SHAKESPEARE’ SECRET (11 page)

Danny and Hero both looked at him blankly.

“Mr. Murphy has an ex-wife?” Hero asked.

Mr. Cordova turned to her. “She's your neighbor,” he said. “Roth. Miriam Roth.”

By the time they pushed through the double doors of police headquarters, Hero could barely contain herself. She whirled on Danny in astonishment.

“Mrs. Roth was his
wife?
Did you know that?”

“No way.” Danny shook his head in disbelief. “No way! I worked in her yard all last summer while the cops were there asking her questions. She never said anything like that. And my dad never told me either.”

Danny held his skateboard against his side and crossed the parking lot. Hero steered her bike behind him. She thought about the afternoons at Mrs. Roth's house. All the conversations about the Murphys ... and Mrs. Roth had never said a word. What did it mean?

“I can't believe she didn't tell me,” she said to Danny, as he dropped the skateboard with a clatter onto the street.

He looked preoccupied. “Maybe she had a reason for not telling you.”

Hero slid one leg over her bicycle seat, gripping the handlebars. “Like what?”

“Well. . .” Danny hesitated. “Maybe she's involved in it somehow. Maybe she knows where the diamond is. Maybe she's known the whole time.”

Hero shook her head. “I can't believe that. I can't believe your dad's right about that.”

Together they started back, Danny once again flying ahead; Hero, wary of cars, hugging close to the curb. She gave Danny a wide berth, anticipating his frequent stops and swerves. It was only when they turned onto Oakdale that she realized he was coming all the way home with her instead of turning off toward his own street.

As they reached Hero's house, she could see her parents' car in the driveway. Beatrice was sitting on the front stoop, and—Hero noticed unhappily—her friend Kelly was lounging next to her. Beatrice's friends tended to be almost as pretty as she was, but not nearly as nice. Kelly had long blond hair, white from the summer sun, and bright, dangling earrings. She was rolling up her shorts, assessing her tan line, when Hero and Danny came up the driveway.

“Hey, Danny.” Kelly straightened, flashing what seemed to Hero an absurdly fake smile. She coiled her hair on top of her head with one hand. “What are you doing here?”

Danny flipped the skateboard up and caught it. He glanced at Hero. “I came over a while ago.”

Kelly laughed. She stretched her long legs out in front of her. “What, were you looking for Beatrice and got stuck with her little sister?”

Hero felt her cheeks burn. She could see Beatrice was blushing too, elbowing Kelly in annoyance.

Danny didn't seem to know what to say. He looked from Hero to the two girls and then smiled his same easy smile. “Something like that.”

Hero stared at him.
Something like that?
Furious, she turned and wheeled her bike to the garage.

“Netherfield,” he called after her. Hero didn't look at him. She ran up the back steps to the house, the screen door slamming behind her.

Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table with several sheets of paper in front of her, comparing letterheads.

“There you are,” she said. “Your father and I couldn't imagine where you went off to. Next time, leave a note, please.” She held up two sheets of
stationery. “Which do you like better, Buckingham or Bookman Old Style?”

“What's it for?” Hero asked. Her mother's guiding rule was that the style of the font had to match the nature of the business.

“Law firm.”

Hero pointed. “That one. It seems snootier.”

Her mother nodded. “You're right.” She looked at Hero more closely. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing.” Hero flopped in a chair and pretended to be interested in the stack of unopened mail, which turned out to be mostly advertisements.

“I see you got a lot of yard work done,” her mother commented.

Hero grimaced. “Sorry. It was too hot.”

“Mmm. And where were you all afternoon?”

“I rode my bike into town. Danny came over, and we went down to the police station to see his dad.”

“Danny?”

“You know, Danny Cordova.”

“Oh, that Danny. The legendary Danny Cordova.”

Hero winced. “Stop, Mom.”

Her mother smiled. “Okay.” She kept looking at Hero. “But isn't he the boy who was suspended? I'm not sure I like the idea of you spending time with him.”

“Oh, Mom,” Hero protested. “It isn't like that. He's friends with Mrs. Roth, and his dad is the police chief.” She felt vaguely pleased that her mother could imagine her getting into trouble, with Danny of all people. It seemed so beyond the realm of her ordinary life.

Her mother reached over and tucked Hero's hair behind her ear. “What's the matter?” she asked again.

“Nothing,” Hero repeated. She rested her forehead on the cool tabletop, which smelled overwhelmingly of lemon furniture polish. She curled her arms around her head so her mother couldn't see her face.

“I'm just tired,” she said. “It was a long bike ride.”

Her mother put down her pen and ran her fingers through Hero's hair, stroking it back from her cheek. It was something she did whenever Hero or Beatrice seemed upset about something. The steady rhythm of her touch made Hero drowsy. She closed her eyes and felt her mother's fingernails slide against her scalp, pulling gently through her hair.

“Why did you name me Hero?” she asked. “I mean, I know it's from the play. But why did you choose Hero for me and Beatrice for Beatrice?”

Her mother's hand paused. “Well, you have to remember, you were just tiny, wrinkled newborns when we named you. It's not as if Beatrice seemed
like a Beatrice, or you like a Hero. Nobody can look at a baby and know what kind of person she will grow into.”

“So there wasn't a reason?”

Her mother kept stroking her hair. “I wouldn't say that. Your father and I loved both those names. If you would ever read the play, you'd understand. The two girls are cousins. Beatrice is bold, confident, full of fun.”

