Lizzie! (9 page)

 

 

CHAPTER 18

B
rianna, who says she is half German and half Polish, was at our stove making something she rolled up in cabbage leaves for supper. Tonight, she said, was her treat. I was sure I would hate it because just thinking about cabbage makes me want to throw up. You notice I didn't say puke because Mom says it is an offensive term. And barf is no better. But actually the
gefüllter krautkopf
—that's what Brianna calls it and I got her to write it down for me—was pretty good. It had hamburger and onions and a lot of chopped-up tomatoes in it so you could hardly taste the cabbage. I love the sound of
krautkopf
, though. It's German for cabbagehead and Brianna says it's an insult if you call somebody that. I figured it might come in handy.

Then I asked Brianna about Buddy and Blossom. We hadn't talked about them for so long that I was afraid they had been taken away and “disposed of,” the way the police disposed of the dead body. After all, they couldn't just leave it around to rot. Digger said it was in a morgue, which is like a big walk-in freezer, until someone could identify it. Maybe that was what had happened to the cubs.

But Brianna said that the authorities had decided the cubs were too dependent on human contact to be good choices for getting reintroduced into the wild. “So,” Brianna said, “they're going to this zoo in Virginia. It isn't a zoo with cages. The bears live in an artificial forest with a moat dug around to keep them in.”

Mom said, “Well, that sounds like a good compromise. Because you know they could have starved to death out alone in the woods. They probably couldn't have fought off other bears for food. They've never hibernated, so they might not have known what to do in a northern winter.”

I had to agree. Still, I felt very sad the rest of the evening.

But the next morning Digger came bursting in, full of good cheer. I was just beginning on my usual cornflakes and banana slices, so I asked him had he had any breakfast.

“No,
mi amor
, not yet but yes, I will join you.”

Then Mom appeared. She had already put on the coffee. Digger pulled up a chair and accepted a mug full. “No, no cream thank you. And no sugar. I am a new man. But I will help myself to a little of Lizzie's milk, yes?”

And then he started telling us that he had interviewed Julio last evening and the things Julio had told him would make your hair stand up on end.

“But where is he?” I asked. “You said he was in protective custody.”

“He is staying with Alton Hammersmith,” Digger said firmly.

“Mr. Hammersmith? The Hammer? Our algebra teacher?”

“That is correct. ‘The Hammer,' as you call him, is a friend of mine from our Thursday night poker game. When I asked him if he could accommodate a houseguest for a while, he said he'd be happy to.”

“I didn't know you played poker!”

Digger went on. “Julio saw us all on television and he knew at once who the murdered man was.”

Mom said, “Does this mean he will testify?

“He will. But first we must settle the probation issue. I will ask that he be permitted to stay with Alton and his wife Martha until his eighteenth birthday. He will be state's witness and even though there are no charges against him, I think it would be useful to have a good lawyer by his side.”

The Scarecrow! I thought.

“My friend Rob,” Mom said. “This is exactly his kind of case.” And she took out her cell phone and pressed a number.

I thought, Wow! He's at the top of her list.

Mom took the phone into the other room. In a couple of minutes she came back with it and handed it to Digger. “I think you two better work out a plan.”

Digger said, “I hate these little bitty things, that's why I never use mine. Where do I put my mouth?”

And Mom said, “Just speak normally. He'll hear you.”

So it was a wrap, as they say on TV. The Scarecrow would drive up from Miami to Woodvale tonight and he and Digger would accompany their charge to the police station together.

“Where is the Scarecrow going to stay?” I asked.

“Right here,” Mom said. “And that's enough conversation out of you, young lady. Hurry up or you're going to be late to school.”

 

 

CHAPTER 19

T
he next day Digger said I could come with him after school to see Julio. “I want you to hear what he has to say about the time he spent as his uncle's slave to see if there is any information you can corroborate.”

Mom came too. We had to wait about half an hour for Mr. Hammersmith because he never left Graver until the last student had departed. That was
protocol
, a word I understood even better now.

This gave us time to play with some of the foster dogs Alton Hammersmith and his wife Martha were caring for. Mr. Hammersmith is tall and thin. Mrs. Hammersmith is short and plump with a face so perfect it reminded me of my special doll from when I was a child. She explained that they always had four dogs at a time, dogs that were sent to them by the SPCA to care for and socialize so they could be adopted. You can imagine that my view of The Hammer was changing.

One of the dogs was all white with a big bushy tail. She was very friendly and rolled over on her back to have her stomach scratched. Another was big and gawky and very sweet. One little mutt looked like she had been put together from other animals. She had an anteater nose and bat ears and she begged to come sit in my lap. The fourth one went and hid under the table as soon as we came in. I thought maybe it was my wheelchair that freaked him out but Mrs. Hammersmith said no.

“He's still very fearful. He was a street dog and had to survive eating scraps out of people's garbage until the volunteers caught him. Then he had to be neutered and have all his shots. So it's going to take a while for him to accept us.”

She said this very cheerfully, as if this had happened lots of times and the dogs all got over their fears and turned into the kind you would want to take home.

