MARVELLA BUBBLES - Harriet Tubman Charter School Bubbles 2nd rev 8_15... · 2015-10-20 · There...

Marvella Bubbles (revised 8/20/15) © 2005 P. Morris

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MARVELLA BUBBLES a novel for young people

by

Peter Morris


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Chapter 1: The Night I Met Marvella ........................................................................................... page 3

Chapter 2: Chocolate Cake and a Frosty Glass of Milk .............................................................. page 6

Chapter 3: Bullies ...................................................................................................................... page 11

Chapter 4: Miss Fanny to the Rescue ......................................................................................... page 14

Chapter 5: Gertruda Von Gerkin Pays a Housecall .................................................................... page 18

Chapter 6: A Man Who’s Good with His Hands ....................................................................... page 23

Chapter 7: A Bit of Marvella’s Past .......................................................................................... page 27

Chapter 8: Mrs. Flummery Had a Cat ....................................................................................... page 29

Chapter 9: S-C-H-E-H-E-R-A-Z-A-D-E ................................................................................... page 30

Chapter 10: Did She or Didn’t She? ............................................................................................ page 34

Chapter 11: Unexpected Guests ................................................................................................... page 37

Chapter 12: Playing Detective ..................................................................................................... page 41

Chapter 13: No One Home .......................................................................................................... page 42

Chapter 14: Missing Person ........................................................................................................ page 44

Chapter 15: An Unfinished Game of Mah Jongg ........................................................................ page 47

Chapter 16: A Horrible Discovery .............................................................................................. page 50

Chapter 17: Choosing Sides ........................................................................................................ page 53

Chapter 18: What to Think? What to Feel ................................................................................... page 57

Chapter 19: A Jailhouse Visit ...................................................................................................... page 60

Chapter 20: The 273rd

Founders’ Day Parade ............................................................................. page 64

Chapter 21: Look Who’s Back .................................................................................................... page 67

Chapter 22: Another Jailhouse Visit............................................................................................. page 70

Chapter 23: A True Ally .............................................................................................................. page 73

Chapter 24: Thpelunking ............................................................................................................. page 76

Chapter 25: Now You See Her, Now You Don’t ........................................................................ page 80

Chapter 26: A Very Confused Kid .............................................................................................. page 84

Chapter 27: Evil Puns and Cute Poems ........................................................................................ page 87

Chapter 28: Hatching a Plan ........................................................................................................ page 91

Chapter 29: The Plan Backfires .................................................................................................... page 95

Chapter 30: Mrs. Witherspoon Freaks ....................................................................................... page 100

Chapter 31: The Trial of Marvella Bubbles ............................................................................... page 103

Chapter 32: Charlie Takes the Stand ......................................................................................... page 106

Chapter 33: A Surprise Witness ................................................................................................ page 109

Chapter 34: An Almost Happy Ending ..................................................................................... page 115


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Chapter One: The Night I Met Marvella

There never has been and never will be anyone quite like Marvella Bubbles. In

the words of Mr. Twiddle, the local pharmacist, she was “the most exquisite creature in

all of Peppercorn County.” It’s true. Marvella Bubbles possessed a regal beauty,

although she flatly denied having any royal blood. Still, there was something queenly

about her as she stood before you in one of her flowing chiffon gowns, her jet black hair

swirled high upon her head like shimmering soft ice cream in a sugar cone. Her eyes

were dark but bright, her chin pronounced and her nose longer than she might have

wished. But it was a good nose, straight and smooth and able to smell any lie within a

quarter of a mile. She was an average-sized woman but her huge hairdo made her seem

to loom over you. And where some women might be corrupted by their beauty, turned

vain and selfish, Marvella Bubbles was gracious and kind to a fault. But sometimes

some people find some things too good to be true.

“There’s something not quite right about that woman” was what Mrs. Flummery

always said when Marvella Bubbles drove by in her vintage 1959 cherry red Cadillac

convertible, the one with the fins. “She’s been around as long as I can remember and she

looks exactly the same. How old is she anyway?”

No one knew exactly how old Marvella Bubbles was. All they knew was that

she’d been around as long as they could remember and was just as beautiful now as the

day they first laid eyes on her. Although she got older, she never seemed to age. Where

women like Mrs. Flummery accumulated wrinkle after wrinkle, Marvella Bubbles’ skin

stayed porcelain smooth. This was the reason Mrs. Flummery and many others in

Peppercorn County thought she must be a witch.

“Nonsense,” Marvella would say whenever anyone hinted at the rumor. “Me?

A witch? Poppycock.” Then she would smile brightly and offer you a piece of

homemade chocolate cake. With a frosty glass of milk, of course.

I first tasted her chocolate cake when I was a small boy, about ten years old. This

was long, long ago in the olden days of the 1970s. I’d run away from home as so many

boys of ten do. I was fleeing for my life. My parents were subjecting me to unspeakable

torture.


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“Charlie, eat your cauliflower,” my mother told me.

“Aw, Mom.”

“You heard your mother,” my dad said.

“But, Pop, it’s yucky.” To which my mother replied that it was full of vitamins.

(Hint to mothers: The promise of vitamins does not make vegetables less yucky.)

I looked down at the cauliflower on my plate. It seemed to look back at me. “It looks

like brains.”

“Eat it,” my father said sternly. My father was a good man, but even good men

are blind to the evils of this world. And cauliflower is evil. It looks evil. It tastes evil.

I had to take a stand.

“No,” I said.

“Please, Charlie,” my mother urged, “eat your cauliflower.”

“I’ll die.” At the time I was sure that was true.

“You won’t die,” my father assured me. But he was wrong. I knew it. So I

dropped my fork, folded my arms and sat in my chair defiantly. My father saw this and

said to me, in his most commanding tone, “Eat that cauliflower or go to your room.”

“Fine,” I said, “I’ll go to my room.”

As I started to get up from the table, my father added, “Take that cauliflower with

you, and don’t leave your room until you’ve eaten it all.”

I sat on my bed staring at that cauliflower for almost three hours before I came to

the inevitable conclusion that my parents didn’t love me. After all, people who love you

don’t lock you in a room with stinky old cauliflower. So I gathered up all the money I

had in the world – three dollars and eleven cents – tip-toed down the backstairs and snuck

out the kitchen door. I’d gone as far as the edge of town when I began to get frightened.

The sounds of the night had surrounded me. The hooting owls and chirping crickets

never seemed so scary when I was at home with my mom and dad. On the outskirts of

town, there were no streetlights. I couldn’t see five feet in front of me. The only light

came from the lonely old house on Half Moon Hill, Marvella Bubbles’ house. I had two

choices: I could continue into the darkness and risk getting lost in the woods, maybe even

fall into the ravine that lay just a few feet from the side of the road, or I could go toward

the light.


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I chose the light. I climbed up the hill, but when I got to the front door of the

house I just couldn’t get myself to knock. I knew what happened to people in scary

movies when they knocked on strange front doors, so I didn’t. But I couldn’t get myself

to walk back out into the darkness either. I decided to curl up under a hydrangea bush in

the front yard until morning. Marvella Bubbles would never even know I was there. I

tried to stay awake, just in case, but I was too tired. I’d have been there all night if

Marvella hadn’t heard me snoring.

“What ever are you doing under my hydrangea bush?” The sound of her voice

awoke me. I was startled but not scared. Who could ever be scared of that sweet,

musical voice? But then something cold and wet suddenly touched my face. I leapt up,

trembling.

“Don’t be afraid, dear. It’s only Miss Fanny.”

“Miss Who?” I asked, looking around and seeing no one.

“Miss Fanny.” And with that, Marvella Bubbles pointed down at her feet. There,

sitting on her haunches, was a little white dog. She was the fluffiest dog I’d ever seen

and she seemed to be always smiling. “Tell me, do you make it a practice of sleeping

under hydrangea bushes?” Marvella asked.

“Uh… no, ma’am, I don’t.”

“Good,” she replied, “because you’d be much more comfortable under the

forsythia.” I wasn’t sure, but I could swear that Miss Fanny nodded in agreement. “I’m

Marvella Bubbles. But do call me Marvella.” She extended her hand but I simply stared

it without saying a word. “Have you a name?” Marvella asked.

“Uh…Charlie. Charlie Witherspoon.”

“The Witherspoons on Loblolly Lane?

“Why, yes,” I answered a bit surprised.

“I recall your grandmother on your father’s side, Henrietta Witherspoon. She was

the Peppercorn County mah jong champion three years running.” I had to take her word

for it. I never knew my grandmother on my father’s side. She died many years before I

was born. But I had heard that her name was Henrietta and that she loved to play a game

with tiles called mah jong. “Would you care to come inside?” Marvella asked. “You

must be cold. It gets awfully chilly at night come September.”


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I was cold. But I was also unsure. She seemed nice. And she knew all about my

grandmother playing mah jong. But she was Marvella Bubbles, and there were those

rumors about her being a witch. Some said she ate little children.

“You’re skeptical,” she said, a warm smile on her face. “Good. You should be.

After all, I am a stranger. Children should always be skeptical of strangers. If you’d feel

safer, you’re welcome to stay out here under the hydrangea bush. But I think you’d be

more comfortable inside.” Again, that dog seemed to nod in agreement.

I thought for a moment. If she were going to hurt me, wouldn’t she have done it

while I was asleep and defenseless? I mean, why wake me up and take the chance of my

screaming or fighting back? And even if she were a witch, she’d have to be a good

witch; she was so pretty and her voice was so warm and that dog was so cute.

“I… I’d like to come in,” I said. “Yes, thank you.”

“Good,” Marvella said, “I love to entertain company.” And with that she swept

into the house. The little white dog followed, its curly palm frond of a tail wagging

behind it.

Chapter Two: Chocolate Cake and a Frosty Glass of Milk

The inside of Marvella Bubbles’ house was nothing like its cold, gray exterior. It

was warm and cozy. In the parlor, there was a fire burning in the fireplace and, on the

mantel above, dozens of framed photographs: some looked very old, brown with age,

others like they’d just been taken yesterday. There was a large grandfather’s clock that

softly tolled eleven. With each bong of the clock, I felt more and more relaxed.

“Come,” Marvella beckoned, “sit and I’ll get you something to eat. Miss Fanny,

you stay and keep our guest company.” I sat on the sofa near the fireplace, sinking into

the soft cushions. Miss Fanny sat on the floor in front of me, looking up with that

perpetual smile on her face. “You two get acquainted. I’ll be right back.” And with that,

Marvella glided out of the room.

I wasn’t quite sure how I was supposed to get acquainted with a dog, so I just sat

quietly on the sofa and looked about the room. It was filled with antiques, the kind my

mother would “ooh” and “ah” over. There was a grand piano in one corner of the room


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and on top of it were many more framed photographs. I got off the sofa and walked

across the room to look at them. Each and every photo was of Marvella Bubbles and a

different person. The same was true of the photos on the mantel. She certainly knew a

lot of people, most of them very strange looking. In one picture, there was a man

wearing the most outrageous suit of clothes I’d ever seen. In another, there was a woman

so fat that there was barely room for Marvella Bubbles in the frame. There was another

picture of a woman with a long, narrow head that seemed to come to a point. Everyone

in every picture looked just a little weird. I looked over my shoulder at the dog. “Weird

pictures, huh, Miss Fanny?” And again, I could swear that dog nodded.

“Here we are! Chocolate cake and a nice frosty glass of milk,” Marvella declared

as she placed a tray on the coffee table by the sofa. It looked delicious. But I wasn’t sure

if I should eat it. What if it was drugged? Or poisoned? What if I ate it and turned into a

toad or something? I stood by the fireplace motionless. “Still skeptical? I don’t blame

you.” And with that she picked up the fork and took a bite of the cake herself, washing it

down with a big gulp from the glass of milk. “There!” She said triumphantly. “Now

enjoy your cake.” I sat back down on the sofa and began eating. The cake was as

delicious as it looked and the frosty cold milk really hit the spot. Marvella Bubbles sat

down beside me. “Tell me, Charlie, why are you running away from home?”

“My parents beat me,” I replied, my mouth full of chocolate cake.

“I doubt that very much.” She looked down her nose at me as she smelled my lie.

“Well, maybe not ‘beat’,” I admitted. “But they’re really mean.”

