Meghan emerged from the laundry room, her cell phone pressed to her ear. Sam wondered if it was glued there. He didn’t know how there could possibly be that much to talk about in a day, but somehow Meghan managed.
Her eyes opened wide at the sight of smoke. “Oh my gosh! Holly, I have to go.” She dropped the phone on the counter and scurried over to rescue what used to be food.
“I know, I know,” she said to Sam without even looking at him. “But I told your mom I wasn’t a good cook.”
Sam doubted that heating up mini pizzas in the toaster oven classified as cooking. If she couldn’t do that right, he definitely didn’t want to take a chance with real food. He peered down at the round, blackened shapes that Meghan had set on the counter. They were beyond saving. “Was that supposed to be dinner?” he asked, glumly.
“Kind of,” Meghan conceded, looking around the kitchen as if another ready-made meal would suddenly appear out of thin air. “But don’t worry, I’ll figure something else out.”
“Hey, what’s for dinner? I’m—” Derek bounded into the kitchen, stopping in mid-sentence on seeing the pizzas. “Oh…what was for dinner?”
Before Meghan could answer, the phone rang in the other room. “I’ll get it!” Sam cried.
“If that’s your parents,” said Meghan, “say nothing about dinner. I’m serious.”
Sam sprinted to the phone before Derek could get it. He picked up the cordless from the cradle, pushing the talk button. “Hello?”
“Hi, honey!” a voice answered on the other end of the line.
“Hey, Mom. How’s Paris?” Sam yelled into the phone. He figured if she was all the way across the ocean, he’d better make sure she could hear him.
“Ouch, that’s loud, honey. You don’t have to yell.”
“Oh, sorry. How’s Paris?” he repeated in a quieter voice.
“It’s amazing!” answered his mom. “We’ve had a great time walking around the city and seeing the sights. We’re pretty tired though, from the jet lag and all the walking. Did you know it doesn’t get dark here until after ten o’clock?”
Derek nudged Sam, leaning into the phone. “Put it on speaker. I want to hear.”
Sam pushed another button.
“Hi, Mom! Did you see the Eiffel Tower?” asked Derek.
Their mom laughed. “Yes we did. It was beautiful. And we’ve been to three different museums. How are you guys doing with Meghan? We miss you!”
“We’re trying to keep her in line,” answered Derek, smiling.
“Is she feeding you okay?”
Sam looked toward the kitchen, remembering the burnt pizza. “It’s been sizzling!”
“Are you behaving yourselves?”
“Mom, can you imagine us not behaving?” said Derek. “Meghan has barely noticed us.”
Sam tried to hold in a laugh.
“Oh, I’m sure,” their mom answered. “Here, Dad wants to say hi.”
“Hey, guys!”
“Hi, Dad,” the boys echoed. “See anything cool?”
“Well, does a Manchester United soccer match count as cool?” answered their dad.
“No way!” exclaimed Derek. “That’s awesome! Are you serious?”
“Yep. Don’t worry, I just may have gotten you a jersey. If we get a good report from Meghan, that is.”
“Alright! Thanks, Dad. I can’t wait to see it,” said Derek, pumping his fist.
“Did you get me anything?” Sam asked hopefully.
“Oh, sorry, honey, did you want something too? We totally forgot!” his mom said.
“Mom!”
“I’m just kidding,” she said with a laugh. “We might keep your gift a surprise. You’ll have to wait until we get home.”
Sam sighed in relief. “Which is soon, right?”
“Not long. Don’t worry,” his dad answered. “We love you guys.”
“We love you, too,” said Sam.
“Can I talk to Meghan?” their mom asked.
“Sure, I’ll get her. I think she’s done talking to the fireman by now.” Derek pulled the phone out of Sam’s hand and walked toward the kitchen. “Meghan! Mom wants to know how dinner’s going!”
Sam grimaced at Derek’s words. Even though Meghan mostly left them alone, she could be tough and little bit mean. There was still more than enough time left for her to make their lives miserable.
