name … You gonna be ready?” and while he’s singing and clapping, he nudges Grams and looks at her like, C’mon, Rita! Loosen up and have some fun!
Well, before you know it, there’s my grandmother, clapping her hands in church, kind of looking around to make sure that no one she knows is watching. And pretty soon I hear her voice singing, “Heaven, when Heaven calls your name … You gonna be ready? When Heaven calls your name.”
By the time Father Mayhew walks up to the pulpit, the bricks of the church are practically shaking in their mortar from all that singing and clapping. Of course, there are still some old people looking around like they just bit into a green persim
mon, but when Father Mayhew says, “May the Lord be with you,” everyone practically shouts, “And also with you!” like they’re happy and they really mean it.
After the opening prayer, Father Mayhew says, “This time of year brings, for many of us, great joy. It is a time for giving thanks, and most of us have much to be thankful for. For family, for friends, for our good health and the comfort of our homes. Even for the lessons, however hard they may have been, that we have learned on our journey through the past year. As for myself, I am thankful for all of you. For your faith, for your dedication to your church. For your charity and willingness to believe in a higher cause.
“Our work, though, is never done. Each year it seems we see more hunger, more need for human kindness, and, yes, more despair. The Church does its best to address those needs, but often our efforts fall short.”
Father Mayhew is quiet for a minute. Then he says, “Last month after a long talk with God about what more I could do to help the unfortunate through the coming winter, I received a letter from a touring group of Sisters, asking if our parish would be interested in having them do a series of concerts as a fundraiser. Attached to the letter was a stack of recommendations and copies of newspaper reviews, and after reading how successful these Sisters have been in raising money for the needy, I realized that my prayers had been answered.”
He looks over at the organ and smiles. “Our guests for the week are Sisters Bernice, Abigail, and Clarice. They’re known as the Sisters of Mercy and it is their mission to raise enough funds to see every needy person in Santa Martina through the winter.”
The Sisters of Mercy smile at us from over by the organ, and then Father Mayhew says, “It is my hope that you will support them in any way you can. Talk to people you know in the community, let them know why the Sisters are here, and encourage them to attend the shows. They will be giving performances on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday of this week, and although you’ll read about them in the paper and see them interviewed on television, the very best way for us to have a successful drive is word of mouth. We need your help and I know I can count on each and every one of you to provide it.”
Sammy Keyes and the Sisters of Mercy Page 6