“What kind of mean things do they do to you,” she inquired.

“Lots,” I told her as I continued to eat the chocolate cake.

“You don’t have to describe them all,” she said, “just one will do.”

“Well,” I mumbled, “tonight they tried to make me eat cauliflower.”

“You don’t like cauliflower?” Marvella asked.

“No,” I told her, “I hate it.”

“I’m not very fond of it either,” Marvella confessed, “but I hardly think it’s worth

losing a family over. Don’t you agree, Miss Fanny?”

There was that nod again. “Does she understand what you’re saying?”


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“Of course she does,” Marvella said. “Do you think I’d talk to her if she didn’t?

That would be crazy.”

“I bet she nods at everything,” I said a bit too smugly.

“I once knew a man who bet a million dollars that the sun would rise in the

morning,” Marvella said.

“And he won the bet, right?”

“No,” she told me, “there was a solar eclipse that day.”

“I still say she nods her head at everything.” I turned to the dog. “Hey, Miss

Fanny, three times three is eight, right?” Miss Fanny looked at me blankly for a moment.

“See,” I thought to myself, “she’s just a dumb dog.” Then the blank expression left Miss

Fanny’s eyes and she shook her head “no”. My mouth hung open and a piece of

chocolate cake fell out of it onto my lap. “She does math?”

“She’s a bit rusty on her times tables,” Marvella explained. “Usually she’d have

responded quicker.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“You’re free to believe whatever you like, Charlie. Personally, I always believe

the unbelievable. It makes the world a much more interesting place.”

“It’s a trick and I’ll prove it.” I set about it by asking Miss Fanny a series of

questions: Was George Washington the first president of the United States? Is an

avocado blue? Can a walrus fly? Do I have five fingers on my left hand? Does it have

to be below freezing for it to snow? She got each and every question right.

“Satisfied?” Marvella asked.

“Lucky guesses,” I declared. Miss Fanny began to growl low. I looked at her.

The smile had left her face.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Marvella said. “You’ve insulted her.”

“I what?” And with that, Miss Fanny got off her haunches, turned away from me

and walked to the other side of the room in a rather haughty fashion.

“You really should apologize, Charlie.”

“But she’s a dog.”

“That hardly gives you the right to be rude,” Marvella added.


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I thought about it for a moment. The woman had been very kind to me; she’d

taken me in and given me a delicious piece of chocolate cake. And, to be perfectly fair,

the dog had answered all my questions correctly. I decided it would be best to do as

Marvella requested. I called out to the dog, “I’m sorry, Miss Fanny.” Immediately, the

little white bundle of fluff came bounding across the room, leapt into my lap and licked

my face.

“There,” Marvella declared gleefully, “we’re all friends again.” Almost as if to

punctuate Marvella’s last remark, Miss Fanny winked at me. Not blinked but definitely,

decidedly winked at me.

“This dog is strange,” I said to Marvella.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” she said.

This was no ordinary dog. That was obvious. I sat quietly for a moment with the

smiling dog in my lap, trying to understand how she could know that George Washington

was the first president of the United States. I came to the inevitable conclusion. “You’re

a witch,” I asked Marvella, “aren’t you?”

Marvella laughed gleefully. “Me? A witch? Poppycock.”

“But you must be,” I said.

She shook her head and said, “I’m afraid not, dear.”

Suddenly, I felt very silly. For a second, I’d allowed myself to believe the silly

rumors that surrounded Marvella Bubbles. Of course she wasn’t a witch. There were no

such things as witches and I told her so then and there.

“Oh, no,” she responded, “there most certainly are witches. I’ve known quite a

few in my day. I just don’t happen to be one.”

I looked at Marvella. I didn’t know what to make of her last statement. “You

know witches?”

“Oh, yes,” She declared as she got off the sofa and walked to the mantelpiece.

“This woman right here is a witch,” and she pointed to the photograph of her and the

woman with the pointy head. “Her name is Gertruda Von Gerkin. This was taken in

1963 when we were on vacation in Las Vegas.”

“You went to Las Vegas with a witch?” I asked.

“We won eight-four dollars on the slot machines,” Marvella said with pride.


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“She must not be a very good witch,” I said.

“On the contrary,” Marvella said, “she’s a wonderful witch.”

“Did she put a spell on your dog?” I asked.

“A spell? Goodness, no. Real witches don’t cast spells. That’s only in fairy

tales.” Marvella looked directly at me as a teacher does when trying to make a point.

“Witches are like scientists. They work with the elements, mixing this and that in order

to come up with wonderful remedies. The only difference between a witch and a doctor

is a diploma.”

“But witches don’t believe in God,” I said.

“They believe in a different God,” Marvella told me, “just as Jews, Muslims,

Hindus and Buddhists do. Not everyone is a Presbyterian, you know.”

“But I don’t understand. Your dog is…”

“Very smart,” Marvella said, concluding my sentence for me. “There’s nothing

supernatural about her. I’m sure there are many more dogs as smart as she. They just

don’t feel as comfortable around people as Miss Fanny does. I don’t have to tell you how

skeptical people can be about things they don’t understand.” She smiled knowingly.

Maybe Marvella was right. Maybe there were other dogs like Miss Fanny who

were smart enough to play dumb around skeptical people. Maybe that pointy-headed

woman in the picture was a witch. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I wanted to know more. But

then the doorbell rang.

“That will be your parents,” chimed Marvella Bubbles.

I was stunned. How did she know that? How could she possibly know that?

“You are a witch!” I cried. “You made my parents appear on your doorstep.”

She laughed and said, “Poppycock. I called them on the telephone in the kitchen

while I was cutting the cake.”

Miss Fanny looked at me with an expression that said “Don’t you feel stupid.”

She then jumped off my lap and ran to the front door to greet my parents. Marvella

invited them in and served them chocolate cake and milk. My parents tried not to look

too uncomfortable being in Marvella’s home. However, they made no attempt to

disguise how displeased they were with me and Marvella could see that.


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“I ran away from home myself,” Marvella told them, “when I was six. I never

went back. Oh, there were times I wanted to but I was so afraid of what my parents

might do to me. They weren’t understanding parents like you, Mr. and Mrs.

Witherspoon.” My mother blushed and my father bowed his head as though ashamed of

the awful punishment he had planned for me.

“You ran away when you were six?” I asked, truly impressed.

“Oh, yes,” Marvella said, “it was an afternoon in June, I recall.”

“Where did you go?” This I had to hear.

“North, south, east, west,” Marvella said with a flourish of her arms. “But I can’t

go into detail now. It’s getting late.”

“When can you go into detail?” I asked eagerly.

“Charlie!” My parents always called out my name at exactly the same time when

they thought I was doing something wrong.

“We’d better be going,” My mother said.

“Yes, come on, Charlie,” My father added. “We’re sorry to have caused you so

much trouble.”

“Not at all,” chirped Marvella Bubbles. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had

such a delightful houseguest.” She looked at me and the expression on her face was so

warm and kind that I knew this wouldn’t be the last time I saw her.

I sat in the backseat as we drove home to Loblolly Lane. My parents were silent

for most of the ride. When we pulled into the driveway, my mother turned toward me

and said, “You are never to go to that woman’s house again. Do you understand? She’s

not normal.” My father was in complete agreement, although that didn’t stop him from

bringing home an extra piece of Marvella’s chocolate cake.

Chapter Three: Bullies

Middlington was not the largest town in Peppercorn County, but it wasn’t the

smallest either. Size-wise, it lay somewhere in the middle. It was an average town full of

average people, all except one: Marvella Bubbles. It wasn’t until several weeks after the

night I ran away that I saw her again. At the time, I was in the fifth grade at Middlington


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Elementary. Like the rest of the town, it was an average school with average teachers

and average students. And Billy Hennessey was your average bully. He had no manners

and no neck. Billy Hennessey’s head seemed to be attached directly to his shoulders.

He didn’t have a waist either. He was a solid block of meanness. “Give me your lunch

money,” he’d snarl, and kids gave it to him. They were afraid of him and his crew, Oscar

Klempner and Dickie Molinger, who were chips off the ol’ block of meanness. Oscar

was tall and thin with wild eyes that bugged out of his head. Dickie was chubby with

beady little eyes that were always squinting. He looked like a mole and that’s what Billy

called him, “The Mole.” Billy, Oscar and The Mole never bothered me but they

terrorized kids like Ezra Coates.

Ezra Coates was a nerd. Everybody knew it, including Ezra Coates. He once

gave an oral report entitled “Great Nerds in History”. He concluded the presentation by

saying that one day he would be among them. He got an “A+” on the project and a

wedgie from Billy Hennessey. Poor Ezra, he was the smallest boy in our class. He had

thick, coke-bottle glasses and a pronounced lisp. He was a bully’s dream come true.

“Did you hear what happened to Ezra Coates?” Mary Alice Garfein asked me.

She didn’t wait for an answer. “He got a black eye.” Mary Alice Garfein was the school

gossip. She had the biggest mouth at Middlington Elementary – literally. I’d say more

than half her face was covered by lips. When she opened her big mouth, the glare from

her braces could be blinding. And she opened her big mouth a lot because Mary Alice

Garfein knew everything that went on in our school and made sure everyone else did too.

In her own words, “What good is a secret if you can’t share it with other people?”

“A black eye? “How?” As if I needed to ask. Mary Alice was all ready to tell

me, whether I wanted to know or not.

“Billy Hennessey cornered him in the boys’ bathroom and punched him in the

face,” she told me eagerly.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because he’s a nerd,” she explained, rolling her eyes. She then ran to the other

end of the playground to tell the news to the kids on the jungle gym.

I felt bad for Ezra. Spitballs in his hair and “kick me” signs taped to his back

were bad enough, but now things were getting violent. Something had to be done about


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Billy and his crew, so I did the only thing a kid in my position could do: I thanked my

lucky stars it was happening to Ezra and not to me. Although I wasn’t the most popular

kid in school, people liked me. I got invited to birthday parties and sleepovers, and

nobody ever wrote anything mean about me on the bathroom walls – as far as I knew.

I wasn’t too tall or too short. I wasn’t too fat or too thin. I was average: short brown

hair, brown eyes, some freckles but not too many. I blended in. I was safe, and I was

going to stay that way.

A few days after Ezra got his black eye, I was riding my bicycle around town.

I rode by Mr. Twiddle’s pharmacy and saw Mrs. Flummery in the window trying to

decide whether to buy the large or small size of laxative. Since she always had such a

constipated look on her face, I figured she should purchase the larger size. I rode by the

library and saw Mary Alice Garfein and her friends coming out carrying armloads of

books. I was humming to myself as I rode by the Fanucci Brothers’ gas station. It was a

clear-sky afternoon and I didn’t have a care in the world. The same couldn’t be said for

Ezra Coates. As I was riding my bicycle past the open field behind the elementary

school, I saw Billy Hennessey and his crew beating on him. I stopped and watched for a

moment. Billy was twisting Ezra’s arm behind his back while Oscar and The Mole

laughed and egged him on. Ezra wasn’t yelling or begging for mercy; he was just silently

taking it. This made Billy twist his arm harder. I couldn’t watch anymore. I decided to

ride away on my bicycle as fast as I could. It was the smart thing to do.

“Let go of him,” I heard somebody call out. Only there was nobody else there.

Those words had come out of me. All four of them turned to look at me. It was then I

noticed the tears in Ezra’s eyes magnified by his coke-bottle glasses.

“Get out of here, Witherspoon,” Billy snarled at me. “This ain’t got nothin’ to do

with you.” Oscar echoed the message: “Yeah, nothin’ to do with you.” The Mole, so as

not to be left out, threw in a “yeah” of his own.

“Okay,” I responded, “I’ll get out of here. And I’ll go right to the police station.

It’s only three blocks away.”

The snarls on the faces of Oscar and The Mole were replaced by looks of worry.

They turned to Billy for guidance. But Billy wasn’t scared. His snarl had turned rabid.

I don’t think anyone had ever looked at me with such hate before. He glared at me.


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I glared back, refusing to blink or turn away. This silent showdown seemed to go on

forever. Finally, Billy let go of Ezra, throwing him to the ground. He started walking

toward me; Oscar and The Mole followed. I was nervous but I refused to show any sign

of weakness. I stood by my bike, stone-faced. Billy stood in front me. He grabbed hold

of the handlebars and shoved his face into mine. “You’re dead, Witherspoon,” he hissed.

