Spyhole Secrets

by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

  Hallie’s first reaction had been anger. “Oh yeah? Who told you about it?”

  Jolene shrugged. “Erin,” she said. “Erin talks about everything.”

  “So I guess she told you I lied to her about my father?”

  Jolene looked puzzled. “Oh yeah? What did you tell her?”

  Hallie couldn’t believe she was actually talking about such private stuff with an almost perfect stranger. She stared at Jolene for a second, thinking seriously about just turning around and walking off. But in the end she went on walking silently.

  “She didn’t mention a lie,” Jolene finally said. She grinned. “It probably didn’t make much of an impression. She’s a world-class liar herself.”

  Hallie nodded. “Yeah, I guess that explains it” was all she said.

  Being with the two of them that day in the cafeteria wasn’t much of a strain. With Erin and Jolene, most of the time all she had to do was sit there and listen, or at least pretend that was what she was doing. The gossip that day was mostly about this very popular kid named Jason who had been running in a relay race when his baggy cargo pants fell down.

  “Yeah, I heard about it,” Hallie said. “And he was wearing Batman underpants … right?”

  “Right,” Erin and Jolene said in unison. Then they had another fit of giggling and Hallie laughed a little too, just to be sociable. When her last class was finally over she took off at a run for the Warwick-Bruce intersection.

  Quite a few elementary school kids crossed the intersection that day, but not the kid she was looking for. She was on her way home, feeling angry and frustrated, when suddenly there he was, scurrying down the street from the other direction. He was wearing a heavy backpack and clutching a stack of books in both arms. Obviously he’d come home by way of the library, and running after him, Hallie asked herself why on earth she hadn’t thought of that possibility. Stopping off at the library was exactly what a nerdy little kid like that would do.

  “Hey!” Hallie yelled. “Hey, kid!” He kept right on going, but when she finally caught up and reached out to get his attention, he stumbled and fell. Books went everywhere.

  “I’m sorry,” Hallie said. And she really was. He’d never talk to her now.

  Sitting on the sidewalk, the kid was pulling up his pants leg to inspect his knee.

  “Is it skinned?” Hallie asked. He didn’t look up for a moment. Too angry, maybe, or else fighting tears. But when he finally did lift his head, it didn’t seem to be either. He stared at Hallie for a moment before he asked, “Why did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Push me down. Why did you want to push me down?”

  “I didn’t.” Now she was getting angry. “I didn’t want to push you. Why would I want to do that? I was just trying to get you to stop.”

  “Hmm.” He looked thoughtful. “Why did you want me to stop?”

  The little dork really was frustrating. Totally frustrating. “Look,” she said, “I just wanted to talk to you. I wanted to ask you something.”

  Pulling down his pants leg, he stood up and began to collect his scattered books. “All right. What did you want to ask me?”

  “Well, when we were talking in the library the other day…” He looked blank. “You do remember, don’t you? We were sitting across the table from each other in the library?”

  “I remember,” he said, nodding solemnly.

  “Well, then…” What should she say? What should she say that would get him started talking? “Well, then, I was wondering what you’ve found out about shamanism. I’d like to know about shamanism myself.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, just because …” She got bogged down for a minute, and when she went on all she could think of to say was “Why do you keep asking why about everything?”

  “Oh. Why do I ask why so much?” He nodded slowly. “Because that’s what psychiatrists do, and I might be one someday. Either that or a shaman, maybe. I haven’t finished deciding which. I want to be someone who finds out what people are thinking about and why they do the things they do.”

  “Do shamans do that?”

  This time his nod was firm and confident. “Yes. Yes, they do. Just like psychiatrists, only they do it in different ways.”

  “Like by dancing or doing ceremonies?”

  His stare was questioning, suspicious maybe. “Yes, sometimes.”

  “And do they wear anything special while they’re doing the ceremonies? Like special costumes—and masks?”

  This time his quick glance was definitely suspicious. “Yes, sometimes.”

  “Cool,” Hallie said. “I like that. I like masks, that is.” She tried to make the next question sound like something that had just occurred to her. “Do you have a mask?”

