Sammy Keyes and the Curse of Moustache Mary (8 page)

“Who?”

“Taylor.”

“Taylor?”

“Uh-huh. And guess why he was calling.”

I roll my eyes and say, “I don't even want to know.”

She laughs. “Sure you do. His friend wants to give you your skateboard back.”

“Snake? Seriously?”

Marissa says, “He called him Jake, but yeah, the guy you plowed down.”

I almost said, That
I
plowed down? but instead I scowled and said, “Jake-the-Snake. Good name.”

“Whatever. They're having some kind of New Year's Eve party at Taylor's house over in Pioneer Village, and he says he wants us to come bury the hatchet.”

“
Taylor
does?”

“That's what he said…”

I sat there for a minute, thinking. I mean, maybe Snake-face had developed a conscience, but from what I knew of Taylor there had to be more to this than my skateboard. I look Marissa up and down and say, “You know what's going on here, don't you?”

“What do you mean? He says his friend scraped off the paint and could see something had been written under it so—”

“No, what's
really
going on here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean with Taylor.”

Marissa just stands there looking completely confused.

“He likes you.”

“What?”

“Taylor
likes
you.”

“Oh, stop!” She blushes, then looks to the others for help.

Holly shrugs and says, “I'd say that's probably pretty accurate.”

Dot's already on beyond who-likes-who. “How'd he get this number?”

Marissa sits down and kind of mumbles, “He called my cousin, Brandon, who called my mom…” She looks up. “I don't think he
likes
me. I think he just wants to give back the skateboard.”

I let out a snicker.

“What?”

“Really, Marissa, come on. Why didn't Jake-the-Snake call
me?
And why does Taylor want you to go to his party? Why doesn't one of them bring the skateboard here?”

“I don't know…maybe he's just trying to be nice. Besides, he didn't invite
me,
he invited
us
.”

“Oh, right. Like he wants a fourth grader at his New Year's party.”

“Sammy, you've got to get over that!”

“Think about it, Marissa.”

She looks down and says, “Quit it, okay?
I
don't want to go over there…I just thought you might want your skateboard back.”

Dot says, “Did you say it was in Pioneer Village?”

Marissa nods.

“That's where Stan and Troy went. They have block parties over there. I've heard they last all night.”

I look at her. “So what are you saying?”

Dot shrugs. “We could go there later if you want.”

“I don't
want
to go to Taylor's party. I want to stay here, and if ol' Snaky wants to return my skateboard, he knows how to find me.”

The three of them look at me like I'm selling snail slime. Holly asks, “Why are you so mad, anyway? I thought you really wanted that skateboard back.”

Dot says, “Yeah, you practically killed that guy this morning trying to get it away from him.”

I sat there for a minute with my arms crossed and my bottom lip out. Finally, I said, “It just feels wrong.”

Holly shrugs and says, “Well, it's your skateboard—you tell us if you want to go get it.”

Mrs. DeVries says, “In the meantime, let's have dinner.”

So we put the finishing touches on the table, and before you know it, Mr. DeVries says,
“Smakelijk eten,”
which apparently is Dutch for “Dig in.”

I guess I didn't know how hungry I was, because before Beppie and Anneke had the pea eyes pushed into the potato men they were building, I was looking around for seconds.

Mr. DeVries eyes me and says to Dot, “That one's a good eater.” Then he points his fork at Holly and says, “That one, too.”

Holly and I look at each other and kind of blush,
but then Holly says, “Well, we missed lunch 'cause of Lucinda.”

Dot's mom says, “You should've said something!”

Mr. DeVries laughs. “I think they're making up for it now,
ja?
”Then he shakes his head. “That old woman was very strange. I thought the Murdocks were going to throw me out on my ear. What was she
doing
in there today?”

So Holly and I tell him. About Lucinda opening up the coffin so she could make her peace with Johnny James face to face, and then about the Huntleys and the Murdocks coming west in a wagon train; about Moustache Mary shooting a Murdock; about the Murdocks homesteading up the road from the Huntleys and all the trouble that came from that. And when we get to the part where Johnny James winds up shooting his own brother, Mrs. DeVries puts her fork down and says, “That's horrible!”

Then we tell them about Showdown Rock and seeing Mary's cabin and what it was like. And Holly and I are like relay racers—she tells part, then I take over and tell the next part, then hand the story back off to her. And we're both running so hard at the mouth telling them all about what happened that we don't even realize we're heading straight for the part about Moustache Mary's ghost until we're there. All of a sudden we both clam up and look at each other like, Oops!

There's no going back, though, so we sputter up again. And pretty soon we're running full throttle, telling them about ghosts and lights and Mary's grave site.

When we hit the finish line, Marissa says, “Oh, great.
First it's a ghost in the carriage house, now it's that Mary woman. This whole place is zooming with ghosts!”

Dot laughs, “Yeah, and two of them are sitting right here.”

Beppie and Anneke giggle and you can tell—their haunting days are far from over. Mrs. DeVries eyes them and says, “You're asking for an early bedtime,
ja?
”

They both button their lips and shake their heads like little angels.

Dot rolls her eyes, then sighs and says, “Can we have some
oliebollen
now?”

Mrs. DeVries pushes away from the table, “Sure, sweetie. Let's get the dishes cleared first.”

