Dead Letter

by Byars, Betsy

  He barely managed to choke out, “You’re welcome,” before he closed the door behind him.

  20

  “KCHCHAAH”

  “Herculeah!”

  Herculeah didn’t turn around.

  “Herculeah, wait up.”

  It was after school. Meat and Herculeah usually walked home together. This time she hadn’t waited. He finally managed to catch up with her at the corner. But even then, she did not slow down, and he had to run along beside her.

  This was the first chance he had gotten to speak to her since that terrible, “Thanks a lot,” she had flung at him. He had phoned her three times—no, four, counting the last call when he had hung up without speaking—and three times Mrs. Jones had informed him that Herculeah was studying.

  This had left Meat so depressed that he couldn’t sleep. He lay in bed imagining the long, lonely years stretching ahead of him in which the girls he was foolish enough to telephone were always studying or painting their nails or washing their hair, doing anything—no matter how tedious—to keep from speaking to him.

  He was out of breath from running to catch up with Herculeah, but he gasped out, “I can’t come over this afternoon. I’ve got a dentist appointment.”

  “Have fun,” Herculeah said.

  “Herculeah!”

  She turned and gave him a cool glance.

  She didn’t deserve his concern. That was obvious, but he had to give it. “Herculeah,” he said, “you really should not go to Elm Street.”

  “What gives you the idea I’m going there?”

  “I know you.”

  “Not as well as you think you do.”

  Meat didn’t answer.

  “Listen, I promised I was not going to put one foot on Elm Street, and I’m not.”

  “What are you going to do, then?” Meat said. “Stay on the sidewalk?”

  At that, Herculeah sighed with apparent disgust and, working those long legs of hers, disappeared into the crowd.

  Meat, now truly depressed, dragged his feet toward Dr. Steinberg’s office. He was dreading the sight of the large, white tooth in front of the office on which was written two unreassuring words: TOOTH DOCTOR.

  Herculeah dropped her books on the hall table and flopped down on the sofa. She opened her notebook and took out the articles about Amanda Cole’s death and the inquest. She reread them although she knew both by heart now.

  She focused on the verdict of the jury, that Amanda Cole had met her death from a head injury caused by striking a rock as she fell from her horse.

  “I’d like to walk around those old horse trails. I wonder if they’re still there,” she said to herself. “I’d like to see if I could find where she fell.”

  Herculeah let the articles drop onto her lap. Her eyes strayed to her granny glasses on the end table. Idly she lifted them and hooked the slim silver loops behind her ears.

  Even if I fogged out and got something, I couldn’t use it. I can’t go back to Elm Street, she said to herself in a childish singsong; then broke off.

  She straightened.

  Meat was right.

  Her feelings toward him softened as she remembered his words, “What are you going to do? Stay on the sidewalk?”

  I did promise not to put one foot on Elm Street, Herculeah’s thoughts continued. I didn’t promise not to check out the horse trails behind Elm Street.

  Herculeah took off her glasses. She headed for the front door.

  “Thanks, Meat,” she said as she glanced at his house. Then she ran down the steps. At the corner she turned in the direction of Elm.

  “Kchchaah,” Meat said.

  Dr. Steinberg said, “I’m almost through, Albert, just a little—”

  “Kchchaah,” Meat said again, this time accompanying his word with equally unclear gestures.

  With a sigh, Dr. Steinberg stopped drilling and said, “What is the trouble, Albert?”

  “Dr. Steinberg, I’ve got to get out of here. A friend of mine’s in danger.”

  “Don’t try pulling that again,” Dr. Steinberg said wearily.

  “This time it’s true.”

  “Open wide, Albert.”

  “But Dr. Steinberg, she must be in danger. I felt my own hair begin to frizzle.”

  “You can use hair conditioner like the rest of us. Open wide.”

  “You don’t seem to understand. When Herculeah’s hair frizzles, she’s in danger. It’s like radar hair, Dr. Steinberg. I’ve got to help her.”

  “Open wide.”

  Meat had been in misery ever since he’d been strapped into the dentist’s chair—well, he wasn’t strapped in, but he might as well have been. He wasn’t allowed to get up.

  At first it had been because Herculeah was mad at him. That was enough to make anyone miserable.

  But then he remembered the way she had looked at him when he had said, “What are you going to do? Stay on the sidewalk?”

  That’s what she would do—exactly what she would do. At this very moment, she was probably making her way to Elm Street. And here he was, a prisoner in Dr. Steinberg’s office. And he had given her the idea. He would be responsible if something happened to her.

  Suddenly Meat remembered a conversation he and Herculeah had had last month. It was a phone conversation. They were talking about what one of her next cases might be.

  She’d said she’d had a premonition but she didn’t want to tell him because it didn’t make sense. He’d made her tell him.

  “Well,” she’d said, “when my mom and I were making a bed for Trip, my mom said to the dog, ‘Don’t give me that dog-in-the-manger look.”’

  “So your premonition has something to do with a dog,” he’d said.

  “No, the manger! That’s what doesn’t make any sense. I don’t even think there are mangers anymore.”

