Dead Letter

Table of Contents

 

 

A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD
...

“Read it,” Meat said.

“Give me a minute,” Herculeah said. She took another deep breath. “I feel like somebody's holding me by the throat.”

Herculeah began to read.

“Byars is in top form, providing cliffhanger after cliffhanger, laughter and chills, in this well-crafted thriller fraught with danger and true villains.”

—
School Library Journal

 

 

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Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England

 

First published in the United States of America by Viking,
a division of Penguin Books USA Inc., 1996
Published by Puffin Books, 1998
This Sleuth edition published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group,
2006

Copyright © Betsy Byars, 1996

All rights reserved

 

THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE VIKING EDITION AS FOLLOWS:
Byars, Betsy Cromer.
Dead letter / by Betsy Byars. p. cm.-(A Herculeah Jones mystery)
Summary: Herculeah Jones and her best friend Meat set out to crack the case of
the mysterious note which she finds in the lining of a second-hand coat.

eISBN : 978-1-101-12722-3

 

 

 

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume
any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

It began on a day too beautiful for murder. The sky was blue. The wind from the west smelled of spring. The sun overhead was the kind drawn by kindergart ners.

“Meat!” Herculeah called.

She crossed the street. Her long hair blew around her face. She laughed and pulled it back into a ponytail with one hand.

“I hope my hair is acting like this because of the wind, not because I'm in danger.”

Herculeah's hair always expanded when she was in danger, the way an animal puffs out its fur to make it look threatening.

“I wouldn't bet on it. Anyway, you're in danger most of the time,” Meat said.

“Not most of the time,” Herculeah said, still smiling. “How do you like it?”

“What?”

“The coat! My coat!”

She twirled around so Meat could admire it from all angles.

“I probably shouldn't say this, but I thought you were a Russian when you came around the corner,” he said.

“Thanks,” Herculeah said.

She felt pleased, although she suspected Meat had not intended his remark as a compliment.

Herculeah glanced up at Meat's house. “Can I come inside for a minute?” she asked. “I have to tell you about how I got this coat. It's one of the most mysterious things that has ever happened to me.”

“I guess so.”

Herculeah passed him on the steps up to his house—she was always quicker than he was—and stood waiting at the door. “This is a very special coat, Meat.”

“I guess you could call it ...” he paused slightly before adding politely, “special.”

Meat opened the door, and Herculeah swirled past him and into the living room.

“Meat, here's what happened. I went into Hidden Treasures because my dad gave me some money, and I wanted to spend it. I tried on some earrings. I tried on a hat with a feather. I wanted to try on some gloves, but of course they were too little.”

She paused, glancing down at her hands and then up at Meat. When she spoke again, her tone of voice was more serious.

“And then, Meat, I felt myself being drawn toward the back of the store. It was like an invisible rope. I was being pulled. I had to go. I couldn't help myself.”

Meat waited, caught up in the drama.

“I found myself at a rack of clothes, and my hand reached out for this coat, and I don't even need a coat. I don't even want a coat. But when I touched this coat ...” She paused to wrap her arms across it. “When I touched this coat, Meat, my hair began to frizzle. You know, like it does when I'm in danger.”

“So, of course, you tried the thing on?”

“Yes.”

“If you thought there was danger involved, why would you try it on? That was a warning, Herculeah. You should have left the store right then.”

Meat believed in the power of Herculeah's hair. He had seen it work.

“And it fit,” she said, interrupting. “It's as if the coat were made for me. Look.”

She walked around the room.

“It does make you look like a Russian,” Meat said, repeating the uncompliment. “Except they don't wear bright colors. I still don't understand why you would try on a coat that could mean danger.”

“Oh, you worry too much. Anyway, how could a coat be dangerous?”

“I don't know.”

Meat sighed.

“But I'm sure we're going to find out.”

“Anyway,” Meat said, “I've got other things on my mind. I can't get excited about a coat.”

Herculeah looked at him. She noticed his expression. She came over at once and sat beside him on the sofa. She turned her face toward his.

“You listened about my coat, and now it's my turn to listen. You have my complete attention,” she said. “What is on your mind?”

Meat wished now that she was still admiring her coat. Her gray eyes were so clear he almost expected to see his reflection in them. And what he had on his mind was that he had gone into the kitchen to get a snack and discovered a large number of cans of something called Slim-Fast on the counter. He real, ized that his mother was starting him on yet another unpleasant diet. He did not want to tell that to Herculeah.

He stalled for time by saying, “Oh, I don't want to bore you.”

“You wouldn't.”

“Yes, I would.”

“You wouldn‘t!”

“How do you know? You don't know what's on my mind.”

Actually he was boring himself. The conversation was going downhill from an already low beginning. There was silence. Meat stared glumly at his knees. “If you must know ...” he began slowly, hoping for inspiration.

“I must.”

Herculeah crossed her legs and drew the coat tight around them. She leaned toward Meat as if to prove her interest was genuine.

Before he could speak, she looked up in surprise. “Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“That rustling noise.”

“I didn't hear anything.”

“It came from the lining of this coat. I was doing this.” She repeated the movement. “Hear that? There's something in the lining.”

Herculeah reached down and rubbed her hands over the coat until she located the sound. “There. Hear that?”

“You know what this reminds me of?” Meat said, glad to be on a safe topic. “Something my mom told me. When my mom was a girl, she felt something she thought was a fifty-cent piece in the lining of her coat and she ripped the lining open—she needed bus fare—and it was a round weight. Apparently they sew them into linings to make the coats hang straight. The bus driver wouldn't take it.”

“Well, this is no weight. It's a crumpled piece of paper—maybe a letter.”

She put her hand in the pocket. “Oh, there's a hole in the lining of this pocket. That's strange. I wonder if I can reach it with my fingers if I ...”