The Boney Hand

by Karen Kane

  Instead, he thought about what Grandpa Sol had signed. The sign that Mrs. Castle saw but didn’t say was the wrong sign to ever use with Charlie.

  It played over and over again in Charlie’s mind.

  Outsider.

  Outsider.

  Outsider.

  After school Frog wanted to get away from everyone, something she said was hard to do when everywhere you went you knew everyone. But the Castle-on-the-Hudson Museum (and Historical Society) was usually empty, with only Cornelius van Dyke there, or occasionally Miss Tweedy when dusting was needed.

  Charlie sat across from Frog at a corner table. He tried to concentrate on his homework while Frog read another book about the Boney Hand, but he couldn’t focus on math. He could only focus on being an outsider.

  Cornelius van Dyke was reading and writing on a stool next to the old-fashioned cash register. Cornelius was helping Frog’s father write a history of Castle School for the Deaf. Frog told Charlie that Cornelius didn’t talk much unless it was about history. That was one of the reasons Frog liked coming here—no chitchat.

  Charlie looked at the photographs on the wall. There was a picture of two people dressed in old-fashioned clothes, signing in front of the library. Charlie tried to figure out what sign the man in the bowler hat was making as he talked to the woman in the long dress. Finally he realized it was one of the first signs Frog had taught him—“will.”

  Maybe the man was telling the woman, “I WILL get your book” or “I WILL come home as soon as I finish visiting the library.”

  Frog looked up. Charlie’s hand dropped into his lap.

  “Why are you talking to yourself?” asked Frog.

  “I’m not!”

  Frog started to open another book and then slammed it shut. She picked up her pen.

  I feel stuck, wrote Frog, because I don’t know our next step. I can’t find anything in these books that would help me figure out WHERE the Boney Hand would have crawled—if it’s alive.

  “We should probably search the graveyard,” signed Charlie.

  He was joking, of course. They should stay far away from the cemetery until the Boney Hand was found.

  “I’ve already been there,” signed Frog. “Twice. Once in the day and once at night.”

  He asked Frog to repeat what she signed because he must have misunderstood her.

  Frog did.

  “What? I was kidding!” signed Charlie. “What about the death curse?”

  “I’m a detective.” Frog slowed her signing for Charlie. “I do what I have to do. I wanted to make sure the hand wasn’t there.”

  She paused and then signed, “You know what Rupert is saying, don’t you?”

  Charlie had a vague idea, but he didn’t know for sure because of his limited ASL. Frog picked up her pen again.

  Rupert is telling everyone that you stole the Boney Hand for me so that I would have a real crime to solve. He said that I convinced you to do it once I knew you didn’t care about the death curse. Because I want to prove I’m a real detective.

  That’s what everyone was signing in math class? Charlie knew it was bad. He just didn’t know how bad.

  Frog put her head down on the table. Her shoulders lifted and then dropped as she let out a heavy sigh.

  Charlie had a horrible thought. Maybe Frog had stolen the Boney Hand just to have a crime to solve. She had been devastated after what Vince Vinelli said about her on national television. Finding the hand would redeem Frog. Make her the hero of the school.

  Immediately, Charlie felt ashamed for even thinking this.

  Charlie knew who Frog was on the inside. Frog was a great detective. She didn’t want to solve a made-up case. She wanted to solve a real case.

  As if Frog could read his mind, she sat up.

  “Remember what Chief Paley calls me?” asked Frog.

  Chief Paley called Frog tenacious. Frog’s mother preferred another word—“stubborn.” But both words meant the same thing: Frog didn’t give up.

  Charlie put his thumb on the side of his forehead, his fingers together, pointing up. Then he bent his fingers forward. Stubborn.

  That’s right, wrote Frog. I’m tenacious. I’m stubborn. I don’t give up. I am going to solve this case. No matter what it takes.

  Millie was pouting.

  Every time she threw the ball, Bear brought it back, but he brought it back to Boris. Boris finally stood and played ball with Bear, taking pictures of the huge black dog as he ran and fetched.