  And he had said, “It does make sense. One of Hercules’ labors was cleaning a stable. And, Herculeah, that’s what a manger is—a stable!”

  And now here she was on her way to Elm Street and there were horse trails back in those woods.

  Where there were horse trails, there would be stables.

  His heart raced with the determination to save Herculeah.

  “Kchchaah,” he begged frantically.

  “I’m almost through, Albert,” Dr. Steinberg said.

  21

  BEHIND ELM STREET

  Herculeah came through the woods slowly.

  She paused frequently to listen and to glance behind her. She hadn’t seen anyone since she had turned into the trees—being very careful not to put one foot on Elm Street—but she had the feeling she needed to be cautious.

  From beyond the woods came the sound of bulldozers and tractors, hammers and saws—the comforting sounds of people at work. She couldn’t see the construction, but she could hear it, and she was glad it was going on. It helped ease her feeling of isolation.

  Herculeah stopped as she came to a wide path that cut through the woods. It was overgrown with weeds now—no one had walked here in years, much less ridden a horse—yet Herculeah knew this was one of the horse trails. Maybe even the one Amanda Cole had taken that fateful day.

  She began to walk the trail, her eyes on the ground. She had no idea what she was looking for—she had been drawn here, the way she had been drawn to the coat in Hidden Treasures. She put her hands in her coat pockets, remembering the note Amanda Cole had written asking for help. Herculeah had no choice but to give it.

  She came to a stream and paused. There were rocks here, lots of them. Was it here Amanda Cole’s body had been found? She didn’t think so. It didn’t feel like the place. She kept walking.

  And as she walked, her eyes looked from one side of the trail to the other. She continued to ask the question: Here? Did it happen here? She felt she would know it when she came to it.

  Herculeah was so intent on her search that gradually she became oblivious to her surroundings.

  I really feel that I’m getting close. It‘s—<
br />
  A twig snapped, sharp as a rifle shot.

  Herculeah stopped, frozen, waiting.

  She didn’t have to wait long. There was an immediate explosion of noise as something burst through the woods. Herculeah gasped with fright. She whirled around and looked into the face of a Doberman.

  The dog was huge. His lips were pulled back into a snarl. Saliva drooled from his mouth. A low growl came from his huge chest.

  Herculeah did not move. She did not even breathe.

  The growl erupted into fierce barking. The dog came closer. His legs, his whole body was set, tense, eager for the signal to attack. Herculeah could feel the heat of his breath.

  “Brute!”

  It was a man’s voice, and it was a command.

  “Back, Brute, back.” The man came through the trees, moving quickly. “Back!”

  Brute’s barks faded into that low, ominous growl. But he didn’t move away.

  “Down!”

  Brute lowered himself to the ground. His lips remained drawn back in a snarl. The low growl continued. Even from his position on the ground, he was ready to spring.

  She looked away from the dog and into the eyes of the watchman. This was the man who had tried to run her down. The man who had tried to kill her.

  Herculeah said, “I thought your dog was going to attack.”

  “That’s what he’s trained to do.”

  “He frightened me.”

  “He could have killed you.”

  The watchman was dressed in work clothes. He was unshaven, unsmiling, and Herculeah knew instinctively that he was even more dangerous than the dog.

  “Are you one of the workmen?” she asked through dry lips, though she knew he was not.

  He shook his head.

  “Oh.”

  She waited and finally he said, “I’m a watchman. Brute and I make sure there aren’t any trespassers. Didn’t you see the signs?”

  Herculeah said truthfully, “I thought that meant just up where the construction was.”

  “You were wrong.”

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Come with me.”

  “Look, I’m sorry. I really am. But I need to go home. My mom will be wondering where I am. If you’ll just call your dog off—”

  “Let’s go.”

  When Herculeah didn’t start forward, he said, “Brute.” He nodded his head in her direction. “Bring!”

  Brute got to his feet at once. He circled Herculeah and came up behind her. Herculeah could feel his hot, wet breath on her hand. The low growling grew louder.

  “You’d do well to come on your own,” the man said in a deep voice. “He’s an attack dog, and he don’t like trespassers any more than I do.”

  Herculeah started forward.

  The dog was close behind her. The man led the way. He was so sure of his dog that he didn’t bother to glance back.

  Herculeah tried to swallow her fear.

  Someone will see us, she told herself. Maybe one of the workmen. Someone will come. Meat, maybe, or my mom. Better still, my dad.

  Someone will come. Someone has to come.

  But until they did, Herculeah knew she had to do exactly what this man told her—if she wanted to live, that is.

  And she did. She loved her life.

  She loved life as much as—and then came the thought that made her even more afraid—as much as Amanda Cole had.

  22

  PRISONER !

  “In there,” the man said.

  Herculeah balked. Behind her the dog gave an insistent “or-else” bark.

  “In there.”

  Herculeah moved into the room.

  She knew where they were—at the long, low building she had seen from the window of the deserted house. This building had once been the stable. The horse stalls were still there at the front, though empty now.

