The Boney Hand

by Karen Kane

  His grandparents each wore a black beanie hat, a fake mustache, a fanny pack with a pair of plastic handcuffs hanging off it, black gloves, black stretchy pants, and a black T-shirt that read When Crime Is a Fact, Good People Act!

  They looked like cartoon criminals, not detectives.

  Charlie was mortified.

  Frog stared at them with her mouth wide open.

  “Our detective kit arrived!” said Grandma. “We’re ready to help solve the Mystery of the Disappearing Boney Hand! Tell Frog!”

  “Ayuh!”

  “Don’t say ‘tell Frog,’” Charlie said automatically. “Tell her yourself.”

  He handed his notebook and pen to Grandma.

  Charlie had completely forgotten that his grand-parents were waiting to help solve their first case. Just like he had forgotten Grandma ordered the Vince Vinelli When Crime Is a Fact, Good People Act detective kit.

  If he had paid attention to what was inside the detective kit, he definitely would have remembered.

  Frog read what Grandma had written. She raised an eyebrow to Charlie and signed, “They’re joking, right?”

  Frog made the ASL letter X with both hands, and put one on top of the other. Then she slid the top X forward over the bottom X twice. Joking.

  Grandma and Grandpa Tickler were not joking.

  Charlie had wanted them out of their E-Z chair recliners.

  Now they were.

  Charlie had wanted them to pay attention to him.

  Now they were.

  And Charlie had promised they could help.

  “Just a minute, Grandma,” said Charlie, taking back his notebook and pen. He pulled Frog to the side. Frog pulled out her own pen and notebook.

  No way! wrote Frog. They cannot help us solve this case!

  They want to be detectives, wrote Charlie. Just like you do!

  They’re not detectives! Frog scribbled in her notebook. They’ve never solved a case before!

  Then let them solve their first case! Charlie scribbled back. Or at least help us!

  They’ll get in the way! wrote Frog.

  I won’t let them, Charlie promised. We have to get our homework done this afternoon anyway. So how about they watch Bone until we go back to the bookshop?

  What for? asked Frog. Bone doesn’t leave until 6:25 p.m. Matilda said so!

  Just in case, wrote Charlie. Herman can drive them. They can stay in his taxi and watch. If Bone leaves early, they can follow him.

  Frog raised an eyebrow as she watched Grandma Tickler help Grandpa Tickler reattach his mustache as he pulled his stretchy pants high above his waist. Frog gave Charlie her why-is-my-life-so-hard look.

  It was a look Charlie knew well. He felt the same way.

  Suppose, wrote Frog, Bone sees them spying on him?

  They like lying down, wrote Charlie. So I’ll tell them to sit in the taxi like they would in their E-Z chair recliners! Bone won’t see them.

  Frog sighed. But she didn’t protest. Charlie took that as a yes.

  Yvette packed a picnic lunch to sustain them. When Herman arrived, he beeped his horn. Charlie’s grandparents got into the taxi, and Yvette put the lunch basket on the front seat next to Herman.

  “Don’t let anyone see you,” said Charlie as he closed the taxi door.

  “Right,” said Grandma Tickler, “because we don’t want the suspect to know we’re following him.”

  “That, too,” said Charlie.

  • • •

  Charlie and Frog spent the afternoon at the kitchen table, working on math and English. Just as they were ready to leave for Blythe and Bone Bookshop, the phone rang.

  “Hello, Tickler residence,” said Charlie.

  “Darling, it’s me—your mother!” said Mrs. Tickler.

  “And me, your father!” said Mr. Tickler.

  “Hi, Mom and Dad,” he said.

  “Oh, good! We can hear you,” said Mrs. Tickler.

  “Who?” signed Frog.

  “My mom and dad,” signed Charlie. Into the phone, he said, “How are the salamanders?”

  “Texas blind salamanders,” said Mr. Tickler.

  “Oh, but they’re not blind!” said Mrs. Tickler. “I mean they are, but not where it counts—because they can see—just not with their eyes.”

  “Cute little buggers are often ignored,” said Mr. Tickler, “because they live in caves and are hidden from view.”

  “But they’re right there!” said Mrs. Tickler. “You just have to look and you would see them, plain as day!”

  “Indeed!” said Mr. Tickler.

