Search for the Shadowman

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  “I came to see you,” J.J. said. He walked toward Andy. “I went to the back door, and your mom said you were at the library.” As he joined Andy, he asked again, “Who were you talking to?”

  Andy frowned. What if the shadow he’d seen had been J.J.? He could have jumped into the darkness under the trees and kept going. It was possible that J.J. had circled around in back of the house.

  “You, I think,” Andy said.

  “I don’t mean now. I mean when I got here.”

  Andy looked into J.J.’s eyes. “I was just pulling up when I saw someone near our mailbox. I yelled at him, and he ran into the shadows under the trees. That’s where I lost him.”

  J.J. looked into the shadows as if he were searching, too. “Weird,” he said. “Who was it?”

  “I don’t know,” Andy said. Expecting to find another warning, he strode over to the mailbox and opened it, but the mailbox was empty. “I think somebody was getting ready to deliver another warning letter,” he told J.J. “Maybe I stopped him before he had a chance to leave it in the mailbox.”

  “Another warning?” J.J. asked. “A third one?”

  “Yeah,” Andy said. “Was that you I saw by the mailbox, J.J.?”

  “Aw, c’mon, Andy,” J.J. said. His glance slid away again, and he took another step backward.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  J.J.’s shoulders drooped as he shrugged and met Andy’s eyes. “Okay. You were acting kind of strange when you left my house, so I thought I’d come over and see if you wanted to play a video game or something. Your mom said you were at the library, so I was going to leave, but I saw you coming. I thought it would be fun to jump out and scare you.”

  J.J. sighed. “But then you came running at me, yelling like you were mad and were going to fight. You scared me, Andy, so I cut around the house and came out the other way. That’s all that happened. I haven’t been sending you warning messages. We’re best friends. Friends don’t do things like that to each other.”

  When Andy didn’t answer, J.J. walked past him and picked up his bike, which was lying next to the mailbox. “I’ll see you around,” he said.

  Andy knew J.J. was right. They were best friends, and part of friendship was trust. He had to believe J.J. “Wait a minute,” Andy said. “I was wrong and I’m sorry. I’ve been working so hard to find Coley Joe that I haven’t been able to think about anything else.”

  J.J. hesitated. “Can I do something to help you find him?”

  “Just tell me when I’m acting like a dope.”

  J.J. laughed, and Andy laughed, too.

  “Did you finish going through Miss Winnie’s box?” J.J. asked.

  “No,” Andy answered.

  “Then why don’t we do that now?” J.J. dropped his bike and helmet and came back to join Andy.

  It was Andy’s turn to hesitate. J.J.’s my best friend, he reminded himself. I trust him. I have to. “Okay. Thanks,” Andy said.

  They set up operations at the kitchen table, fortifying themselves with a stack of oatmeal cookies. Andy placed the bundles of sorted letters, bills of sale, children’s drawings, and miscellaneous items in a row down one side of the table.

  “Did you read all these letters?” J.J. asked.

  Andy nodded. “Most of them are about business dealings. But there were some from Margaret Jane, who wrote home after she got married and moved to El Paso, and a couple were written by someone named Alice, who must have been Grace Elizabeth’s sister.

  “Did they say anything about Coley Joe?”

  “Nothing.”

  For a few moments Andy and J.J. opened folded slips of paper, read them, and put them into the right piles.

  Finally, J.J. said, “Most of this stuff is kind of boring.”

  Andy tucked a receipt into the right pile. “Yeah. At first I wondered why Malcolm John Bonner saved all these old tax receipts and bills of sale and stuff like that, but now I think I know why.”

  J.J. looked up. “Why?”

  “Put all together they show how he kept buying land and cattle, how he built his ranch from almost nothing.”

  “That’s something to be proud of,” J.J. said, “no matter what Miz Minna says.”

  Andy leaned back in his chair. “How come Miz Minna knows so much about the Bonner family?”

  J.J. shrugged. “Just nosy, I guess.” His cheeks and nose grew pink as he said, “I told you, Miz Minna’s a snob.”

  “She gave Miss Winnie a bad time, even when they were kids in school together,” Andy said. “She must have known about Coley Joe and the lost money way back then.”

