Absolutely Truly (23 page)

“Downy or pileated?” asked Gramps.

“Downy.”

“My favorite!”

I shrugged. “Yeah, but they're nothing special.”

“Every bird is special, Truly,” Gramps said. “Backyard magic, remember?” He smiled at me again. “Be patient and keep your eyes peeled, and Pumpkin Falls might surprise you.”

It already had. But I couldn't tell him that, of course.

The third clue was much harder than the first two.

It took us nearly two weeks to figure out. And, surprisingly, a lot can happen in Pumpkin Falls in two weeks.

Like Math Boot Camp.

After I got an 83 percent on the next algebra test (or “17 percent more to 100 percent,” as Lieutenant Colonel Jericho T. Lovejoy was quick to point out), Ms. Ivey sat up and took notice.

“Do you think your father would be interested in tutoring other students?” she asked me.

I shrugged. “Um, maybe?”

“He could charge a fee, of course. I think I'll stop by the bookshop this afternoon and ask him.”

She walked me there after school and explained her idea to Aunt True.

“Of course he'll do it,” said my aunt, who was dressed all
in black and wearing a Sherlock Holmes–style hat she called a “deerstalker.” She was setting up chairs for the Mystery Mavens book club meeting,

Lovejoy's Books had four different book clubs gathering regularly now, thanks to the ad that Aunt True placed in the
Pumpkin Falls Patriot-Bugle
, and the blurb in our new bookshop newsletter. In addition to the Mystery Mavens, there were the Heart Throbs, who read romance novels (Aunt True wears flowery skirts and dresses for that one and serves high tea), the Highbrows, who like what Aunt True calls “literary fiction,” and the Reel Readers, who read books that have been turned into movies and spend most of their meetings arguing about which version is better.

“We offer a wide range of services for our community here at Lovejoy's Books, including Math Boot Camp,” Aunt True told Ms. Ivey, roping off the corner where the Mystery Mavens would meet with yellow “crime scene” tape.

I stared at her, openmouthed. Since when?

“Wonderful!” said Ms. Ivey. “I'll definitely be sending some students your way.”

Afterward, when Aunt True told my father what she'd signed him up for, he protested, of course.

“It's extra money,” she reminded him. “You're the one who keeps talking about the need for additional income streams.”

My father continued to grumble for a while, but he
eventually agreed to do it. And that's how come I'm now sharing my tutor with Lucas (which really means Lucas and his mother, since, naturally, Mrs. Winthrop feels it's important to sit in on the sessions), Scooter Sanchez, and Annie Freeman, who may be the Grafton County Junior Spelling Champion but whose multiplication and division skills are sorely lacking.

Dad, of course, runs it like a military operation. The one time Mrs. Winthrop couldn't come, Scooter took advantage of her absence and started teasing Lucas. Dad caught him at it and told him to drop and give him twenty.

“Twenty what?” asked Scooter, mystified.

“Twenty what,
sir
,” my father corrected him sternly. “And that would be push-ups, young man.”

Scooter hasn't picked on Lucas since. At least not at Math Boot Camp.

The other thing that happened is that I went to the movies with Calhoun.

Well, not exactly. Cha Cha and Jasmine and Lucas were there too.

The way it happened was that I saw a flyer on the bulletin board at the General Store. I swear, every store in Pumpkin Falls has a bulletin board. Anyway, this particular flyer was squeezed in between a three-by-five card advertising free kittens (courtesy of Belinda Winchester, naturally) and another ad for a snow-shoveling service. The flyer caught my eye because it was bright yellow.
CLASSIC WESTERN FILM SERIES
was printed in large letters across the top, along with a picture of a cowboy on a horse. The first movie listed in the lineup?
High Noon.

We had to investigate. The film was showing at Lovejoy College, and Calhoun made us bribe him again (dessert at Lou's afterward) in exchange for getting us tickets.

They'd scheduled it on a Friday at noon—I guess whoever organized the film festival thought this was funny—and on Wednesday at dinner I asked my mother if I could go.

“Friday's a no-school day because of parent-teacher conferences,” I reminded her.

“It's also the day of Hatcher's first wrestling tournament,” she replied. “We're all going, remember?” Her eyes slid over to Dad, who was focused on eating his pork chop. The fingers of his new bionic hand were gripping the fork while he sawed away with the knife in his left hand. So far, the new prosthesis seemed to be working well.

“Please, Mom?” I begged.

“Well, I suppose I could ask True if she'd be willing to stay with you. We won't be back until late.”

“Mo-om! I don't need a babysitter!”

My father glanced up from his pork chop. “Truly,” he warned. Talking back is one of Lieutenant Jericho T. Lovejoy's pet peeves.

“True isn't a babysitter; she's your aunt,” my mother told me.

“Wait, you're
going to miss my tournament?” said Hatcher.

“Sorry,” I told him, not sorry at all. Wrestling tournaments are about as exciting as watching paint dry. You sit in the bleachers in a gym somewhere with a zillion other families, watching a zillion other wrestlers from a zillion other schools. It takes forever. The only time it's even remotely interesting is during the few minutes when somebody you know is out on the floor for their match. Maybe people feel the same way about swim meets, but I'm not stuck in the bleachers for those, I'm in the water.

“There'll be other tournaments,” my mother told Hatcher. She turned to me and smiled. “I'm glad you're making friends, Little O. I really like the Abramowitzes' daughter.”

“You mean the kazoo?” said Hatcher with a sly smile. That's what he calls Cha Cha behind her back. He thinks her deep voice is hilarious.

“Shut up, Hatcher,” I said.

“Don't say ‘shut up,' ” my mother chided as my father looked up at me again and frowned. It was another of his pet peeves, of course.

“Yes, ma'am,” I replied meekly, kicking my brother under the table instead.

