by Elise Broach
“No, not a friend. Just some girl who showed up late for class, never had her homework. She never knew the answers when he called on her. So he’d dump all over her. And this time, he was yelling at her, and she was starting to cry, and he was leaning over her, in her face, saying, ’What’s your problem? Are you lazy or are you stupid?’ So I told him to stop. And he told me to sit down. And I kind of pushed him away from her . . . and then I got suspended.”
Hero stared at him. “That’s it? You got suspended for that?”
“Hitting a teacher,” Danny said flatly.
“But, I mean ...” Hero shook her head. “You shouldn’t have been suspended for that.”
Danny shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Didn’t you explain what happened? What happened with the girl?”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference. They didn’t like that girl. She was always getting into trouble.”
“How long were you suspended for?”
“A week.”
“Wow.” Hero couldn’t think of anything to say.
“It wasn’t so bad,” Danny said. He seemed amused by her reaction. “I just hung out and watched movies.”
“Were your mom and dad mad at you?”
“Not really. My mom’s not around. And my dad, he wasn’t thrilled, but he never liked that teacher. He said he probably would’ve done the same thing.”
Hero knew her own parents would have had more to say than that. There’d have been some relevant Shakespeare quote from her father at the very least.
“So where’s your mom?” she asked.
Danny picked at a loose thread on his T-shirt. “She’s not around,” he said again. Then, reluctantly, “She’s in California.”
“Oh,” Hero said. “How come? Are your parents divorced? Do you see her?”
Danny shook his head, still tugging on the thread. “I have her address and write to her sometimes. Every once in a while she calls. But I live with my dad.”
He shifted in his chair to look at the secretary. Hero wanted to ask him more, but she was afraid he would unravel his entire shirt. The red-haired woman was facing the window, talking on the phone. She held it against her shoulder, using both hands to sort through the papers on the desk.
“She looks busy now,” Danny said. “Let’s find the Murphy file.”
CHAPTER
13
Danny knelt by the file cabinet and with another glance at the secretary slid the drawer open. Hero could see that it was filled with files, packed with them. The manila folders bulged, wedged so tightly against one another that the tiny plastic labels along the top were impossible to read.
“Oh!” she exclaimed hopelessly. “How are we ever going to find it?”
Danny seemed at a loss. “I know it’s here. But geez, if all these are unsolved cases, the police aren’t doing such a good job.”
“Have you ever seen your dad take it out? I mean, did he reach toward the back of the drawer, or the front, or where?”
“I don’t remember. I think it was kind of in the middle.” Danny sat back on his heels and started painstakingly pinching the labels apart, squinting at the names.
“Do you see something that says Murphy?” “Uh, no. They’re just labeled with numbers.” “Numbers? Numbers?” Hero crouched down next to him. “Are you kidding?”
Danny frowned. “What did you expect, Netherfield? Did you think it was going to say Murphy Diamond Mystery on it?”
“No,” Hero snapped. “But maybe you should have thought of this before we came all the way down here. These are case numbers or something. There’s no way we’re going to figure out which—”
At that moment, they heard the doorknob turn. Hero scrambled backward in a panic, and Danny pushed the file drawer shut with such force it rattled the cabinet. But not before his father swung the door open.
“Danny? What do you think you’re doing?” Hero looked up miserably. Danny’s father didn’t resemble Danny at all: there was nothing friendly about him. Maybe it was the uniform, which was dark and frighteningly official. His hair was brown, and his face had none of Danny’s lazy, easy openness. In fact, he looked almost mean. Or at least stern. Like a policeman.
Danny scrambled up from the floor. “Hey, Dad. Hey. We . . . we were waiting for you. Cheryl said we could wait in here, so we were just, you know, waiting.”
Mr. Cordova looked at Hero. She tried to smile, but she couldn’t stop staring at his gun.
“Hello,” he said, not smiling. “Who are you?”
“Hero Netherfield.” Her voice sounded like something between a squeak and a whisper.
“Carrie?”
Hero cleared her throat. Her heart was pounding. “No, Hero.”
