by Karen Kane
Frog led Charlie down to the great hall and past the half-polished statue of Alice and Francine. Shadows and dark corners gave criminals plenty of places to hide. And pounce.
Frog turned into a hall lined with classrooms. Charlie peered into the first one as lightning flashed outside the windows. A skeleton leered. Charlie stumbled backward. Frog laughed and fingerspelled SCIENCE CLASS.
Charlie had never heard Frog laugh out loud before. It was a rich, full-bellied laugh. Charlie liked hearing it.
Oliver loves our science teacher, Frog wrote. I do, too! But my favorite teacher is my English teacher!
Oliver goes to school here? Charlie asked. But he’s hearing!
He’s a Castle! Castle children have gone to school here for generations—even if they are hearing! All Castle children are bilingual in ASL and English.
Charlie took a cloth and a spray bottle. He began cleaning as he absorbed this new information. The classroom desks were set up in a U-shape, not in rows. It was, Charlie realized, so students could see one another. Frog obviously loved her school. And it really was her home.
Charlie had a thought. He stopped wiping the glass and took out his notebook.
Maybe Aggie was just coming home. How do you sign “home”?
Frog placed her thumb and fingertips together in a flattened O-shape. She touched them to the side of her chin and then moved them up to her cheek. Charlie copied her. “Home.”
What do you mean? Frog asked. Just coming home?
Maybe Aggie was a student here once. So that would mean this was her other home—
Frog dropped her rag. She slumped to the floor.
Charlie grabbed her shoulder. “Frog! What is it?”
Frog motioned limply for Charlie’s pen and paper.
I’m a HORRIBLE detective! Frog wrote.
“Why?” Charlie signed.
I missed something so OBVIOUS. What you said, about Aggie being a student. I don’t deserve to be called detective!
Frog threw the pen and paper down and covered her face with her hands.
Charlie awkwardly patted Frog on the back. He picked up the paper and pen from the floor and sat next to Frog. He wrote a note and tapped Frog’s shoulder.
Everyone makes mistakes, Frog. I bet even Dorrie McCann made mistakes!
Frog gasped. Charlie could tell Frog was thinking, Dorrie McCann make a mistake? Impossible! In Charlie’s mind’s eye he signed “impossible.”
But then Frog nodded.
SEE? Charlie wrote. If Dorrie can make mistakes, so can you.
Charlie stood. He reached out his hand. Frog took it and jumped to her feet. She led Charlie to a passageway on the other side of the great hall. These walls were lined with framed photographs of each year’s graduating class.
Charlie had no idea how old Aggie was. They started with the oldest photograph at the end of the hallway. Charlie studied each one before moving on to the next.
1923…1930…1935…1938…1942…1949…and on and on.
Until suddenly, there she was. First row. Bright eyes. Warm smile. A large mole was on her cheek.
Aggie.
Mr. Castle was stretched out on the leather sofa, snoring in the superintendent’s study. Books were shelved on floor-to-ceiling bookcases, with a rolling ladder to reach the highest ones.
Frog went over to a bookcase by the fireplace and crouched down. Charlie crouched beside her. There were dozens of Castle School for the Deaf yearbooks. Frog trailed her finger along the spines until she found Aggie’s senior yearbook.
Frog flipped through pictures of the debate club, the drama club, the sports teams. She came to the graduating class, listed in alphabetical order. Charlie and Frog studied each name and picture. They read the few sentences below each one.
At the letter C Frog paused.
Frog’s grandpa had Frog’s big eyes. Or rather Frog had his big eyes. Underneath his picture it read:
SOLOMON JAMES CASTLE
Sol’s favorite pastime is reading the dictionary. He enjoys hiking and fishing, and plans to be the next superintendent of Castle School for the Deaf (of course!).
Frog turned more pages. She tapped on a picture of a young woman with pointy glasses like Miss Tweedy’s.
DOROTHY JANE McKINNON
D.J. helps everyone see his or her own power. A better writer and a better human being cannot be found.
Frog gave a happy sigh and kissed the back of her fist. “Kiss-fist.”