Sam leaned back on the couch. He hadn’t really missed his parents as much as he’d expected so far. He’d been pretty busy. But after talking with them, he was starting to feel sad. He felt his eyes tearing up but wiped them away before Derek came back in the room. He didn’t want Derek to see him crying.
Sam tried to shift his thoughts to something else, remembering what Caitlin had said about Hollywood Cemetery. The big pyramid sounded cool, but he hated graveyards. Maybe they’d ask Meghan to take them there tomorrow, if she didn’t burn the house down.
Derek and Meghan walked back into the room. “Okay, get your shoes on. We’re eating out,” she declared.
Derek leaned over to Sam. “I think she’s in trouble,” he whispered.
Sam smiled weakly. “Meghan, have you ever been to Hollywood?”
THIRTEEN
A light drizzle was falling as the boys walked down through the metal gates to Hollywood Cemetery the next morning. It hadn’t been too hard to convince Meghan to take them, especially once she’d realized it was near where Paul worked.
Sam suspected that being close to Paul was the main reason she had agreed to watch them while their mom and dad were gone. Which explained why they got a lot of time to themselves, not that they were complaining. But Sam also knew his parents wouldn’t approve of so much free rein without supervision. He had talked about it with Derek, but they’d decided that if anyone was going to get in trouble, it would be Meghan. Maybe that wasn’t a good attitude, but it did give them a chance to explore.
“What’s the worst that can happen?” Derek had said. But Sam had been on enough of their adventures to know that they could get into a lot of trouble on their own. Things usually worked out okay in the end, but he wasn’t entirely sure if it was due to their good luck or their skill at solving mysteries. He suspected that the longer he went along with Derek and his crazy schemes, the sooner their luck was destined to run out.
Sam took in the scene at the cemetery. Thick fog settled in the gully, making it hard to see farther than a hundred feet in front of them. Roads and pathways stretched out in every direction with grassy sections in between, jam-packed with old, greying, stone grave markers and larger, above-ground crypts.
Everything was eerily quiet as they moved through the wet fog. Birds weren’t singing, traffic couldn’t be heard. Maybe the fog was absorbing all the sound, like a black hole, or maybe it was just always quiet and sad at a cemetery.
Sam and Derek had both walked through a cemetery before at St. John’s Church, but that was nothing compared to this place. It was like comparing a sandbox to the beach. This was mammoth!
Every now and then they’d stop to look at a stone and read a date. “I wish we had a map,” said Sam, looking at the sections of graves. They seemed to stretch on forever. “How are we going to find the pyramid? All these paths look the same.” He was determined to find the monument to the Confederate soldiers and the presidents’ graves that Caitlin had told them about, but he also didn’t want to be stuck there forever.
“Meghan’s picking us up at noon,” said Derek. “That means we still have an hour.”
“But we haven’t seen anything yet. Where is all the good stuff?”
“How about up there?” Derek pointed to a section, separated from the rest of the tombstones by an important looking, circular path. “I don’t think we’ve gone that way yet.”
“Let’s go!” said Sam.
They raced up the path until they reached the new section. Statues of angels covered several graves that formed a circle around a larger statue in the middle. It was made of bronze, showi
ng a man in a long coat with a hat in his hand.
Derek read a plaque below the statue. “Jefferson Davis!”
That was one of the graves that Caitlin had told them about—the president of the Confederate States. Sam studied the plaque on the square, stone pedestal under the statue.
“It says that besides being the Confederate president, Davis was also the secretary of war, and a senator from Mississippi. That’s impressive! He’s got a statue here and Mrs. Murphy told me there’s one on Monument Avenue. I wonder if there’s one at the old Confederate white house too.”
“Come on, let’s keep walking, I think I can see the river over there,” said Derek.
They continued down the path to another cluster of graves that looked unique. The first resembled a large metal prison cell, except it was extra fancy and elegant. “Who is that?” asked Sam, pointing to the grave.
“James Monroe, fifth president of the United States,” read Derek. “Cool.”
“And look over there, I think that’s another special one.” Sam rushed over to a large, pointy stone with a sculpture of a head. “John Tyler, president of the United States, 1841 to 1845.”
