The Secret of the Missing Grave

by David Crossman

  “Yup. I went up to the little room, as you said, and it was all open. I could see right down in.”

  “The floor was up?”

  “Yup. They got it propped with a whole bunch’ve two-by-fours.”

  “So you didn’t even have to open it,” said Bean, a little disappointed. Flipping the jigger in the cistern, hearing the rush of the water, and watching the great slab rise was the exciting part.

  “Nope,” Spooky replied. “And somethin’ else.”

  “What?”

  “It looks as if they’re plannin’ on fillin’ it in. There’s about fifty bags full of concrete outside the wood window with Ted Maddox’s cement mixer.”

  No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Bean’s heart doubled its beat. That’s what Mr. Proverb meant when he said he was going to do something to make sure no one got hurt down there.

  “We gotta move fast,” Bean said. “Did you see the hole where I took the brick out? What’d you find?”

  “I found it, just where you said.” Spooky held up his hand. “Even got the brick. You want it?”

  “Put that down,” Bean said impatiently. Spooky laughed and tossed the brick under the porch. “What’d you see?” pressed Bean.

  “Dark, is all,” said Spooky. “I even found this piece of pipe—I bet it’s the same one you used—and I stuck it in as far as I could. It didn’t hit no wall.”

  “I knew it,” Bean exclaimed excitedly. “I figure the tunnel was divided with a wall,” he picked up a pebble and threw it at a tuft of grass about halfway across the hollow, “just about there. That would be the wall Ab saw. Covered with plaster. So between there and here there’s another whole section of the tunnel. That’s where you stuck the pipe in and didn’t feel anything.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t feel anything,” said Spooky enigmatically.

  Bean objected. “Yes, you did. You said—”

  “I said I didn’t feel a wall.”

  “You felt somethin’?”

  “Somethin’ .”

  “What?”

  “I dunno. But I knocked somethin’ over with the end of the pipe. I heard it fall,” Spooky explained.

  “That’s weird,” said Bean.

  “Not half as weird as what I didn’t tell ya,” Spooky replied with an air of mystery.

  “What?”

  “It cried,” said Spooky.

  Bean stared holes into his companion. “What?”

  “Cried. I thought it was a cat at first. That’s how it sounded—like a cat crying, you know?”

  “Maybe it was,” Bean conjectured.

  Spooky shook his head. “Nope. Whatever it was, it thudded when it fell. Thudded and rolled a foot or so.”

  “Rolled?”

  “Besides, from the smell of the air outta there, I’d say it’s sealed up pretty tight. I don’t think any cat could get in.”

  Remembering the whiff of stale air he’d gotten when he removed the brick, Bean agreed. “Then what was it?”

  Spooky shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever it is, pretty soon it’s gonna be sealed in forever.”

  “Unless ... , ” said Bean.

  “Unless what?”

  Further speculation was postponed when, preceded by a soft giggle, Mierette and Monty entered the boys’ frame of reference, walking hand in hand down the street toward the Winthrop House.

  “They’re back early,” Spooky observed.

  “Stranger than a two-headed haddock, those two,” Bean observed.

  The boys watched for a while as Monty escorted Mierette to the door. It seemed as though they stood there forever. Bean’s legs were shaking, and his back was getting tired from stooping over. “What the heck are they talkin’ about all this time?” he said.

  “I think he’s workin’ up to kiss her,” Spooky theorized.

  “I hope she’s careful,” said Bean. “She kisses him, she might lose her lips.”

  Apparently the thought of Mierette walking around without lips struck Spooky as so funny that, before he knew what he was doing, he laughed out loud. Instantly Monty stopped talking and looked in their direction.

  “Shh,” said Bean, seizing Spooky’s arm in a steel grip. “Hold still,” he whispered sharply.

  For what seemed like many minutes, as Monty squinted to see into the shadows, Bean and Spooky sat motionless, barely daring to breathe. Relief came at last from an unexpected quarter. “Eet ees notting, jos’ de cat,” said Mierette, poking Monty playfully on the arm. “Come, come. You were telling me how wonderful my eyes.”