  J.J. laughed. “She knows about everything. And she keeps up with what’s going on by asking a million questions.”

  For a moment Andy stopped breathing. “Like my search for Coley Joe? J.J., are you telling her everything I tell you?”

  “Hey! Don’t frown at me like that,” J.J. said. “You’re the one who asked Miz Minna if she knew anything about him.”

  “But that was before I figured out that she knew about the theft and had used the information to make Miss Winnie feel bad.” He leaned forward and said, “J.J., promise me something. Promise me that you won’t tell Miz Minna anything more about my search for Coley Joe.”

  “What more is there to tell?” J.J. asked. “Have you learned anything else about him?”

  “I don’t know yet. I won’t know for a couple more days. But there’s a chance that Coley Joe was killed near El Paso. That means the money wasn’t stolen by him. It might have been stolen by the person who killed him.”

  “Wow!” J.J. said. “Is this true?”

  “I don’t know. There are things I have to find out first.”

  “Andy! You’re telling me that you’re going to solve a mysterious disappearance—and maybe even a murder—over a hundred years old! You’ll win that history contest Mr. Hammergren told you about!” He grinned. “When they take your picture for the newspaper, I’ll stand next to you.”

  “Deal,” Andy said.

  “And after you find out, we’ll keep your news a secret, right up to the big announcement,” J.J. said. “It will knock Miz Minna right out of her boots.”

  “I hope,” Andy said. “In the meantime don’t tell her what I’m doing. I especially don’t want Miz Minna to say anything about Coley Joe to Miss Winnie when she sees her at the Community Theatre tomorrow night. Miss Winnie doesn’t know I’m still trying to get information about him.”

  “No problem,” J.J. said. “They don’t usually talk to each other. This time, if they look like they want to, we’ll keep them apart. Now, c’mon. We’ve got all this stuff sorted. Let’s put it back in the box and get to the video games.”

  Andy had planned on sleeping late on Saturday morning, but—like a recording—he heard Elton saying, “Find out what the Bonners have got to tell you.”

  Andy’s own voice repeated, “Which Bonners?”

  He awoke and sat up in bed. “Which Bonners?” he said aloud.

  As he focused in on his alarm clock, he moaned. Only six-forty-five. Andy plunged back under the covers, pulling the pillow over his head. Coley Joe. He had to be the Bonner Elton had meant. Maybe on Monday afternoon, through Coley Joe, Andy would find the answer.

  There was a tap on Andy’s door, and it opened. “Hi,” his dad said. “Unless you were just talking in your sleep, you’re awake.”

  “Ummph,” Andy mumbled.

  “Good,” Mr. Thomas said. “I’m making pancakes. After a big breakfast, how about helping me tackle the lawn and the shrubs? Your mother wants everything cut back and trimmed.”

  “Pancakes first?” Andy asked. “Is that a bribe?”

  “Take it any way you want,” his dad said, and laughed. “The agenda for the day doesn’t change.”

  Andy heard his door shut, and he rolled over and climbed groggily out of bed. But by the time he was seated in front of a tall stack of his dad’s pancakes, he was wide awake and hungry.

  “I
think the blue dress with the lace sleeves,” his mother said as she came into the kitchen.

  “Sounds good,” his father answered.

  “You said that about the red crepe dress.”

  Mr. Thomas smiled. “Can I help it if you look good in everything?”

  Mrs. Thomas giggled before she bent to kiss the top of Andy’s head. “Good morning, Andy,” she said. “I know you’ve got soccer practice this afternoon, but be sure to be home in time for an early dinner and a bath. I’m picking up your suit at the cleaners and …”

  “Mom!” Andy complained. “It’s bad enough to have to go to the Community Theatre every time they put on a musical. But why do I have to wear a suit? Why can’t I just be comfortable?”

  “It’s opening night, that’s why.”

  “All the more reason why people should relax and be comfortable.”

  “I vote with Andy,” Mr. Thomas said. He plopped a heaping pile of pancakes on his own plate and reached for the bottle of maple syrup. “Shorts and T-shirts. And no one has to shave or wear shoes if they don’t want to.”

  “This conversation is impossible,” Mrs. Thomas said. She waggled a finger at Andy. “Just remember what I told you about being home on time.”

