by Karen Kane
Now it just meant that Frog the detective was back. And Charlie was the one she was detecting.
Frog finished reading. She grabbed her pen and notebook. I hope you didn’t say the words “historical society” to Miss Tweedy, wrote Frog. She doesn’t like sharing the museum with Cornelius and the Historical Society.
“I might have mentioned it,” signed Charlie.
“Well, don’t!” signed Frog.
Frog was definitely back.
Frog gestured to the books scattered on the table and wrote: Miss Tweedy opened early for me so I could start my research.
Charlie glanced at some of the book titles: The History of Castle-on-the Hudson, The Tale of Boney Jack, Astoundingly True Ghost Stories of the Hudson Valley.
“I’ve been thinking,” signed Frog.
Here it comes, thought Charlie.
Chief Paley and I found the church back door unlocked last night, wrote Frog. Anyone had the MEANS to come in and steal the Boney Hand. So now we have to look at OPPORTUNITY. Everyone who attended the Fall Extravaganza had the opportunity to steal the hand, unless they have an alibi. So, we’re left with MOTIVE. First, what would be a motive for an ADULT to steal the hand?
Frog stopped writing and waited for Charlie to answer. But he couldn’t think of any adults he knew who would steal the Boney Hand. Plus, there were hundreds of visitors there last night.
Frog studied him closely. Charlie wished he could think of someone so he wouldn’t be the only suspect. But he couldn’t.
Then, Frog continued, I considered a kid. There were lots of kids there, but most of them were young kids with their parents. The older kids were mostly from Castle School for the Deaf. Right away I considered Rupert. He’s a bully. Bullies do that type of thing.
Charlie thought back to last night, when he had been sitting on the bench outside the church.
It couldn’t be Rupert, wrote Charlie. I heard his laugh outside the graveyard wall while I was waiting for Mr. Willoughby to come back.
Frog tilted her head with a skeptical look. I don’t trust ears, wrote Frog. I trust eyes.
I know Rupert’s laugh, wrote Charlie. It was definitely him.
Frog sighed. I loathe to admit it, but I have to agree. No CSD student would steal the Boney Hand. The curse is too powerful.
Frog had obviously forgotten that Charlie had not taken the curse seriously enough yesterday.
Then I realized something, wrote Frog.
Nope. She hadn’t forgotten.
Their detective partnership was over.
Maybe their friendship was over.
Frog would not be friends with a bony hand thief.
Frog stood and paced back and forth for a moment. Frog did her best thinking while pacing. She must be thinking how to tell Charlie she knew he was the thief. Frog stopped pacing.
It is a possibility, after all, she wrote.
Just say it, thought Charlie.
Frog paced some more and then she added: I almost don’t want to tell you because I know you’ll say it’s not true.
Charlie took the pen from Frog.
I understand, wrote Charlie.
Really? wrote Frog. She seemed relieved.
Of course he understood. He would have thought he was guilty, too, if he were Frog.
Then you understand, wrote Frog, why I was trying to find some corroboration. Frog pointed to the books on the table.
Corroboration? What does that mean?
Chief Paley taught me that word, wrote Frog. It means support for my theory.
She gestured to the books again. I found a few eyewitness accounts, wrote Frog. Men drinking ale at a tavern who swear they saw the Boney Hand crawling around. An old woman known as the village witch telling everyone the hand grabbed her throat. But nothing from a trustworthy source.
Frog could see that Charlie had no idea what she was talking about.
I’m talking about my theory, wrote Frog, that the Legend of the Boney Hand is TRUE! Let’s make sure we’re not overlooking the obvious, however hard it is to believe!
Charlie felt relieved. Frog wasn’t considering Charlie as the suspect. Then just as quickly, that relief turned to dread.
Because Charlie had seen the Boney Hand move. He knew he had. And the castle, just like the village, was a strange, odd place. So a hand crawling around just didn’t seem that strange or odd. It seemed perfectly possible.
And that was scary.
I know where to start our investigation, wrote Frog.
“Where?” signed Charlie.
With someone, she wrote, who will know for sure if the Boney Hand is alive or not.
