The Skeleton in the Smithsonian (3 page)

KC sat back and hummed along with the music coming from the radio. She knew Marshall was looking at her, so she hummed louder.

“Why do I hang out with you?” Marshall asked.

KC knew he didn’t expect an answer, so she didn’t give him one.

“Wow!” The bus driver leaned forward and turned up the radio. “Did you hear that?” he said.

The music had stopped, and a reporter with a very smooth voice was speaking:
“According to White House officials, it
has been determined that Leonard Fisher is a direct relative of James Smithson. Smithson is the man whose money started the Smithsonian Institution over one hundred and fifty years ago. Today, Fishers DNA was compared with Smithson’s. It was a definite match. Fishers claim that the Smithsonian fortune is his seems to be true.”

KC leaned forward as far as she could. Then she heard a different voice.

“As Mr. Leonard Fishers attorney, I can state that he is very happy that his claim is being honored. But he has no intention of taking over the Smithsonian. He will settle for one hundred million dollars, only a fraction of the total worth of all the Smithsonian buildings and their contents.”

The reporter took over again.
“White House officials will comment later today. Stay tuned for more on this modern rags-to-riches story of a common man who became a multimillionaire!”

“Imagine, a hundred million smackers!” said the driver

“Well, that’s it,” Marshall said to KC. “Leonard Fisher really is related to James Smithson.”

“But then why was he lying about his job?” KC insisted.

Marshall sighed. “KC, we don’t know if he was,” he said. “It’s possible that he
is
a gardener and a musician and he works for a cemetery.”

KC wasn’t satisfied with that answer. She looked out the window and let her mind wander back to when she’d first met
Fisher, in the White House. Something about him still bothered her

The bus drivers voice broke into KC’s thoughts. “The cemetery’s just ahead on the left,” he said. Glancing into his rearview mirror, he added, “You sure you want me to leave you here?”

“Yes!” KC said.

“What time will the bus come by again?” Marshall asked.

“I go back to D.C. in ten minutes,” the driver said. “But I make the same trip again in about an hour. If you’re waiting here, I’ll pick you up.”

“We’ll be here!” Marshall told him.

The driver flashed his left-turn signal and pulled over. “Have a nice time,” he joked as the door swooshed open. “And good luck finding your friend.”

“Thanks a lot,” KC said. She and Marshall got off the bus. The driver waved and pulled back onto the road. In a minute the bus had disappeared around a corner.

The kids were standing in the grass on the side of a road. There were no buildings nearby. The road into the cemetery passed through a gate attached to two stone pillars. One of the pillars held a sign that said:

BOWIE CEMETERY
VISITING HOURS:
DAWN TO DUSK

“Come on,” KC said. “Let’s see if Leonard Fisher is in there.”

They walked through the open gate. Birds were calling to each other in the pine trees. Fresh flowers had been placed near several of the graves. The grass was neatly cut and the bushes seemed well taken care of.

Marshall looked at his watch. “We have to be back at the gate in fifty-six minutes.”

KC laughed. “Don’t worry, we will,” she said.

A blue car was parked at the edge of the road. KC watched a woman take a box of flowers and some gardening tools out of the trunk. A small white dog ran around on the grass, looking as if it wanted to play.

The woman noticed the kids and waved. “Beautiful day!” she chirped.

“Is your dog friendly?” Marshall asked.

“Too friendly sometimes! Happy, come to Mommy,” the woman called.

The dog went scampering over. His
owner scooped him off the ground, walked over to Marshall, and thrust the dog into his arms. “His name is Happy.” Happy licked Marshall’s face and wriggled with joy.

“Do you know someone named Leonard Fisher?” KC asked the woman.

The woman thought for a moment. “Hmmm, Fisher, Fisher,” she said. “I don’t think so. When did Mr. Fisher pass away?”

Marshall snorted.

KC gave him a poke with her elbow. “He’s still alive,” she said. “I think he may work here.”

The woman smiled. “Then I definitely don’t know him. I’m from out of town, just doing some planting on Aunt Lucy’s grave.”

“Thanks anyway,” KC said.

Marshall set Happy on the ground, and he and KC continued to follow the road as it curved into the cemetery.

Behind them KC heard the woman say, “No, Happy, stay here with Mommy. You can’t play with those children!”

Marshall grinned slyly. “‘Mommy’?” he whispered. He and KC cracked up.

Just then they saw a white van driving slowly down the road. It stopped about thirty feet from where KC and Marshall were standing.

A man in jeans, a baseball cap, and sunglasses climbed out of the van. Around his waist he wore a wide leather tool belt. He reached into the van, pulled out some hedge clippers, and tucked them into one of the loops on his belt. Then he removed
his hat and glasses and wiped his face on his sleeve. On the back of his shirt were the words CEMETERY STAFF, BOWIE, MARYLAND.