Which of course I did. But Mom said firmly that we were not yet ready for a dog. Even Digger, who said he was not much of a dog person, said he thought maybe he and Teresa should begin to consider taking in a needy one.

Julio was different from the sort of withdrawn guy he had been when Digger and I found him at the warehouse. He said hello and smiled and soon he was lying on the floor letting two dogs lick his face at once. I could hardly take it all in. First The Hammer turns out to be a dog lover and next the fearful Julio, who made us promise we'd never seen him before the day Trippy and I first met him, turns into a . . . a normal. I sort of realized how scared he must have been on our drive back to Woodvale, not knowing where Digger was taking him, not knowing if this protective custody arrangement was for real or if it was a setup and the gang would find him there. He was so relaxed and happy that it was hard to put together this Julio with the one we'd met before.

Back then, he mostly spoke only Spanish. In fact, he didn't speak English at all during the whole year he was Jeb Blanco's slave—Blanco and his accomplices only spoke Spanish to him. But The Hammer and his wife didn't speak a word of Spanish, so living with them was life being in a permanent English class.

Mrs. Hammersmith said, “Julio's been an enormous help with the dogs. He's taken over the feeding and much of the walking. He's ready for more as soon as this batch is ready to go.”

“Isn't it hard, letting them go when you've gotten . . . like really attached to them?”

“Yes, in a way it is. But we know they're going to good permanent homes. And there are so many others that need foster care. Not just in Florida, all across the country.”

“It's worse here in the South,” Julio said. “People don't spay and neuter their dogs, so they breed more and more and they end up roaming in a pack on the street.” I thought of Henry drowning his cat's kittens until we took her to be spayed. And how Julio had lived on the street too.

Just then, Mr. Hammersmith arrived. After he kissed Martha and tousled a couple of the dogs, he said, “I think we need some refreshments.”

You would think the wife would disappear into the kitchen and come back with milk and cookies, but oh no. The Hammer himself did the honors and it was kumquats and oatmeal cookies he had baked from a special recipe.

“Alton loves to cook,” Martha explained. “He likes to concoct his own recipes, he says it's like inventing new algebra problems.”

Concoct
,
I thought to myself. And
kumquats
, my favorite citrus, a sweet and sour mouthful. They almost rhymed.

“They're just about out of season,” The Hammer said. “But I have an inside source.”

It was time to hear Julio's story but first, Digger warned us. “This goes no further than here in this room.”

Mom said, “Of course,” as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Julio said, “I saw the murdered man up close only once. I was in the warehouse cleaning the monkeys' cages and giving them a few banana treats and some fresh water after their evening meal when I heard the sound of a car arriving.”

Digger prompted him. “Was your uncle there at that time?”

“Yes, because he had just come to bring me my groceries for the week. I heard him swearing, telling this other man who had just driven up that he had no right to come out here, and the other man cursed him back with words I won't repeat, but I was scared they would start to fight. Or pull a knife or a gun.”

“So what did you do?”

“I crept out very quietly through the warehouse door and flattened myself against the wall where I couldn't be seen but where I had a clear view of the quarrel. If there was going to be a big fight I thought somebody might get killed. I didn't know what I would do then. I was too scared to try to come between them.” There was a pause while Julio struggled with his feelings. His voice had cracked on
scared
and I was scared with him.

“Take your time, son,” Digger said. “Just try to remember what you saw.”

“He stood facing me for what seemed like hours,” Julio said. “I thought, This is it. This is when someone gets killed. So I tell you I would know his face anywhere.
They were quarreling about money. The man facing me was furious that Jeb Blanco was cheating him out of his fair share and if Blanco didn't agree to a fifty/fifty split he—Carlos is what my uncle called him—said he would rat on him.”

“Rat on him?” I asked, and Digger answered, “Tell the authorities. That's how you say it.”

“Finally, my uncle's voice changed. You know how polite and smooth he can be in public? When you first meet him you think, Oh what a nice gentleman? Well, that's what he did. He grew soft and pleasant and said, ‘Okay. You are right, Carlos, we are equal partners. But I don't have the cash here. If you will wait out on the end of the jetty tomorrow night after all the fishing people have gone, I will send a cigarette boat to you with $100,000 in $100 bills and you can count them on the spot.' ”

“Is that a little speedboat? There are always lots of them whizzing around out there.”

Digger said, “Yes,” and nodded to Julio to continue.

“Carlos agreed. Then Jeb Blanco said, ‘The little boat may be very late, maybe after midnight. It will have to come after the cruise ships have departed because the tender that brings the pilot back in also brings in the week's money. All of that takes time. You might have to take a little nap out there while you wait.'

“Carlos said, ‘That's no problem. I have just the thing for a nap,' and then I saw him pat his pocket. He took out a silver flask and showed it to Blanco. Then they each took a sip to seal the agreement.”

I got very excited. “The flask! Remember Digger, when you searched the body and you found a silver flask? And we both said it could be a clue?”

“I remember,
chica
.”

Then Digger added, “You did a good job retelling. Now comes the unpleasant end of the story. You must come with me and the officers to identify the corpse.”