  How could he forget? His mother reminded him at lunch and again just before he set off for soccer practice. At the required time, Andy arrived home, took a bath, ate his dinner, and crammed himself into his shirt, tie, and suit.

  “Hmmm,” his mother said, “you’re beginning to outgrow your suit already.”

  “I can wear something else,” Andy said.

  “No. This will do for tonight,” Mrs. Thomas said. She looked at her watch. “The grandparents and Miss Winnie are coming with us,” she said. “Let’s get going.”

  Mr. Thomas dropped off his passengers at the front door of the theater. While he searched for a parking place, Andy and his grandfather helped Miss Winnie up the short ramp. As they reached the lobby of the Community Theatre, Andy glimpsed J.J. with his family. The top button of J.J.’s shirt was obviously too tight. J.J. looked as miserable as Andy.

  Miz Minna, who had been talking to friends, turned to glance at Miss Winnie.

  Quickly, Andy asked, “Miss Winnie, do you want me to help you to your seat?”

  “Not yet, Andy boy,” she said, and patted his shoulder. “I’ve got friends to greet.”

  She was soon surrounded, and Andy began to relax. It wasn’t uncommon for Miz Minna to completely ignore Miss Winnie. He counted on her doing it again.

  But next to his ear he heard Miz Minna’s sugary voice rising, and he shuddered. She grabbed Andy’s shoulder and leaned on it heavily, thrusting him forward.

  “Winnie, I trust you are well,” she said.

  “Very well, and you?” Miss Winnie answered.

  Miz Minna inclined her head and smiled. “Your clever grandnephew has been to visit me,” she said.

  Andy gulped and wished he could disappear.

  J.J. squirmed and took Miz Minna’s free hand. “I’ll help you find our seats, Miz Minna,” he said.

  Andy threw J.J. a look of gratitude, but Miz Minna didn’t budge.

  “Andy seems bound and determined to dig up old family skeletons,” Miz Minna continued. “However, I told him I’d never tell what I knew about the Bonners’ family tragedy. He’d just have to ask you.”

  Miss Winnie’s cheeks paled, but her eyes flashed angrily—first at Andy, then at Miz Minna. “I do appreciate the courtesy, Minna. It seems appropriate, considering that the Bonners’ family history is none of anyone else’s business.”

  Miz Minna didn’t falter. “Oh, please don’t blame the boy, Winnie. I’m sure he has no idea of how much pain he might cause by airing old family secrets.”

  Andy felt sick. That wasn’t what he was trying to do at all. He was trying to prove that Coley Joe hadn’t stolen the family’s money. Didn’t Miz Minna or Miss Winnie understand that?

  “Now, if Andy were in my family, we could exercise some control over his actions. I mean, if J.J., for instance, were told not to do something, he’d obey. Of course, nowadays so many children tend to be a little spoiled, a little uncaring about the wishes of others, and …”

  Miss Winnie turned toward Grandpa. “Zeke,” she said, “I do believe I’d like to take my seat now. The play will be starting soon.”

  “I’ll help you, Miss Winnie,” Andy said, but she ignored him and walked slowly away, leaning on Grandpa Zeke.

  What Miz Minna had said about Andy had been just plain mean. Why does she want to get me in trouble? he wondered.

  Andy trailed after his grandparents. He was glad his parents had been talking to friends and hadn’t overheard the conversation.

  But Grandma Dorothy turned as they reached the row of seats they’d purchased for the theater’s season. Her expression was so sad that Andy cringed.

  “I asked you, for Miss Winnie’s sake, to forget about Coley Joe,” she murmured.

  “But I’m trying to prove Coley Joe didn’t take the money,” Andy explained.

  Grandma Dorothy put a finger to her lips. “Miz Minna was right. You have no idea how much pain you have caused. Please, Andy, drop this foolish idea now, before you make the situation even worse.”

  Andy slunk into his seat and wished the play would begin so that this evening could soon be over. He was so close to an answer about Coley Joe. Too close to end the search. But the last thing he wanted to do was disobey his grandparents.

  If he kept the rest of his search secret from anyone … If he …

  Again Andy heard Elton’s voice in his mind. “Find out what the Bonners have got to tell you.”