  “Now, Charlie,” said his mother, “the reason we called is that we’re concerned about you.”

  “You are?” said Charlie. He had never, ever heard his parents say that before.

  “Yes, we are,” said his father. “We called earlier today, but you weren’t home. Your grandparents told us—”

  “It was Yvette,” corrected Mrs. Tickler.

  “—Yvette told us we should be,” said Mr. Tickler. “Concerned about you, that is. And so we are. She mentioned something about bones. It didn’t sound good, did it, Myra?”

  “No, it didn’t, Alistair!”

  “There’s nothing to worry about!” said Charlie.

  “Charlie is telling us not to be concerned, Myra,” said Mr. Tickler. “Now we have a conundrum.”

  Conundrum. That was a Chief Paley word. It meant a dilemma or a problem. Maybe, Charlie thought, he should just talk to his parents. He had looked through a few of the library books his parents left behind. In one of them it said if a kid talks to his parents, and the parents listen, the kid can feel better.

  “Okay,” said Charlie. “Do you remember the Legend of the Boney Hand, up at Castle School for the Deaf?” Charlie’s dad had grown up in Castle-on-the-Hudson.

  “I do remember!” said his father. “Though my parents never took me to see it.”

  “Well,” said Charlie, “the Boney Hand has been stolen.”

  “Stolen?” said Mrs. Tickler. “Is that why we should be concerned?”

  “Yes,” said Charlie, “because—” He took a deep breath. “Some people think I stole it.”

  “Why on earth would you steal a hand?” asked Mr. Tickler.

  “I didn’t!” he said.

  “I should hope not!” said Mrs. Tickler. “Alistair, what do our parenting books say to do if your child steals?”

  “I didn’t steal the Boney Hand!”

  But Charlie’s parents weren’t listening. They were looking for answers to Charlie somewhere else.

  “That’s a great question, Myra. Perhaps there’s a chapter on thievery in one of those new books we bought here. Charlie, they have marvelous bookstores in Texas!”

  Frog tapped her wrist. It was time to leave.

  “Mom? Dad? I have to go,” said Charlie.

  “Well, all right,” said Mrs. Tickler. “But be careful!”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Tickler, “be careful. Because we are—what are we again, Myra?”

  “Concerned!” said his mother.

  “Indeed, we are,” said his father.

  Herman’s taxi was parked down the street from Blythe and Bone Bookshop. Grandma and Grandpa Tickler were asleep in the backseat. Herman was asleep in the front.

  Some detectives! wrote Frog. What if Bone left early?

  Now Frog was just being grumpy.

  You said he wouldn’t leave early! wrote Charlie. Besides, it’s only six o’clock.

  Charlie and Frog did not wake up his grandparents. Instead, they sat on a bench by the taxi and watched the front door of Blythe and Bone. It was already dusk. Lampposts were lit for the evening. Carved pumpkins glowed with candles, welcoming people into shops and cafés. Frog grabbed Charlie’s arm.

  “My mom!” she signed.

  They slid off the bench and hid behind the taxi. Mrs. Castle would want to know what they were doing if she saw them. They leaned around the back of the car. Mrs. Castle was walking with th
e man in paint-splattered clothes—the man Charlie had seen yesterday at the castle.

  “Who’s that?” signed Frog.

  I think he’s the artist Miss Tweedy told me about, wrote Charlie. He just moved to the village.

  Mrs. Castle and the artist crossed the street at the corner. Yesterday, Mrs. Castle had looked anxious when she had seen the man. But tonight she didn’t seem anxious. Tonight she seemed almost relieved.

  Frog nudged him and pointed at Blythe and Bone. Thelonious Bone was leaving the bookshop. He carried a briefcase. A briefcase that could easily hold a bony hand. Just then the taxi window rolled down. Grandma and Grandpa Tickler were awake.

  “Charlie!” said Grandma. “There goes your suspect—get in!”

  “Ayuh!” said Grandpa.

  Frog, of course, didn’t hear this. But she also didn’t see this because she was already following Bone.

  “No, Grandma and Grandpa!” said Charlie.

  “What do you mean, ‘no’?” demanded Grandma Tickler.

  “I mean,” said Charlie, “you already did your job! You staked out Blythe and Bone all afternoon! Now it’s time for the next team of detectives to do their job.”