Charlie wasn’t going to ask who because he knew Frog liked to keep things mysterious. But Frog kept waiting, so Charlie asked. He made the letter L. Then he put his thumb on his chin and curled his index finger up and down.
“Who?” signed Charlie, furrowing his eyebrows like Mrs. Castle had taught him.
“You’ll see,” signed Frog mysteriously.
Just like Charlie knew she would.
It was another crisp fall day in Castle-on-the-Hudson. Charlie saw many students in the village. Some students had part-time jobs, some students had internships, and some students went to the library. The villagers kept watchful eyes on the students, making sure they were well-behaved and reporting any trouble to Mr. Simple, who delivered the news to the other side of the river.
As Charlie and Frog walked, he remembered something. He took out his notebook and pen.
What about your consequences? he asked. Frog, after all, had nearly pummeled Rupert and Jasper.
Frog took the pen from Charlie.
It’s thanks to you I have my freedom! she wrote. Frog steered Charlie around a bench he was about to run into before continuing to write.
Mom is worried about you and said I should keep you close. She said once the Boney Hand is found she’ll deal with what happened.
Was Mrs. Castle really worried about Charlie? Or was she thinking Charlie stole the Boney Hand and it was smart to have Frog stay close to him in order to help Frog find it?
He saw Wendell Finch walking down the street. Charlie bet he was in the village to do another secret Boney Jack good deed. Charlie waved at him, but Wendell didn’t give him his usual smile. Instead he bit his lip and shook his head before looking away.
Wendell loved the Boney Hand. He obviously believed the rumors that Charlie had taken it.
It wasn’t me! Charlie wanted to yell. How many times could he say that? It seemed to make no difference. He had no power over what people believed about him. Just like no one believed Boney Jack wasn’t a thief.
Charlie followed Frog across the street to Finkelstein’s coffee shop.
Now he understood who they were going to see. Desdemona Finkelstein’s fortune-telling business wasn’t making much money at the moment. And she didn’t want to go back to work as a lawyer. So Desdemona, Fortune-Teller Extraordinaire, had been working for her parents.
As they entered the crowded shop, Frog inhaled deeply. She kissed her fist and then signed “coffee” by putting one fist on top of her other fist. She moved her top fist around in small circles as if grinding coffee beans.
Frog was coffee-crazy. She wasn’t allowed to drink it, but she loved the smell of it.
Charlie and Frog sat down at the only empty table and watched Desdemona wait on customers. Desdemona was not a very good server.
She spilled coffee.
She forgot cream and sugar.
She gave a customer a sesame seed bagel instead of the cinnamon raisin one he’d ordered.
Finally, after all of her customers were served, Desdemona joined them at their table. She didn’t ask what they wanted to order. She seemed to already know they needed a Fortune-Teller Extraordinaire.
“Debbie?” Mrs. Finkelstein called from behind the counter. Debbie was Desdemona’s real name. “Why are you sitting down?”
“Just taking a quick break, Mother!” said Desdemon
a.
Mrs. Finkelstein frowned. “Five minutes, then.” She glanced at Charlie, and her frown deepened. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. First Miss Tweedy and now Mrs. Finkelstein? Why was everyone giving Charlie accusing looks?
Desdemona knew some ASL, so Frog very carefully signed to her what happened last night.
“It’s gone?” signed Desdemona. “The Boney Hand is gone?”
Charlie would have thought a fortune-teller would have known this already, but he wasn’t the lead investigator on this case. Frog took out her notebook.
In order to find the Boney Hand, wrote Frog, we need to know the truth. Did the Boney Hand escape on its own or did someone steal it?
Desdemona glanced at her mother, whose back was turned as she dried coffee cups. I wish I had my Magic Black Ball, wrote Desdemona. But Mother doesn’t allow me to bring it to work. I’ll have to use something else.
Desdemona tilted her head toward the other waitress behind the counter, who had been watching the three of them carefully.
That’s Beryl, she wrote. Beryl wants to be a fortune-teller too, someday.
Desdemona laid a finger next to her nose. Beryl repeated the gesture.