He let go of the handlebars and walked away. Oscar and The Mole went after him.

“You’re dead,” Oscar shouted back over his shoulder.

“Yeah!” added The Mole.

I stood there motionless. What had I done? I defied Billy Hennessey and for

what? Ezra Coates. I must’ve been out of my mind. Ezra was running around the field

trying to retrieve the papers that Billy and his crew had emptied out of his book bag.

They were flying about in the wind. “Well, I might as well go all the way,” I thought to

myself. I kicked down the kickstand on my bicycle and went to help Ezra gather his

things.

“Thankth, Charlie,” lisped Ezra.

“Forget it” was my muttered response. I was mad, not at Ezra but at my dumb

luck. I would have to be riding by when I did. I don’t know exactly how long it took to

gather up all of Ezra’s things – we never did find his protractor – but the sun was

beginning to set by the time we were done.

“Will you be able to get home alright, Ezra?”

“Sure,” he said, nodding his head.

We looked at each other for an awkward moment. These were probably the most

words we’d ever spoken to one another. Silently, I walked back to my bicycle, kicked

the kickstand into it up position and rode towards home. I looked back over my shoulder

at one point and saw Ezra still standing in the field watching me ride away.

Chapter Four: Miss Fanny To The Rescue

I didn’t sleep very well that night. The following day was a school day and I

would have to face Billy and his crew. I thought about faking a stomach ache. I’d done


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it before when I hadn’t done my homework and didn’t want to face the glowering look of

my homeroom teacher, Miss Semple. Miss Semple could glower like nobody else.

I think it was because she had only one eyebrow running across the entire length of her

face. She also had a big black mole hanging off the end of her chin. When you looked at

her it was no wonder she was still “Miss Semple”. But I’d rather have faced a million

Miss Semples than one Billy Hennessey. Billy came from a long line of bullies. His

father was a bully. One year on St. Patrick’s Day, he got arrested for fighting with

someone who had refused to wear green. It was said his great grandfather killed a man

over a hardboiled egg. Every time I started to fall asleep, I’d see Billy crushing my head

like it was a hardboiled egg. I quickly opened my eyes and kept them that way. I stared

up at the ceiling all night long thinking about what to do. I knew I wouldn’t be able to

avoid Billy, Oscar and The Mole forever, so I decided to brave it and go to school.

Besides, it was possible they’d forgotten about the whole thing.

“Nerd lover!” Billy yelled the moment I stepped through the front doors of the

school. Everybody turned to see what was going on. “Charlie Witherspoon is a nerd

lover.”

Oscar and The Mole snickered. Mary Alice Garfein ran to tell someone, anyone,

what had just happened. I decided to play it cool. I just kept walking.

“Nerd lover,” Billy began chanting, “nerd lover, nerd lover, nerd lover, nerd

lover.” Oscar and The Mole joined him in his taunting chorus as the others watched and

laughed. This, I knew, was only the beginning. “Charlie Witherspoon + Ezra Coates”

was written inside a big heart on the wall of one of the bathroom stalls in the boy’s room.

Billy tripped me when I walked by him in the lunchroom carrying a tray of macaroni and

cheese. Oscar and The Mole chanted “nerd lover” from atop the jungle gym all during

recess. Kids who normally talked to me shied away, whispering to one another as I

passed by them. By the time the three o’clock bell rang, I was completely miserable.

The next day I did fake that stomach ache only my mother didn’t fall for it. “Get

out of bed, Charlie, there’s nothing wrong with you.” As I dressed for school, a small

voice in my head suggested that today might be better than yesterday. (Advice to the

reader: Never listen to small voices in your head. They know nothing.) The teasing and


16

taunting continued that day and every day after that for the rest of the week. It was now a

certainty: my life would never again be the same.

That Saturday afternoon, I was riding my bicycle around town. I was feeling

better. It was the weekend and I would be free of Billy and his crew for two whole days.

But as I passed by the woods near Marvella Bubbles’ house, something hit me in the

head. I was stunned and knocked off my balance. I fell to the ground, my bike landing

on top of me. The back of my head throbbed. I touched it and it felt wet. When I

examined my fingertips I saw there was blood on them. The next thing I knew there were

three pairs of sneakers in front of me. I didn’t have to look up to know who was standing

in them.

“Get up,” Billy demanded.

Before I moved a muscle, Oscar yelled, “You heard him,” to which The Mole

added his usual “Yeah”.

I stood up. The three of them surrounded me. Billy held a small rock in his hand.

“Hey,” he said, “whatta ya mean gettin’ blood on my rock.” Oscar and The Mole

snickered. I said nothing. I remained silent and expressionless. I hoped if I did nothing

they’d get bored and move on.

“You should be careful where you ride your bike. You keep windin’ up in all the

wrong places,” Billy said coldly. Then suddenly a sinister half-smile crossed his face

and a false note of sincerity entered his voice. “Besides it ain’t safe ridin’ around here.

There’s a big ravine by the side of the road. You ain’t careful, your bike could end up in

that ravine.” And with that, Billy picked up my bike, walked to the side of the road and

threw it into the ravine. “Like that,” he said. Oscar and The Mole laughed wildly as my

bike hurtled down the hillside, smashing against rock after rock until it landed in the

stream at the bottom of the ravine. I stood there suppressing my rage. I wanted to lash

out but, I knew if I did, they’d beat me to a pulp. After all, it was three against one.

“Whatta ya gonna do now, Witherspoon,” Billy asked. The Mole began to cackle

and flap his arms like a chicken.

“Hey,” Oscar chimed in, “maybe he should go down and get it.”

Billy looked at Oscar pleased. “Good idea. Whatta ya say we help him?”


17

This wasn’t a question; it was a command. They immediately pounced on me.

Billy grabbed one arm, Oscar grabbed the other and The Mole started pushing from

behind as the three of them dragged me toward the ravine.

This seemed a good time to break my silence. “No!” I screamed over and over

again as I struggled to break free, “Let go of me! Let go!” I was sure I was going to go

headfirst into the ravine when I heard a voice on the other side of the road, the side

Marvella Bubbles lived on.

“What on earth are you boys doing?” It was Marvella herself. She stood there in

one of her flowing chiffon gowns, her soft ice-cream hair swirling to the sky. Miss

Fanny was by her side looking not at all happy.

Oscar’s grip on my arm loosened. “It’s Marvella Bubbles,” he gasped. The Mole

stopped pushing. His beady little eyes opened wider than they’d ever been opened

before. He was too petrified to even say “yeah”.

Billy was the only one who wasn’t afraid. “Go away, lady. Mind your own

business.” Marvella harumphed at Billy’s rudeness. “And take that mutt with you.”

Miss Fanny began to growl.

“The dog’s growling,” Oscar warned him.

“That little hairball,” Billy said and began to laugh.

Miss Fanny’s growl turned to a snarl. “I wouldn’t insult her if I were you,”

Marvella suggested.

“Why not?” Billy seemed so sure of himself that he even took a few steps toward

Miss Fanny. “What could a little dog like that do to me?”

Marvella looked down at Miss Fanny and said, “Why don’t you show him.”

What happened next was truly amazing. Miss Fanny leaped across the road

knocking Billy to the ground just as Billy’s rock had knocked me down. In a frenzy, she

began tearing at his clothes. Billy screamed. He called for Oscar and The Mole but they

were already running in the opposite direction. He tried to push the dog off but she was

too tenacious. Miss Fanny didn’t bite him though, not once. She simply went after his

clothes. She tore his shirt to shreds and ripped through the seat of his blue jeans without

shedding a drop of blood. She was about to tear off his underpants when Billy managed


18

to get up from the ground and run away. Miss Fanny didn’t chase after him. Instead,

she sat on her haunches and smiled at me, very satisfied with herself.

“I don’t think I care for those boys at all, Charlie,” Marvella said.

“Neither do I,” I told her.

Chapter Five: Gertrude Von Gerkin Pays a House Call

Marvella explained she had seen everything from her parlor window and decided

it might be best to intervene. I thanked her and Miss Fanny. Miss Fanny winked. Then

Marvella noticed the blood on my fingers. “Oh, dear, you’ve been hurt.” She insisted I

come up to the house so she could tend to my wound. I remembered that my parents had

forbidden me to ever see the woman again but I figured, under the circumstances, they’d

understand. Marvella Bubbles, Miss Fanny and I went up to the house together.

Marvella showed me into her kitchen. It smelled of chocolate cake. There was a big

cast-iron stove and a water pump in the sink. There wasn’t a pot, pan or utensil in there

that was less than one hundred years old. I sat at the old oak kitchen table while Marvella

examined the back of my head. She tsk-tsked.

“Does it look bad?” I asked.

“Bad enough,” she replied. She tried to wash away some of the blood and dirt but

the back of my head was tender to the touch. Instead, she took a dishtowel and wrapped

it around my head. She then walked over to the counter and picked up one of those old-

fashioned candlestick telephones. She lifted the receiver and dialed. I assumed she was

calling my parents again. “Hello, Gertruda, it’s Marvella.” Her voice became even more

musical when she talked on the telephone. “I have a little boy here with a ghastly wound

on the back of his head. Could you come and look at it? Wonderful. We’ll be expecting

you.”

Gertruda? Who was Gertruda? Wait a minute, that was the name of the pointy-

headed lady in the photograph on Marvella Bubbles’ mantelpiece. That was the woman

she said was a witch. I leapt to my feet. “A witch! You called a witch!”

“Yes,” she said calmly, “I did.”


19

“Maybe we could just go to the drug store,” I hastily suggested, “and get

something from Mr. Twiddle. Or maybe…”

Marvella interrupted me, “Do you want to get the back of your head shaved? Do

you want stitches? Do you want to wear a big ugly bandage for weeks on end?”

“No,” I told her, “of course not.”

“Then let me handle this.” She assured me that “no one will turn you into a toad.”

I didn’t know what to think. Part of me was scared; I was afraid to meet a witch.

But another part of me was excited; I was really going to meet a witch. Sure, Marvella

had told me they weren’t anything like the ones in fairy tales; but, fairy tale or not, she

was still a witch. What would she be like? What would she do to me? Marvella said she

wouldn’t turn me into a toad, but could I really be sure of that? I thought it over and

decided I could. Although I had met her on only one other occasion, I trusted Marvella

Bubbles. While we waited for the arrival of the witch, she served me a piece of

chocolate cake and a frosty glass of milk. As I ate, she told me all about Gertruda Von

Gerkin. She told me Gertruda came to America with her mother many years ago. They

had left Germany at a time when bullies called Nazis had made Germany a not very nice

place to live. Gertruda’s father let the Nazis push him around but her mother didn’t. One

night, she took Gertruda and fled the country. They sailed across the Atlantic and settled

near Middlington. Gertruda never saw her father again. At an early age, she decided that

she would become a doctor and help people. “She may not be beautiful on the outside,”

Marvella said, “but she is very beautiful on the inside.” While studying to become a

doctor, Gertruda became disenchanted with modern medicine. She thought needles were

barbaric and that most medications tasted foul. She also didn’t like playing golf either,

which apparently you had to do if you wanted to be a doctor in the United States, so she

decided to look for another way to help people. That’s when Gertruda discovered

witchcraft. “Witchcraft,” Marvella said, “is a very old and very natural way of treating

the sick. It has nothing to do with black magic,” she continued. “That was a vicious

rumor spread by people who didn’t like and didn’t understand what witches were doing.”

“No black magic?” I asked.

“No black magic,” she reassured me. “If it was black magic, we would have won

more than eighty-four dollars in Las Vegas.”


20

I didn’t understand everything Marvella told me about Gertruda but this last

statement seemed to make sense. “Is that where you met?” I asked. “In Las Vegas?”

“Oh, no,” Marvella said, “we met right here in Peppercorn County. We belong to

the same mah jong club.”

“The same club my grandmother belonged to?” I asked.

