Dead Letter (4 page)

“Who is your father?”

“Chico Jones.”

He nodded. “I've done some work for him—those anonymous letters threatening that newscaster, what's her name?” Mr. Gamballi didn't seem to expect an answer. He turned his attention back to the paper.

Herculeah said, “I'm sure my dad will help me, but I have to know more about this person now.”

He looked at her. “This person felt she was going to be killed. She may have been.”

“I have to know.”

“And if she is dead, young lady, we're talking about murder.”

“I know.”

“And a murderer.”

There was silence while Mr. Gamballi and Herculeah stared at each other, he with a look of warning, she with one of defiance.

Meat felt left out. He said, “Can I ask you a question?”

Mr. Gamballi nodded.

“I wanted to know if she was, well, if she was ...” Meat paused. He had been about to say “loony tunes,” but he knew Herculeah would not appreciate that. “Sane,” he finished. He did not look at Herculeah because he knew she would not appreciate the question, no matter how nicely it was put. “I mean, before we start trying to find this woman, I want to rule out the possibility that it was someone who was paranoid, someone who just thought someone was after her.”

“Let me look again.” Mr. Gamballi's eyes narrowed. “There's a balance between the zones.”

“What are the zones? I don't believe you mentioned my dad's zones. ”

“The upper zone shows imagination, spirit, and intellect—that's here.” He pointed at the top half of some t's and
l
's. “The middle zone here—little
a, e—
that's the sphere of social life. The lower zone—the bottom of
y's
and
g‘s
—is the sphere of the unconscious urges, biological needs.”

Meat didn't know handwriting told about those. He was definitely going to print from now on.

“There's a good balance between these zones,” Mr. Gamballi said. “This writer can handle her own thoughts and feelings. She was as sane as you or I.”

“I knew it,” Herculeah said.

Mr. Gamballi leaned forward. “You be careful, young lady. Something terrible may have happened, and you don't want to be a part of it.”

There was silence.

Meat added sincerely, “I don't want to be part of it either.”

Herculeah took out her granny glasses to think. She had first tried these glasses on at Hidden Treasures months ago, and the world had immediately fogged out. She found that she could think in a way she couldn't when she was looking directly at things.

She desperately needed to think now.

It was warm in her bedroom, but Herculeah lay with the coat draped over her lap. Somehow she needed to be close to the person who had worn it.

In the corner of her bedroom, Tarot fluttered his wings and moved sideways across his perch. Tarot had been Madame Rosa's parrot, but he had come to live with Herculeah after Madame Rosa's death.

“I can't pay attention to you now, Tarot. I'm concentrating.”

“Beware, beware,” Tarot called. This was the only word he knew when Herculeah got him, but now he had learned to say, “Oh, Mom,” in Herculeah's voice.

“Hush up,” Herculeah said.

Tarot bobbed his head from side to side. “Oh, Mom.”

“I am not your mom and you know it. I'm trying to think.”

She hooked the slim wire curves behind her ears and peered through the thick glass. While she was waiting for her mind to start working, she idly slipped one hand down into the pocket of the coat. It was the pocket with the hole in it.

Herculeah paused.

The woman couldn't have made that hole with her fingers. This coat was really put together. She would have had to use something sharp, something ...

Herculeah remembered a thought she had had at Meat's house. She had said, “The woman took something sharp, like a key.”

She drew in her breath. A key.

She took off her glasses, flung them down on the bedspread, and flipped the coat over. She ran her hands around the lining. She turned the coat over and felt the other side.

She ran her hand around the hem. “Yes!” There was an object there, caught in the fold of the hem.

She paused. “Don't let it be a weight,” she said. “Don't let it be a stupid weight.”

With her excitement mounting, she worked the object up to the pocket and pushed it through the hole. She scissored her fingers around it and drew it out.

It was a key.

Herculeah made a triumphant fist around it. “A key, Tarot, a key!” She opened her hand and looked closely at the key on her palm.

“I think it's a house key. It has to be!”

She was exhilarated.

“A house key! And, Tarot, a key means an answer. And maybe, maybe this key will be to the house where she was held prisoner!”

She heard the front door open. Her mother called from the front hall, “Herculeah, I'm home.”

“Oh, Mom,” Tarot said.

“That was Tarot, not me. I'm up here—in bed,” Herculeah called back. “There's half a pizza in the fridge.”

“I already ate.”

Herculeah heard her mother coming up the stairs. She slid the key quickly under her pillow.

Her mother paused in the doorway. “What's that on the bed. A new coat?”

“It's not new. I got it at Hidden Treasures.”

“You need a lot of things more than you need a coat. And you've got a perfectly good jacket. What do you call that color?”

“Electric blue, the woman at Hidden Treasures said. She said there was only one coat like this in the world.”

“I believe that.”

“I had to have this coat, Mom. It's too long to explain. I know you're tired and want to get to bed, but I had to have it.”

“I am tired. I hope to wrap this case up next week.” She leaned against the doorway and gave Herculeah a puzzled look. “Aren't you even going to ask me about it?”

“Your case? No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know you won't tell me.”

“Still, it's not like you not to try to pry things out of me. You're not getting sick, are you?”

“Oh, Mom. I have things in my life more interesting than your case, that's all.”

“You want to talk?”

“It can wait. Good night, Mom.”

“Good night.”

Herculeah heard her mother go into her bedroom. She reached under her pillow and brought out the key.

Her mother would have taken the key away from her. Herculeah knew exactly what she would have said. “Give me that key this minute. Keys get you into trouble. I remember the key to Dead Oaks. I remember the key to Madame Rosa's house. No more keys for you, young lady, and that is final.”

Herculeah felt her hair begin to frizzle at those memories, and she swept it back into a ponytail with one hand. With the other she gripped the key.