  Tuesday was a bright sunny day, so Mrs. Castle asked the head cook to pack lunches for the students to eat outside. Some students refused to sit on the ground with the Boney Hand still missing. But it was such a beautiful fall day, it was hard to imagine the Boney Hand coming after anyone. Besides, at least in the daylight you could see it coming.

  Charlie sat on a blanket with Millie, Frog, Oliver, and Ruthella, who was reading her new book while eating her peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.

  “It’s just because Boris is new,” signed Charlie, trying to cheer up Millie. “That’s why Bear is playing with him, instead of you. Bear played a lot with me when I first came here. But Bear loves you best.”

  “Well, I’m not going to give Bear any!” signed Millie.

  “Any of what?” asked Frog. Today she wore a multi-strand pearl necklace as her statement piece. It looked like something a rich old lady would wear to a tea party. But Frog wore her statement piece with jeans and a T-shirt.

  “Any of the new dog treats I have. Boney Jack picked Bear for one of his secret good deeds this year! He left dog treats outside our apartment door this morning. They’re in here.” Millie patted her small pink purse. “But Bear’s not going to get any. Not a single one!”

  Millie flounced over to her friend Flora.

  Charlie looked over at Wendell, who was sitting alone eating his sandwich. At least Wendell was still doing his secret good deeds. Wendell had taken the missing Boney Hand hard. Charlie was sure Wendell blamed him, because now Wendell refused even to look at Charlie.

  Rupert and Jasper were playing Frisbee. Jasper threw the Frisbee too high. It sailed over Rupert’s head and landed next to Charlie.

  As Rupert ran over, Frog turned her back on him. Charlie picked up the Frisbee and handed it back.

  “Thanks,” signed Rupert, suddenly, seemingly nice. It always confused Charlie when Rupert was nice. Charlie wanted Rupert to be nice. Rupert signed something else, something that Charlie didn’t understand. Oliver interpreted.

  “He asked if you heard the rumor. Willoughby is saying if it was a student who stole the Boney Hand, they can return it to the church by Friday with no questions asked.”

  Rupert signed something else. Then he laughed and went back to playing Frisbee.

  “What did he say?” asked Charlie.

  “He said, ‘Now’s the chance for you and Frog to return the Boney Hand without getting in trouble.’ Jerk,” added Oliver.

  Frog tapped Charlie. “Is he gone?” signed Frog without turning around.

  Charlie reached over so Frog would see his hand.

  “Yes,” he signed. Then he took out his notebook and pen.

  Do you know what Willoughby has been saying? he wrote.

  I’ve seen the rumor, wrote Frog. But I’m suspicious. Why would Willoughby say no questions would be asked if he wants to catch the thief so badly? Besides, did he forget about the death curse? There is no way a student would touch the Boney Hand!

  Once again, Charlie thought about how he seemed to have not taken the curse seriously before the hand went missing. Was Frog remembering that, too?

  Oliver leaned over to see what Frog was writing.

  “That,” signed Oliver, agreeing. “Not even in Grandpa’s time would a CSD student dare to touch it.” He signed and then spoke for Charlie before collecting his lunch trash and leaving.

  Ruthella looked up from her book.

  She held out her hand for the notebook and pen.

  I
n mystery books, wrote Ruthella, the guilty one is usually the person everyone has overlooked.

  With a satisfied nod, Ruthella returned to her reading.

  Charlie and Frog considered this new perspective.

  Charlie could see Frog was thinking even if she wasn’t pacing. Finally, she pointed to Ruthella, who was so lost in her book she hadn’t noticed the jam dripping out of her sandwich and onto her lap.

  “She’s right,” signed Frog, making the ASL number one with both hands. She placed one fist on top of the other, with the pinky of the top fist touching the thumb of the bottom fist. There’s someone I have overlooked, wrote Frog, because I did not want that person to be guilty.

  Frog was looking at Charlie with a Frog look that he had never seen before.

  It was a kind look.

  Which scared Charlie because Frog did not give kind looks. It was a look that said, “I’m really, really sorry—but you aren’t going to like what I have to say next.”

  Charlie braced himself.

  This was it. Frog was going to say Charlie was the thief. He was sure of it.