Kiss-fist, Charlie realized, was used for anything Frog really loved—books, sparkly jewelry, coffee, Vince Vinelli. And of course Dorrie McCann and D. J. McKinnon. Frog loved a lot of things.
Frog continued to turn pages. Finally, there was Aggie.
AGATHA E. PENDERWICK
Aggie is a loving friend but not a good secret keeper!
She adores knitting and is always making things for her friends.
Charlie and Frog stared at the young Aggie.
Look at her eyes, Charlie wrote. She looks worried.
Frog pointed to the words “not a good secret keeper.” Aggie couldn’t keep a secret—even back then!
Maybe that’s why she looks worried, Charlie replied.
Mr. Castle gave a loud snore and woke himself up. Charlie nudged Frog and pointed to the couch.
“Frog! I was just taking a short break from your mother’s to-do list. Charlie, I’m delighted to see you’re so interested in our school’s history!” Mr. Castle spoke and signed at the same time. “What are you looking at?”
Frog held up the yearbook.
“Ah! Grandpa’s class! And D. J. McKinnon’s class! There is some intrigue with that year. I need to discuss it with Grandpa. Did you know the Appalachian Trail is over two thousand miles long, and extends from—”
Frog interrupted her father with a question, the same one Charlie had. She signed, “What intrigue?”
“What intrigue? Well…” Mr. Castle reached for the bowl of pistachio nuts next to him. He cracked a nut and popped it in his mouth before he continued. Mr. Castle switched to ASL. He signed first and then spoke into English for what he had just signed.
“There was some jealousy over D. J. McKinnon’s success. Apparently she wrote the first draft of her Dorrie McCann series here, when she was a senior. Somehow a friend who was not really a friend found out about the manuscript. A frenemy is what Oliver calls it.”
Mr. Castle ate another pistachio.
Frog stamped her foot for Mr. Castle to finish.
“It was widely rumored that D.J.’s frenemy burned the manuscript. Every last word of it.”
Frog gasped first. Then Charlie.
“I know. Awful. There was no way to prove it, of course. Luckily D.J. remembered most of her story and rewrote it after she graduated. As you know she became a book printer and published the first Dorrie McCann books herself. Did you know Grandpa Sol has a copy of every book written by an alumnus?” Mr. Castle pointed to the top of a bookshelf between two tall windows. “Except, of course, the Dorrie McCann books. Grandpa Sol gave Frog those books.”
“Charlie,” Mr. Castle now spoke and signed, “if you like yearbooks then you are going to find my own yearbook fascinating—”
But Frog was already pulling on Charlie’s arm as she signed something to her father.
“Of course you must finish your cleaning,” Mr. Castle agreed. “I should go help your mother as well. Charlie, my yearbook will have to wait.”
Mr. Castle reached for another pistachio nut.
From the top bunk bed Charlie watched Oliver do push-ups in his pajamas.
“Eighteen…nineteen…”
Oliver lowered himself for number twenty. He stayed on the floor so long Charlie wondered if he was all right. Finally Oliver straightened his skinny arms.
“Twenty!” He flopped to the floor with a final grunt.
Oliver reached for his glasses. Then he picked up a book and crawled into the bottom bunk.
Oliver did not have the sch
ool library key. This was Charlie’s takeaway from the fight Frog and Oliver had right before bed. The missing school library key was now another puzzle to solve.
Charlie should have been reading Dorrie McCann and the Mystery of the Secret Treasure. Instead he reached for Baking with the Grandkids: 101 Easy Recipes to Fill Their Stomachs and Your Heart. Oliver was a really good baker. Charlie leaned over the bunk bed.
“Your cake was great.”
“Thanks,” Oliver said. “Mom always cooks dinner. I started baking so we’d have dessert to look forward to.”
“Oliver, what’s the most delicious thing to bake? Something that would make someone want you around forever—just so you could bake it again?”
“Hmmm. You’re talking about Frog, I’m guessing?”
“No!” Charlie’s face turned hot.
“Good, because that’s kind of gross,” Oliver said. “So how much baking have you done? My recipes have a definite hierarchy of complexities.”
“None.”
“None?” Oliver gave Charlie the Frog look. “Okay. Never baked before but want something guaranteed to make someone want more. Let me think.” Oliver snapped his fingers. “Be right back.”