Our secret signal, Desdemona told Charlie and Frog.
Beryl shot a nervous look at Mrs. Finkelstein before she took out the filter from the coffeepot. She put it on a plate, brought it over to them, and hurried back behind the counter.
Desdemona shook the coffee grounds onto the plate. Frog breathed in deeply and kissed her fist once more. Desdemona studied the coffee grounds. She stirred them around with her index finger. She peered even closer. Frog watched with rapt attention.
What could Desdemona possibly see? Because Charlie only saw coffee grounds.
Finally, Desdemona pushed the plate away.
“This isn’t good,” she signed.
“What isn’t good?” asked Frog.
Charlie gripped the edge of the table with both hands. Did the coffee grounds see Charlie in the church with the Boney Hand? Could coffee grounds lie? Could coffee grounds tell Desdemona that Charlie was the thief?
Desdemona stared at the plate one more time.
“Oh, this is dreadful,” signed Desdemona. “Absolutely dreadful.”
“WHAT?” Charlie and Frog signed together.
The coffee grounds, wrote Desdemona, REFUSE to tell me what they see.
“What do you mean ‘the coffee grounds refuse to tell you’?” asked Frog.
Charlie couldn’t believe this conversation. Coffee grounds don’t talk! Coffee grounds don’t know anything about a bony hand!
I mean, wrote Desdemona, they are refusing to SHOW me what happened.
“Debbie!” Mrs. Finkelstein called. Desdemona and Charlie looked over at her. Frog, seeing them both turn their heads, looked as well.
“Your break is over,” said Mrs. Finkelstein. “There’s work to do!”
So Frog would understand what she was saying, Mrs. Finkelstein pointed to Desdemona and signed “work” by making two fists. She tapped the bottom of one fist on the back of the other fist. Work.
“Yes, Mother,” sighed Desdemona.
Mrs. Finkelstein scowled at Charlie before pouring a cup of coffee for a customer. Charlie looked at the floor. Frog tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the notebook. Desdemona was writing again.
You and Charlie, she wrote, are going to have to find out the truth on your own. Be careful.
Be careful? Be careful of what? Charlie was going to ask, but Desdemona was already retying her apron.
“Waitressing,” said Desdemona, “is so much harder than fortune-telling. Or lawyering,” she added as she went back to work.
Frog reached for the pen.
Desdemona’s right. We have to be careful.
“Why?” asked Charlie.
Because, wrote Frog, we don’t know if the Boney Hand is really alive or not. And it if is, and if the hand knows we’re looking for it…
What do you mean “if the hand knows we’re looking for it”?
I mean we have to be careful, wrote Frog, that the Boney Hand doesn’t find us first and give us the death curse!
“Are you serious?” asked Charlie.
Dead serious, wrote Frog. Pun intended, ha-ha.
How could Frog make a joke right now? This wasn’t funny at all.
We can’t do anything about the fact that the Boney Hand might be alive, wrote Frog. Suppose it isn’t? Suppose someone DID steal it. That’s where we have to focus because that’s the part we can do something about.
Frog was right. But Charlie hoped—everything inside of him finger-crossed—that the Boney Hand wasn’t alive.
We need to think, wrote Frog. She drummed her pen on the notebook. Who could it be? Who could have stolen the Boney Hand?
Outside of Finkelstein’s, Charlie saw Rupert and Jasper. Rupert was politely talking to the shopkeeper next door, who had come outside to fill a water bowl for dogs. Rupert was great at talking to adults. Right now, he looked like a very nice person.
Rupert, the stealth bully.
He caught sight of Charlie and Frog watching him through the window. As the shopkeeper went back inside, Rupert made a face and signed “cute” to Frog and “thief” to Charlie. Jasper did the same.
Frog stood. Charlie yanked her back down.
Rupert and Jasper laughed and walked away.
Frog grabbed the pen. I wish we could pin the theft on Rupert, wrote Frog. If it wasn’t for his alibi and the death curse, I would!
Charlie wished they could, too.
