The Secret of the Missing Grave

by David Crossman

  “You found ’em?” said Constable Wruggles, who had become part of the admiring group. “Where?”

  “Out on Eagle Island.”

  One of the windows of the Winthrop House overlooked the group of people who had gathered around Bean and Ab. The window was open. Nobody noticed when the lace curtain that covered it fell softly into place.

  “Eagle Island,” said Wruggles. “How’d they get out there?”

  “I think I’d like to tell you that a little later, if it’s okay,” said Bean.

  “Well, I guess it’d be all right,” Wruggles replied.

  “Just give me five minutes. I want to talk to my mom. Have you seen her?”

  “Saw her with Uncle Phil this morn in , ,” said Leeman. “’Bout an hour ago, thereabouts. They was in his truck, headin’ outta town.”

  That’s curious, Bean thought. “Which way?”

  Leeman shrugged. “Dunno. I just saw ’em go through the street. Coulda turned either way at the other end.”

  “So,” said Wruggles. “You wanna tell me ’bout them pictures? Is that one’ve ’em?” He nodded at the canvas that Bean held under his arm.

  “I got it,” said a voice at the edge of the crowd. It was Spooky. The people made way for him as he waved an old newspaper stained with blue paint. “You was right, ’bag. It’s right here.”

  “What’s he talkin’ ’bout?” said Wruggles. “What’re you talkin’ ’bout, Spooky?”

  Spooky was almost laughing as he arrived at the bottom of the granite steps leading to the front door of the Winthrop House. He spread out the newspaper and showed it to Bean and Wruggles. On the stained, yellowed page was a photograph of a painting: a painting of a bridge over a little pond.

  “So?” said Wruggles.

  “This painting was stolen from ... ” Spooky referred to the paper, “a place called the Princep Gallery in Boston four years ago. It’s real famous, by a guy named Mo-net.”

  “You pronounce it Mon-ay, not Mo-net,” said Ab. “It’s French.”

  “Whatever,” said Spooky. “It was stolen four years ago and never found.”

  “What’s that got to do with the price of rice?” said Wruggles, a little impatiently.

  “Show him, Bean,” Spooky urged.

  Bean held up the frame and removed the outer canvas slowly.

  “That don’t look like one’ve Maud’s pieces,” said Wruggles. “You can tell what it is, see? There’s trees, and water, and a duck or somethin’ , and ... hey!” His eyes widened as the rest of the painting was revealed.

  “This is it,” he said finally. “I mean, this is that,” he added, pointing back and forth between the canvas and the newspaper article. He took the painting in his hands and stared at it for a few moments, studying the newspaper article, then the signature on the painting, then the painting itself. Finally he held up the painting for the crowd to see. “Well, what do you make of that?”

  A collective gasp went up among the crowd, and everyone began pressing in for a closer look.

  Wruggles was scratching his head. “I still don’t get it,” he said.

  “I think it’s best if we let the kids explain,” suggested Mr. Petersen. “Or am I mistaken in thinking you’re in on this, too, Abigail?”

  “Oh, no,” said Ab. “That is—”

  “She didn’t have anything to do with this part of it, Mr. Petersen,” Bean volunteered in Ab’s defense. “Honest. When you told us we couldn’t”—he wasn’t about to say play together; they were too old for that—“spend time together, we didn’t. Not except up at the church supper.”

  “But we were just sure there was a secret part of the tunnel,” said Ab excitedly. “And we knew we were just this far away from finding the treasure.” She held a thumb and forefinger a half inch apart.

  “So I took her place,” Spooky explained.

  “I didn’t get involved again until I thought the boys were in trouble,” Ab continued.

  “Trouble?” Wruggles interjected. “What kind of trouble?”

  “Last night, I was looking out my window up there.” All eyes followed as she pointed to her room across the hollow at the Moses Webster House.

  For the next twenty minutes, Ab and Bean and Spooky took turns telling their stories and answering questions as their audience, which by this time included just about the whole town, listened with all their ears, so no one would miss a word. This was going to be big news for a long, long time.

  “I just knew I’d seen that painting somewhere before,” said Bean. “But it wasn’t ’til I got here that I remembered the old newspaper.”

