From Norvelt to Nowhere (Norvelt Series)

by Jack Gantos

  But I followed Miss Volker’s orders, as my mother told me to do. I kept digging and digging as the sun kept sinking, and before too long it was dark. But one thing about digging a grave was that all you had to do was put the shovel in the earth, push it down with your foot, lift the dirt, and throw it out of the hole. You didn’t need light for that, although the stars were dazzling and the moon was so full and bright that I still had a shadow.

  And then it got creepy. Not because of graveyard ghosts, but because of the living.

  “Gantos boy,” somebody whispered from the thick brush twenty feet away, almost loudly enough for me to feel his breath on the back of my neck. “Who are you digging that grave for? Yourself?”

  “Cheeze-us-crust!” I shouted, and jumped straight up out of the hole. I knew it was Spizz. He was here, just as Miss Volker had predicted, but he had still surprised me.

  “I figure,” he said, “that she’ll want to kill you like she killed all the others.”

  “I’m digging it for you!” I replied, looking into a clump of dark bushes that seemed to shimmer under the moonlight. “She’s going to bury you right here. Next to your parents.” For emphasis I shoveled a little dirt in his direction.

  “Fat chance,” he replied. “She wants to marry me, not kill me.”

  “Believe me,” I said to the spot where I figured he was hiding. “She wants to kill you. You heard her take a shot at you at the train station.”

  “She’s got terrible aim now, with those claw hands,” he said with a guffaw. “So bad she missed a roomful of innocent bystanders.”

  “I shouldn’t be telling you this,” I confided in a lower voice, “but just so you know I mean you no harm, I asked her to throw away the gun. But she said she needed it for you—so you better watch out.”

  “Kid,” he said, “you were the one standing knee-deep in an open grave. If you ask me, you are the one who needs to watch out!”

  “I doubt that,” I said.

  “Be careful,” he warned. “She’s fickle. One day she loves you and the next she wants to bury you.”

  “Well, if I’m going to die, let me ask you a few questions,” I said, feeling pretty sure Miss Volker was not going to kill me.

  “Fire away!” he said, and chuckled at himself.

  “What did you say about Mr. Huffer in your Esperanto note?” I asked.

  “I told her that Huffer was on the train and couldn’t be trusted.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “He’s trying to soak up all the reward money.”

  “From dead people?”

  “From their families, and the police,” he said. “To tell you the honest truth, Huffer’s wife went door-to-door in Norvelt selling those no-good life insurance policies to dotty old ladies who didn’t know better. Huffer put her in a disguise so she looked like a religious worker from the Lutheran Brotherhood Insurance Company of West Virginia. My guess is that Huffer is behind the whole scam.”

  “Do you have any proof?” I asked.

  “Nope,” he replied with regret. “But I bet he killed the policyholders after milking them for their payments, so he wouldn’t have to cough up the death benefits. All I can say for sure is that Huffer is a greedy-guts for money.”

  “But what does this have to do with Miss Volker?” I asked.

  “Huffer was the one who originally blamed the murders on Miss Volker. That’s why I fled from Norvelt, so I’d look guilty and the police would leave her alone.”

  “So you’re telling me you believe Mr. Huffer did it?” I asked, just trying to get the facts straight.

  “Well, the whole Huffer family is in on it, as far as I can tell,” he said, getting worked up. “And they killed Mrs. Custard too.”

  “Not Bunny!” I exclaimed.

  “I don’t know,” he growled. “I don’t trust her. Anyone that stumpy is evil.”

  “It couldn’t be Bunny,” I lamented.

  “Well, she’s the reason they need all that money,” he said. “For her operation.”

  “What operation?”

  “It’s a secret,” he replied. “They want to make her tall. I heard they were going to use body parts from the funeral home to make her bigger—like give her someone’s arms and legs instead of those tiny doll limbs she has now.”

  “That’s like Frankenstein!” I exclaimed. “That’s insane.”

  “I’m just telling you what people are talking about back in Norvelt,” he said.