I said, “All this time Carlos's corpse, blue with cold, has been lying on a slab in the morgue in the dark with a ticket tied to his toe labeled UNKNOWN.”

Mom said, “You've been watching too many detective stories on TV, Lizzie.”

Which was true but wasn't this a detective story? And hadn't Julio come forth to solve it? Even if it meant he would be put back in juvie and the gang might get him?

When we said goodbye and thank you to the Hammersmiths, Martha Hammersmith said, “Come see us again anytime Lizzie. It's good for the dogs to experience new people and new situations.”

I thought the “situations” had to do with my wheelchair, but I just smiled and thanked them both again for the refreshments.

“Bye Lizzie. See you around,” Julio said. “Anytime you'd like to help me walk the dogs . . . I could push your chair.”

I knew that was hard for him to say. “It's a deal. If you push I can hold a leash in each hand.”

 

 

CHAPTER 20

T
he rest of the school year went by in a flash. All of a sudden it was time for Josh and me to graduate from eight grade.

Teresa wanted to throw a big party for us.

“No,
abuelita
, please don't fuss.” I tried to explain that it isn't exactly a major event to graduate from middle school.

But of course she and Digger came to the ceremony in the school auditorium. The place was crammed. They sat in the front row. Mom and Josh's whole family sat right behind them and just as the disc playing the graduation song began, Dr. Will's cell phone started to vibrate. He whispered something to Jenna and went out, down the side aisle.

I knew we would have to cross the stage in alphabetical order, so that meant Josh would be second, behind Eloise Armansky. He scooted out in his electric chair and took his diploma gracefully from the president of the George W. Graver Academy, Ms. Hermina Rodriguez, who we almost never saw. When you're the president of a private school grades K through 12, you're on the road most of the time fund-raising but you make sure you get back in time for graduation. I know this because that was the way it worked at my mom's private college in Wisconsin. Anyway, I was number 14 in line and I aimed my chair straight at the president. I stopped in exactly the correct spot, took my diploma with one hand and shook her hand with the other. She said, “Congratulations Lizzie, I am proud of you,” and I said, “Thank you,” and poof! I was a high school freshman. Freshwoman. Freshperson. I was in the first year of high school.

When it came to placement in the class, Josh and I cleaned up. He was first and I was second. Mr. Hammersmith said, “It could have been the other way around, that's how close you were.” I knew he wouldn't say so just to make me feel better. I know the grade for my final essay in English class could have been improved
with the judicious use of
commas
, but if you've gotten this far, you've seen all the commas I've put in to make up for it. I feel I have paid the comma price.

I got an A+ in Latin at least, and a little plaque in the shape of a shell. It says
AD ASTRA!
which means
to the stars
as if this was Hollywood. Josh won the math prize, a little bust of Archimedes, the father of mathematics. It looked to me like one of those busts of Beethoven kids get at the end of the year from their piano teacher.

Well, we ended up having a party after all. While we were busy graduating, Aurelia and Tom had secretly organized a big spread out on our porch, with Tom cooking hot dogs and hamburgers on a grill they had set up out on the beach, and Lia handing 'round potato chips and pretzels and pouring quarts of lemonade—the real kind, with fresh lemon slices. There was a surprise chocolate cake with
CONGRATULATIONS, GRADUATES
written on the top in white icing. I couldn't tell if the
d
in
Congradulations
was there on purpose or because the cake icer couldn't spell. The Hammersmiths arrived with Julio and the Blaines all came. Dr. Will had returned from his emergency, Josh's brother Greg had brought along his girlfriend who didn't do sports but played a cool guitar.

I was sorry that Trippy had to miss the fun. She didn't graduate for another two weeks, but when she did, it was goodbye and curtains to Mercer Middle School and hello in September to North Side High. It would be scary starting over at the bottom of the ladder as a high school freshman in a three-story brick building with Up and Down staircases and an attached gymnasium. But in a way I envied her. She would be a minnow in the ocean of secondary school and I would be a big frog in the small pond that was Graver. In fact, my homeroom would be right next to The Hammer's math classroom and my second-year Latin class would meet in the same room I'd been wheeling to all year.

I haven't said so yet, but I liked my Latin teacher a lot. I liked the way she handled the four boys who always sat in the back of the room and cracked their gum and whispered to each other. She would say, “Will Sleepy Hollow please come to order?” and for some strange reason they did. Also she made many references to The Good Book, as in, “As The Good Book says, time and tide wait for no man.” That had a cool mysterious sound to it. I am embarrassed to admit that it took me a whole year to figure out that The Good Book was the Bible.

Trippy, though, would get the chance to start over, getting to mix with kids from three other middle schools and make a whole bunch of new friends. Even a boyfriend. But in a way it was comforting to know I didn't have to make a big adjustment. I wasn't going to think about Josh's adjustment right now. The evening turned into a song fest, with The Hammer harmonizing with Tom and the Scarecrow in “Michael Row Your Boat Ashore” and “Kumbaya” and all of us chiming in as best we could. Who ever heard of an algebra teacher who rescued dogs and could sing baritone too? The evening ended in a kind of long drawn-out goofy version of “Good Night, Ladies.”