A cloud seemed to pass over Marvella Bubbles’ face. It wasn’t a black cloud of

anger; it was a gray cloud of sadness. She averted her eyes and looked down at the

kitchen table. “No, dear,” she explained in a small voice, “I’m afraid I never had the

pleasure of playing with your grandmother.” Silently, Marvella Bubbles picked up my

now empty cake plate and took it to the sink. Miss Fanny, who was curled up on a small

mat in the corner, was scratching her chin with her back leg. I sat at the table feeling

awkward, as if I’d done something bad, but I had no idea what that could have been. I

was about to ask Marvella what was wrong when she spun around, the sunshine having

returned to her face. “I have an idea. Let’s sing some songs while we wait for Gertruda.”

Marvella led me to the grand piano in the parlor. We sat on the bench together. There

was already a piece of sheet music ready to be played. It was entitled La sonata per un

Caro Amico.

“Is that French or something?” I asked, indicating the title of the music.

“No, dear, it’s Italian.” said Marvella, gently correcting me. “It means ‘sonata

for a dear friend’ and it was written by my dear friend Luigi Della Fortuna.” Marvella

pointed to a framed photograph on the piano. It was of a dashing gentleman with wavy

blonde hair and a pencil-thin moustache. He was the one normal-looking person in all of

Marvella’s photos.

“Is he famous?” I wondered.

“Famous?” She seemed surprised that his name was unfamiliar to me. “Luigi

Della Fortuna is the only pianist in the world with twelve fingers – six on each hand.”

I should’ve known anyone who was a friend of Marvella Bubbles couldn’t be

completely normal.

Marvella took Luigi’s sonata off the piano and began playing “She’ll Be Comin’

Round the Mountain”. I never liked that song and my head was starting to throb again


21

but I sang along with Marvella anyway. So did Miss Fanny, who had made herself

comfortable beneath the piano. She punctuated each line we sang with a bark:

“She’ll be comin’ round the mountain, when she comes.”

“Woof woof!”

“She be comin’ round the mountain, when she comes.”

“Woof woof!”

“She’ll be comin’ round the mountain, she’ll be comin’ round the mountain, she’ll

be comin’ round the mountain when she comes.”

“Woof woof!”

We were about to begin singing “My Darlin’ Clementine,” another song I

disliked, when the doorbell rang. It was Gertruda Von Gerkin. She didn’t arrive on a

broom. She arrived in a Volkswagen beetle. Although she had a pointy-head, she didn’t

wear a pointy black hat like the witches in the storybooks. What she did wear was a gray

tweed suit and a strand of pearls with matching clip-on earrings. Her gray hair was worn

in a bun and looked like a pom-pom on the top of her pointy head. She carried a large

make-up case which was filled with God-knows-what.

“Gertruda, dear,” Marvella sang out, “do come in!” They embraced.

“Vhere is zee boy?” Gertruda asked in a stern German tone. Marvella pointed

toward the piano bench where I sat nervously. “You vill come into zee kitchen now,”

Gertruda demanded, then marched off toward the kitchen. We all followed obediently,

including Miss Fanny.

Gertruda removed the dishtowel from my head and examined the wound. “Zis

vuz done vis a rock, no?” We all nodded our heads, including Miss Fanny. “Zit,” she

instructed us, “I vill begin.” Marvella and I zat – I mean, sat – at the kitchen table as

Gertruda opened her large make-up case and began removing a variety of bottles.

“Licorice root, no. Rose water, yes. Vanilla extract, yes. Pickle juice, no. Dandelion

seeds, yes.” She pulled out bottle after bottle, putting each “no” on one side of the

kitchen table and each “yes” on the other. “I vill need a large pot,” she told Marvella.

Into that large pot she poured varying amounts from the “yes” bottles. She then mixed

them together and let them simmer on the cast-iron stove for fifteen minutes. The potion

smelled pretty good.


22

“It is done,” Gertruda announced.

“Wonderful,” Marvella said.

“What do I do?” I asked. “Drink it?”

“No,” Gertruda answered. “You vair it.” She took a clean dishtowel, dipped it in

the mixture and then wrapped it around my head. “Do not remove zee towel until

morning.” I was very concerned about this and asked how I was supposed to explain to

my parents why I had a dishtowel wrapped around my head. “Zat,” she said, “is your

problem. I am done.” And with that, Gertruda Von Gerkin began putting all her bottles

back into her make-up case.

“Thank you, Gertruda,” Marvella said. “It was so sweet of you to rush over like

this.”

Gertruda looked at Marvella Bubbles. Her face was like stone. “I cannot help zat

I am sveet,” she said.

Marvella kissed her on the cheek. I think Gertruda would have liked to smile, but

she didn’t. If she had, I think her entire face would’ve cracked from her mouth all the

way up to the top of her pointy head. Marvella showed Gertruda to the door and waved

to her as she climbed into her Volkswagen beetle and drove away. “Now,” Marvella said

as she closed the front door, “we ought to see about getting you home.”

“My bicycle’s at the bottom of the ravine. I’ll never be able to get it up.”

“You let me worry about that,” Marvella said. “I have a friend I can call.”

I wondered which photograph this friend was in. “For now, I’ll drive you home.”

I began to panic. I couldn’t let my parents see me in Marvella Bubble’s cherry

red 1959 Cadillac convertible. They’d freak out. And I couldn’t tell Marvella that, not

after all she’d done for me. It would hurt her feelings. “Could you drop me off at a

friend’s house instead?” I asked. Marvella smiled knowingly and agreed. I said

goodbye to Miss Fanny. She seemed sad to see me go. Marvella put on a pair of movie

star-style sunglasses and wrapped a long, colorful scarf around her neck. We climbed

into her car and drove down Half Moon Hill heading toward the center of town, her

colorful scarf flapping in the wind. I had Marvella drop me off a few blocks away from

my home. I hoped I could sneak inside without my parents noticing.

“What are you doing with that dishtowel on your head?” My mother asked.


23

I thought fast. “Uh… it’s the new thing. All the kids are doing it. You wrap a

dishtowel around your head. It’s cool.”

My mother looked perplexed. My father just shrugged it off. “Well, Millie,” he

sighed, “I suppose there are worse things he could be doing.” And that was the last that

was said of it.

I slept with the dishtowel on my head that night. The vanilla extract in the potion

had given it the faint odor of French toast. When I awoke on Sunday morning, I took it

off and felt the back of my head. There was no pain. There was no scab. There was

nothing but my hair. The wound had healed completely in less than a day. I had been

cured by a witch and I wasn’t a toad.

Chapter Six: A Man Who’s Good with His Hands

“Did you hear what happened to Billy Hennessey?” I overheard Mary Alice

Garfein say to a group of third graders that Monday at school. “He was attacked by a

werewolf.”

When Billy Hennessey was spotted running through town on Saturday, his clothes

all torn up by Miss Fanny, people were naturally curious as to what had happened. Mrs.

Flummery stopped him outside Mr. Twiddle’s pharmacy and demanded an explanation.

A bully like Billy had a reputation to maintain, a reputation that would be ruined if

people knew he’d lost a fight to a little white dog with a curly, swirly tail. Panting and

sweating, Billy blurted out that he’d been attacked by a wolf near Marvella Bubbles’

house. Mrs. Flummery quickly spread the news. When Oscar Klempner was asked for

his side of the story, he claimed it was no ordinary wolf that attacked Billy but a

werewolf. Of course, The Mole backed him up. And since Marvella was involved, kids

believed it – especially kids like Mary Alice Garfein. It amazed me what people were

willing to believe about Marvella Bubbles. Yes, she lived by herself in that lonely house

on the edge of town. Yes, she never seemed to age. Yes, she had the strangest hairdo

anyone had ever seen. But she was such a nice lady, something anyone who ever talked

to her quickly discovered. The problem was getting people to talk to her in the first


24

place. Everyone in Middlington had been scared off by the rumors. And now here was a

new one.

“Oscar says her little white dog transformed into a werewolf right before his

eyes.” The third graders stood spellbound as Mary Alice told them the god’s-honest-

cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die-stick-a-needle-in-my-eye truth about what happened.

“It’s a good thing Billy fought it off before he got bit or he’d be a werewolf too.” There

was an audible gasp from the third graders. I couldn’t help but laugh. After all, I knew

the truth. “It’s not funny, Charlie,” chided Mary Alice. “He could’ve been killed.”

The others looked at me as if I were the most heartless person on the planet. Suddenly,

everybody was on Billy’s side, even people he had picked on. When Billy walked

through the front doors of the school, followed by Oscar and The Mole, everybody

crowded around him; everybody but me and Ezra Coates, who was standing on the other

side of the lobby, one shoulder drooping lower than the other from the weight of his

enormous book bag. It was clear that Ezra didn’t believe Billy had been attacked by a

werewolf. Ezra was too smart to accept anything so ridiculous.

“Dogth don’t turn into werewolfth,” he said, “people do.”

“There are no such things as werewolves,” Miss Semple told the class. “But I

recommend you all stay far away from Half Moon Hill nonetheless.”

Despite all the nonsense about Marvella and werewolves, that Monday turned out

to be a pretty good day for me. Billy and his crew were so busy retelling the story of

their near-death experience that they didn’t have time to tease me. I ate lunch in peace.

Kids who had been afraid to be seen in the presence of a “nerd lover” stopped avoiding

me. It looked like my life was returning to normal. Unfortunately, by Wednesday, the

story of the werewolf had become old news and, with nothing better to do, Billy resumed

tormenting me. He was now more vicious than ever, maybe because I knew the

humiliating truth of what had happened between him and a little white ball of fluff.

I had gym class on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. On this particular

Wednesday, we were playing dodgeball. When I got back to the locker room, I couldn’t

find my shirt. Jeffrey Mulray found it for me. It had been stuffed into a toilet bowl.

“Next time it’ll be your head,” Billy muttered as he passed by on his way out of the

locker room. I wore my sweaty gym tee shirt for the rest of the school day. Oscar and


25

The Mole held their noses and yelled “b.o. – body odor” every time they passed me in the

hallway. This amused Billy to no end.

I was fairly depressed by the time I arrived home that afternoon. But there was

something waiting for me on the doorstep that cheered me up considerably. It was an

envelope with my name written on it. The notepaper inside had the initials “M.B.”

printed at the top. The message, written in impeccable penmanship, was as follows:

“Your chariot awaits!” At first I wasn’t quite sure what the message meant. I didn’t

own a chariot. Then it hit me: “My bike,” I thought to myself. “Marvella got my bike

out of the ravine.” As I walked from my house to Marvella’s, I kept my eyes open for

Billy and his crew. Who knew where they’d pop up next? When I finally reached

Marvella’s front door, I heard beautiful piano music coming from inside.

“I see you received my note,” Marvella said upon opening the door. “Come in,

come in.”

When I walked into the parlor, I saw the handsome man with the wavy blond hair

and pencil-thin mustache playing the piano. “Charlie, this is my dear friend Luigi Della

Fortuna. Luigi,” Marvella continued, “this is my dear friend Charlie Witherspoon.”

Luigi did not stop playing. He merely gave a curt nod of his head, a lock of his wavy hair

falling down over his forehead. His hands were moving rapidly over the keyboard. I had

never before seen anyone’s hands move that quickly. Then I remembered: the man had

twelve fingers. I looked down and saw Miss Fanny lying quietly beneath the piano. “She

loves good music,” Marvella said. “Even werewolves have taste.” I turned to Marvella,

startled. Somehow she had heard the latest rumor. She smiled as though amused by it all

but something told me she didn’t find it very funny. We both stood silent for a moment

as Luigi’s beautiful music floated by us.

“Thank you,” I said, “for getting my bike out of the ravine.”

“Not I,” said Marvella, quick to give credit where credit is due. “Luigi.”

“It was-a nothing,” Luigi said in an almost comical Italian accent. He continued

to play the piano as he spoke. “I climbed-a down into the ravine with-a rope. There is-a

cave-a down there. The stream, she runs-a past the cave-a. It is-a very beautiful.”

Luigi’s music seemed to be evoking the beauty of the setting. “The bicycle, she was-a all

smashed up,” he said, smashing his hands down on the keyboard. “I tie her to-a the rope,


26

climb-a back up and lift-a her out.” The music echoed the strain of Luigi hoisting the

bicycle out of the ravine.

“Thank you,” I said.

“But the bicycle,” he repeated, “she was-a all smashed up.” Again, his hands

came down dramatically on the keyboard.

“Oh,” I muttered, noticeably upset.

“So,” he said, “I fix-a her.” The music became bright and tinkly.