Derek whistled. “Man, this place has more presidents than Washington, DC.”
“Except that all of these are dead,” said Sam.
Their conversation was interrupted by a loud whistle that pulled their attention down the hill and straight across the valley to the James River.
“Whoa, check out that view!” exclaimed Derek.
“But I don’t get it, where’s the train?” said Sam. “We heard the whistle.” Another blast rang out through the valley.
Sam covered his ears. “It sounds like it’s right on top of us, but I don’t see it!” he shouted over the roar.
“That’s because we’re on top of it!” Derek hollered, pointing down the hill. They moved a few steps closer to the crest of the hill. At the bottom of the incline, between them and the river, a train track slipped among the trees about fifty yards away.
A long freight train chugged along, slowly but steadily. Cars with all types of containers moved along—open cargo cars with coal in them, black rounded tanker cars, and square box cars that looked like they held racks of fluffy, white feathered chickens.
“Think we can hop on and catch a ride to Vegas?” Derek shouted over the din. “We could be stowaways.”
“Sure, go ahead,” answered Sam. “You can ride in the chicken car. I’ll see you later.”
Derek slapped Sam in the arm good-naturedly as they watched the train gradually moving out of sight around the bend, its metallic roar fading into the distance.
The drizzle had stopped and the fog had lifted. Sam could see the tall buildings of downtown Richmond to the left. In between them was the river, rocks scattered about amidst the fast moving rapids. His eyes followed the water until he came to a familiar looking bridge. “Is that the bridge we walked across to get to Belle Isle?” He was sure he recognized the suspended bridge.
“Where?” asked Derek, squinting into the glare of the sun that was now shining right at them.
“Right over there. Next to where that single stone pillar is standing out of the rapids.”
“Hey, you’re right. That is the bridge. I wonder if we can see the hydro plant from here? That place was cool. We should go back there before Mom and Dad get home.”
“I think I saw enough while we were there,” muttered Sam, remembering the ghost painting on the wall and the men’s voices. “Besides, I don’t think either of us want to chance running into Cameron and his buddies again on the trail, do you?”
“They’ll be gone, don’t worry about them, Sam. I can handle it.” Derek put a tough look on his face, but Sam thought he could see a glimmer of concern.
Sam reached down and scratched the knee that was starting to scab over. “Maybe if we stick to the main loop.”
“You can stick to the kindergarten loop,” said Derek, suddenly acting annoyed. “I want to hit those steep trails again. They’re not that hard. You just have to watch where you’re going.”
“It wasn’t my fault that those guys pulled out in front of me,” argued Sam. “The same thing could have happened to you if they’d come by sooner.”
“Yeah, but it didn’t,” said Derek.
“You were lucky.”
“It’s skill, Sam, not luck. Try and be tough for once in your life.” Derek turned away from the river, bumping into Sam with a shove as he walked back to the trail.
Because the boys were bickering, they didn’t notice a noise growing louder in the cemetery. It wasn’t the deep rumble of the train, but a low hum moving closer by the second. Sam finally heard it and stared behind them. He recognized that sound. Suddenly a motorcycle emerged from the tree line. Then another, and another.
“Quick, get behind the tombstones!” yelled Derek.
Sam’s heart leaped into his throat. “Is it the Confederate Ghosts?”
“How should I know, Sam? Just hide!”
FOURTEEN
The boys scrambled behind the nearest grave marker, crouching down low. The roar of the bikes continued to grow louder, and soon a dozen motorcycles passed on the nearest paved path. Sam recognized the Confederate flag on the helmet of the lead bike immediately. It was the same as the one he had seen on Monument Avenue.
Mad Dog DeWitt.
He swallowed hard, remembering Mr. Haskins’ story. What were the Confederate Ghosts doing in the cemetery?
The bikes moved past the boys’ hiding spot, slowing when they reached the path circling Jefferson Davis’ grave.
“Are those the bikers you saw with Caitlin?” asked Derek.
