Absolutely Truly (29 page)

The platform of the clock tower was just like the one below, covered with frozen mouse droppings—and also pigeon poo. Piles and piles of pigeon poo. I knew this because I'd just stepped into one of them.

Grimacing, I scraped my boot on a clean spot on the floor and looked around. It was darker here than in the bell tower below; there were no arched openings in the walls to let in light. Enough leaked in from the open trapdoor in the floor that I could see fairly well, though.

I could hear fairly well too, and what I heard was a shriek. It sounded like Jasmine. The distraction we'd planned was under way.

I examined the back of the clock—nothing. No hidden compartments, nothing taped to it, just a bunch of gears whirring and clicking away. The rafters above were empty too. I checked the walls, the floor, every inch of the clock tower. No envelope.

I stood there, puzzled. It had to be here! I was certain of it. The second hand ticked loudly in the background as I searched again. I felt like Gary Cooper in
High Noon.
Time was running out. Reverend Quinn was bound to notice my absence soon.

I searched again, but the envelope wasn't here. And I had been so certain that it would be!

The scavenger hunt was over.

Discouraged, I went back over to the ladder. As I placed my foot onto the top slat, I caught a glimpse of something flapping on top of the thick piece of wood below—the one from which the bell hung. What had Reverend Quinn called it? The headstock?

I climbed down closer for a better look. Sure enough, something was stuck to the headstock's flat surface, and a corner of whatever it was had come loose and was flapping in the chilly breeze. It looked like a length of duct tape. Peering closer, I could see that it had been painted over with white to match the rest of the wood. It was nearly invisible, except for the telltale flash of silvery gray beneath the paint on the loose piece.

I stretched out an arm to see if I could reach it. No such luck. I climbed all the way down to the bell platform below and stretched up, but I couldn't reach it from there, either. There was only one option. I'd have to climb back up, scooch my way out onto the rafter directly above the headstock, then see if I could lean down and reach it from there.

It wasn't easy. The rafter was frosted as thickly as one of Dr. Calhoun's cupcakes with everything that was icky in the steeple. Dirt, mouse droppings, and probably two hundred years' worth of pigeon poo.

Pulling off my wool hat, I smacked it against the wood, sending up a cloud of dust and scattering frozen mouse droppings in every direction. Still gross, but better. I hiked my skirt up and straddled the rafter. As I inched forward, I heard something rip. I'd snagged my tights. So much for wearing my Sunday best—I was going to have some explaining to do when I got home.

Using my hat as a makeshift pigeon-poo snowplow, I continued inching my way out until I was directly above the flapping edge of duct tape. Then I leaned forward until I was lying flat on my stomach. Holding tight to the rafter with one arm, I cautiously extended the other. My fingertips grazed the upcurled edge of tape. I strained to grab it, but it was still too far away.

Frustrated, I sat up again. The only way I was going to be able to do this was if I swung my knees over the rafter and lowered myself down backward, the way I used to do on the jungle gym when I was Pippa's age.

There was no other choice. And if I wasn't quick, Reverend Quinn would be back up here looking for me. Before I could talk myself out of it, over I went. And suddenly I was really, really glad Scooter wasn't up here. He'd be singing “I
see London” at the top of his lungs, because my skirt had flipped completely over my head. I swatted it away from my face, tucking the front part into the waistband of my tights. A gust of frigid wind found the open gap between my turtleneck sweater and my back as I did so, and I choked back a screech.

I dangled there upside down like a frozen bat, face-to-face with Paul Revere's bell. I was close enough to touch the inscription with my nose if I'd wanted to. Which I absolutely truly did not.

I also didn't want to be spotted. People were starting to leave the church, and I was in full view of anyone who might happen to look up at the steeple from the street. I needed to hurry.

I pulled myself halfway up and grabbed hold of the head-stock with one hand, then reached for the loose corner of duct tape with the other. Grasping it, I tugged. And tugged again, harder.
R-i-i-i-i-i-p!
The duct tape parted ways with the paint and the wood, and sure enough, there was something stuck to the underside. An envelope! Clutching it tightly, I hauled myself back up on top of the rafter.

I lay there for a second or two, panting. Suddenly, the big wooden wheel below me began to move. I scrambled for safety as the bell began to sway back and forth. And a moment later, all I could think about was covering my ears.

I was partially deaf until Tuesday, thanks to Scooter Sanchez.

Ringing the bell was not part of our plan. Jasmine was the one who was supposed to create a diversion by pretending to fall off the ladder and sprain her ankle. In the end, though, everything worked out okay. In all the fuss over the unauthorized ringing, as Reverend Quinn hauled Scooter off by his ear, I was able to come down from the steeple without being spotted.

“What happened to you?” asked Cha Cha, staring at me wide-eyed as I climbed down the ladder into the vestibule behind the coat room.

“WHAT?” I hollered. I could see her lips moving, but no sound was coming from them. Or if it was, it was drowned out by the ringing in my ears.

Cha Cha's dimple emerged and she started to giggle.

“WHAT'S SO FUNNY?”

She pointed to my hair, my dust-streaked face, my pigeon-poo-smeared clothes, and my torn tights. By now, Jasmine and Lucas and Calhoun were laughing too.