This took me completely by surprise. “He fixed it?” I asked Marvella.

“Indeed he did,” she said. “Luigi is very good with his hands.” And with that,

Luigi stopped playing, lifted up his hands and wiggled his twelve fingers.

“It’s a gift,” Luigi proclaimed. “Some-a people have it, some-a do not. Take-a

my brother Benito. He is-a no good with-a his hands. He is-a all thumbs.”

“How many fingers does he have?” I asked.

“Ten,” Luigi said, “but they are-a all thumbs.”

I tried to imagine Luigi’s brother with five thumbs on each hand. Then I tried to

imagine his toes. Were they all big toes? And what about Luigi? Did he have twelve

toes as well as twelve fingers? And if so, did he have trouble buying shoes? I lowered

my eyes to see under the piano. Luigi wore shiny black patent leather shoes. They

looked normal enough.

“Size nine,” Marvella whispered into my ear. “You can buy them in any

department store.”

“Oh,” I said, embarrassed at having been caught staring at Luigi’s feet. I looked

up at Marvella, afraid she might be angry with me. She merely smiled a very

understanding smile.

“Luigi,” Marvella asked, “would you care to join Charlie and me for some

chocolate cake and milk?”

Luigi leapt to his feet. “I would-a love too!” he announced.


27

Chapter Seven: A Bit of Marvella’s Past

We all went into the kitchen. Miss Fanny made herself comfortable on the floor

by the warm cast-iron stove while the rest of us enjoyed chocolate cake and milk at the

kitchen table. I forced myself not to look at Luigi’s hands as he ate. Although I was

curious to see how he held a fork – I wondered whether the sixth finger would get in the

way – I didn’t want Marvella to catch me staring again.

“Ah, Marvella,” Luigi cried out, “you make-a the world’s best chocolate cake!”

“Thank you, Luigi,” she said.

“Who taught-a you how to bake?” Luigi asked. “Your mama?”

“Oh, no,” Marvella said, “I barely knew my mother. I ran away from home when

I was six.”

I had forgotten Marvella had mentioned that the evening we first met. My

curiosity was peaked again. “Did you really run away from home when you were six?”

I asked.

Luigi dropped his fork onto his plate. He looked at me reproachfully, “If-a

Marvella say she run-a away at six then she run-a away at six. Marvella Bubbles no-a

lie.”

Again I was embarrassed and again Marvella reassured me with her smile. “Oh,

I know it’s hard to believe, Charlie, but it’s true. I ran away from home when I was six

and joined the circus.”

“Really?” I asked, truly amazed. “You ran away to join the circus? Cool!”

“No, dear,” Marvella corrected me, “I joined the circus because I had nowhere

else to go. A circus sideshow is full of people no one wants or understands. It was the

perfect place for me. I was more or less adopted by a woman named Bettina Petite. She

found me sleeping in a pile of hay behind the main tent. Bettina was the fat lady at the

circus. She weighed over 500 pounds and I’d venture to say that at least 300 of those

pounds were pure heart. She was the kindest woman I’ve ever known.” I remembered

the picture of Marvella and the fat woman on the mantel above the fireplace. That must

have been Bettina Petite. “I lived and traveled with Bettina for almost ten years,”

Marvella continued. “I earned my keep by working as a roustabout. Do you know what


28

a roustabout is, Charlie?” I confessed that I didn’t. “A roustabout,” she went on, “sets up

the tents and hangs all the nets and wires when the circus arrives in town, then takes them

down and packs them up when the circus is ready to move on. It’s very hard work.”

“I bet you could-a used extra fingers,” Luigi laughed.

“They would’ve come in handy,” Marvella said, joining the laughter.

“Were you happy at the circus?” I asked.

“Oh, very,” said Marvella. “Bettina was like a second mother to me and the other

members of the sideshow became my family. I’ll never forget any of them: Floyd the

Human Stringbean, Torvald the Sword Swallower, Ruthanda the Monkey Girl. I loved

them all.” Marvella began sharing with us her adventures as a member of Horace T.

Quackenbush’s Traveling Circus Extraordinare. Apparently, Luigi had never heard these

stories before because he seemed as enthralled by them as I was. Marvella told us how

she helped wash and feed the elephants and was often allowed to ride on their backs. She

told us how one day a ten-foot python wrapped itself around her and would’ve squeezed

the life out of her if Sylviane the Snake Charmer hadn’t shown up in the nick of time.

She told us how Sebastian the Magnificent had shown her how to escape from a locked

box bound with chains, and how the Amazing Ludmilla had taught her how to walk a

tightrope a hundred feet in the air.

“You can walk a tightrope?” I asked, utterly amazed.

“I could,” Marvella said, “in my younger days.”

But Luigi shook his head and said, “Marvella Bubbles can-a do anything she

puts-a her mind to.”

“The mind may be willing,” Marvella said, “but the body…”

At which point, Luigi interrupted her to say, “The body is-a just fine.”

I had never felt uncomfortable in Marvella Bubbles’ house. From the very first

moment I set foot in it, I felt safe and warm. But now, for the first time, I felt uneasy.

Luigi had that look in his eye, the look my father sometimes gave my mother. It was that

mushy, dreamy look that grown-ups get on their faces just before they kiss. “Yuck,”

I thought to myself. I think Marvella could sense my discomfort because she rose from

the kitchen table and said, “Why don’t I show Charlie how you fixed his bicycle?”

Marvella led me out through the kitchen door into the backyard. It was October so the


29

vegetable garden and flower patches had withered, but you could tell how pretty and full-

of-life it would be come springtime. There was an old shed in a far corner of the yard.

Marvella opened the door to the shed and there, framed in the doorway, was my bicycle,

spotless and shiny, looking good as new. I didn’t know what to say. Standing beside me

was this woman I had been taught to fear who on three separate occasions had come to

my rescue. I began to feel strange, kind of fluttery in my chest. I wasn’t sure what to

make of it until I turned and looked up into Marvella’s sweet, kindly face. That’s when I

knew that I loved her. Not the way Luigi apparently did, but the same way I loved my

mom and dad. I threw my arms around her and hugged her harder than any python could.

“Good gracious,” Marvella said, “whatever did I do to deserve this?”

“Thank you,” I murmured softly. “Thank you for everything.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” she said, “It was all Luigi.”

“No,” I insisted, “it was you too.”

Marvella kissed the top of my head. It was like being blessed. As I rode my

newly repaired bicycle home that evening, I felt that nothing could harm me. But, as it

turns out, I wasn’t the one in danger.

Chapter Eight: Mrs. Flummery Had a Cat

Elmer Flummery had been mayor of Middlington for over thirty years. He had

devoted his life to making the town a better place to live. It was Elmer Flummery who

authorized that trash was to be picked up twice a week instead of only once. This made

everyone very happy, except for the raccoons. Elmer Flummery was a jolly man with

apple cheeks and a shiny melon of a head. He always presided over the annual Founders’

Day parade, amusing everyone with his endless supply of knock-knock jokes. He was a

popular public figure, so it was a very sad day in Middlington when Elmer Flummery

died. It was reported that he died of natural causes, but according to my father “dying

was the only way Elmer could get away from Old Prune Face.” My father wasn’t the

only person in Middlington to refer to Agnes Flummery as “Old Prune Face”. The

combination of her many wrinkles and sour disposition made it the ideal nickname.

Agnes Flummery was as unlikeable as her husband had been likeable. No one could


30

understand how the two of them ever become a couple. My mother said it was a simple

case of opposites attracting. As the mayor’s wife, Mrs. Flummery had been the leader of

Middlington society. Although Wendell Liverspot became the new mayor after her

husband’s death, she retained her social standing. Mrs. Flummery had a great deal of

influence over the lifestyles of everyone who lived in Middlington. If she said you were

“out,” you were out; and as far as she was concerned, no one was further “out” than

Marvella Bubbles.

The Flummerys had never had any children. My mother said Mrs. Flummery

couldn’t have them. My father said she just plain didn’t want them. Instead, the

Flummerys had a number of cats over the course of their long marriage. There had been

Cleopatra, the tabby; Lucretia, the Siamese; Madame Pompadour, the Angora; and, at the

time this story takes place, Scheherazade, the long-haired Persian. Each cat had worn a

collar with its name spelled out in rhinestones. To Mrs. Flummery, these cats were her

babies and she cooed over them and caressed them and gave them what little love she had

in her heart. So, of course, she was devastated the day Scheherazade disappeared, some

say more so than she was the day her husband died.

“Don’t worry, Agnes,” Mr. Twiddle said as he rang up her latest order of

laxatives. “She’ll come back. Probably just off seein’ the sights.”

“What sights?” Mrs. Flummery snapped.

“Oh, I don’t know. Whatever sights would interest a cat. Maybe she took a trip

to Katmandu.” Mr. Twiddle laughed, hoping to cheer her up.

Mrs. Flummery’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Hector Twiddle,” she said, “that is

not funny.” And with that, she took her laxatives and left his store in a huff.

It would be more than a week before a clue turned up as to the whereabouts of

Scheherazade. When it did, it marked the beginning of the darkest chapter in the history

of Middlington.

Chapter Nine: S-C-H-E-H-E-R-A-Z-A-D-E

It was Halloween. Right behind Christmas, Halloween is the day that kids like

best. The only problem with Halloween is you don’t get the day off from school. If you


31

got free candy and the day off from school, Halloween would be the best day of the year

without question. I, like all the other kids, had been planning my costume for weeks. I

was going to be a mad scientist. I had a white lab coat that my mother had shortened and

a wig with all the hairs standing on end making me look like I’d just stuck my finger in a

light socket. I got a pair of kooky glasses from the five-and-dime that had crazy eyes

painted on the lenses. I took a beaker from my chemistry set, filled it with water and

added green food coloring. Presto! Mad scientist! I went trick-or-treating with Jeffrey

Mulray and Larry Flick. Jeffrey was dressed as a pirate with a peg leg and Larry was an

alien from another planet, although on what planet the aliens wore lampshades on their

head was beyond me.

“It’s not a lampshade,” Larry insisted. “It’s a space helmet.”

“With tassels?” I asked.

“The tassels deflect the radiation,” he answered back, annoyed at my ignorance.

“Slow down, guys!” Jeffrey called out. “I can’t walk very fast with this peg leg!”

Jeffrey, Larry and I had gone trick-or-treating together every year since we were

five, but they were taking a big chance this year now that I was on Billy Hennessey’s

enemies list. They could get egged at any moment. I guess they figured they were safe

in disguise. We covered our regular Halloween route in less than two hours. We were

punch-drunk with chocolate bars, candy corn and marshmallow pumpkins; but it was still

early, so I made a suggestion: “Why don’t we go to Marvella Bubbles’ house?” Jeffrey

and Larry stopped dead in their tracks.

“Marvella Bubbles?” Jeffrey asked in disbelief. “But she’s so weird.”

“You said it,” Larry added. “And what’s with that hair?”

“There’s nothing wrong with her hair,” I said firmly. “And she’s not weird.

She’s really nice.” Jeffrey and Larry looked at me like I had two heads.

“How would you know?” Jeffrey asked me.

“Because I’ve been to her house before.” Jeffrey’s eyes bugged out. I assume

Larry’s did too but I couldn’t see them underneath the lampshade on his head.

“You have?” they asked me in unison.

“Three times,” I told him.


32

Suddenly, Jeffrey and Larry began asking me a flood of questions: “Is she a

witch?” “Is her dog a werewolf?” “Does she drink the blood of little children in order to

stay young?” “Are there dead bodies buried in her flower patch?” “Is it true tiny elves

live in her big hairdo?” Some people might have found these questions funny, but not

me. They made me sad. Here was this wonderful woman with nothing but kindness in

her heart and everybody thought the worst of her because she was different.

“No,” I said firmly, “none of that is true. She’s just like you and me… uh, sort

of.” I could see that Jeffrey and Larry were not convinced. But I wanted them to come

to Marvella’s with me. I knew that nothing would make her happier than to receive a

visit from some trick-or-treaters. It had probably been years since anyone rang her

doorbell on Halloween. I decided I’d have to use the most powerful weapon at my

disposal: “She makes the world’s best chocolate cake,” I told them.

“Really?” Jeffrey asked with interest.

“I like chocolate cake,” Larry admitted.