“I know,” Hero said. “Mrs. Roth said Beatrice is the stronger character.”

“In the play, Beatrice is 'born in a merry hour.' That suits Beatrice, don't you think?”

Hero nodded glumly.

Her mother smoothed her hair back from her face. “And Hero is constant, brave, and true. Several men plot against her. She's engaged to be married, and they tell terrible lies about her, slandering her to her beloved Claudio. Claudio rejects her on their wedding day. He throws her aside at the altar. He accuses her of being wanton.”

“Wanton?”

“Sleeping around,” her mother explained. “But eventually the traitor's plot is revealed and Hero's honor is restored. The amazing thing is that she forgives Claudio. She's been horribly wronged by him,
but she remains faithful and she forgives. She has a brave heart, but a gentle one.”

Hero was silent, thinking.

“So,” said her mother, “you see? Your names suit each of you well after all. Even though when you were tiny, wrinkled newborns, we had no way of knowing.”

Hero couldn't believe that was how her parents saw her. Brave? Gentle? Faithful? It sounded like her mother was talking about somebody else. She felt flattered and bewildered at the same time. It wasn't at all how she saw herself.

She shifted her head under her mother's hand, her mind drifting back to Mrs. Roth and the diamond. Why wouldn't Mrs. Roth have told the truth about being Arthur Murphy's wife? What if Danny was right, that she was involved somehow? What if all of Mrs. Roth's “secrets” were really just lies? Maybe she'd hidden the diamond herself.

“What would you do if a friend lied to you?” she asked her mother.

Her mother was silent for a minute. “If I knew for sure that a friend had lied to me, I guess I'd try to figure out why.”

“What if you couldn't figure it out, though? What if the only reason your friend would lie was a really bad one?”

Her mother lifted a handful of her hair, separating the tangles. “Well, if a friend lied about something that mattered to me, that was my business, then I guess I would ask her about it. It's hard to be friends with someone you don't trust.”

Hero sighed. “But maybe if someone would lie to you, well, they weren't really your friend anyway”

“Maybe not,” her mother answered. “But I wouldn't make a decision about that until I actually talked to the person.”

Hero nodded, almost asleep. She would have to talk to Mrs. Roth. But it was all so strange. Mrs. Roth, Mr. Murphy's first wife? And living next door to him, best friends with his new wife? It didn't make any sense. She opened one eye. She could see the yellow shingles of Mrs. Roth's house through the kitchen window, almost blocked from view by the riot of flowers spilling over the fence.

The next morning, Hero wandered morosely into the kitchen to prepare herself before confronting Mrs. Roth. She took a pint of chocolate ice cream from the freezer and set it on the countertop, fishing in the drawer for a spoon. Her parents sat at the kitchen table, separated by the stack of Sunday newspapers and the colorful litter of inserts.

“Hero,” her mother protested, “you haven't even had breakfast yet.”

“This is breakfast,” Hero answered. She took a heaping spoonful of chocolaty ice cream and savored the cold sweetness on her tongue.

“At least put it in a bowl,” her mother said. “It's almost all gone anyway.” “Well, have a glass of orange juice with it.” Her father made a face. “With ice cream?”

“She needs something nutritious—”

Hero left them disagreeing and carried the carton of ice cream out the back door into the cool morning. She sat on the driveway, dangling her spoon over the asphalt and watching the chocolate drops stain a pattern between her sneakers. She concentrated on writing her initials. The neighborhood was silent, a Sunday morning stillness broken only by the shrill twittering of a bird somewhere overhead. Soon, Hero knew, people would be leaving for church, or tennis games, or shopping. But for now it was quiet.

Beyond the fence, she heard Mrs. Roth's door swing open and then her gentle footsteps on the porch. She looked up.

“Is that you, Hero?” Mrs. Roth crossed the garden.

“Yes.” Hero stood up and walked over to the fence. She avoided the overgrown rosebush, looking for a spot not choked with branches.

“Well, why don't you come over?” Mrs. Roth asked, smiling. “I've been wondering what happened yesterday. How did you fare with your search?”

Hero paused. “I didn't find anything.”

“And where did you look? Did you inspect all those lovely built-ins?” Mrs. Roth stepped carefully between the plantings to the fence. “Hero? What's wrong?”

Hero looked away. She took a deep breath. “Why didn't you tell me he was your husband? Why didn't you tell me you were Mr. Murphy's wife?”

Mrs. Roth stood still. Her face tightened. “Ex-wife,” she said softly. “I am his ex-wife.” She rested one hand on the fence, her mouth a thin line. “I didn't tell you because it doesn't matter.”

“Doesn't matter?” Hero demanded. “Of course it matters! It changes everything.”

She felt a surge of anger that surprised her. They had been in this together, she and Mrs. Roth, trying to find the diamond, helping each other, solving the puzzle. It had been their secret. But now it wasn't true. And wasn't the whole point of a secret that it
was
true, so true and private you couldn't tell anyone, or at least couldn't tell anyone except a friend you could trust?

Mrs. Roth gripped the fence. “It doesn't change anything.” Hero saw her knuckles turn white. “Now listen to me, Hero. I'm sorry you had to learn that particular piece of information from someone other than myself. But it has no bearing whatsoever on anything I've told you about the Murphys or the diamond.”