When he turned around, KC gasped. The man was Leonard Fisher!

Leonard Fisher walked to the rear of his van, opened the door, and dragged out a lawn mower. KC heard him grunt as he lowered the machine to the ground.

Fisher reached back in and pulled out a red gas can. He unscrewed the cap from the mowers gas tank and poured in the gas. After recapping the tank, he yanked a few times on the mowers starter cord. The engine sputtered, then roared to life.

“He’s a lawn guy!” Marshall whispered from their hiding spot. When they’d realized who the man was, they’d scooted behind some trees.

“Told you he lied,” KC mumbled.

They watched Fisher mow the grass around a few shrubs and tombstones. He kept looking over his shoulder, as if he suspected someone was watching him.

KC and Marshall lay flat on the fallen pine needles under a large tree to make themselves less noticeable.

Leonard Fisher brought the mower back to his van, then let the engine die. He yanked the hedge clippers from his belt and walked over to some bushes next to a small stone building. He started to prune the bushes, stopping every few snips to look over his shoulder. Then he stopped cutting and stuck the clippers back into his belt. He walked quickly over to the van and opened the side door.

What he took out this time made KC
grab Marshall’s arm. It was the black instrument case! Fisher held the case by the handle on its side, then nudged the van door shut with his shoulder.

As still as statues, KC and Marshall watched Fisher carry the case away from the van. He returned to the small building. To KC, it looked like a stone cottage from a fairy tale. Leonard Fisher set the case down and pulled a key ring from his pocket.

“What’s he doing? Can you see?” KC whispered. A bush partly blocked her view.

Marshall stretched out until he could see better. “He’s unlocking that little house,” he said. “He’s going inside!”

KC got up on her knees. “Come on!” she whispered.

Crouching, the kids scooted over and hid next to the white van. When KC looked through the window, she saw a square plastic sign on the front seat.

She poked Marshall and pointed at the sign: ACE AIR-CONDITIONING. “This van was in front of the Smithsonian Castle the other day!” she whispered.

KC and Marshall tiptoed on the freshly cut grass to the side of the little building. The walls were smooth gray stone, and the sloping roof was slate.

KC peeked around the buildings corner. The structure had been built partly underground. The door was open wide, and two stone steps led down to the inside.

A small brass plate was fastened to the outside. In faded letters it said HERE
LIE HOMER AND ESTHER FISHER, IN ETERNAL REST.

KC gulped. This was a crypt, where cemeteries put people’s coffins instead of burying them. She looked at Marshall to see if he’d figured it out.

His eyes were huge and his face had turned gray.

Holding her breath, KC moved to the front of the crypt. Marshall had his hand on her back. His hand was trembling.

There was no light in the stone building, but KC could see Leonard Fisher kneeling with his back to the door. There were two stone coffins in the crypt, one on each side of where Fisher knelt. One of the coffins was closed. The other was not. Its lid was off and leaning against the wall.

On the floor next to Fisher’s knees was the instrument case. It was open. Fisher had tossed his tool belt and the clippers into the top half.

But it was the bottom half of the case that grabbed KC’s attention. In it, on blue velvet lining, lay a small skeleton.

Suddenly KC felt Marshall stumble into her. She put out her hands to stop herself from falling.

Leonard Fisher wheeled around. When he saw the kids, his mouth opened in surprise. KC watched him trying to figure out where he’d seen them before.

Then he grinned. “Well, hello,” he said. “What are
you
doing here?” As he spoke, his right hand slowly moved to the instrument case. With one quick motion, he flipped it shut.

“We followed you!” KC said.

Fisher was still grinning, but his eyes looked nervous.

“You followed me? Why?”

“Because you lied to the president!” Marshall said.

Fisher shook his head. “I lied? About what?”

Before KC could answer him, Fisher jumped forward as fast as a rattlesnake strikes. He grabbed her and Marshall by the wrists and pulled them into the crypt. “Let’s keep this private, shall we?” he said, releasing their hands. “Besides, it’s cooler in here.”

He leaned against the wall by the door. It was still open, letting sunlight into the damp chamber.

Fisher took a pack of gum from one of his pockets and held it out to the kids.
Neither took any. Fisher shrugged, slid out a piece, and began unwrapping it. “Now, you were saying … ?”

“You told the president you were some fancy gardener, but you really work in a cemetery,” KC said.

She pointed to the instrument case. “And there’s a skeleton in there. I saw it!”

Suddenly Marshall understood. “You switched skeletons!” he cried. “You’re not related to James Smithson! You knew they’d check his DNA, so you put one of your dead relatives in the sarcophagus!” Marshall pointed to the open coffin. “It was him, wasn’t it?”