“Well, it’s the best I ever tasted,” I assured them.

If there is one thing no kid can resist, it’s chocolate cake. I’d seen Jeffrey and

Larry pass on strawberry ice cream and apple pie and butterscotch toffee but never on

chocolate cake. I knew if anything could overcome their unreasonable fear of Marvella

Bubbles, it would be their insatiable desire for chocolate cake. Still, they were unsure.

“I don’t know, Charlie,” Jeffrey said.

“I’m not sure either,” Larry added.

“It’s three layers thick with lots and lots of frosting,” I told them.

And with that, they practically dragged me to Marvella’s. Jeffrey took off his peg

leg and Larry removed his lampshade and we hurried to Half Moon Hill. But, chocolate

cake or no chocolate cake, they still didn’t have the courage to ring the doorbell. “I’ll do

it,” I said. The wind always sounds eerier and the sky always looks blacker on

Halloween night. Kids’ heads are so full of thoughts of monsters and demons that their

imaginations run away with them. They are positive they see some of the strangest sights

possible. Every year, Mary Alice Garfein would swear she saw the Headless Horseman

ride by the old cemetery behind the Presbyterian Church. This is why I didn’t believe

Jeffrey when he said he saw something strange underneath Marvella’s hydrangea bush.


33

“There’s nothing there,” I told him.

“Yes, there is,” Jeffrey insisted. “Look!” He pointed toward the hydrangea bush.

I didn’t see anything – maybe because I didn’t want to – but Larry saw it.

“I see it.” Larry said. “It’s thin and shiny like a snake.”

“A snake,” Jeffrey cried out, his teeth beginning to chatter.

“There are no snakes under that bush,” I told them. “I should know. I slept under

it once.”

“Then w-what’s that?” Jeffrey asked through chattering teeth.

I took a closer look just to appease Jeffrey and Larry. That’s when I saw it,

something thin and shiny. It wasn’t a snake though. It wasn’t long enough. It wasn’t

even alive. It was reflecting the light from Marvella’s front porch. I squinted in order to

see it more clearly. I saw shiny stones spelling out “S-C-H-E-H-E-R-A-Z-A-D-E”. It

was the collar worn by Mrs. Flummery’s cat, only there was no cat wearing it now.

Larry gasped, “It’s Scheherazade’s collar!”

“She killed Mrs. Flummery’s cat!” Jeffrey yelled.

“She did not,” I insisted. “Marvella would never do that.”

“Then it was the werewolf,” Larry said. “She had the werewolf do her dirty

work.”

“Stop it!” I shouted. “Don’t say that! Miss Fanny is not a werewolf!”

They didn’t hear me. It wouldn’t have mattered what I said at that point; they

were in the grip of hysteria. And it only got worse when the front door opened and they

saw Marvella standing there in the shadows, her huge hair looming over them. Miss

Fanny appeared at her feet. The light from the front porch made her normally brown

eyes shine red in the darkness. Jeffrey and Larry froze in horror. “Why, Charlie!”

Marvella said in her musical voice. “What a pleasant surprise. And you’ve brought

friends.” But by the time I turned to introduce Jeffrey and Larry to Marvella they were

already running down Half Moon Hill back toward the center of town. “My but they are

fast runners,” Marvella said, trying to laugh off an embarrassing situation. She could

sense I was torn between staying with her and going after my friends. “Perhaps you

should go after them,” she suggested.

“Maybe I better,” I said. “I’m sorry, Marvella.”


34

“Happy Halloween, Charlie.” There was a note of sadness in her musical voice.

After Marvella closed the front door, I hurried over to the hydrangea bush, picked

up Scheherazade’s collar and put it in the pocket of my mad scientist coat. I wasn’t sure

why at the time, but I suppose I was trying to protect Marvella. I then ran down Half

Moon Hill as fast as I could in order to catch up with Jeffrey and Larry. I never did.

They were running too fast, so I ended up walking home alone.

Chapter Ten: Did She or Didn’t She?

Usually after a night of trick-or- treating, I would climb into bed with my bag of

goodies and sort through it. I would separate the treats into two piles: the stuff I would

keep (chocolate bars, marshmallow pumpkins and candy corn) and the stuff I would give

away (sucking candies, licorice and anything with coconut). That night, though, I sat on

the edge of my bed and stared at the rhinestone cat collar. What was it doing outside

Marvella Bubbles’ house? She would never have hurt Mrs. Flummery’s cat. Neither

would Miss Fanny. Sure, dogs chased cats but they didn’t eat them. At least I didn’t

think they did. And even if they did, Miss Fanny was not like other dogs. She was too

refined for that kind of behavior. Still, the collar was under Marvella’s hydrangea bush.

How did it get there? Maybe Scheherazade took a nap under that bush like I had and left

the collar behind. Maybe it fell off her neck. I checked the collar to see if the buckle was

broken, but it wasn’t. Maybe someone put the collar there to make Marvella look bad.

That was possible. But who would be mean enough to do that? And then it hit me: Billy

Hennessey. It had to be him. But how would I ever prove it? I didn’t have the slightest

idea. It was getting late and I was tired, so I put the collar under a comic book in the

drawer of my bedside table and went to sleep. I figured I would try to solve this problem

in the morning when I was refreshed and alert.

When I awoke the following morning, I was still convinced that Billy Hennessey

had something to do with the disappearance of Mrs. Flummery’s cat and the placing of

the rhinestone collar under Marvella Bubbles’ hydrangea bush. But I had no proof. I sat

at the breakfast table moving my scrambled eggs around my plate with my fork, trying

desperately to fit together pieces of a puzzle I didn’t even have.


35

“Eat your eggs, Charlie,” my mom instructed.

“What’s the matter?” my dad asked from behind his morning paper. “Eat too

much candy last night?”

“Uh, no,” I mumbled, caught up in my own thoughts.

“Good,” my mother said, “now eat your eggs or you’ll be late for school.”

“I don’t know why they bother having school the day after Halloween,” my dad

said, lowering his paper. “It’s a waste of time. Kids spend the whole day talking about

what happened the night before. Say, Charlie, you get any jujubes last night?”

I never got to answer my dad’s question about jujubes. I was out the back door

before he even finished asking it. He was right; everyone would be talking about what

happened on Halloween night, which meant that Jeffrey and Larry would be blabbing

about what they had seen at Marvella’s. I had to stop them before yet another unfounded

rumor about Marvella Bubbles got started. I ran down Loblolly Lane as fast as I could.

I made a left on Cedar Spring Drive and then a right on Old Thistle Road. I cut through

Mrs. Prattle’s backyard and came out at the open field behind the school. I was panting

and wheezing by the time I walked through the front doors of Middlington Elementary.

I looked around for Jeffrey and Larry and found them by the water fountain outside the

auditorium.

“I have to talk to you guys,” I told them.

“About what?” Jeffrey asked.

I told them I was certain Marvella Bubbles had nothing to do with the disappear-

rance of Mrs. Flummery’s cat. I explained that Billy Hennessey was probably

responsible, although I had no proof. I begged them not to tell anyone about finding the

collar until I could discover the truth. Jeffrey and Larry began hemming and hawing.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“We already told someone,” Larry confessed.

“Who?”

“Mary Alice Garfein,” Jeffrey said.

Telling something to Mary Alice Garfein was as good as telling it to the entire

world. The news would be all over school by recess and all over town by nightfall.


36

Sometimes I wondered if those braces on her teeth weren’t really a radio antenna

transmitting gossip twenty-four hours a day.

“Sorry,” Larry said sheepishly.

“What makes you think Billy Hennessey has anything to do with this?” Jeffrey

asked.

“I just have a feeling,” I told him.

“Well, I think you’re wrong,” Jeffrey said. “The collar was on her property,

wasn’t it?”

“I think Billy planted it there.”

“He’s not smart enough for that,” Jeffrey said. “Billy Hennessey is all muscle,

especially his head.” Larry nodded in agreement. “Face it,” Jeffrey continued, “that

creepy woman killed Mrs. Flummery’s cat.”

“And her dog is a werewolf,” Larry chimed in. “Didn’t you see those glowing red

eyes?”

“All dogs eyes glow in the dark,” I reminded him.

“Not like those,” Larry insisted.

Jeffrey looked me square in the eye and said, “I don’t care how good her

chocolate cake is. I’d stay away from Half Moon Hill if I were you, Charlie.”

The morning bell rang and the three of us headed off to homeroom. Every now

and again, I noticed kids turning around at their desks to look over in our direction, proof

that the Mary Alice Garfein gossip network was broadcasting loud and clear. During

lunch, I usually ate with Jeffrey and Larry, but not that day. People kept coming up to

them to ask about what they’d seen at Marvella’s. After a while, I couldn’t stand it

anymore so I got up and moved to an empty table on the other side of the cafeteria. Ezra

Coates was seated by himself at a nearby table eating an egg salad sandwich, most of

which wound up on his face rather than in his mouth. I could tell that he was half-

listening to what was being said on the other side of the room and that it amused him.

Billy and his crew seemed to be listening too. They looked very pleased with themselves

which increased my suspicions that they were involved.

That day after school, I decided to play detective. Instead of going home, I

followed Billy, Oscar and The Mole – from a safe distance, of course. I was hoping they


37

would provide me with evidence that they were responsible for Scheherazade’s

disappearance. I watched as they went into Mr. Dingler’s grocery store and stole bubble

gum. I watched as they tripped Ezra Coates outside the library. I watched as they

loosened one end of Mrs. Prattle’s clothes’ line so that her whites would eventually fall

into the mud. I managed to keep up with them until they ducked into the woods near the

outskirts of town. They lost me as they scrambled through trees and around boulders.

At one point, they just seemed to disappear. It was getting on toward sunset and I didn’t

want to lose my way, so I headed back to the main road. I looked around. I wasn’t far

from Marvella’s. I decided to stop by and explain to her what had happened the night

before.

Chapter Eleven: Unexpected Guests

“Charlie!” Marvella cried with delight as she opened her front door. “I see

you’ve come alone this time.”

“That’s kind of why I’m here, Marvella.” I was about to explain about the

rhinestone cat collar in the bushes when I noticed there was a person approaching behind

her. At least I think it was a person. Whoever it was was the hairiest person I’d ever

seen. Then I noticed this hairy person was wearing a dress. It was a lady, a very hairy

lady!

“Marvella,” the hairy woman said, “Is that my ride?”

“No, it’s not,” Marvella said. “Charlie, come in. I want you to meet my oldest

friend in the world, Ruthanda. We were in the circus together.”

So that’s who it was: Ruthanda the monkey girl all grown-up into Ruthanda the

ape woman. Despite a very tasteful outfit with matching shoes and handbag, she was not

a pretty sight. Marvella closed the front door behind me and the three of us went into the

parlor.

“So you’re Charlie,” Ruthanda said. “Marvella was just telling me all about you.”

Marvella then started to tell me all about Ruthanda, how she had left the circus,

tried to become an actress, found there were very few roles for hairy women and become

a writer instead. She wrote children’s books under the name of Aunt Ruth. I had read


38

one of her books a few years earlier. It was a pop-up book about a purple elephant in a

herd of grey elephants and how nobody liked it because it was “too colorful.” I thought it

was kind of babyish.

“That’s enough about me,” Ruthanda insisted, obviously uncomfortable from all

the attention. In order to change the subject, she picked up her dessert plate and ate the

last bite of cake. She made a yummy sound and said, “Delicious cake, absolutely

delicious!”

“Would you like another piece?” Marvella asked.

“Oh, no,” Ruthanda replied, “I have to watch my figure.”

It seemed to me her figure was the least of her problems. Besides her hairy face,

Ruthanda had hair all over her arms, legs and shoulders. She had yellowish teeth and

yellowish fingernails which she used to scratch herself with regularly. Looking at her, it

made sense to me that she would choose the solitary life of a writer.

“Ruthanda and I were just reminiscing about some of our old friends,” Marvella

told me.

“Oh,” Ruthanda blurted out, “I almost forgot to tell you. I spoke with Sylviane

the Snake Charmer and she’s coming to pay us a visit.”

“Dear Sylviane,” Marvella said wistfully, “Why I haven’t seen her since Bettina’s

funeral.” There was a moment of silence as both women looked toward the mantelpiece

where the picture of Bettina Petite, the fat lady, was prominently displayed.