  Remember, wrote Frog, when I said that detectives must be impartial at all times? That we have to look at facts?

  Frog was all about facts. It wouldn’t matter that Charlie was her friend if the facts pointed her in his direction.

  Well, this suspect, continued Frog, is going to be hard for you to take.

  “Who?” signed Charlie. He just wanted to get this over.

  Frog ignored him. This person, wrote Frog, was nearby when the Boney Hand first disappeared, as was everyone else, of course. But this person was also nearby when the Boney Hand reappeared. And this person has a motive.

  Charlie was there when the Boney Hand first disappeared.

  He was there again when the Boney Hand reappeared.

  As for motive? Maybe Charlie had stolen it just to accept Rupert’s dare—to show he wasn’t scared. Were there any good reasons for taking a bony hand?

  “Just say it,” signed Charlie.

  Frog took a deep breath.

  “My mom.”

  Charlie didn’t register what Frog had said for a few seconds, even though he knew the sign for “mom.”

  Then it hit him.

  No. Way.

  No way would Mrs. Castle ever do that.

  “Impossible,” signed Charlie.

  I told you it would be hard for you, wrote Frog.

  Fact: We saw Mom near Blythe and Bone just before Miss Tweedy was frightened by the Boney Hand. Fact: Mom is always worried about money for our school. Final fact: Mom said that the Flying Hands Café is now super busy (aka making a ton of money) because of the disappearance of the Boney Hand.

  Charlie snatched the pen from Frog. That doesn’t mean, he wrote, that your mom stole the Boney Hand! Or scared Miss Tweedy with it!

  “I know,” signed Frog. She calmly reached for the pen. But it does mean that Mom has a motive, she wrote. We haven’t been able to find a motive until now. And I would not be doing my job if I didn’t investigate her.

  “What about the curse?” signed Charlie.

  Mom would risk her life for this school, wrote Frog. She would do anything to keep our school strong. And maybe she found a way to get around the curse. My mom is very smart.

  Actually, continued Frog, it’s kind of brilliant. By taking the Boney Hand, Mom has everyone talking about our school. Everyone is coming to eat at the café! And stealing the Boney Hand is not really stealing as it belongs to the castle anyway.

  Charlie buried his head in his hands. Frog patted him on the back.

  How could Frog suspect her own mother? But then Charlie recalled the morning of the Fall Extravaganza. The man with the paint-splattered clothes had been there.

  Charlie lifted his head.

  Remember when we saw your mom in the village? wrote Charlie. When she was with that man?

  The one with paint all over his clothes, wrote Frog.

  Well, wrote Charlie, he was also at the castle the morning of the Fall Extravaganza.

  “What? Why didn’t you tell me before?” signed Frog.

  “Because,” signed Charlie, “I didn’t think it was related to the Boney Hand!”

  Charlie fingerspelled RELATED. Frog showed him how to sign it. Then she signed, “What else haven’t you told me?”

  Charlie hesitated, but maybe it was important.

  “When your mom saw him that morning,” he signed, “she looked kind of worried.”

  Charlie knew Frog was thinking the same thing. Was the man involved with the missing Boney Hand? Had he forced Mrs. Castle to be involved? Frog would say there was only one way to know for sure.

  They had to investigate.

  When lunch was over, Charlie headed to history class. Miss Davenport was interpreting for Charlie, but what she was saying never entered Charlie’s brain, for it was already filled with thoughts of Mrs. Castle and the Boney Hand.

  Frog had told Charlie to meet her at three o’clock at the Alice and Francine statue. Then they would search Mrs. Castle’s study. Charlie couldn’t—he wouldn’t—believe that Mrs. Castle was guilty. He would do the opposite of Frog. While Frog was looking for proof of her mother’s guilt, Charlie would search for proof of her innocence.

  After history class, Charlie headed to the barn. He hadn’t been to the barn since the Boney Hand was stolen. He couldn’t bear it if Obie thought he had something to do with it.

  But he missed the barn. And he missed talking with Obie.