Oliver left and came back a few minutes later. He handed Charlie a bag of chocolate chips.
“Chocolate chip cookies,” Oliver said. “They smell awesome when they’re baking, they’re easy to make, and everyone loves them. Recipe’s on the back.”
“Thanks, Oliver.”
Charlie closed Baking with the Grandkids. He had his recipe.
“Mom will be here in a minute,” Oliver said. “She insists on tucking me in. She’ll tuck you in, too. Whoever sleeps over is one of her kids until the sleepover is done. She even tucks in my older brother. He’s twenty!”
“Is your older brother Deaf or hearing?”
“James is Deaf. I think he’s in Peru right now. He’s missing Founders’ Day. But that’s James.”
“How many people are Deaf in your family?” Charlie asked.
“Millie and I are the only hearing,” Oliver said. “Everyone else—Grandpa Sol, Mom, Dad, James, Frog—are Deaf. Well, Dad’s hard of hearing, but he’s still Deaf.”
Mrs. Castle came into the room. She pulled Oliver’s comforter to his chin and leaned down to give him a hug, making a humming sound in her throat. His mom quietly kissed him on the cheek. Then Mrs. Castle stood on her tiptoes. She straightened Charlie’s comforter, patted his shoulder, and made a sign with her middle fingers folded, and her thumb, forefinger, and pinky extended. She turned off the light and closed the door halfway.
Oliver handed Charlie a small flashlight. “Here you go—in case you want to read.” Charlie turned it on. “Oliver, what does this mean?” Charlie made the sign Mrs. Castle had made.
“I love you,” Oliver said. “But in this instance it really means, ‘I’m here if you need me.’”
Charlie thought about that. It seemed to him to be the same thing.
The rain pitter-pattered softly outside Oliver’s open window. The curtains fluttered in the breeze. Charlie started reading Dorrie McCann and the Mystery of the Secret Treasure. He paused before every page turn to practice the “I-love-you-I’m-here-if-you-need-me” sign until he was too sleepy to read any longer.
• • •
Charlie woke.
The rain had stopped. It was quiet except for the wind and—Charlie listened carefully—something else was outside.
“Oliver?” Charlie whispered.
Charlie went to the window. The heavy clouds hid the moon. He could just see the outline of the barn below and the stone wall behind it.
Bear nudged open Oliver’s door. He padded over to Charlie, a low growl in his throat.
“You hear something, too, Bear?” Charlie whispered.
Bear put his paws on the windowsill, and growled louder.
Oliver woke up. “Bear, quiet!”
“He hears something,” Charlie said.
“He always hears things,” Oliver said. “Bear, go back to Millie’s room.”
Charlie and Bear looked at each other, listening.
CREEEEEAAAAAKKKKK.
The graveyard door.
Bear barked.
“Shhh!” Oliver rolled over.
Frog would be outraged if Charlie didn’t let her know someone might be in the graveyard. Without thinking through how Frog would react, Charlie grabbed the flashlight, tiptoed to her room, and woke her up.
Of course Frog wanted to investigate.
What if it’s Dex and Ray? Frog wrote. It’s our chance to find them!
Exactly. What if it’s Dex and Ray? It’s dangerous!
What if it’s Aggie? Frog wrote.
Charlie hesitated.
Frog pointed to Bear, who was watching Frog closely. We’ll take Bear with us.
Frog slipped on a golf ball–size emerald ring. She made a fist and punched it forward.
“Bring your key,” Frog signed.
It was already in Charlie’s hand.
• • •
“Where are you going?” Oliver asked.
“The graveyard,” Charlie said as he put on his sneakers.
Oliver sat up. “Great. Now I have to come, too.”
“Why?”
“Oh, sure,” Oliver said. “A boy who easily does twenty push-ups stays inside, while outside young children face deadly danger?”
“Deadly danger?” Charlie said. “What deadly danger?”
But Oliver just sighed and shook his head.
Outside, Frog held Bear by a tight leash. Charlie’s ears pricked at every sound. The squishing noises their shoes made in the muddy ground. The trees rattling in the breeze. Bear’s growl.