Ruthanda turned to me and said, “Every year on the anniversary of her death,

Marvella places a bouquet of violets on Bettina’s grave.”

“They were her favorites,” Marvella said. “I don’t want her to think she’s been

forgotten.”

Ruthanda looked at Marvella as one might look at an angel. Even if you were

dead, Marvella Bubbles was still a good friend to you.

The ladies began exchanging fond memories about Bettina and other members of

Horace T. Quackenbush’s Traveling Circus Extraordinare. I listened, but I wasn’t able to

fully enjoy their childhood recollections. I was preoccupied trying to figure out how I

would tell Marvella about the cat collar and the rumors that were circulating about it.

“You’re awfully quiet today, Charlie,” Marvella said.


39

This seemed the ideal opportunity, so I took it. “I have to tell you something,”

I began. Marvella and Ruthanda listened as I explained everything that had happened

since I rang Marvella’s doorbell the night before.

“But Marvella would never hurt a cat,” Ruthanda protested, “or any other living

creature for that matter.”

“Some people are saying she had Miss Fanny do it for her,” I explained.

“Miss Fanny,” Ruthanda asked looking puzzled. Miss Fanny, who was relaxing

beneath the grand piano, looked up at the mention of her name.

“There’s a rumor she’s a werewolf,” Marvella told Ruthanda. Believe it or not,

Miss Fanny rolled her eyes in disbelief when she heard this.

“Miss Fanny, a werewolf? That’s ridiculous!” Ruthanda said while scratching

her beard. “I myself have been accused of being a werewolf, but that’s usually before

I’ve been to the beauty salon.” I tried to imagine Ruthanda having her hair done. How

many curlers would a woman like her need? Would she have to put her entire body

under the dryer?

“Now, now, now,” Marvella said, “you and Charlie take these rumors far more

seriously than you should.”

“You can’t ignore them, Marvella,” warned Ruthanda. “Today’s rumors become

tomorrow’s threats. I’ve always said Middlington is no place for someone like you.”

“Middlington is no different than any other small town,” Marvella insisted.

There was a look in Ruthanda’s eyes, one of sad resignation. “I suppose you’re

right,” she said.

“Now, why don’t we discuss something a bit more pleasant?” Marvella suggested.

With that, the conversation returned to fond memories of their days in the circus. My

favorite story was the one they told about Bettina Petite’s romance with Floyd the Human

Stringbean. Apparently, one day Bettina sat on him accidentally and he got wedged in

between her butt cheeks. It took the circus strong man twenty minutes to pry him loose.

I laughed so hard when I heard this I didn’t even hear the doorbell ring.

“That must be my ride,” Ruthanda said. But it wasn’t. When Marvella answered

the door, she found Sheriff Zugg and his Deputy, Rupert Kronk, standing on the front


40

porch. Seeing the short, fat Sheriff and the tall, skinny deputy standing side by side made

me think of Bettina Petite and her human stringbean.

“Agnes Flummery’s cat’s gone missing,” Sheriff Zugg said in his low, rumbling

voice.

“Yes, I’ve heard,” Marvella told him.

“Seems some boys claim to have seen the cat’s collar under your hydrangea

bush,” Sheriff Zugg continued. “Know anything about that?”

“I assure you that Miss Bubbles has nothing to do with the disappearance of that

woman’s cat,” Ruthanda said as she walked into the foyer from the parlor. “I have

known her for practically my entire life. I can vouch for her character.”

Upon seeing Ruthanda, Sheriff Zugg’s mouth fell open and Deputy Kronk

muttered “Holy Mackerel” under his breath.

Ruthanda continued, “I assume you checked under the hydrangea bush?” The

Sheriff and the deputy nodded. “Did you find any collar?” The Sheriff and the deputy

shook their heads. “There,” Ruthanda declared, “that settles that.”

The Sheriff wasn’t satisfied. He asked if they could look around the house.

Marvella consented despite Ruthanda’s insistence that they first get a search warrant.

We went with the Sheriff and Deputy as they went from room to room. I’d never been on

the second floor of Marvella’s house before. There were four bedrooms, including

Marvella’s, which was all satin and lace with a big four poster bed. One of the bedrooms

had been converted into a little sewing room; its main feature being an old-fashioned

sewing machine that was operated with foot pedals. Like downstairs, all the furniture and

decorations seemed to come from long ago. Of course, the Sheriff and his Deputy found

nothing either upstairs or down. I heaved a sigh of relief knowing the rhinestone collar

was tucked away in my bedside table.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Sheriff Zugg?” Marvella asked after they

finished their search.

“No,” Sheriff Zugg replied as he and his deputy headed for the front door.

“Then perhaps you’d be kind enough to do a favor for me,” Marvella said. “It’s

getting rather late and this young man will need a ride home. Would you drop him off?”


41

The Sheriff agreed to drive me home in his squad car. I’d never been in one

before so I was excited. I think Marvella knew I would be. I said goodbye to her and

Ruthanda and went off with the policemen.

“What were you doin’ at that woman’s house anyway?” Deputy Kronk asked me

as we drove across town.

“Nothing,” I told him. “Just visiting.”

“You wouldn’t know anything about that cat, would you?” Sheriff Zugg asked.

“No,” I answered. I figured a lie in the service of truth and justice wasn’t such a

bad thing. Besides, I didn’t really know what had happened to the cat. I only had my

suspicions, suspicions I’d probably never be able to prove.

Chapter Twelve: Playing Detective

When I was young – near or about your age – the Hardy Boys mystery novels

were very popular. So was the series of Nancy Drew mysteries. I never read any of

them. Perhaps if I had I’d have been able to prove that Billy Hennessey was behind the

disappearance of Scheherazade. Believe me, I tried. For almost a week, I followed Billy,

Oscar and The Mole, but I always lost them in the woods. One day I hid behind a car in a

parking lot for a whole hour while Billy went to the dentist. I confess that I hoped he had

a cavity and the dentist would have to drill. Day after day, I watched as Billy and his

crew stole candy from Mr. Dingler’s store, broke Mrs. Prattle’s living room window with

a baseball, pushed Erza Coates into a thorny rose bush, and pulled down Mary Alice

Garfein’s underpants outside the Middlington movie house. Although I was an

eyewitness to all those crimes, I never found one bit of evidence linking Billy, Oscar and

The Mole to the “cat-napping”. Eventually, I just gave up. Mrs. Flummery didn’t. She

was determined to bring the culprit to justice and, as far as she was concerned, that

person was Marvella Bubbles.

“But the Mulray boy claims he and Larry Flick saw Scheherazade’s collar under

that woman’s hydrangea bush!” Mrs. Flummery shouted at Sheriff Zugg.

“I’m sorry, Agnes,” he said, “but Rupert and I searched her place from top to

bottom and found nothing.”


42

“Well, you and Rupert Kronk keep looking,” she demanded. “That woman can’t

be allowed to get away with this. If she does, there won’t be a cat in Peppercorn County

that’ll be safe.” Outside of pressuring the police, Mrs. Flummery posted flyers all over

town with a picture of Scheherazade and offering a reward of $200 for her safe return.

“That’s a lot of money, Agnes,” Mr. Twiddle said as he taped one of her flyers to

his pharmacy window. “You could buy a whole bag of cats for that.”

“I don’t want a whole bag of cats, Hector,” Mrs. Flummery told him. “I want my

baby.”

“I feel sorry for Agnes Flummery.” My mom told my dad as she spooned mashed

potatoes onto his dinner plate. “She has nothing but that cat and now it’s gone.”

“Well, if you ask me, the cat’s better off,” my dad said as he reached for the salt.

“She’s certain that Marvella Bubbles is responsible,” my mother added.

My dad shrugged and said, “Wouldn’t surprise me if she was.” That was the last

my parents had to say on the subject. After that, they shifted their attention to their steak

and potatoes.

I sat there at the dinner table wanting desperately to defend Marvella to my

parents. But I decided the less I said about her the better. I might accidentally tip them

off to the fact that I’d been visiting Marvella, even though they had forbidden it. If they

found out the truth, I’d probably get locked in my room with a plate of cauliflower for the

rest of my life.

Chapter Thirteen: No One Home

That Friday in school was a peaceful one. Billy Hennessey was out sick.

Without him to egg them on, Oscar and The Mole behaved themselves. Sure, they

snickered when Ezra Coates walked by and they made a fart sound with their mouths

when he bent down to pick up a book he’d dropped, but there was no pushing or shoving,

which must’ve been a nice change of pace for Ezra.

“I hear Billy has the chicken pox,” Jeffrey told me during lunch.

“How’d you hear that?” Larry asked.

“How do you think,” I told him. “Mary Alice Garfein.”


43

“It couldn’t have been Mary Alice,” Larry corrected me. “She told me it was the

measles.”

We looked at each other perplexed. Mary Alice Garfein was never wrong. Even

in the case of the werewolf rumor, she was accurate even if the story itself was untrue.

As it turned out, there were a variety of stories going around school that day. Aside from

chicken pox and the measles, Billy’s absence was being blamed on a stomach ache, a

broken wrist, mononucleosis and a brain tumor. Whatever the reason, most people were

just grateful for the peace and quiet.

Saturday was chilly and clear. It was nearing Thanksgiving. This was a very

special time for people in Middlington because the town itself had been settled by

Pilgrims. Apparently, a small group had broken away from the original Plymouth Rock

Pilgrims thinking they were too wild and progressive. (Note to the reader: People who

are progressive look to the future and come up with wonderful new ideas, without them

we’d all still be wearing animal skills and you’d be reading this book by candle light.)

This group of the very purest Puritans went off and started their own colony. In honor of

that, Middlington held its annual Founders’ Day parade at Thanksgiving time. The town

was busy making preparations.

“Guess who’s going to be this year’s Founders’ Day princess?” Jeffrey asked as

we walked through town. Before I could even guess he told me, “Amy Dingler.”

Amy Dingler was the daughter of the man who owned the local grocery store.

She was in our class at school. She had large green eyes and always wore her hair in

braids. I’d had a crush on her since kindergarten. I responded to Jeffrey’s news as any

lovesick ten year old boy would: “What do I care if Amy Dingler is Founders’ Day

princess? What’s the big deal? So she gets to ride on a stupid float. Whoopee.”

“Don’t bite my head off,” Jeffrey said defensively.

We were on our way to meet Larry at the movie house. We were going to the

matinee feature. It was a horror movie with creatures that took over the bodies of human

beings and made them do their evil bidding. Jeffrey and Larry loved these kinds of

movies. As far as I was concerned, these movies were silly. But I did enjoy watching

Jeffrey and Larry cover their eyes and squirm in their seats while insisting they weren’t

scared at all. We met up with Larry, bought our tickets, stocked up on candy and


44

popcorn and soda, and got seats in the very front row. As usual, Jeffrey and Larry

squirmed and covered their eyes throughout the movie. What was unusual was that I got

involved in the picture. In it, there was a young boy who kept trying to tell everybody the

truth about what was going on and no one would listen to him. Because no one believed

him, the evil continued to spread throughout the town. Of course, at the end, good

triumphed and the bodysnatching aliens were destroyed when it was discovered they

were allergic to hairspray. It was a pretty dumb ending. Still, I related to the boy in the

movie. I felt that I was just like him trying to get people to see the truth about Marvella

Bubbles.

Jeffrey and Larry wanted to hang out after the movie but I was in a strange mood.

“I’m just going to go home,” I told them. But I didn’t; I wandered around town.

Decorations for the Founders’ Day parade were being hung all along Middlington

Avenue. I walked past store after store until I found myself on the outskirts of town. I

was more than half-way to Marvella’s house so I decided to continue walking in that

direction. For some reason, I just felt like stopping by and saying “hello”. When I

arrived at the bottom of Half Moon Hill, I heard some rustling in the woods near the

ravine. Startled, I swung around. The rustling immediately stopped. There was nothing

there. I climbed the hill and rang Marvella’s doorbell. No one answered. There were no

sounds coming from inside, no dog barking, nothing. “Marvella must be out,” I thought

to myself, and turned to go when I heard a sound coming from the backyard, like a door

slamming closed. Maybe Marvella was back there. I walked around the side of the

house. “Is anybody there?” I called out. There was no response. The yard was empty. I

crossed to the shed, opened the door and peaked in. There was no one there either. My

mind was playing tricks on me. Apparently, two hours in the presence of bodysnatching

aliens had left me a bit jumpier than I realized. I sighed, shrugged and headed home.

