The Secret of the Missing Grave

by David Crossman

  “Mierette ?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then we gotta time this just right,” whispered Bean. He stepped to the door and peered through the crack. “They carry most of the loads together, so as soon as they come out of the kitchen after the next load, we’ll dive through and get out to the barn. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Spooky agreed.

  “You stay there. As soon as I tell you, open ’er up.”

  “Got it,” said Spooky. Their conversation had been carried on in the softest whispers, which were further muffled by the heavy winter coats that hung in their faces.

  Bean timed their escape perfectly. The instant that Monty followed Mierette out of the kitchen after the next load, Bean said, “Go.” A split second later, Spooky was halfway through the pass-through. Unfortunately, one of the recently placed paintings in the kitchen slid on the linoleum, making a loud clap as it hit the floor. Mierette and Monty froze in their tracks. Spooky froze halfway into the pass-through.

  Bean watched as Mierette and Monty waited breathlessly to see if Maud had heard. Finally, Mierette seemed satisfied that they hadn’t been discovered, and she prodded Monty toward the hidden panel. Monty was shaken, and all the color had drained from his face, but he complied.

  “Go,” Bean whispered sharply. Spooky slithered through the opening, and Bean followed. Once in the kitchen, they shut the pass-through behind them and ran to the little passageway that connected the house to the barn. Bean reached for the door handle and pulled, but nothing happened. “It’s locked,” he hissed.

  “Someone’s comin’ ,” said Spooky.

  Beads of sweat immediately broke out on Bean’s forehead. The door had some play in it. There must be a hook-and-eye latch somewhere. Frantically he traced the molding with his fingers.

  “Found it,” he whispered as the hook rattled in the eye.

  “Too late,” said Spooky.

  17

  SUDDENLY AT SEA

  THE KITCHEN DOOR SWUNG OPEN and Mierette and Monty entered with the last load of canvasses. Bean knew that their eyes would take a few seconds to adjust to the dark, so, seizing the momentary advantage, he grabbed Spooky and pulled him in among some raincoats that hung in a little nook beside the back door. “Stand still,” he whispered in Spooky’s ear.

  Mierette’s and Monty’s exchange of excited whispers drowned out the faint rustling of the boys pressing themselves into the shadows. “I have deez,” said Mierette. “Go and open dee dar. Eet has a leetle hook on dee lef’ side.”

  Monty, with one armful of paintings, tiptoed to the door and, standing so close that Bean could hear him breathing, fumbled in the darkness for the latch. “I can’t find the hook,” he whispered sharply. “Flick on the light for half a second.”

  Spooky instinctively clamped Beans elbow and squeezed.

  “Don’ be foolish,” said Mierette, much to Bean’s relief. “Eet ees dere, near de top.”

  Finally Monty found the hook, popped it out of the eye, and pushed the door open. Instantly the little passageway was filled with a wave of musty smells from the unused barn.

  Bean and Spooky flattened themselves against the wall as Mierette, her arms full of paintings, crowded beside Monty. “Go on,” she commanded, nudging him with her shoulder. “Hurry.”

  A loop of twine hung by a nail on the wall. In one smooth motion, Mierette slipped the knot over the latch so the door couldn’t swing shut as she and Monty made their way back and forth between the barn and the kitchen with the paintings. In one of these intervals, Monty stepped on the toe of Bean’s sneaker, but Bean was much too frightened to cry out in pain.

  “What’s that?” said Monty suspiciously.

  “Wot ees wot?”

  “I stepped on somethin’ down here.” Monty began to grope around in the darkness, his fingers finally lighting on Bean’s sneaker. He picked it up, fortunately not before Bean had been able to slip his foot out of it.

  “Just an old sneaker,” he said. He sniffed it. “Phew.”

  “Neever mind dat,” said Mierette impatiently. “Get deez paintings down to dee bateau.”

  They transferred the remainder of the paintings to the barn without further incident. Mierette and Monty were framed in the doorway. “Whare eez de trock?”

  “Parked on the other side of that lilac bush, like you said,” said Monty.

  “You can handle dees yourself now?”

  Monty was offended. “’Course I can. Five minutes I’ll have ’em all loaded an’ be on my way down to the shore.”