Mr. Cordova snorted, closing the door to the office. “What were you doing looking at those files?” he said sharply, this time to Danny.
Danny swallowed. “Well, see . . . we came down here . . . because, you know, Hero’s doing that Civics project for sixth grade.” Danny seemed to relax. He glanced at Hero, then flashed a quick smile at his father. “Remember? And she has to interview somebody who works for the town.”
Mr. Cordova sat down behind his desk, studying them both. “I thought that project was in the spring.”
Hero nodded. “It is,” she heard herself say, and was amazed that her voice sounded steady and clear, no trace of a quaver. “But I wanted to start early. We just moved to town, so I don’t know anybody, and Danny said you’re a policeman—”
“Chief of police,’ Mr. Cordova said.
“Right, chief of police,” Hero corrected herself. “And so I thought everybody must want to write about you.” She could see Danny’s smile getting wider. She took a deep breath. “So, anyway, I thought if I came early enough, then maybe nobody else would have asked you yet. And I was saying to Danny, you must not get many cases in such a small town, but he was just showing me how many files you have. It must be a lot of work.”
Mr. Cordova leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her. The room was so quiet Hero could hear her heart thumping. She felt a pang of gratitude for her own vague, distracted father, her busy cheerful mother.
Finally, Mr. Cordova said, “Where do you live?”
Hero hesitated. ’OnOakdale.”
“Whereabouts on Oakdale?”
Danny answered for her. “You know what’s funny, Dad? They bought the Murphy house.”
“Is that right?” Mr. Cordova leaned forward, still looking at Hero. ’Well, Danny’s probably told you about the Murphys.”
“Yes,” Hero said. “I mean, a little. I was thinking that for my report maybe I could interview you about that case. It must have been one of your more interesting ones.”
Mr. Cordova shook his head. “No, not really. Pretty routine.”
Hero glanced at Danny. “Routine?” she asked, puzzled. “But you never solved it, right?”
Mr. Cordova glanced at the file cabinet, and then his mouth relaxed, as if he were about to smile. “Oh, sure, we solved it. We just couldn’t prove it. Not without the diamond. But I’ve been on this job twenty years, and I knew the minute I walked in that house, there hadn’t been a break-in. No way was that a break-in.”
Hero hesitated. “So you think they faked it? Do you think it’s still there? The diamond?”
“I used to.” Mr. Cordova seemed lost in thought. “But we went over the house and the yard about four different times, everything short of tearing up the floors and pulling down the ceilings. I think Murphy’s got it with him, probably.”
“You do?” Danny seemed as surprised by this as Hero was.
“Yes, I do.” Mr. Cordova looked at them both in a way that suggested the conversation was coming to an end.
“It’s not my case anymore,” he added pensively, “but I’ll tell you this much: There’s nothing Murphy can do with that diamond. He can’t sell it. He can’t give it to anybody connected to him.
He can’t keep it anywhere the police might find it. If that diamond turns up on either of the principals, they’re going to jail. Simple as that.”
Hero looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean, the principal? What does she have to do with it?”
“The principals. The suspects.”
“I thought Mr. Murphy was your only suspect, Dad,” Danny interjected.
Mr. Cordova paused. Hero thought he looked reluctant, like he’d said more than he intended. “It’s not my case anymore,” he repeated. “Murphy’s left town.”
“But who’s the other suspect?” Hero asked.
Mr. Cordova drummed his fingers on the desk. “You kids better skedaddle. I’ve got work to do here.” He turned to Hero and said, not unkindly, “If you want to come down and ask me questions about my job, set something up with Cheryl, all right?”
“But, Dad,” Danny protested. “You never said there was somebody else. Who’s the other suspect?”
Mr. Cordova stood up abruptly. He swung open the door, gesturing to Hero and Danny. “Go on, Danny,” he said. “We’ll talk about it later. I’ve got a meeting at four o’clock.”
His son’s crestfallen expression seemed to amuse him. He clapped his hand on Danny’s shoulder as he pushed him through the door. “You know this already, Dan. You know her. It’s Murphy’s ex-wife.”