  “Oh, brother,” said Bean under his breath as Monty resumed romancing the young girl. “Tell me how pretty my eyes,” he mimicked, batting his eyelids at Spooky, who almost laughed again. This time Bean saw what was coming and slapped his hand over his friend’s mouth. “Quiet,” he commanded in a whisper, but he was almost laughing himself.

  Traffic was beginning to pick up, indicating that the festivities had ended at the church. The activity seemed to break Monty’s romantic mood. With a few words, he said his good-byes and made his way to the fence while Mierette stood on the steps, her hand on the doorknob.

  “And don’t forget,” said Monty, looking furtively up and down the street, as if to be sure he wouldn’t be overheard, “twelve o’ clock tonight.”

  Mierette giggled and nodded, then slipped quietly into the house. Monty smiled a self-satisfied smile that Bean didn’t like the look of at all and walked down the sidewalk toward Main Street.

  “What’s he up to?” said Bean as he crawled from the bushes, checking first to see that no one was watching from the windows of the house across the street. He gave Spooky a hand out, and they brushed themselves off.

  “She’s some ol’ pretty,” Spooky observed, adopting Ab’s way of thinking, which annoyed Bean.

  “Pretty’s got nothin’ to do with it, take my word. He’s up to somethin’ .”

  Not wishing to run into Ab and her parents on their way home from the supper, the boys took the long way down the hollow and around by the old ball field to the north end of Main Street. Most of the way they were silent, each trying to make sense of things in their own way.

  “What was all that about midnight, do ya think?” said Spooky as they emerged onto the blacktop.

  That was the same thing Bean had been thinking about. “I don’t know,” he said, his eyes brightening, “but I know how to find out.”

  Spooky was curious. “How?”

  “If you wanna find out what your mother’s cookin’ for supper, you go into the kitchen,” Bean philosophized.

  Spooky got the message. “And if you want to find out what’s goin’ on with Mierette and Monty at twelve o’clock, you watch ’em.”

  “Bingo.”

  “So we sleep out in the tree house tonight?”

  “Bingo again,” said Bean with a wink.

  Bean’s dad had built the tree house four summers ago. The envy of every kid on the island, it was located high above the ground in the crotch of a tree. A series of ladders led up to it, and it was entered through a trapdoor in the floor. Inside were bunk beds, a double burner hot plate, two wall lights, a big picture window overlooking the backyard, a smaller window in the south wall, and a little square of carpet, which had been his mother’s contribution to the project.

  At first Bean spent every summer night in the tree house with one of his friends. Late at night, sometimes after twelve, they would sneak around the neighborhood, hiding from Uncle Phil and anybody else they encountered, which wasn’t difficult at that time of night. But it was high adventure.

  After a while, though, the novelty wore off, and Bean got tired of hot tea and chicken noodle soup, which were the only things he knew how to cook. So, little by little, the tree house fell into disuse.

  Tonight, though, Bean felt that the tree house would play an important role in getting to the bottom of what was going on at the Winthrop House.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” said Mrs. Carver a
s she dug out Bean’s old sleeping bag from the closet under the stairs. It smelled of mothballs, but Bean didn’t mind. “And your father would be, too. You haven’t used it in such a long time. I bet it’s awfully dusty up there, and the mattresses probably smell of mildew. How about if I—”

  “Mom,” Bean interrupted. “Spook and me can handle it okay. We’re not little kids anymore.”

  Mrs. Carver relented. “No, I s’pose not. Well,” she carried the sleeping bag toward the porch, “at least I can drape this old thing over the railing and let it air out.”

  Bean rummaged through the drawers and cupboards, assembling everything they would need for the night: Flashlight? Check. Mosquito repellent? Check. Peanut butter and crackers? Check. Sodas? Check. Toothbrush and toothpaste? Nah.

  “It’s so funny,” said Mrs. Carver as she came back in the house, careful not to let the screen door slam, “I was just thinking how you and your friends used to think you were being so smart, sneaking out of the tree house at night and skulking around the neighborhood.”