The sounds, of course, did not distract Frog. Her laser-beam eyes swept the darkness, searching for anything out of the ordinary.
Frog pointed. The graveyard door was open.
“Forget what I said before,” Oliver told Charlie, “because now I’m scared.” Oliver tucked his flashlight under his armpit. Oliver made fists, and then opened his hands wide, palms facing inward. “Scared.” Charlie did the same.
Oliver tapped Frog on the shoulder. The two boys signed to her. “We’re scared.”
Frog ignored them both and plowed ahead toward the graveyard.
Charlie’s mind raced. What if Dex and Ray were in there? What if flashlights, a key, a golf ball–size ring, and a bear-dog weren’t enough to protect them? What if the graveyard really was haunted?
Frog did not appear concerned with what-ifs. She signed for everyone to turn off the flashlights.
The three of them stood outside the graveyard door. It took a minute to adjust to the darkness. The only thing Charlie could hear now was his heart pounding. He gripped his key harder in his sweaty fist.
Frog wrapped Bear’s leash one more time around her hand. She made an emerald-ringed fist with her other hand and slipped through the door. Oliver and Charlie followed.
They stayed glued to Frog. She turned on her flashlight but kept the light pointed downward. Bear’s ears, eyes, and nose were on high alert.
“Shhh,” Frog warned. Slowly the group moved forward through the graveyard. When Frog put up a hand, they all froze, including Bear. When she lowered it, they all continued walking.
Frog’s light landed on Bernadette Mills’s grave.
I TOLD YOU, TOO!
BUT YOU WOULD NOT LISTEN!
Charlie had trouble breathing. He thought about all the dead bodies lying beneath them this very moment. What if dead people don’t like you walking on their graves while they’re trying to sleep? Do dead people sleep? Or do they get up and do their haunting in the middle of the—
“HOO-HOO!”
“AHHH!” Charlie knocked the flashlight out of Frog’s hands.
He heard the sound of running feet. Bear leaped forward, pulling the leash out of Frog’s hand, and charged into the darkness.
“Go, go!” a voice shouted.
/> Frog grabbed her flashlight. She raced after Bear on the path around the headstones, Charlie and Oliver right behind her. At the very back of the graveyard stood Bear on his hind legs, pawing at the wall. Charlie heard car doors slam shut. Frog dropped her flashlight, found toeholds in the wall, and quickly began to climb. An engine started. Just as Frog made it to the top of the wall, Charlie heard the car zoom away. Frog climbed back down.
“I couldn’t see who it was,” she signed as Oliver interpreted. Frog looked at Charlie, hands on her hips. “Why did you do that? You scared them away!”
Oliver signed to her. Frog said, “An owl? You heard an owl?”
Charlie had thought it was a ghost. “I’m sorry,” he signed.
But Frog didn’t see Charlie’s sign. She had spotted something on the ground by the wall.
A gum wrapper.
A sugar-free cinnamon gum wrapper.
Charlie woke up to banging and thumping noises.
“Uh-oh,” Oliver yawned. “Mom’s in a mood.” He pulled the comforter over his head.
Charlie had just gotten dressed when Frog burst into the bedroom.
“You’re supposed to knock!” Charlie gestured. If Frog had come in a few seconds earlier—
“Sorry!” Frog signed. She showed Charlie her notepad.
Remember! Lots of people chew sugar-free cinnamon gum! Lots of people litter!
It was Frog’s reminder of what they had talked about last night. Frog did not want Charlie to say anything to her parents about Dex and Ray possibly being in the graveyard.
Charlie disagreed. We know Dex and Ray chew sugar-free cinnamon gum! We know Ray litters!
But we don’t know for CERTAIN, Frog pointed out.
More thumping and banging noises.
Frog prodded Oliver, who uncovered an eye and watched her sign. He nodded and sat up. “I hate to say these words, Charlie, but Frog might be right.” Oliver rubbed his eyes. “This isn’t the best time to say anything to Mom. I mean, just listen to those sounds. I told you—Mom gets intense this time of year.” Oliver signed what he had just said to Frog.
“That,” Frog signed, which clearly meant, “That’s my point!”
