Holly says, “But where?”
Lucinda's all over it. She ducks her head in, facing the left side of the fireplace, and runs her bony fingers over the rocks, shaking them one by one. Suddenly she freezes, then turns to us and whispers, “I believe this one's loose. Girls, come help me lift it out!”
There wasn't room for the three of us, but there was no way Lucinda was leaving. So we worked around her, and sure enough there was a loose stone. We wiggled and tugged, and when we got it to budge, soot and sand dusted into our eyes. We didn't care, though, we just squinted and tugged until we had the stone pulled free.
Lucinda whispers, “Is there anything back there?”
I wanted to jam my arm in and feel around, but it wasn't right. I said, “Go on, Lucinda. You look.”
She reaches inside, and for a moment she just freezes with her arm inside the wall. Then she pulls out a thick leather satchel about half the size of one of the fireplace stones and holds it to her chest for a moment, her hands shaking. Then she kneels on the ground, pulls open the drawstring, and giggles like a six-year-old. “We found it! We found it!”
She loosens the drawstring completely, then pulls out a handful of very old, very gold coins. And when she looks up at us, she's got tears streaming down her face. She says to the sky, “Thank you, Mary,” then smiles at us and whispers, “Thank you, girls.”
And with the moonlight on her face as it's turned up to look at us, she doesn't seem like she's nearly a century old. She looks full of life. Almost young. And even though there's no doubt in my mind that she'll always be the Lucinda I've come to know—she'll still walk her pig and peek in coffins if that's what she has a mind to do— I can tell that from this point on, things are going to be different.
Very different.
TWENTY-FOUR
It didn't take long for the place to be swarming with cops. And parked in the middle of all those squad cars was one big green delivery truck. The police took our statements, one by one, while Mr. and Mrs. DeVries hung around looking very worried.
Dot asks them, “Where are Anneke and Beppie?”
Mrs. DeVries says, “The boys are looking after them,” and Mr. DeVries adds, “Stan and Troy were very anxious to come along, but we didn't think it would be a good idea if we all came. You'll have to tell them about it when we get home, ja?”
Dot grins and says, “Sure,” and you can tell she's thinking that no ghost story of theirs could ever top her real-life story.
When we finally do get to the DeVrieses', the rest of us are completely talked out and very hungry. So while Dot holds court with her brothers and sisters, Marissa and Holly help Mr. DeVries whip up a plate of hamburgers, of all things, and Mrs. DeVries helps me clean my hurt leg.
Even after she was done patching me up, she kept insisting that I go to a doctor. But Grams wasn't going to be home for another day, and since doctors are expensive and I wasn't sure about our insurance, I didn't know what to do. Besides, nothing was broken and I didn't want to go to one.
So we ate our hamburgers and settled on Hudson's. I told them he was a retired doctor and that he'd patch me up just fine. And who knows? Maybe he is. He had supplies, and when I called, he said I was welcome, and that's all I really cared about.
Then Marissa and Holly confessed that they'd really like to collapse in their own beds, so Dot helped us pack our stuff, and we piled everything in the back of Mr. DeVries' delivery truck.
After we dropped off Marissa, we drove to Cypress Street, and there was Hudson, waiting on the porch. Mr. DeVries carried Hudson's bike up the steps and leaned it against the railing, and after the two of them discussed doctors and dressings and disinfectants for a while, Mr. DeVries set off to deliver Holly.
So there we were, alone on the porch—Hudson, me, and his mangled bike. And really, he didn't say a word about it, but he couldn't help looking at it. I cringed and said, “I'm so sorry, Hudson. I'll buy you a new one.”
He examined it, then said, “How did you manage this?”
I started to tell him. About Lucinda and the cabin, and what it had meant to her. About Moustache Mary crossing the plains and the longstanding rivalry between the Huntleys and the Murdocks. And I'm barely getting warmed up when he says, “Whoa! Whoa, young lady!” and for a second there I'm thinking he's going to say, The bike…would you tell me about the bike? but instead he grins at me and asks, “Does this story require a cup of cocoa?”
I laugh and say, “Oh, Hudson, it's going to take a whole vat!”
So we go inside and he makes us some hot chocolate, and then we sit down at the kitchen table and I tell him everything. Everything. And when I get to the part about the Briggses' party and the Edge of the World, he's looking worried. Almost angry. And I tell him that the Edge of the World really bothers me because it seems like one day you're over here with your friends and everything's fine…and then suddenly there you are at the Edge of the World. I shake my head and ask him, “How does that happen?”
He just nods. Very seriously. And finally he says, “By degrees. It happens by degrees. A little deviation in direction often takes you from where you wanted to go right to the Edge of the World.” He nods some more, then says, “And I don't think it's really an edge, because if it were, more people would recognize it and give thought to the steps they're taking. It's more a gradual slope down. An easy path to take. But once you start down, the momentum builds, and you have a difficult time stopping and pulling yourself back up.”