“Did you get the envelope?” Calhoun made an envelope shape in the air with his fingers.

I pulled it out of my jacket pocket. Everybody crowded around, eager to see what was inside. I opened it. There were the usual
B
s at the beginning and end of the letter, along with another single line of text:

I do love nothing in the world so well as you—is not that strange?

We all looked at Calhoun, who nodded. “
Much Ado
,” he confirmed.

All it said underneath the quote was
our meeting spot
.

“That's not fair!” cried Cha Cha. The ringing in my ears had started to subside, but her voice was still like the faint buzz from a far-off mosquito. “How are we supposed to know where they liked to meet?”

“Total dead end,” said Jasmine in dismay.

It certainly seemed like it. I didn't see how we'd ever be able to solve this clue.

“Maybe not,” said Calhoun. “My father might be able to help.”

Cha Cha swatted at my jacket with the edge of her scarf.
“We have to get Truly cleaned up first,” she told him.

She texted her mother and a couple of minutes later it was all settled. We were invited over to the Abramowitzes' for lunch. Somehow, with my friends forming a human shield around me, I managed to make it out of the church unseen.

“Hey, wait up!” called Scooter, who had been released from Reverend Quinn's custody, unfortunately. He caught up as we were halfway across the village green. “Whoa—you are one big Drooly Gigantic Mess,” he said when he caught sight of me.

I shoved him into a snowbank.

Cha Cha's mother was much kinder.

“Good heavens, what happened to you, Truly?” she asked as we came through the front door.

“I fell into a snowbank,” I replied, shooting Scooter a look.

When I saw myself in the bathroom mirror, I was surprised Mrs. Abramowitz hadn't called an ambulance. I looked like Belinda Winchester on one of her worst days. Soap and water helped, and I managed to get my hair looking more normal, but the tights were a lost cause. I stuffed them into the trash, then opened the door a crack and handed my skirt and turtleneck to Cha Cha. I could only hope that the washing machine wouldn't ruin them. I'd tried dabbing them with a wet washcloth, but that mostly just smeared the pigeon poo around.

“Put these on for now,” said Cha Cha, handing me back a pair of her sweatpants and a shirt that belonged to her father.

“You've got to be kidding me,” I replied, holding the sweatpants up. They barely reached my knees. I put them on, though—what else was I supposed to do?

Cha Cha started to giggle again as I slouched into her room.

“Shut up,” I said, grateful that the boys were downstairs. I knew how ridiculous I looked. Then I started to laugh too. Jasmine joined us, and pretty soon the three of us were howling so hard that we scared Fred and Ginger, the Abramowitzes' cats, who ran under Cha Cha's bed to hide. Our hilarity drew Cha Cha's mother upstairs to check on us.

“Everything okay in here?” she asked. “Lunch is ready.”

As I looked around the kitchen table a few minutes later, it occurred to me that six weeks ago I could never have imagined being here. Not just in Pumpkin Falls, but here with these new friends, trying to solve a twenty-year-old mystery. It felt really strange.

And even stranger when we arrived at Calhoun's house to talk to his father.

“Interesting,” said Dr. Calhoun, after he scanned the sheet of paper on which Calhoun had written the Shakespeare quotes. “They're definitely all from
Much Ado About Nothing
, just as you said.”

“Do they remind you of anything?” Calhoun asked.

His father shook his head. “Should they?”

Calhoun lifted a shoulder. “I dunno. I thought maybe they would. You know, maybe something from a long time ago?” He looked at his father with a hopeful expression.

Suddenly, the pieces fell into place—
snick!
—like a sudoku puzzle. Calhoun thought his
parents
were the B and B in our mystery letters! It made perfect sense, since they'd played Beatrice and Benedick together back in high school. I'd seen it on the theater program in Aunt True's apartment.

Maybe he'd been hoping the mystery letters would get them back together again somehow. I held my breath as Dr. Calhoun frowned at the piece of paper.

But again, he shook his head. “Sorry, son. Doesn't ring a bell.”

Bad choice of words
, I thought, scowling at Scooter. He shot me one of his trademark
Who me? What did I do?
looks back.

“I was just trying to help,” he whispered. “You know, with the diversion?”

Yeah, right
, I thought.

“So is this for a school project or something?” Calhoun's father asked us.

“Or something,” Cha Cha told him. “We're just interested, that's all.”

“Glad to hear it. Nothing better than being interested in the Bard. It's a lifetime pursuit.” Dr. Calhoun checked his watch. “Well, I'd better go.
The pipes have frozen in one of the dorms, and I want to check in with the maintenance staff and see how the repairs are coming along. Juliet is upstairs if you need anything. You kids have fun now.” He left, closing the door behind him.

“Sorry, Calhoun,” I said. “You were hoping it was them—your parents, I mean—weren't you?”

Calhoun looked down at the floor. “Yeah, I guess. My mother loves Shakespeare almost as much as my father does. She was the one who named my sister and me.”

“Named you what?” asked Scooter. “R. J.?”

“Never mind,” said Cha Cha and Jasmine and Lucas and me, all at the same time.

And we started to laugh.