  This time his nod was enthusiastic. “Yes. I have one. A really great mask. My uncle gave it to me.”

  “Oh yeah? Is he a witch doctor?”

  His smile was almost a laugh. “No. He’s in the navy. He goes to a lot of places. Like to islands in the Pacific Ocean. That’s where he got my mask.”

  “Really? From an island? Tell me about it. What does it look like?”

  But suddenly he was gathering up the rest of his books. “I have to go now,” he said.

  “Wait. Wait a minute,” Hallie said frantically. “Don’t go yet. Please don’t go.”

  “Umm …” More slow, thoughtful blinking and nodding. “Why not?”

  Hallie racked her brain. If she told the truth, if she said “Because I need to find out some stuff about you and your sister,” he would ask why, of course. And what would she say then? All she could do was stammer, “Because—because I want to talk to you.” And then, while his mouth was just beginning to shape itself in another “why,” she had an inspiration. “As a psychiatrist, I mean. I’ve been wanting to talk to a psychiatrist for a long time. So maybe I could be—like someone for you to practice on.”

  That took a lot of thought, but when the lips finally puckered to form a W sound, what came out was not “why” but “where?”

  They wound up sitting on the bench at the bus stop at the end of the block. While that was being decided on, and during the time it took to walk down to the corner, Hallie’s mind was racing, coming up with an interesting idea or two. So once they were seated, with the kid’s books neatly stacked beside him, she began by saying that maybe, if he was going to be her psychiatrist, they ought to introduce themselves.

  “My name is Hallie,” she said. “Hallie Meredith. What’s yours?”

  “Zachary,” he said. “I’m Zachary.”

  But when Hallie asked his other name he shook his head. “Zachary is enough,” he said. But then he smiled, a small private smile, and added, “Except for Doctor. Doctor Zachary.”

  “Okay.” Hallie suppressed a grin. “Doctor Zachary. Got it.”

  “Okay.” He took a notebook and pencil out of the side pocket of his backpack. “What did you want to talk about?”

  Working on what she ought to say next, narrowing her eyes and chewing on her lip, Hallie put on a deep-in-thought act. “So,” she began, “so, Doctor Zachary…” But she had to stop then while she straightened out an even more insistent grin. The crazy little dork was just too funny, sitting there in the midst of all those fat books with a supersolemn expression on his babyish face, and with his great big lug-soled shoes swinging at the end of his short, skinny legs.

  “So … how old are you anyway, Doctor Zachary?” It wasn’t what she’d meant to say but it just slipped out. If he didn’t like the question, it didn’t show. At least not so she could notice it. But he did frown a little when she went on, in a teasing way, “And don’t ask me why I want to know.”

  “I won’t,” he said. “I already know why. It’s because I don’t act my age.” He shrugged. “That’s what a lot of people say anyway.”

  “Which is?” Hallie prompted him.

  “Nine” he said. “Well, almost nine. My birthday is in November.”
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  So the doctor was going on nine years old. Hallie unbit her lip and then said, “Well, what I’ve been wanting to talk to a psychiatrist about is…” Suddenly she had a great idea! “Well, it’s about these strange dreams I’ve been having.”

  The kid—Dr. Zachary, that is—looked almost enthusiastic. The most enthusiastic, actually, that Hallie had seen him look about anything. “Yes,” he said approvingly. “Dreams. Dreams are good. What kind of dreams?”

  Now she was ready for him. “Well, most of them have been about this girl. This girl who lives high up in a tower, and she has this awesome hair. Long and blond, like, way down past her waist. Only her eyes are very dark. Very big and dark. And she is standing—in this dream, she’s standing in this window staring down toward a busy street. And she’s looking sad, or maybe kind of angry.”

  Dr. Zachary was definitely interested. He stared at Hallie for quite a while before he said, “How old is she, the girl in your dream?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Pretty young, though. Probably a teenager. Yeah, she’s this really gorgeous blond teenager.”

  “Hmm,” the doctor said. “That sounds like my sister.”