When we get done talking about the Edge of the World, I tell him about the rest of the party. About Casey. About him being Heather's brother. And when Hudson tries to tell me that, really, the fact that Casey is Heather's brother doesn't have to have anything to do with Casey being my friend, I stop him cold and say, “Look at the Murdocks and the Huntleys! I don't want a life like that! I don't want to worry that Heather's going to come gunning for me, or that she's going to kidnap and torture my children.”
“What?”
I laugh and say, “Never mind. You had to be there.” I take a sip of cocoa and add, “Besides, Casey doesn't see much scary about the Edge—or the Slope, or whatever you want to call it—or that his friends are already on their way down.”
Hudson pulls on an eyebrow and says, “Maybe no one's ever pointed out the terrain to him.”
“Whatever. I'm staying out of it.”
He eyes me and asks, “So what happened with that skateboard of yours? Did you get it back?”
I pout and say, “No. Casey still has it.”
He gives me a little smile and says, “Aaah.” That's all, just “Aaah.”
“Stop that!”
He's still grinning. “More cocoa?”
“No, what I want to do is explain why your bike's a mess so I can go soak my body. I ache all over.”
So I tell him about the root cellar in Moustache Mary's cabin being converted into a drug lab and about the Elephant Truck connection. And then I tell him about trapping Dallas in the pit, and the way he almost killed me trying to get out.
And when I'm all done, Hudson takes a deep breath and says, “The bicycle was certainly a small sacrifice for your well-being.”
“It was stupid. I was stupid. I guess I should have known that he'd go berserk, but I didn't. Anyway, I promise, Hudson, I'll get you another bike.”
He winks at me and says, “I knew there were risks when I lent it to you, and I did tell you not to worry about it, so don't. Maybe we'll rebuild it as a project together, but for now, why don't you go take that bath?”
So I went to take a soak, but when I saw myself in the bathroom mirror, I had to take a minute and stare. From the bruise on my forehead to the gouge in my leg, I looked like I'd been through a war. I didn't feel any wonderful sense of victory, though. I was just pummeled. And tired.
After my bath, when Hudson was helping patch me up, he said, “At a very minimum, you're going to get a tetanus shot tomorrow,” and since I was too tired to argue with him, I just sai
d, “Yeah-yeah-yeah,” and crashed on his couch.
I probably would've slept until noon, but at around eight in the morning there's this little tap-tap-tap on the front door, and when Hudson answers it, I know who's there. I can hear him asking for me. And right away I panic because I don't know how in the world Officer Borsch could have known I was there.
I get dressed as fast as I can and rake my fingers through my hair, and then stuff my things out of sight—just like I do at home. And I can hear Officer Borsch saying, “Well, I noticed the bike on the porch and…”
I step up to the front door, beside Hudson. “Officer Borsch! How's it going?”
He doesn't have to answer. I can see how it's going. He's a complete mess, and the bags under his eyes are huge. Even for the Borsch-man. So before he can answer, I say, “Good grief. What happened?”
Hudson interrupts. “Would you like to come in? I can brew you some coffee or…”
“No, no. Thank you, sir. There are just a few things I'd like to tell Samantha.” He eyes the porch, and Hudson picks up on the fact that Officer Borsch would probably be more comfortable talking to me alone. So Hudson says, “Well, sure. You two have a seat out here. I've got an appointment to go jogging in about fifteen minutes anyway, so just make yourselves at home.”
I wanted to grab Hudson and say, “Hey, wait a minute! What's with this jogging bit?” but the door's already closing on us.
So we sit down on the porch, and it feels kind of strange, having Officer Borsch planted in Hudson's chair. I mean, there's no way he would ever listen to me the way Hudson does, but still, there he was, sitting in Hudson's chair like he belonged.
He takes a deep breath and says, “It's been a long night, Sammy. But the investigators have dismantled the clan lab, and even though they've still got to test the property for toxic waste, it's pretty much cleaned up.”
“Did Dallas run that extension cord from the toolshed? I was trying to figure that out after we left.”
“That's right. He just ran a trench and buried it.” He shakes his head and says, “Clan labs aren't usually too sophisticated, but Coleman's was real makeshift.”
“Why's it called a clan lab? I mean, it was just him, right? Not a whole clan.”
He tries not to smile. “Clan as in clandestine. But you're right. Mr. Coleman's operation was small. Generally there are at least a few people involved.”
“So did you get anything out of Dallas?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he talk?”
“Like a clam.” He smiles again. “But you were on the spot with that Briggs boy. I didn't have the chance to get details from you last night, but I'd sure like to know how you pieced that one together.”