  “Dee bateau, eet ees ready?”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Monty snapped impatiently.

  “Shh,” Mierette cautioned, holding her hand to his mouth.

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Monty repeated softly through her fingers. “I’ll get ’em out to the island all right. What I want to know is, how long we gonna keep ’em out there?”

  “They weel stay dere ontil dee heat ees over.”

  “Off. Heat is off,” Monty corrected. “What about the money? I ain’t gonna wait forever, you know.”

  Mierette softened suddenly. “Som teengs air wort dee wait, n ’estce pas?” She gave him a quick kiss and he settled down.

  “Well,” said Monty, “I guess there ain’t no rush.”

  “Dat eez right,” said Mierette. “When she have stop looking, dat ees when we start to sell demo But you mos’ be patient, no? Eet wee I take time. Now, you go. I mos’ be ready eef she calls.”

  “Better you than me,” said Monty. He tried to kiss her, but she stopped him.

  “Der ees no time now.” she said. “Go on.”

  She pushed him gently away, quickly pulled the door closed, and latched it.

  For a minute or so she stood with her ear to the door, listening to make sure that Monty was carrying out her orders. Meanwhile, Bean and Spooky held their breath.

  Apparently satisfied, Mierettc stole silently across the kitchen and opened the hall door. For an instant she was silhouetted against the rectangle of light. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then turned and was gone. The door swung shut with just the faintest click, and Bean and Spooky were enveloped in silence.

  “What now?” asked Spooky at last.

  Just what Bean had been wondering. “I dunno.”

  “What island is he goin’ to?”

  “I dunno,” Bean replied.

  “Do you know anything?” Spooky said a little impatiently.

  It came to Bean in a flash. “He keeps his boat down at Sands Cove. We can get there before him, while he’s loadin’ the truck.”

  Spooky objected. “That’s two miles.”

  “No problem,” Bean said confidently. “First thing we gotta do is get outta here.”

  “We can’t go out this way,” said Spooky. “Monty’s in the bam.”

  “And we can’t go out that way,” said Bean, nodding toward the kitchen door. “Mierette’s prob’ly still out there.”

  “I’d rather face her than ol’ Maud,” said Spook with a shiver.

  “Out the window,” Bean decided abruptly. Before Spooky could say “huh?” Bean had crossed the kitchen to the south side of the house and wedged his fingers under the window.

  Expecting the window to be stuck, like most windows in old houses, Bean gave a sharp pull. He was stunned when, aided by clanging counterweights. it flew up with a bang. Half a second later, with his heart pounding in his ears, he dove through the window. Dragging himself off the grass, he poked his head up over the sill. “Come on,” he whispered harshly.

  “What are you waitin’ for?” said Spooky from the street.

  Bean did a double take and rubbed his eyes. “How’d you do that?”

  “Come on.”

  This was no time for questions. Bean took to his heels. Seeing that Spooky had jumped into some roadside bushes, he joined him.

  “Now,” said Spooky, huffing and puffing, “how’re we gonna get to the boat before Monty does?” />
  “No problem,” said Bean, drawing his sleeve across his sweaty forehead. “We’ve got the Blue Moose.”

  “We’ve got a blue what?”

  Bean had extricated himself from the bushes and, keeping to the deepest shadows, was headed toward home, with Spooky following close behind. “The Blue Moose,” Bean repeated over his shoulder.

  “What’s that?” said Spooky.

  Five minutes later Spooky had his answer. “Cool,” he said as he climbed on the moped and twisted the throttle a couple of times. “Fire ’er up.”

  “Shh,” said Bean. They were only a few feet from his mother’s bedroom window, and he knew she was a light sleeper. He tugged Spooky off the bike. “We’ll wheel it to the top of the hill near the net factory and jump-start it there, so we don’t wake up my mom.”

  Just then, in the near distance, they heard the sound of an engine starting. “That’s Monty,” said Bean quietly. “He’s already loaded.” Bean knew they had only seconds to spare. “Come on.”

  They each took hold of the bike and ran it to the hill. Bean hopped on and turned the key. “Give it to ’er,” said Spooky, climbing on behind.