  “So he told me to go get it,” said Spooky.

  “And all the rest of the paintings are out on the island, you say?” said Wruggles.

  “That’s right,” said Bean.

  “And Monty’s still out there, too?”

  Bean hung his head, embarrassed that his cousin could have brought such shame to the family. He nodded.

  Wruggles quickly scanned the crowd. “Amby,” he said, pointing at one of the lobstermen in the middle of the throng. “I’m deputizing you to pick three or four other men to go out and bring Monty and those pictures to me. All right?”

  Amby agreed, and he picked four men from among those who held up their hands.

  “I’d go, but I get wicked seasick,” said Wruggles with a wink.

  “Monty don’t have a gun or anything, does he?” Wruggles added.

  Bean shook his head. “Only his .22 caliber rifle, but that’s on the boat down at the town wharf.”

  “Okay, so you boys just bring him in nice and quiet. He shouldn’t give you no trouble.” As the men made their way through the crowd, Wruggles called after them, “And be careful with those paintings.”

  He turned back to the group. “Maud’s up at the medical center by now. Dr. Paget says she won’t be fit to talk to for a while, but I think I’d like to have a word with that maid of hers. Cy, you pick a couple of people and go on in the house and bring ’er out. Might not be easy if there’s as many hidin’ places in there as Bean says.”

  Once they had gone, attention turned once again to Bean, Ab, and Spooky.

  “What made you think to look under them canvasses, is what I want to know,” said Leeman, bursting with curiosity.

  Bean smiled. “‘Every painting a masterpiece,’” he said. “Maud’s slogan. She was right. Every painting was a masterpiece ... a stolen one. She’d just tack another canvas on top with one of her own paintings on it.”

  “That’s the part that I can’t make heads or tails of,” said Wruggles. “If Maud stole them paintings, she could’ve sold ’em on the black market for millions. Instead, she paints her own pictures over ’em and sells ’em for a few thousand to people who didn’t even know what they were gettin’.”

  Bean shook his head. “That’s the part I can’t figure out, either,” said Bean. “Maybe she was just crazy.”

  Abby had been quietly reading the old newspaper. “I think I know.”

  “Know what?” said Bean and Constable Wruggles at the same time.

  “I think I know why Maud stole the paintings and why she covered them up and sold them.” She hesitated.

  “Well?” said Bean finally. “Are you gonna tell us?”

  “Love,” Ab replied, looking Bean full in the face and making him blush.

  “Love?” he said. “What do you mean, love?”

  “Remember van Gogh?” said Abby. “How he cut off his ear?”

  “Sure,” Bean replied.

  “Who cut off his ear?” said Spooky. This was getting good.

  Ab ignored him. “And the guy in New Zealand who ate the car?” Wruggles shook his head as if he had something caught in his ears. “Guy who ate what?”

  “I still don’t get the connection,” said Bean.

  “What did your mother say? ‘People will do anything for love.’ Right?”

  Bean remembered. “Yeah. So? You think Maud covered up the paintings and sol
d them because she was in love with someone?”

  “I sure do.”

  “Who?”

  “CB ,” said Ab.

  “Who’s CB?” Wruggles asked.

  Abby held out the newspaper clipping and tapped it. “Clifton Bright.”

  Wruggles read the article and, as he did, a light seemed to dawn in his eyes. “Clifton Bright. CB. Well, those are his initials, all right. But they’re Clyde Bickford’s, too,” he said, referring to one of the town’s most respected citizens. “I don’t see how that’s goin’ to get you far in a court of law.”

  “Keep reading,” said Ab, tapping the paper in Wruggles’s hand.

  “Well, I’ll be ... ” he said at last. “It says here that Amelia Williams came up to Camden just after the robbery and that she took the ferry out here.”

  “Eb Clark says that’s when Maud Valliers bought the Winthrop place,” said Ab. “Maud Valliers was really Amelia Williams—I’ll bet you a nickel. Now, let’s just say she stole the paintings. Why? She didn’t hold them for ransom or sell them for profit. In fact, she ended up almost giving them away. Why? What would make a person do such a thing?”