  “Your sister!” Hallie tried to sound absolutely amazed. Zachary nodded. “Except for the beautiful part.”

  “You mean you don’t think she is?”

  He nodded. “I don’t,” he said, “but I guess some people do.” His forehead wrinkled thoughtfully. “Why would you dream about my sister?”

  Hallie shrugged and swallowed a smile. “How should I know? You tell me. You’re the psychiatrist.”

  Zachary’s eyes, in fact his whole small, pointy-chinned face, seemed to tighten suspiciously. “I think you know who my sister is. You must have met her somewhere.” He looked Hallie over thoughtfully. “Not at her school. You’re not old enough. Maybe … maybe at the video store?”

  Hallie shook her head. “No,” she said, “I’ve never met your sister. Not in person anyway. But I guess I’ve seen her. You know, in my dreams.”

  There was another long stretch of silence before he got up and started gathering his stuff. Hallie stood up too, but after a moment Zachary sat down again. With his backpack on and his arms full of books, he looked at her long and carefully before he said, “Okay. About your dream. Tell me some more about your dream.”

  “Well, all right,” Hallie said. She sat down again very slowly, giving herself time to think. “Well,… hey, don’t you want to put those down?”

  He hugged the books to his chest. “No, I have to go in a minute. And besides …”

  “Besides what?”

  “I like holding books. My brain works better that way.”

  Hallie smothered a smile. “Oh well, okay then. So about my dream …” But her mind wasn’t cooperating. After another long pause she said, “Well, in my dream the girl with the hair is a princess, like in a fairy tale, and her name is Rapunzel.” Zachary was listening carefully, his eyes wide and staring. When he was listening his face had an eager, hungry look. Or maybe thirsty, as if he were drinking in every word. Hallie smiled at him before she asked, “Do you know that fairy tale?”

  He nodded slowly. “I think so. There’s a witch in the story, isn’t there?”

  “Yes, and a prince who is the girl’s boyfriend. Only the witch has locked the girl in the tower.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know why. To keep her from seeing the prince, I guess.”

  “Oh, yes.” He nodded, slowly at first and then faster. “Yes,” he said, “that’s why. To keep her from seeing the boyfriend. Because he’s too old—and has a ring in his nose.”

  “What did you say?” Hallie couldn’t believe she’d heard right. “Ring in his nose? I don’t remember anything about a ring in his nose.”

  He blinked and shook his head like someone just waking up. “Her boyfriend has one. I didn’t see it, but my dad did. My dad says anybody who—” Suddenly he was on his feet. “Here he comes,” he said. “I have to go.” He rushed off toward the Warwick Towers building.

  Hallie looked the other way, where a long gray car was approaching. It slowed down as it passed her, and as it turned onto the ramp that led down into the Towers’ garage, she got a pretty good look at the side of the driver’s head. She thought she recognized him as the man whose feet and ankles always stuck out when he sat in the corner of the spyhole apartment, but she couldn’t be sure. She would have been a lot more certain if she could have seen his legs.

  Hallie was headed for home when, just beyond the ramp that led down to the garage, she passed the main entrance to the apartment building. She stopped a minute to think, then went back and walked in the door. She’d never been in the Towers building before, not even the bottom-floor shopping mall.

  Turning to the left, she passed a shoe store and a women’s clothing store called The Warwick Look. Ahead she saw a flight of stairs and some double doors that led into a large room that resembled the lobby of a hotel. There was a modern statue that looked like what was left of a pretty badly beaten-up knight in armor, some big potted plants, a receptionist’s desk, and, against the far wall, some elevator doors.

  A uniformed man on a stool at the high desk looked up as she came in. She was edging back toward the door when he called to her in a businesslike tone, “Can I help you, miss?”

  Hallie smiled at him, the wide, crinkly-eyed smile that she knew would make a deep dimple in her right cheek. Her dad used to say she had a smile that could take the starch out of any stuffed shirt. She felt a little bit out of practice, but she gave it a try as she looked up at the man and said, “I don’t know, sir. I think this is where my aunt lives, but I’m not sure.”