“You’re pretty smart kids,” Fisher said. “Yeah, I switched. The one I left in the museum is my great-great-grandfather.” He nodded toward the instrument case.
“And that’s James Smithson. But by the time anyone figures that out, I’ll be long gone—with a hundred million bucks in my pocket. I’ll disappear forever.”

“No, you won’t!” KC said. “We’re telling the president as soon as we get back!”

Fisher laughed. “Back? You’re not going back,” he said. “At least not till I’m far away from here.”

He ran up the steps and out of the crypt. Before KC or Marshall could react, he’d slammed the door.

“Stop!” Marshall yelled. He leaped toward the door but tripped on KC’s feet. They both fell over, then scrambled up and tried to force the metal door open. It stayed solidly shut.

“He locked it,” Marshall said. “What are we gonna do?”

It was totally dark. KC couldn’t even see Marshall, though she knew he was standing right next to her. “I’m sitting down,” she said, “so we don’t trip over each other again.”

She hunched down, and she felt Marshall sit next to her. The floor of the
crypt was cold, damp stone. KC felt goose bumps racing up her arms.

“Someone will come looking for us,” she said. She tried to sound calm.

“Like who?” Marshall said, sounding not at all calm. “No one knows where we are!”

KC realized Marshall was right. They’d taken the number 13 bus without going home, so KC hadn’t left a note for her mother. And the president had no idea where they were.

KC started to say that as soon as their parents got worried, they’d come looking. But of course, they wouldn’t know where to look. Not even the FBI would find KC and Marshall in a Maryland cemetery.

Then KC remembered the one person who did know where they were.

“The bus driver!” she said. “He said he’d look for us at the gate in an hour How much time is left, Marsh?”

The hands on Marshall’s watch glowed in the dark. “He dropped us off thirty-two minutes ago,” he said.

“Okay, so when we don’t show up in a half hour, the bus driver will tell somebody we’re in the cemetery.”

“But, KC, he doesn’t know that we’re locked in this dumb crypt,” Marshall said. “Even if someone comes to the cemetery, they won’t know where to look for us!”

“Oh,” KC said. She thought for a minute. “There might be more people visiting graves,” she said. “We have to make a lot of loud noise. Did you see anything we can bang with?”

“Like what, a drum?” Marshall wisecracked.
“KC, this is where they keep dead people. There’s nothing in here but two coffins that weigh about a million pounds each.”

“And the musicians case,” KC said. “Could we use that?”

“I’m not touching that thing,” Marshall said. “Did you forget it’s filled with bones?”

“Not just bones,” KC said. “I saw the hedge clippers in there, too!”

She scrambled over Marshall’s knees and crawled around until she felt the instrument case. Her fingers unhooked the clasps, and she lifted the lid. She took a deep breath and reached in, knowing the skeleton was lying there. But her fingers felt the rubber handles of the hedge clippers. They’d fallen on top of the bones
when Fisher slammed the case shut.

KC grabbed the heavy clippers and crawled back to Marshall.

“Did you get ’em?” he asked.

“Yes!” KC began banging on the crypt door with the metal blades. The clanging noise bounced around the space.

“I hope it sounds that loud outside,” Marshall said.

KC smacked the tool against the door until her arms grew tired, and then Marshall took over.

When Marshall stopped, KC heard a high-pitched noise outside. “Do you hear that?” she asked.

“It’s Happy!” Marshall cried. “He’s barking! He knows we’re in here!”

Marshall dropped the hedge clippers and began yelling. KC and Marshall could hear the little dog’s excited yelping. He sounded close.

“Good dog, Happy!” Marshall yelled. “Happy, go get Mommy! Find Mommy!”

Happy stopped barking. KC and Marshall pressed their ears against the door. Then they heard a wonderful sound. “Is someone in there?” Happy’s owner asked.

“Yes!” Marshall screamed.

“Can you get us out?” KC cried.

“There’s a big padlock,” the woman said. “I can’t imagine how I’ll get it unlocked.”

Happy began to bark again.

“I know!” the woman yelled through the door. “I passed a gas station when I drove here. I’ll go there and get someone to break this lock. Will you be all right?”

“We’ll be okay,” KC said. “But please hurry!”

After she left, the kids slumped back onto the stone floor. The floor was cold, and KC shivered.

“It’s f-freezing in this place,” Marshall said, shivering. “I’ll never complain about the heat again!”

The kids sat, leaning against each other for warmth. KC felt herself growing sleepy. Her eyes closed, but she blinked them open again. Her head felt so heavy. She let her chin fall and closed her eyes. This time she didn’t try to open them again.

The next thing she knew, Marshall was shaking her by the shoulder. “KC, wake up! They’re here!” he cried.