  “The same thing that would make someone eat a Porsche,” said Bean, with dawning realization.

  “Here, here, now,” Wruggles complained. “Just when I begin to think I’m gettin’ a handle on this, you go off talkin’ ’bout eatin’ Porsches.”

  Ab explained. “Have you ever read Ripley’s Believe It or Not?” When she had completed the story, she said, “Love, it makes people do strange things.”

  “But if Maud was in love with this ...” Wruggles referred to the paper, “this Clifton Bright fellow, why did she steal the paintings and run away to hide?”

  Ab smiled sadly. “Because he didn’t love her,” she said. “Of course, I’m only guessing, but I think that’s the only explanation that makes all the pieces fit. When he didn’t love her back, she decided to get revenge by stealing the pictures. You notice there was only one painting left?”

  Wruggles studied the paper. “Renoir’s Weeping Widow;” he read. “That was her.”

  “Right,” said Ab. “That’s how Maud felt about herself. It was the only clue she left.”

  “Not the only one,” Bean corrected. “There’s also her slogan, ‘Every painting a masterpiece.’ “

  “I guess you’re right,” said Ab.

  “It’s almost as if she wanted to be found out,” said Wruggles.

  “Sure,” said Ab. “How else would Clifton Bright ever discover all she’d done just because she loved him.”

  “Funny thing is,” said Leeman, “she goes and gets rich as a painter herself, usin’ his initials.”

  “I’m sure she never imagined that would happen,” said Ab.

  “Wruggles!” said someone from the top of the steps. It was Cy. “She’s gone!”

  21

  THE ONE WHO GOT AWAY

  “ARE YOU SURE? Did you check everywhere?” Wruggles challenged.

  “Everywhere we could find,” Cy replied. “If there’s any more secret passages in there, they’re still secret to me.”

  “Well, where could she be?”

  “I’ve got a bad feelin’ ’bout this,” said Bean, casting a glance at Ab and Spooky. “Come with me.”

  Before Wruggles could ask what Bean was up to, Bean had run through the crowd, with Spooky and Ab on his heels, and was halfway down the sidewalk to Main Street, with most of the town in tow. “Hey,” Wruggles called, puffing after them. “Where are we gain’ ?”

  Less than three minutes later, the kids thundered to a halt at the town dock and stared down at the float. “It’s gone,” said Bean.

  “Gone?” said Spooky.

  Sure enough, Monty’s boat was missing. A quick scan of the harbor didn’t turn it up.

  “She’s beat ’em to it,” said Bean.

  “Who has?” said Ab. “What are you talking about?”

  By this time, most of the crowd of townspeople had caught up and were gathering around the ramp. Leeman Russell, out of breath but still at the front of the crowd, also wanted to know what was going on.

  “I think Mierette heard what I was sayin’ up at the house,” Bean speculated.

  “She did?” said Leeman.

  “Must’ve,” Bean replied confidently. “She was prob’ly standin’ by a window and, like a fool, I was talkin’ nice and loud so everyone could hear. She knew that house. She knew where to hide and how to get in and out without bein’ seen. I bet she heard us say that Monty was still out on the island with all the paintings, and that we’d taken his boat and it was still down here.”

  “You left the keys in it?” said Leeman.

  “Of course I left the keys in it,” said Bean sharply. “Who’s going to steal—”

  “I wouldn’t go there if I was you,” Spooky interrupted.

  “No,” Bean agreed. “Well, anyway, I bet she heard Wruggles tell Amby and those guys to head out to the island, and she decided to beat ’em to it.”

  “She could do it, too,” said Leeman. “Monty’s got the fastest boat in the harbor. If she knows how to drive it. that is.”

  “Oh, I bet she knows how to drive it,” said Bean. “I bet that woman can do just about anything she sets her mind to. She’d have got a good start on everyone else, too, since Monty’s boat was right here at the float. Amby and them had to row out to their moorin’s to get their boats.”

  “Well, what now?” said Spooky.

  “Coast Guard in Rockland,” said Wruggles. “I’ll go give ’em a call. Maybe they can get a chopper out there right sharpish.”