  Halfway down the hill, Bean popped the clutch on the handlebar. The little one-cylinder engine burped loudly once or twice amid puffs of acrid blue smoke. “All right!” cried Spooky gleefully.

  But the Blue Moose didn’t start. Not only were they running out of hill, from the corner of his eye Bean caught the flash of headlights in Frog Hollow. In a few seconds Monty would be right behind them.

  Bean popped the clutch again. There were more burps this time, and more smoke, but the moped still didn’t start. “She’s flooded,” Bean said with alarm.

  “I musta done that when I twisted the throttle,” Spooky volunteered apologetically.

  The Blue Moose rolled to a standstill against a high ledge of sidewalk in front of the Islander Cafe. “What now?” said Spooky.

  “Hop off,” Bean ordered as he jumped off himself. With his foot he flipped out the foot pad on the starter pedal and began pumping it for all he was worth. Once or twice the reluctant engine seemed about to start, but it didn’t.

  Headlights flashed on the road beside them. “Too late,” said Bean. “Grab hold.”

  Quickly the boys grabbed the bike from the front and back, lifted it onto the sidewalk, and dragged it into the shadow of the steps leading to the cafe. And not a second too soon. The rear wheel had just disappeared into the shadows when Monty’s truck burst around the corner, framing all of Main Street in its headlights. In no time, the boys were watching taillights as the truck drove out of town.

  Spooky stepped from the shadows. “No way we’ll catch him now,” he said.

  Bean pulled the bike to the edge of the sidewalk. “Help me get this down,” he said. They placed the moped on the pavement. “He’s still got to unload the truck.”

  Once again Bean pumped the starter pedal furiously.

  “She don’t sound as if she wants to start,” Spooky observed, not too helpfully.

  Bean cast him a withering glance and kept on pumping.

  Finally, as if the Blue Moose knew that Bean was about to give up, she sputtered to life. “Pile on,” Bean cried as he straddled the bike and gave the throttle a couple of sharp twists. The bike backfired once or twice in response, and they were on their way.

  The dirt road that twisted through the thick growth of pine, juniper, and blackberry bushes to Monty’s fish house was pitted with deep potholes. Bean artfully negotiated these to within a hundred yards of the shore, where he cut the engine. “Let’s go the rest of the way on foot.”

  They hid the Blue Moose among the thick branches of an old pine tree.

  Rounding the next bend, they saw Monty’s truck. In its headlights was Bean’s cousin bustling back and forth, ferrying paintings to his lobster boat, which was tied at the dock with its powerful engine rumbling softly.

  “Good,” said Bean. “He’s just gettin’ started.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Simple,” said Bean. “He keeps his boat out on the moorin’. That means he had to row out and get it. That took ten minutes, I bet.”

  “What’re we gonna do now?”

  Without his even being conscious of it, an idea had taken shape in Bean’s mind. “Follow me,” he said. “You’ll see.”

  Spooky fell in behind Bean as he threaded his way down a narrow path to the shore. From there, they scrambled from rock to rock, careful to keep the old granite pier and its mussel-encrusted pilings between themselves and Monty.

  Fortunately it was low tide, so the boys could stick to the shore and, using a leaky old punt as a bridge, hop across to the float without having to go up on the pier and down the ramp. “Quick,” said Bean as he boarded Monty’s boat. “He’s comin’.”

  The door in the main bulkhead was already open, so the boys dodged into the trunk cabin where the powerful engine throbbed smoothly. The air was thick with the smell of oil and fresh paint.

  Their eyes quickly became accustomed to the faint glow of a small flashlight Monty left on the bunk. “Uh-oh,” said Bean.

  “I hate when you say that,” said Spooky. “What’s wrong now?”

  “Look.” Bean pointed at the port bow, where six or seven of the paintings leaned under the decking. “This is where he’s stackin’ ’em.”

  Just then they heard the sound of a heavy footstep on the gunwale. Stooping to avoid smashing their heads, the boys scudded around to the starboard side of the engine and huddled in the shadows.

  Fear rose in their throats as Monty’s footsteps approached. He was visible in the weak light as he ducked through the opening with an armload of canvasses, which he deposited carefully beside the others.