On Friday, when I stopped by Lucas's house to pick him up, Mrs. Winthrop met me at the door. She was grinning from ear to ear, as excited as if Lucas and I were going on a date or
something. Which we absolutely truly weren't. I was worried for a minute there that she was going to take a picture of the two of us.

“You'll drop him off at Lou's afterward, right?” she asked about fifty times, fluttering around nervously as she made sure Lucas had money, hat, mittens, an extra scarf, and anything else she could think of. Poor Lucas looked like he wished the floor would open up and swallow him.

I reassured her that I'd return him in one piece, and finally managed to pry him away. It was snowing again outside, and Lucas was quiet as we scuffed our way down Hill Street to the rendezvous point at Calhoun's house.

“Sorry about that,” he said finally.

“Hey, you have to put up with my father,” I told him.

He glanced over at me. “Your father's really nice.”

I snorted. “Used to be. He's pretty cranky these days.”

“Yeah, but I was kind of glad the day he got cranky with Scooter.” Lucas smiled at me, and I smiled back.

A few minutes later we arrived at the ornate iron gate in front of the college president's house.

“Fancy schmancy,” I said.

A freshly shoveled brick path led to the front door, which was flanked by twin urns containing small fir trees. They stood at attention like a pair of evergreen sentries. I resisted the urge to salute, and lifted the heavy brass knocker instead.

“Hello, Lucas,” said the tall, sandy-haired man who
answered a moment later. “How nice to see you again. And you must be the Lovejoy girl that my son has been talking about.” He smiled, and I gave him a tentative smile back. Calhoun had been talking about me?

“Make yourselves at home,” said Dr. Calhoun, ushering us into the living room. “R. J. will be right down.”

Lucas and I sat on the sofa. I surveyed the room. It was twice as big as my grandparents' living room, and decorated with all sorts of medieval-looking stuff. There was an actual suit of armor in the far corner, tapestries hanging on the walls, and a portrait of Shakespeare over the mantel. On either side of the fireplace were floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases filled with books by and about Shakespeare.

“No wonder Calhoun knows so much,” whispered Lucas.

The coffee table in front of us was piled with more books and magazines, most of them about Shakespeare too, and in the middle was a replica of a roofless building shaped like a circle.

“That's the Globe Theatre,” said Dr. Calhoun, noticing my interest. He took a seat across from us, his dark eyes alight with enthusiasm. “The open-air theater in London where Shakespeare's plays were performed. The one that's there now is a reconstruction, of course.”

“Cool,” I said politely.

He smiled. “I like to think so. This room is my tribute to the Bard. His works are my great passion in life. Do you like Shakespeare?”

Before I could answer, the doorbell rang and he went to answer it, reappearing a moment later with Cha Cha and Jasmine. We all made polite conversation—mostly about Shakespeare—until Calhoun finally appeared.

“Have a wonderful time,” said his father as we got up to leave. “I spoke with the film department and they've reserved a whole row of seats for you. I think you'll enjoy the movie; it's one of my favorites. Grace Kelly is at her most incandescent!”

I wasn't sure what that meant, but from the expression on Dr. Calhoun's face, I figured it must be something good.

My friends and I were by far the youngest people at the movie. Most of the audience were college students, but there were a few older people too, including Belinda Winchester. She was sitting in the back row, plugged into her music as usual and eating yogurt out of a cup. Spooning it into her pocket, actually. Or at least that's what it looked like at first, until I saw a furry little head pop out. She was feeding yogurt to a kitten.

Belinda waved her spoon at me. I waved feebly back.

“Friend of yours?” whispered Calhoun, giving me a sidelong glance.

“Uh, customer from the bookstore,” I whispered back.

Black-and-white movies aren't my favorite, although I've seen a lot of them over the years, thanks to all the night-owl visits with my mother. She's a big fan. This one grabbed me right away, though. It started out with Gary Cooper,
who played a marshal in the Wild West, getting married to a Quaker lady—that was Grace Kelly. “Incandescent” must mean really pretty, because she was gorgeous. Anyway, after the wedding, Gary Cooper turns in his badge so he can retire and go be a shopkeeper, but then he finds out this outlaw is coming to town on the noon train. The outlaw wants revenge on the marshal for putting him in jail. Being a Quaker and all, the marshal's new wife is against violence, so the newly-weds start to leave town. But then the marshal's conscience bothers him, because he feels like it's his duty to defend the place, so they turn back. This doesn't go over too well with his bride.

Things quickly go from bad to worse. The townspeople are too afraid to help, and as the countdown continues to the arrival of the train—clocks are constantly ticking onscreen, and people keep looking at their pocket watches—the marshal frantically tries to round up some deputies. Meanwhile, his wife is still mad at him for going back on his promise to quit being a marshal, and she tells him she's leaving on the same train. Time is running out for everyone and everything.

Halfway through the movie, I was pretty sure I knew where the next clue was.

“What are we waiting for?” said Calhoun after I whispered my theory to him and the others. He started to stand up. I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back into his seat.

“Hang on, I want to see how it ends!” I protested.

“Shhhh!” Belinda Winchester hushed us sternly from the back row. “Pipe down!”

We did.

After the movie was over, we left in a hurry. “It's got to be the clock in the steeple,” I told my classmates. “There was so much stuff about time and everything—and all those images of clocks! What else could it be?”

Cha Cha gave me an admiring glance. “Truly brilliant.”

Calhoun snorted. “Maybe, if she's right. That's a big ‘if,' though.”

“So, we owe you dessert at Lou's, right?” Jasmine said to him as we made our way across the quad.

Calhoun looked a little embarrassed. “Actually, my father wanted me to invite you all back to our house for dessert. He made cupcakes.”