  And this room had perhaps held bridles, saddles. It had been the tack room. There was an old iron cot in the corner, but no one had slept on it in years. There were papers on the floor, leaves, trash, straw.

  She glanced around quickly to locate an exit, but there was only one door and the man stood in front of it, blocking the way.

  Herculeah spun around to face him.

  “Sit.”

  “I’m not a dog,” she said with sudden defiance. “You can’t command me the way you do Brute.”

  He did not bother to answer, just stared at her with cold, emotionless eyes. Those were the eyes, Herculeah thought, of a man who could kill.

  She glanced around at the cot, but she did not move toward it.

  “How long are you going to keep me here?”

  “Until I get word.”

  “From whom?”

  “Just word.”

  “From Roger Cole.”

  No answer.

  “How long will this take? My mom knows where I am. She’ll come looking for me.”

  “It shouldn’t be long.” He closed the door on her. “I’m leaving Brute outside in case you get any ideas about leaving. Stay,” Herculeah heard him tell the dog. “Stay.”

  Herculeah then heard the sounds of a key being turned and his footsteps walking away.

  She found herself in complete darkness. She remembered a line from Amanda Cole’s note—“There’s no window. I don’t know day from night.”

  Herculeah knew she shared something else with Amanda Cole—a prison.

  “Well, at least I’m not drugged,” she said aloud. “If I can find a loose board ...”

  She began moving around the room, starting at the baseboard and working her way up to the ceiling, testing each board.

  She found one board that was warped. It was waist high. She pulled at it with all her strength. It didn’t move.

  If only I had some kind of tool ...

  She remembered the iron cot and groped her way toward it. She ran her fingers over it, getting a feel for how it was put together.

  The cot was old, rickety. She thought she might be able to—

  She put her strength into it. In three strong jerks she had the springs separated from the headboard. And sticking out from the headboard—she felt this with her hands—was the metal bar that held the springs in place. A lever, exactly what she needed.

  Again, Herculeah felt her way across the room to the warped board and began to work the metal bar under it. She pried and had the satisfaction of hearing the board pull away from the wall.

  She could grip the board now. She wrenched it loose. It would make a weapon—and so would the headboard.

  If the man comes back before I get free, I can stand behind the door, and when he comes through—

  She took a practice swing.

  Of course, she went on, feeling better by the moment, Brute would still be out there, but he might stay by the door. If he was as well trained as he appeared to be, he’d obey his master’s command.

  I’ll worry about the dog when I see daylight, she told herself.

  She began work on the next board. It came away even easier than the first.

  Other parts of Amanda Cole’s note began to throb in her mind.

  I don’t want to die. I can’t die.

  The whole building was half- rotten. She would be out of here in no time. She had to be.

  He’s going to kill me. I know it.

  She doubled her efforts.

  She was so intent on demolishing the wall and getting out that she did not hear the footsteps outside the door, did not hear the lock being turned, did not hear the command to the dog.

  Not until the light from the door lit up the board she struggled with did she remember the last words of the note.

  He’s back!

  23

  THE GiRL WHO KNEW TOO MUCH

  “Hard at work, I see.”

  The man stepped aside, and Herculeah was face to face with Roger Cole.

  Herculeah wanted to throw the iron headboard at him—she was mad enough to—but she restrained herself. She knew it would be useless
. She rested her weight against the headboard, keeping it close in case she got a chance to use it later.

  “I’m going to get out of here one way or another,” she told him.

  “Oh, I agree with that.”

  He smiled. His smile wasn’t dazzling now. It was threatening. Yet there was a look in his eyes that let Herculeah know he was enjoying what he was doing.

  “I hoped I’d seen the last of you,” he said. “I hoped that my apology would end it.”

  “It didn’t.”

  “So I see.”

  The man with the dog stood behind him, watching. If Herculeah got past Roger Cole, she’d have him and Brute to contend with.

  “Well.” Herculeah shrugged and managed a smile. “I guess I was being silly—playing Nancy Drew. If you’ll call the dog off, I’ll go on home.”

  Roger Cole watched her. His look sharpened as he took in her expression. “You weren’t just playing Nancy Drew, were you?”

  She did not answer.

  “It had something to do with the coat, didn’t it?” He watched her thoughtfully.

  Herculeah didn’t answer.

  “How did you get the coat, anyway?”

  She could tell him that much. And she needed time.

  “I bought it.”

  “Where?”

  “From a store called Hidden Treasures. The owner of the shop said it came in a box of horse gear.”

  Roger Cole smashed one hand against the side of the door. He didn’t turn to look at the man behind him as he spoke. “You stupid ... Why didn’t you check what went out of here?”

  “I did.”

  “Obviously not good enough.”

  He looked at Herculeah. “You bought the coat.”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “There was a note from your aunt in the lining of the coat—she’d pushed it through a hole in the pocket. The note told everything. I showed the note to my father. He’s a police detective,” Herculeah said with more confidence than she felt. “So it won’t do any good to get rid of me.”

  “Maybe you did show it to him. Maybe you didn’t.”

  “This is where you held her prisoner, isn’t it?” Herculeah went on, buying time.

  Roger Cole did not answer.