  So saying, Wruggles headed off toward the town office as fast as his legs could carry him. A lot of people followed close behind. Others left by ones and twos to get a start on their day. The excitement was over, at least for now.

  Within minutes, Bean, Ab, Spooky, Leeman, the Proverbs, and Abby’s parents were the only ones left on the dock.

  “Whew,” said Mr. Proverb at last.

  “Whew,” Mrs. Petersen agreed.

  That was all anyone could say. It was taking a while for their thoughts to catch up to them.

  “Well,” said Mrs. Petersen at last, “I guess that just about wraps things up.”

  True, thought Bean. They’d done all they could do. From here on, it was in the hands of the Coast Guard and the police.

  “Not quite,” said Mr. Petersen.

  “What do you mean, Tom?” Mrs. Proverb asked.

  “Well, I can’t speak for the rest of you, but I’m pretty sure that Bean and Ab have an apology coming, from me at least.” He held out his hand. “Bean?”

  Bean took his hand and shook it firmly and solemnly. “I don’t know if you need to apologize or not,” he said.

  “We weren’t too smart,” said Ab.

  “No,” Bean agreed. “It’s good that everything seems as if it’s gonna turn out okay, but we did some things ... I did anyway ... that weren’t .. that were, well, stupid.”

  “So did I,” Ab volunteered. “I’m sorry, too.”

  “You’re not alone,” said Mr. Proverb sheepishly. “I got a pretty good dose of gold fever myself.”

  “Apologies all around then,” said Mrs. Proverb. “Made and accepted?”

  “Made and accepted,” said Mrs. Petersen.

  “Made and accepted,” everyone echoed. There were lots of hugs and handshakes, and the air echoed with the sound of thumps on the back.

  “So,” said Spooky, because he was the only one bold enough to say what everyone was probably thinking. “What’re you gonna do with all that money, Mr. Proverb?”

  “Well,” said Mr. Proverb. “I’ve been thinking about that while we’ve been standing here. And, subject to my wife’s veto, of course, I think I’ve got a pretty good plan.”

  “What’s that?” said Abby.

  “Well, here it is. You tell me what you think. This town’s been awful good to Emily and me. We’ve got a good house. Make a
decent living, and don’t have any family to pass things along to anyway.” He squeezed his wife’s shoulder, and she smiled. “So it’s not as if we need the money. We’re all right. Besides, I don’t think I’d feel too good about taking those dolls away from poor old Minerva, or even moving her, for that matter. She meant that to be her resting place, and it should stay that way.”

  “Oh, Spencer, you don’t mean you’re thinking of leaving her there?” said his wife.

  “Why not?” he said. “She’s been there all along anyway.”

  “Yes,” said his wife, “but we didn’t know it.”

  He hugged her again. “We’ll get used to it. No worse than living next to a cemetery. Besides,” he said with a grin, “I guess if she hasn’t bothered anyone all this time, she’s not going to start wandering around now.”

  “Oh, Spencer,” said his wife, but her eyes were merry.

  “Nope, this is what I figure: I’ll sell a few of the dolls, just enough so I can afford to buy the Winthrop place, and then Em and I will turn the whole kit and caboodle over to the town so they can make it into a museum, tunnel and all.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea, Mr. Proverb?” said Ab. “I mean, putting poor Minerva on display like that?”

  Mrs. Proverb agreed. “I think Ab’s right. That wouldn’t be fair to her memory, Spencer.”

  “Oh,” said Mr. Proverb. “No ... I see what you mean. I guess I hadn’t thought it out very well.”

  “How about this?” said Ab. “Leave Minerva where she is, with a few of her dolls, and don’t bother her.”

  “You mean seal up the tunnel again?”

  Ab nodded.

  “What about the other dolls?” asked Mrs. Petersen. “Sell them?”

  “No,” said Ab. “I think turning the Winthrop House into a museum is a great idea. Make it the way it was when Minerva lived there. Then put the dolls in the rooms. A lot of people would pay to see them.”

  “Great idea,” said Mrs. Proverb.

  “You could call it the Doll House,” said Spooky.

  “Oh, please,” Bean objected. All the talk about dolls was starting to make him uncomfortable.