Danny and Hero both looked at him blankly.
“Mr. Murphy has an ex-wife?” Hero asked.
Mr. Cordova turned to her. “She’s your neighbor,” he said. “Roth. Miriam Roth.”
CHAPTER
14
By the time they pushed through the double doors of police headquarters, Hero could barely contain herself. She whirled on Danny in astonishment.
“Mrs. Roth was his wife? Did you know that?”
“No way.” Danny shook his head in disbelief. “No way! I worked in her yard all last summer while the cops were there asking her questions. She never said anything like that. And my dad never told me either.”
Danny held his skateboard against his side and crossed the parking lot. Hero steered her bike behind him. She thought about the afternoons at Mrs. Roth’s house. All the conversations about the Murphys ... and Mrs. Roth had never said a word. What did it mean?
“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me,” she said to Danny, as he dropped the skateboard with a clatter onto the street.
He looked preoccupied. “Maybe she had a reason for not telling you.”
Hero slid one leg over her bicycle seat, gripping the handlebars. “Like what?”
“Well. . .” Danny hesitated. “Maybe she’s involved in it somehow. Maybe she knows where the diamond is. Maybe she’s known the whole time.”
Hero shook her head. “I can’t believe that. I can’t believe your dad’s right about that.”
Together they started back, Danny once again flying ahead; Hero, wary of cars, hugging close to the curb. She gave Danny a wide berth, anticipating his frequent stops and swerves. It was only when they turned onto Oakdale that she realized he was coming all the way home with her instead of turning off toward his own street.
As they reached Hero’s house, she could see her parents’ car in the driveway. Beatrice was sitting on the front stoop, and—Hero noticed unhappily—her friend Kelly was lounging next to her. Beatrice’s friends tended to be almost as pretty as she was, but not nearly as nice. Kelly had long blond hair, white from the summer sun, and bright, dangling earrings. She was rolling up her shorts, assessing her tan line, when Hero and Danny came up the driveway.
“Hey, Danny.” Kelly straightened, flashing what seemed to Hero an absurdly fake smile. She coiled her hair on top of her head with one hand. “What are you doing here?”
Danny flipped the skateboard up and caught it. He glanced at Hero. “I came over a while ago.”
Kelly laughed. She stretched her long legs out in front of her. “What, were you looking for Beatrice and got stuck with her little sister?”
Hero felt her cheeks burn. She could see Beatrice was blushing too, elbowing Kelly in annoyance.
Danny didn’t seem to know what to say. He looked from Hero to the two girls and then smiled his same easy smile. “Something like that.”
Hero stared at him. Something like that? Furious, she turned and wheeled her bike to the garage.
“Netherfield,” he called after her. Hero didn’t look at him. She ran up the back steps to the house, the screen door slamming behind her.
Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table with several sheets of paper in front of her, comparing letterheads.
“There you are,” she said. “Your father and I couldn’t imagine where you went off to. Next time, leave a note, please.” She held up two sheets of stationery. “Which do you like better, Buckingham or Bookman Old Style?”
“What’s it for?” Hero asked. Her mother’s guiding rule was that the style of the font had to match the nature of the business.
“Law firm.”
Hero pointed. “That one. It seems snootier.”
Her mother nodded. “You’re right.” She looked at Hero more closely. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” Hero flopped in a chair and pretended to be interested in the stack of unopened mail, which turned out to be mostly advertisements.
“I see you got a lot of yard work done,” her mother commented.
Hero grimaced. “Sorry. It was too hot.”
“Mmm. And where were you all afternoon?”
“I rode my bike into town. Danny came over, and we went down to the police station to see his dad.”
“Danny?”
“You know, Danny Cordova.”
“Oh, that Danny. The legendary Danny Cordova.”
Hero winced. “Stop, Mom.”
Her mother smiled. “Okay.” She kept looking at Hero. “But isn’t he the boy who was suspended? I’m not sure I like the idea of you spending time with him.”