So we all help clean up, and when the place is spic-andspan, we sit back down at the table to a platter of
oliebollen
. Dot and her sisters dive right in, but Holly, Marissa, and I inspect ours pretty good before we try them. They're about the size of tennis balls, only they've got crunchy strands of batter and black things that look like coffee beans poking out of them—like little caffeine grenades that someone's tried to camouflage with powdered sugar.

The tip of Dot's nose is dusted with sugar, but she doesn't know, or doesn't care. She takes another bite and says, “Try one!”

Marissa points to one of the black things. “What are these?”

Dot takes another
oliebol
off the plate. “Raisins.”

“Raisins?”

Mrs. DeVries says, “They lose their wrinkles when you fry them.”

The three of us pull faces at each other like, Oh, yum.

Mr. DeVries laughs. “You girls like donuts, right? These are our New Year's donuts. Try one.”

So we take a bite. And another. And another. And pretty soon we're dusted cheek to chin in sugar, too.

When we're all good and stuffed, Mr. DeVries sets up the
sjoelbak,
and we take turns trying to slide and slam these two-inch wooden pucks into slots at the end of the board. And even though I'd never played shuffleboard of any kind before, I had a great time being only a few points behind Dot on the chase to high score.

But then suddenly I hear something through the clatter. Something in the distance. And at first it almost sounds like a television on somewhere in a back room, but when I'm sure it's not, I say, “Shh! Listen!”

The room quiets down, and sure enough, there it is— sirens. After a minute Mr. DeVries says, “I wonder what that's about.”

Mrs. DeVries says, “I hope nobody's hurt…” She turns to Dot, and you can see the worry in her eyes. “Do you think Stan and Troy—”

Dot stops her before she can finish thinking it. “They're fine, Mom.”

“I have Marko's number, but…I'm not sure about the house. Do you know where he lives?”

“In Pioneer Village. Mom, you're—”

“But
where
in Pioneer Village?”

“Mom, if you're that worried, just call!”

I look at them and say, “Well, it's not an ambulance.”

Mrs. DeVries asks, “How do you know?”

“Listen.”

So we all listen again, and after a few seconds I say, “There! Hear that horn? That's a fire truck.”

Mrs. DeVries looks a bit relieved, but as much as I try to tell myself I'm being silly, I've got this uneasy feeling that those fire trucks haven't come clear out to Sisquane to douse some fireworks.

No, something's happened—something terrible.

EIGHT

There was no answer at Marko's house and you could tell—Mrs. DeVries was still worried. So Dot asks us, “You guys want to ride over to Pioneer Village? It's only about five minutes up the main road. We could try to find Stan and Troy and then go get Sammy's skateboard.”

Everyone else was up for it, so I said, “Sure,” and after we promised Mrs. DeVries we'd be careful, off we went.

Now Pioneer Village may have been only five minutes up the main road, but getting to the main road seemed to take forever. We couldn't see much because the fog had settled in, the light on Hudson's bike only worked well when I got up to a certain speed, and the potholes made going fast impossible.

When we finally got to the main road, we were planning to turn right, up the hill to Pioneer Village, but there was a car coming from the left and a truck with its lights flashing coming down the hill from the right. And as they approached Meadow Lane, I could see that the truck was a fire department Blazer and the car was a police car.

I guess they noticed that about each other, too, because they both slowed down and came to a stop, right in the middle of the road, about twenty feet from us. They rolled
their windows down, and the minute they started talking to each other, fog or no fog, light or no light, I knew exactly who was driving that squad car.

I whisper to Marissa, “Recognize that voice?”

She nods and says, “You want to hide?”

I shrug and say, “Nah. We're okay.”

“You and Officer
Borsch?
Since when have you two been ‘okay'?”

Until that minute, I hadn't really thought that Officer Borsch and I
were
“okay.” I mean, I have such a long, bad history with the man that I never really thought it was possible. But then I found out about his partner getting killed, and he finally figured out that I wasn't the juvenile delinquent he thought I was, and I don't know—it's not like we're
cured
or anything. It's more like we're in remission.

Dot cuts in with, “Listen! They're talking about a fire!”

Sure enough, Officer Borsch is saying, “We're just lucky they got those oaks out in time. This whole area would've gone up in smoke.”

“Have they found a cause?”

“The investigators are looking now. Maybe sparklers, 'crackers, who knows? It was kindling waiting to light.”

“Is the structure all cooked out?”

“Completely. There's a stone fireplace left, that's about it.”

“I heard them radio for a paramedic—someone hurt?”

“Just an old lady in hysterics. You can go see for yourself, but I've got to get back. I'm slightly out of my jurisdiction.”

The guy in the Blazer laughs, “What else is new, Gil?”

I couldn't stop myself. I called, “Are you talking about the Huntley cabin?”

They heard me, but over the sound of their engines, they didn't hear me very well. Officer Borsch turns off his motor but leaves his lights on, and I can see him looking around for where the sound came from. So I call again, “Are you talking about the Huntley cabin?”

He motions the guy in the fire truck to shut off his engine, and then there they are, parked in the middle of the street looking around for who's asking the question. I roll forward a few feet so I'm out of the shadows, then I straddle the bike and wave once like I'm cleaning a window.

For a second there I think Officer Borsch forgot that we were “okay.” Even with the light blinding me a little, I can see him lose a few shades—like
he's
seen a ghost.