  He was just headed back out when Spooky’s foot, which had been wedged against the engine block, slipped against the console wall with a loud thud.

  Monty stopped in his tracks and cocked his head. Luckily the rhythmic pulse of the engine had absorbed most of the sound, so it could have been anything from a distant peal of thunder to a piece of driftwood bumping against the hull. Clearly Monty was unsure. Once more the boys found themselves holding their breath as they watched him listening. He bent his ear toward the engine. At last, apparently satisfied that nothing was seriously wrong, he muttered something under his breath and went back outside.

  “Phew,” the boys exhaled in unison.

  “That was close,” Bean said, sighing.

  “Too close,” Spooky emphasized. “Ain’t there someplace else to hide?”

  Bean searched the compartment with squinted eyes. So did Spooky.

  “Hey,” said Spooky, “what’s that?”

  Bean saw a little panel in the forward bulkhead. “The chain locker,” he said. “Perfect.”

  Two short pieces of wood, screwed snugly to the bulkhead on each side of the chain locker panel, held the panel in place. In half a second the boys had turned the pieces of wood and, using the little brass handle on the panel, lifted it aside to reveal the inside of the locker. It was crowded with ropes, chains, bailers, and life jackets.

  Spooky surveyed the prospects doubtfully. “There ain’t much room to hide in,” he said.

  For an instant Bean thought it might be best to abandon the idea and return to the shadows beside the engine. But it was too late. Footsteps announced Monty’s imminent return.

  “Quick,” Bean commanded in a sharp whisper. “Get in.”

  He pushed Spooky through the little opening, and kept pushing until he had disappeared. “Hitch over,” he said.

  “There ain’t nowhere to hitch,” Spooky replied.

  Monty was just outside the door. In another two seconds, he’d be in the engine room. Two seconds after that, his eyes would have grown accustomed to the darkness. Bean stuck his head in the chain locker, grabbed the hook that held the boat end of the anchor chain, and dragged himself into the cramped compartment, putting arms and legs wherever they’d fit. “Grab
the cover,” he ordered.

  Spooky forced a hand through the tangle of limbs and fumbled around on the floor outside until his fingers touched the brass handle. He pulled the panel into place just as Monty’s feet appeared in the passageway.

  Somewhere in the darkness, Bean sighed again. “I think I’m about to have a heart attack,” he said softly, not afraid of being heard over the steady thrumming of the engine.

  “I hope he don’t see that the handle ain’t closed,” Spooky replied.

  Bean swallowed a lump in his throat. “Thanks,” he said. “I almost forgot.”

  “And the handle’s on the wrong side,” Spooky continued. He was using the handle to hold the panel in place.

  “You ain’t helpin’ much,” Bean said.

  A minute later, though, the engine revved up.

  “We’re off,” said Spooky.

  They relaxed as much as possible. As it was, Bean’s elbow was in Spooky’s ear. As their legs and arms fell asleep in their contorted positions, the boys couldn’t tell which belonged to whom.

  Two minutes later the waves of the open sea were beating regularly against the bow. “I can’t stay like this,” Bean said finally. He was having a hard time taking a deep breath and was starting to feel claustrophobic. “I gotta get out.” He forced his fingers onto the handle beside Spooky’s and pushed the panel away from the opening.

  “Where you gonna go?” said Spooky. Not that he was sad to have a little more room to himself. He stretched his arms and legs as far as space would allow and thrilled to the tingle as the blood rushed back into them.

  “Back beside the engine,” said Bean. “I’ll put the panel back the way it’s s’posed to be and let you out when we get to the island.”

  Spooky didn’t think much of the idea, but he saw that it made sense. “Okay,” he said. “But don’t forget me, or I’ll kick it out.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Bean as he slipped the panel into place and held it fast by turning the pieces of wood.

  He tucked himself back in the shadows on the starboard side of the engine, where it was warm. In a few minutes he began to feel drowsy as the boat rose and fell easily on the gentle swells, like a huge motorized cradle. He must have dozed, because he was suddenly awakened by the sound of the throttle backing off. For a second he forgot where he was. When he remembered, his heart once more rose to his throat.