  “The B team, you mean,” said Grandma. “Because Irving and I already decided we’re the A team.”

  “Sure,” said Charlie. “We’ll let you know what happens. I have to go!” He hurried after Frog.

  Herman started the taxi. He drove slowly, keeping pace with Charlie.

  “Ayuh!” Grandpa Tickler called out the window.

  “Irving has a good point, Charlie,” said Grandma as the taxi rolled along next to him. “Isn’t the B team the less experienced team? Shouldn’t this be a job for the A team?”

  Frog was at the end of the street. Bone had turned the corner. Frog opened her arms wide to Charlie in the universal gesture of “What in the world are you doing?”

  “Grandma and Grandpa, please go home,” begged Charlie. “I’ll tell you everything when I get back!” He ran down the block and caught up with Frog.

  Bone walked briskly, clutching his briefcase.

  It was almost dark now. Charlie and Frog stayed in the shadows. Bone climbed the steps of a large Victorian house with a jack-o’-lantern out front.

  Chief Paley’s house, wrote Frog.

  The first-floor windows were brightly lit. One of the windows was cracked open. Frog sidled up the porch steps. Charlie followed. They carefully peeked in the front window.

  Miss Tweedy and Chief Paley were inside, along with Boris.

  What was Boris doing here?

  While Bone hung up his coat and hat, Miss Tweedy said to Boris, “We appreciate you coming. Although my American Sign Language is excellent of course.”

  That was completely untrue. Miss Tweedy knew a little ASL, but most often she tried to use Tweedy Sign Language, her own made-up form of communication. Frog was the only one who understood TSL.

  “I’m still a novice signer,” Chief Paley said to Boris, “though I try my best to utilize the language. You will keep everything you see and hear confidential, correct? Interpreters are supposed to keep everything confidential.”

  “We do,” said Boris. “And I will.”

  “We discuss very personal things,” added Miss Tweedy.

  Charlie wrote everything they said as fast as he could for Frog. She was an expert at reading his messy shorthand writing. Charlie could see Frog had the same questions he had. What personal things? And why was Chief Paley worried about confidentiality?

  “Something lovely happened to me at the library today,” said Miss Tweedy. “I was the beneficiary of a Boney Jack good deed! Someone secretly left a gift-wrapped can of tuna fish for me and a rose for Mr. Dickens while I was visiting Mr. Murphy.”

  So that’s why Wendell was in the village. Once again, Charlie wondered, what did “visiting Mr. Murphy” mean?

  “You don’t think,” asked the chief, “that maybe the rose was for you and the tuna fish was for your cat?”

  “Absolutely not!” said Miss Tweedy. “Everyone knows I adore tuna fish and that Mr. Dickens adores flowers!”

  Bone came over with his briefcase and sat down next to Chief Paley. Bone seemed agitated. Miss Tweedy poured him a cup of tea and placed a cookie on the saucer.

  “Thelonious, I can only stay a few minutes,” said Miss Tweedy as Boris interpreted. “I told Enid I’d be home early. The Pig and Soap is full tonight! What with our bed-and-breakfast and my librarian duties and museum responsibilities, I have precious little time for my other passions!”

  “We’re all busy!” Bone snapped with his hands.

  “There is no reason to be snippy with me, Thelonious!” Miss Tweedy said as Boris signed.

  Bone took a sip of tea and put the cup down with a shaking hand.

  “Elspeth’s right,” signed Chief Paley. “There’s no need to be peevish. This isn’t easy. For any of us.”

  “I can’t do this anymore,” signed Bone.

  Was he confessing?

  “Are you worried, Thelonious, what other people will think if they find out?” asked Miss Tweedy.

  Bone sighed and nodded.

  “It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks,” Chief Paley signed haltingly as Boris interpreted for Miss Tweedy. “This is about you and your family history.”

  Charlie and Frog gasped. Chief Paley knew that Thelonious Bone stole the Boney Hand? And she was okay with it?

  “That’s right,” said Miss Tweedy. “And I can’t wait to see it!”

  And Miss Tweedy was not only fine with it—she also wanted to SEE the Boney Hand?!

  If this wasn’t enough, Bone said something even more awful.