  “I think you are pulling my leg,” I concluded. “Because it’s not adding up. I’m sure Mr. Greene wouldn’t print these kinds of rumors in his newspaper.”

  “I’ll just say this one last thing,” said Spizz. “That Huffer is a monster. If he could prove that Miss Volker murdered the old gals, he’d have her sent to prison, but since I already confessed, all he has to do is knock me off and collect the reward. That makes me the logical choice to be buried in that grave you are digging.”

  “But this is Miss Volker’s grave for you. Why does she want you dead?”

  “Something stupid,” he replied, sounding contrite. “I told her I was jealous of you and if she didn’t stop seeing you all the time I was going to bury you in a place where you’d never be found.”

  “You weren’t stupid enough to tell her you’d bury me in Rugby?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” he said sheepishly.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” I said, “because now she’s planning to turn the tables and bury you in Rugby.”

  “She’s a vengeful lady,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s part of her charm.”

  “I don’t believe that,” I said, and I was ready to say more when suddenly another man’s voice hollered out from the woods at the other side of the graveyard.

  “I don’t believe it either!” the man said, muffling his voice like my bathroom visitor on the train. “None of it is true!”

  “You’re the second detective!” I said, surprised to have him show up. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to bring some truth to this burial party,” he said. “This is what really happened.”

  “That’s not a detective,” Spizz hollered out. “That’s just Huffer. He’s always playing like he’s a big shot.”

  “Mr. Huffer?” I asked the bushes. “Was it really you who tricked me on the train and tried to scare me into helping you?”

  “I was just using a disguise in order to get to the bottom of the truth,” he said, defending himself. “No harm done in seeking justice.”

  “I thought you were just trying to get to the bottom of the reward money,” I countered.

  “I’m telling you what I’ve known all along,” he said in his normal voice. “Volker killed those old ladies. Lovesick Spizz just wants to save her for himself by telling everyone I did it. But she is the real murderer. Look at the facts. She had poison. She had reason. The police said her medical reports were false. All the evidence points to her. And Spizz’s tall tale that I need money to turn my sweet little daughter into some sort of Frankenstein freak is just sick!”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. I had read the Classics Illustrated Frankenstein and the operation worked.

  Suddenly the big round headlights of the Volkswagen popped on and shone brightly across the graveyard.

  “I’ll tell you what is sick!” Miss Volker cried out. “Neither of you can tell the truth!”

  She was standing between the headlights, and even though I squinted I couldn’t see her clearly, but her voice was present.

  “I know I didn’t do it,” she thundered. “Huffer might be too stupid to do it, and Spizz might be too afraid of getting caught. But one of you could be just a little bit too greedy, or a little bit too much in love. Let’s find out who that might be!”

  Just then she stepped in front of the light. She had the pistol in one hand and what had to be her old harpoon in the other. “In case you are wondering,” she said, looking back and forth to where both men were hunkered down in
darkness, “I already heated up my hands over a campfire. And now that they are hot I have a chance to use them. So it’s time for Mrs. Captain Ahab to clear up this fishy business.”

  I stepped away from the grave. My heart was pounding and suddenly I felt my nose gushing. “Miss Volker,” I said as calmly as I could. “This is not a good idea. Let’s sleep on it and figure it out tomorrow.”

  “There will be no tomorrow for someone. Take cover in the grave,” she ordered.

  Suddenly Huffer hollered out to me. “Don’t drop down into that hole,” he advised, “or she’ll bury you alive.”

  Spizz shouted at Miss Volker. “Careful! You might kill your little boyfriend. Though he already looks like a dead zombie with that blood smeared all over his front.”

  I followed Miss Volker’s orders and jumped back into the grave.

  “Killing Jack would break both your hearts,” Miss Volker said sarcastically, “because either of you’d like to kill him yourselves.”

  Then with sudden swiftness she reared back with the harpoon in her hand. “White whale!” she declared in her raw Mrs. Captain Ahab voice. “Prepare to die!”

  The next thing I knew, the harpoon went whistling over my head toward the bushes where I knew Spizz had been hiding in the dark.