  The man smiled back at her before he checked his computer screen. “What’s your aunt’s name, girlie?” he asked.

  She would have to choose an unusual name, she knew. If she said Smith or Brown he probably would call someone up and ask if she was expected. “It’s— Sinai,” she said. “Mrs. Sinai.”

  “Hmm. Sinai,” he said. “How do you spell that?”

  That was easy. “S-I-N-A-I,” she said.

  “First name?”

  “Pen … Penelope. Mrs. Penelope Sinai.”

  He nodded and turned to the computer. While he was scrolling down the screen she looked around for what she’d been hoping to find: a list of the people who lived in the fourth-floor apartments. But other than the list on the computer, there didn’t seem to be one. So when the doorman said he couldn’t find a Mrs. Sinai, she said she was sorry she’d bothered him. “This must not be the right place. My aunt said it was a big tall apartment house on Warwick Avenue. But I guess I kind of forgot which one.”

  She smiled again and he gave her a big grin as she turned to go. Back in the shopping mall, hurrying toward home, she was surprised when a couple of little old ladies cooed at her like she was some cute little kid. And she was even more surprised when she realized she must have brought it on by forgetting to get rid of the smile she’d managed to come up with for the doorman. It was the kind of thing that didn’t happen to her much anymore.

  Wiping the smile off her face, in fact turning it upside down, she stalked out the door and onto the sidewalk. It didn’t mean anything, she told herself. She still hated Irvington and everyone who lived there. Nothing had changed, and it wasn’t about to.

  By the time Hallie left the Warwick Towers shopping mall, it was almost four-thirty. Her mother was due home any moment, so a visit to the attic spyhole would have to wait. But on Thursday there would be an after-work meeting at the savings and loan, which meant some extra spyhole time. It would be hard to wait that long, however. Somehow, learning so much about Zachary and the Rapunzel girl only made finding out more seem increasingly important. So important, in fact, that a weird little shiver ran up Hallie’s back every time she thought about it.

  There were still so many questions to be answered. Was the long-legged man in the chair the same person as the driver of the gray car? And w
as he Zachary’s father, and Rapunzel’s too? And who were the other people, the angry man and woman, and what were they all saying when they yelled at each other? What kind of mean, violent things had the three of them been yelling while poor old Zachary was hiding behind the sofa hearing every word of it?

  And then there was the other question, the most important one of all: How was she going to arrange another meeting with Zachary? Doctor Zachary. She almost grinned. How do you go about getting an appointment with a doctor who is only eight years old? Or as he said, almost nine, even though his birthday wasn’t until November.

  The next afternoon on her way home from school, Hallie made a detour that took her past the library. But after a quick check showed her that Zachary’s favorite table was empty, she hurried home and went directly to the attic. This time she remembered to look right away to see if the witch-doctor mask was back on the mantel—and it was. The strange wedge-shaped head with its enormous white fangs and tall crest of frazzled feathers was sitting right where it had been that first time she looked through the spyhole. And it was definitely the same head she’d seen another time as well, only that time it had been sitting on the shoulders of the little black-robed monster that was fighting with Rapunzel.

  She was still checking out the mask when the door directly across from the big window opened and suddenly there he was: Zachary himself. Hallie gasped and almost slid off the trunk, and then wondered why. Why was she so amazed to see Zachary there in the apartment when she was almost sure he was the person she’d seen in the witch-doctor mask and also caught glimpses of behind the love seat? Ever since she’d met him in the library, she’d been certain the little monster, the fuzzy-headed couch spy, and the wannabe psychiatrist were all one and the same person. Even so, it was a real rush to see the familiar big-eyed, knobby-kneed kid bouncing into the blue-lit room. As usual, he was carrying a couple of big books.

  Hallie went on staring, feeling as thrilled and excited as if she were catching a glimpse of a movie star, while Zachary crossed the room and stopped for a moment to look up at the mask on the mantelpiece. Hallie held her breath, hoping he’d take it down and put it on. But instead he turned away and, disappointingly, disappeared into the corner of the room that she couldn’t see, the corner where the man with the long legs usually sat.