  The barn was peaceful. Even the chickens were clucking quietly. Obie signed with Darius at the far end of the stables. Max was right next to Obie. When Charlie walked in, Max nudged his body against Obie’s leg and thumped his tail to let Obie know a friend was near. Max trotted over to Charlie, the top part of his ears flopping up and down. Charlie rubbed Max’s head along with his soft, silky ears.

  Then he went over to Reggie, a police horse that finally retired to eat hay and give rides to students. “Horse” was a sign Millie had taught him: you made the ASL number three, but kept your index and middle fingers together. You put your thumb on the side of your forehead and flapped the two straight fingers up and down. Horse.

  As Charlie petted Reggie’s neck, Reggie nuzzled Charlie’s arm. Reggie was the cuddliest horse Charlie had ever met. Animals didn’t need words. They used a different kind of language. Charlie never had trouble being understood by animals or understanding them. He wished people were that simple.

  Obie came over with Max and Darius. Usually, Obie signed first. But this time he was waiting for Charlie, as if he knew Charlie had something he had to say.

  And Charlie did.

  He wanted to blurt out, I’m worried about the Boney Hand. It could be real, which is scary. But I’m also worried because some people think that I stole it. Even Mrs. Castle might think that I stole it! I’m worried that you might think I stole it. But now Frog thinks maybe it was Mrs. Castle who took it. I don’t know which of those are worse. I just want everything to be back to what it was before the Fall Extravaganza!

  But that just seemed like a big messy jumble of thoughts.

  So Charlie asked a question instead. A question he had been thinking about for a while now. Charlie knew Obie never minded questions. He always replied, “That’s an interesting question.”

  “Obie, how do you know what people are like if you never see them?” Charlie asked in Obie’s hands.

  “That’s an interesting question,” signed Obie. He thought for a moment. Then he answered Charlie’s question with one of his own.

  “Do you know why,” asked Obie, “I don’t mind people asking me questions?”

  Charlie placed his hand under Obie’s. “No.”

  “Because,” Obie told him as Darius interpreted, “I ask so many questions myself. I see who people are by asking questions. I ask them to tell me about themselves. I ask them to tell me about other people. I learn pieces of everyone from everyone else, and then I puz
zle all those pieces together.”

  “That seems like a lot of work,” signed Charlie.

  “It is,” agreed Obie. “But people are many things. They’re complicated. When you understand the different pieces of a person, you can really see who that person is.”

  This did not make Charlie feel better about Mrs. Castle. What if stealing the Boney Hand was one of her pieces? Mrs. Castle was good, but could she still do a bad thing?

  “Now,” signed Obie, “I answered your question. It’s time for you to answer mine. What’s wrong?”

  At three o’clock the castle was streaming with students heading to sports practice, club meetings, internships, or jobs. Normally Charlie would be heading to track practice, but not today. He wasn’t super fast, but no one on the Castle School for the Deaf track team seemed to care. Not like the school Charlie had attended when his parents were away helping northern hairy-nosed wombats. The coach at that school had said track team was only for fast people.

  Charlie had surprised himself by saying to that coach, “But if I join the track team, maybe I’ll learn to run faster.”

  “The point of track team,” said the coach, “is not to learn to run faster. The point is to already run fast and win.”

  Charlie was not on the track team that year.

  But Coach Crawford at CSD didn’t care.

  “Try your best,” he had told Charlie. “Have fun.”

  Charlie did have fun, and the more he practiced, the faster he ran.

  Charlie and Frog made their way upstairs through a narrow winding staircase. The hall with Grandpa Sol’s study and Mrs. Castle’s study was quiet, just like Frog had said it would be. Grandpa Sol was usually outside this time of day. Mrs. Castle was always rushing here or there. Which is why Charlie was so nervous. You never knew when and where she would pop up.

  Her study door was unlocked. They quickly went inside and shut the door.

  Mrs. Castle’s study was bright and colorful.

  And messy.

  It reminded Charlie of Frog’s room, except there weren’t any frogs in Mrs. Castle’s study. But there were books and papers and drawings on the walls that students had made for her. A dark-purple couch with lots of pillows sat in front of the tall windows. The Hudson River glittered in the afternoon sunshine as a tugboat chugged north up the river.