  The harpoon hit something heavy with a solid thunk, and I heard branches snapping.

  “Close!” Spizz shouted gleefully. “But you missed me again!” Then he started to laugh. “You hit a tree, just like the last time you threw that toy at me.”

  “That harpoon is no toy,” she said. “The blade is still long and true and sharp, and it went deep into the heart of that old tree and killed it. And you’ll be dead too when it passes through your miserable blubber. I won’t miss you next time,” she promised.

  “But Huffer is the killer!” Spizz replied, defending himself. “He dressed up like me and gave the poison cookie to Mrs. Custard. The only reason I returned to Norvelt was to propose to you.”

  “Lies!” Huffer shouted. “All lies.”

  But were they? I did remember Bunny saying her father used his cadaver makeup kit to reconstruct faces—and he could have made himself look like Spizz. And Mrs. Custard did say the man who gave her the cookie looked like a bigger version of me—but since I was dressed as Spizz Junior, the real Spizz could have given her the cookie. I didn’t know who was telling the truth.

  Miss Volker pointed the gun toward Spizz’s voice. “I’ve got a barrelful of lead harpoons in here,” she said. “Prepare to die.”

  “Too late!” Huffer shouted. “The killer is running away from the truth.”

  For a moment we all stopped talking. We could hear Spizz rustling through the bushes and trees as he retreated through the dark. He must have fallen a few times, I guessed, from his little cries and stumbling crashes. Eventually he reached his Amphicar and started the engine and putt-putted away.

  “Sounds like that car-yacht is casting off for other shores,” Miss Volker remarked, then swiftly she turned in the other direction. “Huffer, step out into the light like a man so I can shoot you.”

  “I didn’t hurt anyone,” he said boldly from his hiding spot.

  “I can’t take that chance,” she said. “Both you and Spizz should be buried in that one grave.”

  “Hear that, Jack?” Huffer said. “She wants both Spizz and me dead so she can avoid blame. With us gone she’ll have gotten away with murder and she’ll get the reward.”

  Miss Volker raised her arm and pointed the gun straight and aimed at the voice. “I should shoot you just because you bought the hearse I wanted at Foggy Bottom Used Cars,” she said with contempt. “I saw where you parked it down the road here. I knew it was yours because of the window-view casket in the back you are going to put my sister in.”

  “I could put you in it if you’d like,” he dared to say. “After all, you’ll get the electric chair for murder.”

  “Keep talking,” she said, adjusting her aim. “I think I can just see the whites of your terrified eyes.”

  “Actually,” he said, “I think you should look a little closer.” Suddenly he stepped out from behind a bush and into the beam of light from the Beetle. “I’d tell you to pull the trigger,” he said calmly as he stepped toward her, “but by my watch your hands have frozen up again. As usual, your mouth was going a mile a minute and time passed you by.” He walked deliberately at the barrel of the gun.

  From my viewpoint, he was a dark shadow of a man with his black overcoat, black suit, black shoes, black gloves, and coal-black hat.

  “Don’t take another step forward,” she warned him.

  He did, and then he took another.

  “Your fingers,” he said knowingly, “feeling stiff, are they?” He spread out his arms and presented his full chest as a target. “Take your best shot.”

  The gun was shaking in her hand. Her jaw was clenched. Her legs stood firm. But even though her fingers were as curled as fishhooks, they would not curl far enough to catch the trigger inside the finger guard.

  Then Huffer lowered his arms and casually ambled right up to the gun until the barrel poked him in the chest.

  “Ha!” he spat. Then, for a stocky man, he swiftly reached out with his gloved hand and snatched the pistol from her frozen grip. “Thanks,” he said. “I guess you didn’t have it in you to kill one more person.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” she growled.

  “Your fingerprints are still on the gun,” he said. “Just the evidence the police will need when they find Spizz shot dead and the gun by his side. So if you go to the police you’ll be doing me a favor—I’ll have killed two birds with one stone.”