  “We did?” said Bean with a lump in his throat.

  “Don’t you remember? It wasn’t that long ago, was it? Of course your dad always followed you to make sure you were all right.”

  “He did?” said Bean, trying to swallow the lump.

  “Sure,” said his mom with a laugh. “Didn’t you know? Well, I guess that was the fun, wasn’t it? Thinking you were out on your own?”

  Mrs. Carver continued with a big smile. “You kept your poor dad out awfully late a couple of times.” She was thinking that her husband would be home in just three weeks. Then one more tour of duty and he’d be posted at the lighthouse on the island for the rest of his career. She couldn’t wait to tell Bean, and she would, as soon as the final papers cleared. “Of course, if it got too late, Uncle Phil would take over.”

  Uncle Phil knew, too?

  “I wish you could have heard him the next morning down at the drugstore. He’d have everybody in stitches talking about how you used to go diving into the pucker brush as soon as you saw his headlights. Then he’d drive on by, go park the truck somewhere, and come back on foot to find out what you were up to and make sure you were okay.”

  Bean was stunned. He’d thought he and his friends had pulled off the perfect crime. Now it turns out the whole town knew. How humiliating.

  By the time he came to his senses, his mother had packed the things he’d collected in a paper bag and managed to slip in his toothbrush and toothpaste without his knowing.

  “But you’re a lot older now, aren’t you?” she said, patting the bag. “You wouldn’t do anything so foolish.” Then she winked at him in a meaningful way and squeezed his hand.

  What did that mean?

  Then, just as enigmatically, she added with a smile, “I doubt poor old Uncle Phil could keep up with you these days.” She pressed the bag into his arms. “You take this up, so you don’t have to do it later, and straighten up while you’re there. At least sweep the cobwebs away. The sleeping bag will be aired out by the time you’re ready for bed.”

  Before he knew which way was up, Bean was stumbling across the backyard toward the tree house. All of a sudden he thought that his idea of sneaking out wasn’t such a good one after all. He got the feeling that half the town had been waiting two years for him to do this very thing, just so they’d have something to talk about.

  Of course, his mother had been right about something: He was a lot faster now. And, thanks to her, a lot wiser. Uncle Phil would have a hard time keeping up.

  By the time he’d climbed, one-handed, to the crotch of the tree and was standing at the foot of the last short stretch of ladder to the trapdoor, Bean had convinced himself that his mother, with all her curious little winks and the comments she’d made, was telling him she knew what he was up to and he’d better be careful.

  The trapdoor was a little swollen from the recent fog, so he had to push hard to open it. He poked his head in. The place was just as he’d left it, even if it did wear a layer of dust and smell a little close. Opening the window would take care of that. As he pulled himself through the opening, the old sense of adventure and independence rushed over him, giving him the same goose bumps of excitement he used to get those nights when he and his friends sneaked around town. He laughed. So what if they’d been followed. He’d probably do the same with his kids someday. At least they thought they were having secret adventures, and that made them so.

  But tonight it would be different. Tonight he and Spooky would be the ones doing the following.

  The tree house was just up the road from the Moses Webster House, and from the little side window Bean and Spooky could see the front of both it and the Winthrop House. By eleven o’clock, they had turned off their lights and set up watch.

  The hour that followed seemed the longest in the history of the world. But their wait didn’t go unrewarded. At the stroke of twelve, the front door of the Winthrop House opened slowly, sending a pale wash of light onto the lawn. Mierette stepped outside, her every motion wrapped in secrecy.

  “This is it,” Spooky whispered. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait a second,” said Bean sharply, his eyes intent on Mierette’s actions. “She’s not goin’ anywhere.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s just standin’ there, waitin’ for somethin’.”

  “Monty?”

  “Must be.”

  “Do you see him?” Spooky wedged himself into the window beside Bean.

  “Not yet, no ... wait a second, there he is, comin’ out’ve the bushes across the street.”

  “I see him,” said Spooky.

  They watched in silence as Mierette beckoned to Monty, silently reopened the door, and ushered him quickly inside.