  “I’ll show you,” Bone told them, “after I clean it up.” He pulled his briefcase onto his lap and held it tenderly.

  Charlie and Frog gaped at each other. Just then car lights flashed and a horn beeped.

  They spun around. The taxi was idling a few houses away, his grandparents’ faces pressed up against the glass.

  “What’s going on?” said Chief Paley. Charlie flattened himself against the side of the house, yanking Frog along with him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Chief Paley look out the front window. Grandma and Grandpa must have seen her too, because they ducked out of sight.

  “It’s just Herman,” said the chief. “He must be waiting for someone.” She turned away from the window. Charlie vaulted down the porch steps and ran over to the taxi.

  “What are you doing?” whispered Charlie.

  “Your suspect is in there!” said Grandma Tickler, pointing.

  “I know!” said Charlie. “That’s why Frog and I are here!”

  “That’s why we’re here too!” said Grandma.

  “Ayuh!” said Grandpa over her shoulder.

  Charlie knew better than to argue. Instead he said, “Don’t flash the lights or beep anymore, okay?”

  Charlie raced back up the porch steps and rejoined Frog as she spied through the window.

  “Well,” Miss Tweedy was saying, “I wish I could discuss this more, but I have to get back.”

  She put on her wool coat and jammed a fuzzy hat on her pink hair. As she left she said, “Thelonious, we stand by you. We’re all in this together!”

  Charlie and Frog scrambled off the porch and hid behind a bush as Miss Tweedy came out the front door. She turned left at the sidewalk, passing Herman’s taxi. Grandma and Grandpa Tickler had already ducked down. Miss Tweedy gave Herman a wave.

  Frog touched her forehead with her index finger. Then she brought both hands down in claw shapes.

  “I’m shocked,” signed Frog. “Totally shocked.”

  Knowing that Bone stole the Boney Hand wasn’t that disturbing to Charlie. But knowing Chief Paley and Miss Tweedy approved of the thievery? Well, that changed how Charlie thought about every—

  A piercing scream filled the air.

  “Help!” shouted Miss Tweedy as she rushed down the sidewalk. “The Boney Hand just trie
d to grab me!”

  Chief Paley and Boris ran outside as Charlie and Frog dashed to the sidewalk.

  “Tree!” Miss Tweedy signed. She put her elbow on the back of her other hand. She spread the fingers of her raised hand, and twisted that hand back and forth.

  “What tree?” signed Frog.

  “There—over there!” Miss Tweedy gasped and pointed. “By Cornelius van Dyke’s maple tree!”

  Chief Paley ran down the sidewalk. Herman’s taxi rolled down the street after her. Frog and Charlie started to run, too, but Miss Tweedy grabbed their arms.

  “Don’t leave me!” she cried. She was surprisingly strong.

  Charlie and Frog helped Miss Tweedy sit on the bottom porch step. Bone walked down and handed Miss Tweedy his handkerchief. Then he hurried back up the porch. Miss Tweedy clutched the handkerchief to her heart.

  “Death!” she sobbed as Boris signed. “Death nearly touched me!”

  “What did you see?” signed Frog.

  Thank goodness Miss Tweedy did not try to use Tweedy Sign Language. Instead, she allowed Boris to interpret for her.

  “I saw the Boney Hand scuttling and scurrying toward me!” she said. “It was horrendous! It pointed its finger at me! Not the middle finger. That would have been even more horrendous!”

  Charlie and Frog examined the ground by the bottom step. Boris and Miss Tweedy did the same. Without saying a word, all four of them stood and moved to the top step.

  “Then what?” signed Frog.

  “Then I screamed!” said Miss Tweedy. “And I ran!”

  Miss Tweedy blew her nose into Bone’s handkerchief and wiped it thoroughly. She clutched Frog’s arm—thankfully not with the handkerchief hand.

  “Do you realize what this means?” she asked as Boris signed.

  Before Frog could answer, Miss Tweedy answered her own question in TSL. She jumped to her feet and swept her arms in the air. She tiptoed across the porch and squatted with one hand hovering over the floor. Finally, she performed a pirouette and three hops. Winded, she sat down.

  Frog translated.

  She says it means, wrote Frog, that the Boney Hand either swam across the Hudson River or it rode over to the village on the gondola.