So I tell him about the Elephant Truck and the transmission fluid and the gas cap. And then about what I'd seen and heard at the party and what I'd learned from Brandon and Casey. And I don't know if it was the porch or the chair or what, but for once Officer Borsch didn't interrupt me or roll his eyes. He just listened.
When I was all done, I asked, “Do you think Dallas put the gas can in the cellar so people wouldn't know that it was arson and start investigating?”
“More than that. He used it to blackmail Ben Briggs. He caught Briggs leaving the scene and confronted him in that oak tunnel where you found the lid to the gas can. They had a scuffle, but when Coleman realized what Briggs had done, he ran off to try and save the cabin. Later he told Briggs that if he caused him any more trouble, he'd turn him in. Briggs was petrified because Coleman made it sound like he'd destroyed a priceless historic monument—not just an old shack.
“By the way, you were right about them being best friends, and that Coleman selling meth to the youngest boy was what lit Briggs' fuse. Briggs says he followed Coleman for a week, finally made the connection that he was cooking in the shack, and decided to destroy the operation.”
“What's going to happen to Ben?”
Officer Borsch sighs. “Miss Lucinda doesn't want to press charges.”
“You're kidding.”
He shakes his head. “She sees no sense in it.” He eyes me and says, “That woman reminds me a lot of you.”
“Me? Lucinda?” I think about that a minute and say, “Well, thanks.”
“Not that I want to see you walking a pig anytime soon…”
“Oh! So what happened to Penny?”
He laughs. “What a life. Anyone else would've turned her into bacon. Not Lucinda Huntley.”
“What happened? How'd you get her out?”
“With a tow truck. They put a sling on the hoist and pulled her out oinking and squealing.”
I laughed at the thought. “What about her leg?”
“Lucinda's convinced her vet to set it. I've never heard of such a thing, but there you have it. She's going to take the pig for walks in a wagon until the leg's better.” He shakes his head and says, “Don't ask me how she's going to pull the thing—I don't know.”
I laugh, too, and say, “If I know Lucinda, she'll find a way.”
He stands up and says, “Well, I'm glad I noticed the bike. I was on my way in, and I thought—well, I thought you might want to know.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head at the bike. “It's a shame. That one was a classic.”
I stand next to him with my hands on my hips and nod. “Yeah. Hudson's real glad he lent it to me.”
Officer Borsch rubs the stubble on his chin. “We don't have anything vintage like this…but how about a mountain bike? Could your friend handle one of those?”
“Hudson?” I laugh and say, “Oh, he can handle anything.” Then I turn to him and ask, “But what are you saying?”
He hikes up his gunbelt and says, “I can't promise any thing yet, but it seems the least the department could do.” He smiles at me. “Line of duty and all that.”
Now I probably can't explain this right, but let's just say that at that moment I felt like Officer Borsch had pinned a DEPUTY star on me. And bike or no bike, I felt like I'd just grown two inches. I smiled at him and said, “That's a nice thought, anyway.”
He goes down the porch steps and says, “Let me see if I can make it happen.”
He gets in his car and zooms off, and then Hudson comes zipping out of the house in sweats and tennies, saying, “Go inside and get some more shut-eye. I'll be back in a bit,” and disappears down the street.
So there I am, on the morning of the second day of a brand-new year, on Hudson's porch, alone with my thoughts. And I play it all through my brain again like a movie. And when I finish the rerun, I think about the path I walk with my friends. About how lucky I am to have Marissa and Dot and Holly.
Then I think about Dallas and Ben. About Karl and Brandon, Heather and Tenille. About Taylor and Snake and Casey. And it's funny—in my mind, I can see the forks in their roads, their cliffs and their valleys, but when it comes to my path, I see nothing.
And in a way, that bothers me. I mean, I have no idea what I want to do. Where I want to go. What I want to be. I've always just lived day to day, school year to summer.
But sitting there on Hudson's porch with the sun shining over the neighbors' rooftops, I remember Officer Borsch comparing me to Lucinda. And it hits me that Lucinda is as much like Mary Rose Huntley as anyone could be, and that nothing, nothing, had stopped Mary. She wasn't a curse. She was just determined. Determined to stay on her own path regardless of how hard others tried to throw her off.
And suddenly I'm flushed with this strong, very powerful sense that no matter where I decide to go, no matter what I decide to be, if I can stay on my own path and not let floods or droughts or wild redheads stop me, I am going to make it.
Even if I have to put on a moustache somewhere along the way.
Text copyright © 2000 by Wendelin Van Draanen Parsons
Interior illustrations copyright © 2000 by Dan Yaccarino
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eISBN: 978-0-307-54497-1
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Wendelin Van Draanen, Sammy Keyes and the Curse of Moustache Mary
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