  Which Bonners? Who? Andy thought.

  The warning gong sounded, people began hurrying to their seats, and the houselights dimmed.

  There was no room for an answer.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Andy couldn’t concentrate on the musical. Over and over he thought of the information he had found and the questions that, so far, had no answers.

  Coley Joe’s friend had urged him to go to San Elizario.

  In 1877 they didn’t have TV or radio newscasts. And in fifth grade we learned, when we did that journalism study, that newspapers at that time were often weeklies, not dailies. Maybe the friend didn’t know about the disturbance that was going on.

  Then again, maybe he did.

  Who was Coley Joe’s El Paso friend?

  Elton said he’d heard there was some kind of proof that had convinced Malcolm John that Coley Joe had stolen the money. And Grandma and Miz Minna talked about proof. What was this so-called proof? If no one knew what it was, how were they sure it was right? If—

  His mother’s voice broke into Andy’s thoughts. “It’s intermission time. Don’t you want to get up and stretch?”

  Andy saw J.J. signaling him from the side aisle, so he jumped up. “Sure,” he said, and cut across an empty row of seats to reach J.J.

  “I’m sorry about Miz Minna,” J.J. said. “I didn’t know she’d double-cross you like that.”

  “Why’d she do it?” Andy asked.

  “I think she’s jealous that you got into the genealogy bulletin boards,” J.J. said. “She thinks that’s her own private property, since she did so much research on her family through the boards.”

  “But she told me about the boards.”

  “I know.” J.J. glanced toward his family. “If it helps you feel any better, Miz Minna gives my mom a bad time, too. The older she gets, the crankier she gets.”

  “I’m scared that after Mom and Dad talk to Grandma and find out what happened tonight, they’ll tell me I can’t keep on with my search for Coley Joe.”

  J.J. nodded sympathetically. “Are you sure you really want to?” he asked. “You haven’t found any real proof that he wasn’t a thief.”

  “But I’m getting closer, J.J.,” Andy said. “I can’t stop now.”

  The houselights dimmed and rose again, the signal to the members of
the audience to return to their seats.

  “Remember, I told you I’d share with you whatever information I got from Miz Minna,” J.J. said. “I’ll bring it over tomorrow if you like.”

  Andy shook his head. “Thanks, but I don’t need it. Miss Winnie and Grandpa and Grandma told me all sorts of stuff about what life was like when they were young. It’s plenty for my history report.”

  “Okay,” J.J. said, “but this goes back to January of 1878, when the first James Jonathan Gasper came from El Paso to Hermosa.”

  “Thanks, anyway,” Andy said, “but the only person I’m interested in around that time is Coley Joe Bonner.”

  “Whatever,” J.J. said. “If you change your mind, just let me know.”

  After church the next morning, Andy’s parents sat with him in the den, and his mom recounted what Grandma Dorothy had told her about Miz Minna’s conversation with Miss Winnie at the theater.

  “Miz Minna said all that stuff to be mean,” Andy grumbled.

  “That’s beside the point. I understand Miss Winnie had asked you to forget about Coley Joe,” Mrs. Thomas said.

  Andy leaned forward. “That’s right, Mom. She said I shouldn’t ask her questions because she wouldn’t answer them. But she didn’t actually tell me I couldn’t investigate.”

  Mr. Thomas looked serious. “Well, now it’s time to lay down a rule. In the future …”

  “Dad! Wait!” Andy begged. “Let me tell you what I’m doing.” His mind raced frantically through the adolescent psychology book until he reached the words that would get the right reaction from his parents. “I need to know that you respect what I have to say and that you trust me.”

  His mother threw a look at his father. “Well, of course we do, Andy. We’re here to listen. We certainly want to hear what you have to say.”

  “Okay,” Andy said. He took a deep breath and began. “All these years later Miss Winnie’s upset about some ancestor she didn’t even know who was supposed to have stolen money from his family—”

  Mr. Thomas interrupted. “It’s true she’s taken the theft to heart, but think about it. Because the money was stolen, the family suffered great hardships. Because the money was stolen, Miss Winnie’s had to live with the fact that one of her relatives was a particularly nasty crook, robbing his own parents.”