  “Looks as if we don’t do any followin’ tonight,” said Spooky.

  “Things are movin’ a lot faster than I thought,” Bean said, more to himself than to Spooky.

  “Huh?”

  “She’s snuck him into the house. Maud must be asleep,” Bean guessed. “I bet he’s gonna search for the treasure. Come on.”

  “Where we goin’?” Spooky asked as they tumbled down the ladders, leaving the trapdoor open behind them.

  “The wood window,” said Bean.

  “What are you talkin’ about?” said Spooky in a loud whisper. By this time they had come to rest in the thick shadows in front of the Winthrop House.

  “You gave me the idea,” Bean said. By way of explanation he added, “The Moses Webster House has a wood window. This house has fireplaces, too. They must use wood—”

  “So it must have a wood window,” Spooky concluded excitedly.

  “Now all we have to do is find it.”

  “No problem,” said Spooky. “It’ll be in back, near the street. That’s where they dump the wood.”

  The window was easily found. It occupied a position smack in the middle of the cellar wall under the kitchen annex at the back of the house. To make things better, it was easy to see that the window was open. This was often the case during the summer in order to increase air circulation and cut down on the growth of mold and mildew. The situation wasn’t perfect, though; a particularly bright street lamp stood atop a telephone pole between the boys and the window, and any attempt they made to cross that sea of light would immediately attract the attention of a casual observer on either side of the street.

  The fact that few casual observers would be around at this time of the night was, of course, in the boys’ favor. But it wouldn’t take a crowd; one would be enough. And Bean had no difficulty imagining how unimpressed Ab’s parents would be if he was caught trying to sneak into the Winthrop House. Should that happen, his chances of getting back into their good graces were about the same as a pollack being elected president of the fishermen’s co-op.

  It was not, therefore, with a light heart that Bean contemplated the next move.

  Spooky, too, saw the problem. “What’re we gonna do?” he as
ked. “It’s like daylight out there. We might as well knock on the front door and walk in.”

  Bean grabbed hold of Spooky’s words. “You’re right!”

  “I am?”

  “That’s just what we should do. Create a diversion.” Bean had become a great believer in diversionary tactics, owing to recent success. “It’s pretty dark out front of both places. You go to the front door of Maud’s place, and I’ll go to the front door here,” he tossed a nod over his shoulder at the Moses Webster House. “When I give a whistle, you ring the bell a couple of times and run like crazy ’round the other side of the house, then come back and meet me here. Anybody who’s up at this time of night will want to know who’s at the door so late. By the time they figure out nobody’s there—”

  “We’ll be through the wood window,” said Spooky. “It’s big enough.” He was impressed with Bean. He’d never suspected him of being a tactical genius. “Let’s go for it.”

  Spooky retraced his steps around the dark side of the Winthrop House while Bean rounded the other side of the Moses Webster House, where he made his way to the front door. From there he could see Spooky in place next door. Bean gave one sharp, low whistle and rang the doorbell. He heard it echo through the sleeping house, but the sound hadn’t died before he abandoned his post and was t1ying around the corner, almost colliding with a low branch of the giant lilac bush that grew beside the path.

  Seconds later he had hidden himself at the rendezvous point, panting puffs of steam into the cool night air. Where was Spooky?

  Lights came on in the Moses Webster House and marked the trail of whoever had gotten up to answer the door: upstairs bedroom, upstairs hall, stairway, kitchen. Two more rooms to go.

  Where was Spooky? The lights came on in the dining room and front hall.

  “Ready?” said a voice at Bean’s elbow. It was Spooky.

  “Where have you been?” asked Bean as he settled slowly back into his skin.

  “I hadda pee,” Spooky replied.

  “Great,” said Bean. “Now we’ve got about two seconds to get over there and in the window. Come on.”

  He grabbed Spooky by the sleeve and ran across the hollow. Seconds later they were through the window, watching breathlessly behind them to see if they’d been discovered. One by one the lights in the Moses Webster House went off as whoever had gotten up to answer the door headed back to bed.