“This key,” she said, “will be different.”

From the corner of the bedroom, Tarot cried, “Beware.” This time he sounded as if he meant it.

Herculeah swirled into Hidden Treasures. The bell over the door announced her.

“Mrs. Glenn, hi, are you here? It's me, Herculeah Jones.”

“I'm here,” a cheerful voice called back.

“Oh, great. I ran all the way from school to see what you found out.”

“I'm on the phone,” Mrs. Glenn called from the back of the store.

Herculeah rushed back to the desk where Mrs. Glenn stood with the phone to her ear.

Herculeah knew she should not interrupt, but she couldn't help it. “Just tell me if you found out anything about the coat. This coat?” She patted the wide lapels. “Remember, I called you yesterday and you said you'd have to ask Nellie.”

Mrs. Glenn held up two fingers.

“You found out two things, or you'll be with me in two minutes?”

Into the phone Mrs. Glenn said, “I do have one ginger jar, but it has a hairline crack in it.... Yes.... Actually, if you turned that side to the wall no one would notice.”

Herculeah leaned over the desk. She couldn't wait. She said, “Just tell me if you found out anything. Nod your head, yes or no. I can't stand the suspense. Then I'll leave you alone.”

Mrs. Glenn nodded.

“Were you nodding at me,” Herculeah asked, pointing to herself, “or somebody on the phone?”

Mrs. Glenn pointed at Herculeah.

“Now I'm really in suspense,” Herculeah said.

Mrs. Glenn shooed her off, and Herculeah walked around the store, restlessly trying on a hat, checking herself out in the mirror, opening a book of photographs, and flipping through the pages.

She opened books and closed them, held earrings to her ears and put them back. She paused in front of the mirror with another hat.

“Incidentally,” she said, more to herself than to Mrs. Glenn, “this is a terrible mirror. I almost didn't buy the coat when I saw myself because I looked like I didn't have a neck. There's a warp where my neck is. But if someone was shorter—which almost everyone is—they would look like they didn't have eyebrows.”

She glanced back to see if Mrs. Glenn had hung up the phone. Mrs. Glenn held up one finger.

Does that mean one minute or one hour, Herculeah wondered.

At last Mrs. Glenn hung up the phone and beckoned to Herculeah.

“Nellie remembers the coat,” she said.

“She does? Great!”

“Yes. Her daughter tried it on, but the daughter said she felt colder with the coat on than she did with it off—I don't know how that could be. She said it gave her the shivers. You know how young people are these days.” She then realized she was talking to one of the young people and added quickly, “No offense.”

Herculeah shook her head impatiently. “So where did the coat come from?”

“It was in a box—in the bottom of a box of horse stuff.”

“Horse stuff?” Herculeah asked.

“Horse stuff. You know, bridles, bits, stirrups, whips—I don't know the names of what all was in there. Nellie thought the whole box was full of horse gear, but when she got to the bottom of the box, there was the coat.”

“Where did the box come from?”

“She bought it at a sale.”

“What sale? Where?”

“She said she went to so many sales she couldn't be sure, but she thought it was—Oh, what was the name of that street? It was a tree.”

“Maple? Oak?”

Mrs. Glenn shook her head. She bit her bottom lip and then gave up. “It'll come to me directly.”

“Mrs. Glenn, this is really important.” Herculeah opened her notebook and took the note from the side pocket.

“Read this, and you'll know why it's so important that I find out where this coat came from.”

Mrs. Glenn took the paper. “Lawd, my eyes aren't good enough to read that.”

“I know it by heart,” Herculeah said. “I'll recite it. It says—”

Mrs. Glenn turned over the note. “And what's that on the back? It looks like a number.”

“Let me see that,” Herculeah said sharply.

“Now I can make the numbers out.” Mrs. Glenn pulled the paper closer to prove her point. “Eight ... eight... one, no not a one ...”

Herculeah broke in. “Please let me see that. I didn't know there was anything on the back. I can't believe I didn't turn it over.”

“The next number is a two, but it's backward. Oh, I know what happened.”

“Please, let me see. Why didn't I turn it over? I guess I was so upset by what the note said that ... Please, let me see.”

Mrs. Glenn closed one eye. She stared as intently as if she were reading an eye chart.

“Yes, I'm right. Somebody wrote a number on the page behind this one, closed the book, and—voila!—”

“Please.” Herculeah reached out for the note.

“I think it's a telephone number,” Mrs. Glenn said, reluctant to give up the paper. “Something—that number is blurred—eight, oh, oh, two, eight, eight—only since it's backward, the phone number would be eight, eight, two, oh, oh, eight something.”

She handed the paper triumphantly back to Herculeah, and Herculeah read the numbers for herself.

She started quickly for the door.

“You never told me what the note said.”

“I can't stop. I've got to make a phone call.”

Herculeah sat at her mother's desk. She had rushed home from Hidden Treasures so fast that she still had not caught her breath.

The telephone was in front of her.

Herculeah took another deep breath. She held the note up to the light and looked again at the numbers on the back of the note.

The phone number, Herculeah had figured out, was either 882-0085 or 882-0086.

She reached out her hand for the telephone. She drew her hand back as she realized she had no idea what to say if she got an answer.

She practiced silently. “Oh, hello. I found this telephone number on the back of a note from a woman. It had been torn out of an address book. And I was trying to locate this woman, and I hoped you could help me.”

She trailed off. She wished Meat were with her. Meat had a wonderful telephone voice. He could sound like a radio announcer.

Her mother appeared in the doorway. “I'm out of here,” she said. “Supper's on the stove.” She paused, seeing the look on Herculeah's face. She hesitated, then, almost reluctantly, asked, “Problems?”