“Yeah, that’s them. The guy in the lead with the tattoos must be Mad Dog. He’s the one that almost ran me over. Look where they stopped—right at Jefferson Davis’ grave. What do you think they’re doing?
“There’s only one way to find out,” said Derek, inching forward in a half-crouch. “You stay here. It’s probably too scary for you.” He burst away from the gravestone in the direction of the bikers.
“Derek, wait!” hissed Sam, but he was already gone, as usual. He sat there for a few more beats, watching Derek sneak farther up the grass, moving stealthily from stone to stone. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered, stepping forward to follow Derek’s trail.
The crowd of bikers were all gathered around Davis’ grave. Two stood off to the side, like sentries on their post, ensuring that no one wandered in. None of them seemed to have noticed the boys when they rode up.
Sam sunk down in the thick grass, crawling one arm at a time like he’d seen on a show about Navy Seals. Derek waved him over impatiently to the crypt he was hiding behind. Sam dove next to him, breathing hard.
“Try to keep it down, Sam! You don’t know the first thing about being inconspicuous. Why couldn’t you just stay back there?”
Sam tried to catch his breath. “What are you doing?” he whispered between huffs. “These guys are a biker gang. You heard Mr. Haskins, they’re dangerous.”
“Just be quiet and stay down,” said Derek. “They’re having some kind of a meeting, or a ceremony, or something.”
Sam peered over the crypt at the men. They’d placed themselves in a circle around the Jefferson Davis monument, standing an equal distance from each other, bikes parked behind them.
One man moved forward. It was Mad Dog. He stood in front of the grave, clasped his hands at his waist, and put his head down. Was he praying? This was weird. “What’s he doing?”
“Shh!” Derek motioned Sam back with his hand.
DeWitt lifted his head, looking around. Sam held his breath, wondering if Mad Dog had heard them talking. He only exhaled when Mad Dog finally looked back at the grave. Mad Dog reached behind the lower part of the statue, as if he was touching Davis’ shoe. What was he doing?
After a moment, Mad Dog walked away, only to have his odd actions repeated by the others. One by one, they all moved up to the statue, bowe
d their heads, and reached behind the foot of the statue.
“Oh my gosh,” whispered Sam. “I bet its some kind of weird ritual. And I bet they kidnap lost kids to use as human sacrifices.”
“Sam, shut up. Who are they going to sacrifice us to, Jefferson Davis? That doesn’t make any sense. He’s already dead.”
“Doesn’t it? Or does it make so much sense that you can’t even imagine it!” whispered Sam, eyes bulging.
Once the last of the bikers paid their respects to Jefferson Davis’ foot, the gang remounted their bikes. Mad Dog started his engine and slowly drove around the circle toward the crypt that the boys were hiding behind.
“Get down!” said Derek.
The boys dropped flat in the grass. They could hear the loud engines of the motorcycles roaring to life. They carefully poked their heads beyond the side of the small structure, hearts racing. When he was almost on top of them, Mad Dog made a gentle turn to the left, leading out into the cemetery. One by one, the bikes rounded the path in a solemn parade. It reminded Sam of the scenes he’d viewed on TV where police or firefighters paid tribute to their fallen colleagues.
When the last of the motorcycles had disappeared down the hill, the two sentinels boarded their bikes and took up the rear. Sam watched them carefully and gasped.
“What is it?” asked Derek, as the motors gradually faded out of earshot.
“That last guy’s jacket, did you see it?”
“No, I was watching the statue. What was wrong with his jacket?”
“A ghost…” answered Sam.
“Right, Sam, we already know they are called the Confederate Ghosts. Hello?” Derek shook his head, sighing in frustration. He stood up from behind the crypt, looking cautiously back and forth. Then he walked toward the Jefferson Davis statue.
Sam wondered why Derek was getting so annoyed with him. This was serious business, not just his imagination. They didn’t want to get caught by the bikers. Ever since Sam had brought up Cameron at the river, Derek seemed in a bad mood. Which made sense, but Derek didn’t need to take his frustrations out on him!
The Virginia Mysteries Collection: Books 1-3 Page 22