  “I’ll strangle you with my own hands,” she said coldly.

  “But you can’t,” he said with false sadness. “So just let this happen. It will be better for you if he takes the fall. He was dumb enough to confess, so he’s dumb enough to die. You’ll get away with murder, and once I take care of him and get the reward, then we can take care of your sister. So no funny business until we meet again in Florida. Keep in mind that casket is big enough for two.”

  Then he drifted into the night until he blended in with the darkness.

  In a minute we heard the engine of the hearse backfire a few times before it finally started up and sent dirt and gravel spraying out from under the tires as he drove away.

  “We’ve got to get that gun back!” she said. “You heard him. If he shoots Spizz through the heart it will be like shooting me in the back.”

  I stuck my shovel in the dirt.

  “We can’t do anything at the moment,” I said, stepping out of the grave. “Let’s figure this out in the morning. There is nothing like a good night’s sleep before solving a murder.”

  I walked up to her and took her hard hand and warmed it in mine. “If you sleep in your old house, I’ll sleep in the car again,” I suggested.

  “My house is long gone, but our beds are waiting for us around the corner in the old Hughes library,” she said grandly. “It’s one of the few early buildings still in good shape. I think some old-time book lovers from the area have been looking after it. As kids we called it the Rip Van Winkle library because everyone fell asleep in those big overstuffed chairs—even me.”

  “I read Rip Van Winkle,” I said.

  “I’m sure you read the idiot’s version,” she replied.

  I had. I reached into the car and turned off the lights so the battery wouldn’t wear down. Then I caught up to her.

  “You know,” she said, reflecting on her thoughts as she spoke, “I never trusted Huffer. Dealing in death all day can kill a person’s love of life.”

  I still wasn’t sure who to trust. She threw that harpoon like she wanted to deep-six Spizz. And if she could have tightened her finger a quarter of an inch she would have blown Huffer head-over-heels into the grave and I’d have to bury him.

  I didn’t know who did what, but like Rip Van Winkle, I was ready to sleep for twenty years an
d wake up long after they figured it out on their own.

  12

  Maybe I did sleep for twenty years because it was pitch-black when I curled up on that overstuffed chair, but when I woke up the darkness had been replaced with packed floor-to-ceiling shelves of brightly colored books. I was still in the same chair but it was as if I had fallen asleep like a caveman and woken up as a librarian.

  The sun shone in through the gothic windows and the gold ink stamped on the cloth spines lit up like electric filaments. The small room glowed with titles of nineteenth-century books. It didn’t matter that they were forgotten for so long. They could sleep for a thousand years and wake up on the same page where they nodded off.

  I stiffly swung my legs to one side and stood up on my feet. I took a few unsteady steps toward a wall of shelves. I reached out to touch a book but the moment I saw my hand moving, the library spell was broken and I thought of Miss Volker. I quickly spun around, but she was gone. I didn’t like it when I couldn’t see her. Mom had told me to keep an eye on Miss Volker at all times, which was good advice because the moment I turned my back, something bad always happened.

  I went outside. It was early and the sun was just above the hills. Not far away she had a little fire going in a rusty bucket and was slowly swaying from side to side as she passed her hands over the flames.

  “When I was a younger woman and Norvelt was just starting out,” she said, flinching from the heat and kicking at the dirt, “I felt like I had a choice to make. It was 1934 and the country was in the middle of the Depression. People were dead broke. They either had to stick together and help each other out, or stick up banks and just help themselves. Well, a lot of people decided to rob banks, like Baby Face Nelson, John Dillinger, and Pretty Boy Floyd. I followed their doomed lives in the newspapers. But the bandit I wanted to be most was Bonnie Parker,” she said wistfully.

  “She and her boyfriend, Clyde, led a wild life on the run while raising Cain and robbing banks. They were heartless criminals. I knew they were awful but at the time, when so many people were out of work, and with the banks kicking people out of their homes, Bonnie and Clyde seemed heroic. We all cheered each time they knocked off a bank. ‘That’s one for the little people!’ we’d shout.