“No student would ignore the death curse,” added Frog, almost as if to convince herself. Besides, she wrote, a detective has to be impartial. She can’t let feelings influence a case.
Frog meant she couldn’t blame Rupert just because she didn’t like him. Charlie tried to think who could be the most likely suspect.
Someone who wasn’t Charlie.
Someone who was there last night.
Someone who—
Something outside caught Charlie’s eye. It was Matilda, washing the big window of Blythe and Bone Bookshop across the street.
Bone. Thelonious Bone.
“What?” signed Frog. “What is it?”
Thelonious Bone, wrote Charlie, was at the performance last night. Why would he come when Matilda said he hates seeing the Boney Hand being used that way?
Are you sure you saw him there? asked Frog.
Charlie was sure.
Then we need to find out, she wrote, why Bone would come all the way across the river to see something he hates.
Frog tapped the pen to her lips. Maybe, she wrote, Bone stole the Boney Hand so it would never be on display again. That would be a motive!
But what about the death curse? wrote Charlie.
Maybe Bone is so old the thought of dying doesn’t bother him, wrote Frog. If he wants to ignore the death curse, that’s his choice. He was there and he has a solid motive.
“Okay,” signed Charlie, “but we need a plan.”
Charlie fingerspelled PLAN. Frog showed him how to sign it, and then asked: “A plan for what?”
“A plan,” signed Charlie, “for how we’re going to talk to Bone.”
“I don’t need a plan!” Frog signed slowly so Charlie would understand. “He’s a suspect. I’m going to question him!”
“Remember what happened the last time?” asked Charlie.
Bone had been highly insulted when Frog questioned him about the death of Mr. Woo, the Castle-on-the-Hudson librarian. Even though Mr. Woo had been ninety-nine years old and had probably died of old age.
Frog remembered.
“Fine!” she signed. “We’ll talk to Matilda first and see what she can tell us. Then we’ll figure out the next step.”
• • •
They crossed the street to Blythe and Bone Bookshop. Matilda paused her window washing and wiped her hands on her jeans.
“I heard what happened!” Matil
da signed slowly for Charlie. “Who would want to steal the Boney Hand?”
“That’s why we wanted to talk to you,” signed Frog.
“I saw Bone last night,” Charlie signed to Matilda.
“Where?” she asked.
“In the church,” signed Charlie, “at the Legend of the Boney Hand.”
“Are you sure?” she signed. “Bone hates the legend. He would never watch it.”
“I’m sure,” signed Charlie.
“That’s strange. But then, Bone has been acting strange lately.” Matilda repeated what she signed for Charlie when she saw he didn’t understand.
“What do you mean ‘acting strange’?” asked Frog.
“Just acting very mysterious. For instance, he’s been disappearing every Sunday night at six twenty-five p.m. on the dot—for months now. But he won’t tell me where he goes.” Matilda repeated what she signed for Charlie.
“Have you followed him?” asked Frog.
“No, I haven’t followed him!” signed Matilda. “He’s an adult! He has a right to privacy.”
Matilda reached into the soapy bucket for her sponge and started washing the window again.
Frog took out her notebook.
We’re coming back tonight, she told Charlie, to follow Bone.
Yvette was sweeping the front porch as Charlie and Frog walked up the steps.
“You don’t want to go in there,” she told them. For Frog, Yvette pointed to the house and shook her head.
“What’s wrong?” Frog signed and Charlie spoke.
Yvette just swept the broom harder.
That was enough to give Charlie pause.
It had the opposite effect on Frog.
She strode right into the house. Charlie hurried in after her. Inside the front door was a bright red box with the words VINCE VINELLI, INC. EXPRESS DELIVERY on it.
The detective kit.
Uh-oh.
“Is that you, Charlie?” called Grandma. “We’ve been waiting for you!”
“Ayuh!”
Charlie and Frog walked into the living room. Grandma and Grandpa Tickler were not sitting in their E-Z chair recliners.
Grandma and Grandpa Tickler were standing in their pretend fighting stances and wearing the entire contents of their Vince Vinelli When Crime Is a Fact, Good People Act detective kit.