“Oh, Mom,” Hero protested. “It isn’t like that. He’s friends with Mrs. Roth, and his dad is the police chief.” She felt vaguely pleased that her mother could imagine her getting into trouble, with Danny of all people. It seemed so beyond the realm of her ordinary life.
Her mother reached over and tucked Hero’s hair behind her ear. “What’s the matter?” she asked again.
“Nothing,” Hero repeated. She rested her forehead on the cool tabletop, which smelled overwhelmingly of lemon furniture polish. She curled her arms around her head so her mother couldn’t see her face.
“I’m just tired,” she said. “It was a long bike ride.”
Her mother put down her pen and ran her fingers through Hero’s hair, stroking it back from her cheek. It was something she did whenever Hero or Beatrice seemed upset about something. The steady rhythm of her touch made Hero drowsy. She closed her eyes and felt her mother’s fingernails slide against her scalp, pulling gently through her hair.
“Why did you name me Hero?” she asked. “I mean, I know it’s from the play. But why did you choose Hero for me and Beatrice for Beatrice?”
Her mother’s hand paused. “Well, you have to remember, you were just tiny, wrinkled newborns when we named you. It’s not as if Beatrice seemed like a Beatrice, or you like a Hero. Nobody can look at a baby and know what kind of person she will grow into.”
“So there wasn’t a reason?”
Her mother kept stroking her hair. “I wouldn’t say that. Your father and I loved both those names. If you would ever read the play, you’d understand. The two girls are cousins. Beatrice is bold, confident, full of fun.”
“I know,” Hero said. “Mrs. Roth said Beatrice is the stronger character.”
“In the play, Beatrice is ’born in a merry hour.’ That suits Beatrice, don’t you think?”
Hero nodded glumly.
Her mother smoothed her hair back from her face. “And Hero is constant, brave, and true. Several men plot against her. She’s engaged to be married, and they tell terrible lies
about her, slandering her to her beloved Claudio. Claudio rejects her on their wedding day. He throws her aside at the altar. He accuses her of being wanton.”
“Wanton?”
“Sleeping around,” her mother explained. “But eventually the traitor’s plot is revealed and Hero’s honor is restored. The amazing thing is that she forgives Claudio. She’s been horribly wronged by him, but she remains faithful and she forgives. She has a brave heart, but a gentle one.”
Hero was silent, thinking.
“So,” said her mother, “you see? Your names suit each of you well after all. Even though when you were tiny, wrinkled newborns, we had no way of knowing.”
Hero couldn’t believe that was how her parents saw her. Brave? Gentle? Faithful? It sounded like her mother was talking about somebody else. She felt flattered and bewildered at the same time. It wasn’t at all how she saw herself.
She shifted her head under her mother’s hand, her mind drifting back to Mrs. Roth and the diamond. Why wouldn’t Mrs. Roth have told the truth about being Arthur Murphy’s wife? What if Danny was right, that she was involved somehow? What if all of Mrs. Roth’s “secrets” were really just lies? Maybe she’d hidden the diamond herself.
“What would you do if a friend lied to you?” she asked her mother.
Her mother was silent for a minute. “If I knew for sure that a friend had lied to me, I guess I’d try to figure out why.”
“What if you couldn’t figure it out, though? What if the only reason your friend would lie was a really bad one?”
Her mother lifted a handful of her hair, separating the tangles. “Well, if a friend lied about something that mattered to me, that was my business, then I guess I would ask her about it. It’s hard to be friends with someone you don’t trust.”
Hero sighed. “But maybe if someone would lie to you, well, they weren’t really your friend anyway”
“Maybe not,” her mother answered. “But I wouldn’t make a decision about that until I actually talked to the person.”
Hero nodded, almost asleep. She would have to talk to Mrs. Roth. But it was all so strange. Mrs. Roth, Mr. Murphy’s first wife? And living next door to him, best friends with his new wife? It didn’t make any sense. She opened one eye. She could see the yellow shingles of Mrs. Roth’s house through the kitchen window, almost blocked from view by the riot of flowers spilling over the fence.