Chapter Fourteen: Missing Person

I spent Saturday night and most of Sunday helping my mom make pilgrim hats

out of colored construction paper. My mom was very artsy-craftsy and always

volunteered to work on one parade committee or other. One year she helped build a float


45

in honor of Elmer Flummery, creating a likeness of the late-mayor out of crepe paper,

styrofoam and popsicle sticks.

“You forgot to put a buckle on that hat,” my mom said.

“How many of these do we have to make?” I whined.

“Two hundred and fifty,” she said.

My dad was on the other side of the house watching football on television but he

still heard me moan. I had to get out of this, so I resorted to the unthinkable: “I have

homework to do,” I told her. “May I be excused?”

“Of course,” my mom said, “go right ahead.” (Note to parents: your child is

unhappier than you realize if he uses homework as an excuse to get away from you.)

I did have homework. It wasn’t a lie. I had to write an essay on Hezekiah

Middlington, the man who founded our town back in 1708. This is what I wrote:

Hezekiah Middlington was a Puritan. He came from

England with his wife Rachel. He was a wheelwright,

which means he made wheels for carts and things. He had

nine children. His wife Rachel was tired all the time. One

day, he got very mad at the other Puritans because they

weren’t as relijus (sic) as he was. His friends Joseph

Liverspot, Zachary Prattle and Thaddeus Burple were mad

too. They all packed their things and moved their families

to Middlington, only it wasn’t called Middlington then. It

wasn’t called anything. It was just a lot of dirt and stuff.

Hezekiah and his friends built the old church on

Middlington Avenue. When he died, everybody decided to

name the town after him, which is good because if they

hadn’t we all might be living in Burple.

When I turned in my essay the following day, I was worried it wasn’t long

enough. Mary Alice Garfein’s was twice as long as mine, but she was never at a loss for

words. Ezra Coates wrote two whole pages and the writing was really small. But


46

Jeffrey’s essay was about the same length as mine. Larry didn’t even do his, so he faked

a stomach ache and didn’t come to school. Neither did Billy Hennessey. I figured he

hadn’t done his either. With Billy absent yet again, it looked like it would be another

uneventful day at Middlington Elementary.

“Amy Dingler saw Sheriff Zugg go into the principal’s office,” Mary Alice

blurted out as she passed by my table in the cafeteria.

“That’s nice, Mary Alice,” I replied, my mouth full of tuna fish sandwich.

“Sheriff Zugg? What’s he doing here?” This bit of news interested Jeffrey far

more than it did me.

“I don’t know,” I said between bites. “Ask Mary Alice.” But Mary Alice didn’t

know anything more than she had already told, at least not then. She gathered additional

information during recess and gave everyone an update on the way back to homeroom.

“Sheriff Zugg is looking for Billy Hennessey,” Mary Alice informed me and

Jeffrey.

“He’s not home sick?” Jeffrey asked.

“No, he’s been missing all weekend. His father hasn’t seen him since he left for

school last Friday morning,” Mary Alice said, a note of dread in her voice. Billy

Hennessey’s father was a security guard at a sardine canning factory outside of town.

He often worked double shifts and wouldn’t see Billy for days. Billy’s mom had left

Billy and his dad several years earlier. “God forgive me,” she wrote in a note, “but I just

don’t like either one of you.” So Billy was on his own most of the time. You almost felt

sorry for him, especially since he brought a can of sardines to school for lunch every

single day. It’s no wonder he stole lunch money from other kids.

“You think someone kidnapped him?” Jeffrey asked.

“Who’d kidnap Billy Hennessey?” was my response. The Hennesseys were poor

so what kind of ransom could any self-respecting kidnapper expect to get? “He probably

ran away,” I said.

“That makes sense,” Jeffrey said. “Where do you think he went?”

Somewhere they don’t eat sardines, I thought to myself.

The disappearance of Billy Hennessey was all anybody could talk about for the

rest of the school day. Oscar and The Mole must’ve been very upset because when Ezra


47

Coates passed by them with a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of his shoe, they

said nothing. Miss Semple warned all the students to be very careful and not to talk to

strangers. I thought about offering to walk Amy Dingler home but I was afraid of two

things: 1) she’d refuse; 2) she’d accept and kids would start singing “Charlie and Amy

sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Charlie

in the baby carriage.” Besides, as far as I was concerned, nothing bad had happened to

Billy. He was probably off somewhere causing trouble.

When school let out, everybody went directly home out of fear. I wasn’t scared

so I decided to pay another visit to Marvella Bubbles. When I arrived at the foot of Half

Moon Hill, I knew she was home because there were cars in the driveway. I wasn’t sure

whether I should intrude, but I decided since I’d walked all that way that I’d just say

“hello” and leave.

Chapter Fifteen: An Unfinished Game of Mah Jongg

“Charlie, how nice of you to drop by,” Marvella sang out when she opened the

door. “Come in, come in.”

I could hear the sound of voices coming from the parlor. “But you have

company,” I said.

“The more the merrier,” she said. “Besides we can’t eat an entire chocolate cake

on our own.” Marvella ushered me into the parlor. Seated at a card table were three

other women, two of whom I already knew. “Charlie, you remember Gertruda and

Ruthanda.”

“Hi,” I waved to them both.

“How is your head?” Gertruda asked me.

“Oh, fine, fine,” I told her.

“Good,” she said in her curt, Germanic tone.

“Hello, Charlie,” Ruthanda said, running her fingers through her beard.

I had not met the third woman before but I had a good idea who she was because

she had a large snake draped around her neck. It was Sylviane the Snake Charmer. She

was older than the other ladies by twenty years or more. She had sharp features and


48

reptilian eyes, and she wore her short hair all slicked back. Sylviane the Snake Charmer

was living proof that owners and their pets do begin to resemble one another after a

while.

“Charlie, this is Sylviane,” Marvella said.

“How do you do,” Sylviane hissed. Whenever she finished speaking, her tongue

would dart in and out of her mouth like a snake.

“I’m fine,” I said, a bit unnerved by her flicking tongue. Miss Fanny was

unnerved too. She was all the way on the other side of the room staring intently at the

snake around Sylviane’s neck.

“Sit, Charlie, I’ll cut you a piece of cake after we finish this round,” Marvella

said. “Now where were?” she asked as she resumed her place at the table.

“Sylviane called pung over Gertruda’s chow so it’s your play,” Ruthanda told her.

Pung? Chow? What kind of a card game were they playing? That’s when I

noticed they weren’t playing with cards but with noisy tiles that had colorful characters

painted on them. “This must be mah-jong,” I thought to myself. Quickly, the women

manipulated the tiles, casting some off, taking others in, and arranging them in groups of

two or three while calling out “kong,” “pung” and “chow”. As I watched this very

unusual group of women – a witch, a bearded lady, a snake charmer and Marvella

Bubbles – I wondered just what my late grandmother would have thought. I doubt she

ever played a game of mah-jong with a group like this one. At the end of the round, the

women tabulated their points. Sylviane seemed pleased but Ruthanda didn’t. As for

Gertruda, it was impossible to tell one way or the other; she always had a sour look on

her face.

“Coffee and cake?” Marvella asked as she sprang from her chair. The others

nodded. “Charlie, would you help me serve?” I went into the kitchen with Marvella.

Miss Fanny followed, occasionally looking behind to make sure Sylviane’s snake wasn’t

following. “Will you be attending the Founders’ Day parade?” Marvella asked as she

took cake plates from the cupboard.

“I have to,” I confessed. “My mom’s on one of the committees. She’s making

the pilgrim hats this year.”


49

“That sounds like fun,” Marvella said as she began cutting slices of mouth-

watering chocolate cake.

“Trust me, it’s not,” I told her. “Will you be going to the parade?”

“Oh, dear, no,” Marvella said. “I don’t think I’d be very welcome.” There was a

lilt in her voice suggesting that it didn’t matter to her anyway, but I knew it did.

“I’d welcome you if you were there,” I said.

Marvella stopped cutting the cake for a moment. She simply stared straight ahead

in silence. After a moment, she looked down at me. There were tears in her eyes as she

leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. Without saying a word, she resumed cutting

the cake. I watched as she prepared a tray and wondered why every grown-up wasn’t

more like her. “Charlie, would you take this tray into the parlor while I see about the

coffee?” I was about to pick up the tray when Marvella remembered something.

“Napkins!” She opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of good cloth napkins. They

were blue and white and had Marvella’s monogram stitched into them. She counted them

out as she placed them on the serving tray. “Three-four-five… that’s funny, I could’ve

sworn I had six of these.” She shrugged and said, “Oh, well, there are only five of us

today.” Carefully, I made my way back to the parlor with the big tray of cake. The

women, still seated at the card table, were engaged in conversation.

“The people here in Middlington think Marvella is responsible for the

disappearance of some woman’s cat,” Ruthanda told the others. “Can you imagine?”

“Ridiculous!” Gertruda declared.

To which Sylviane added, “Unthinkable!”

“It’s a good thing you don’t live here, Sylviane,” Ruthanda said, “or they’d

suspect your snake.”

“Darlene eats only mice and flies,” Sylviane said as she stroked her snake’s head.

“Cats give her indigestion.”

“I do no like cats either,” Gertruda said, then quickly added, “as pets.”

I walked around the card table offering the ladies pieces of cake. They accepted

with a nod and a “thank you.” I told them that Marvella would be out with coffee at any

moment. The three women put down their plates and looked at me intently. There was


50

an awkward silence that was finally broken by Gertruda. “He is a good boy,” she said as

though I weren’t even in the room.

“A very good boy,” Sylviane agreed.

“The only friend Marvella has in this dreadful town,” Ruthanda added.

The ladies resumed their conversation. Sylviane suggested a good shampoo for

Ruthanda, and Gertruda told the others how a combination of red vinegar and cranberry

juice had cleared up her arthritis. I sat on the sofa and ate my chocolate cake.

“Here we are!” Marvella announced as she entered the room carrying a tray with

a coffee pot and cups for the ladies, and a frosty glass of milk for me. She placed the tray

on the card table and was about to start serving when the doorbell rang.

“I hope that isn’t my ride,” Ruthanda said, “We haven’t finished the game.”

Chapter Sixteen: A Horrible Discovery

Marvella excused herself and went into the foyer. We could hear the door open.

I recognized the rumbling voice of Sheriff Zugg immediately. He and Deputy Kronk

followed Marvella into the parlor. If they had been startled by Ruthanda the last time

they were there, they were completely unprepared for the trio of women at the card table.

Sheriff Zugg and Deputy Kronk’s eyes bulged out of their heads.

“It isn’t about that cat again, is it?” Ruthanda asked testily. “You’ve already

searched the premises once.”

“No, ma’am,” the Sheriff said, regaining his composure, “it’s about the

Hennessey boy.” I stopped eating my chocolate cake in mid-bite.

“What about him?” Marvella asked.

“He’s gone missing,” the Sheriff informed her.

“Why is it that whenever something or someone goes missing in this town you

immediately suspect Miss Bubbles?” Ruthanda was indignant.

“Now, that’s not exactly true,” the Sheriff insisted. “We have a witness.” We

were all stunned, especially Marvella. “We received an anonymous phone call this

afternoon. Somebody claiming they saw the Hennessey boy in the vicinity of your

house.”


51

“I wouldn’t know,” Marvella said. “I was away this weekend.”

“That’s true,” I chimed in. All heads turned in my direction. “I came by on

Saturday afternoon and there was no one here.”

“Miss Fanny and I were away at to my cabin near Tranquility Lake,” Marvella

explained.

“Got any witnesses?” The Sheriff asked.

“Just Miss Fanny,” she told him. At that moment, the little ball of fluff came

pitter-pattering into the room, her tail wagging.

“I’m afraid that’s not good enough. We’re going to have to make a search,” the

Sheriff said.

“Not without a warrant,” Ruthanda declared.

“Ja,” Gertruda added, “this is not Nazi Germany.”

“But I have nothing to hide,” Marvella told them.

To which Ruthanda responded, “That doesn’t matter. This is too serious a matter

to be taken lightly. No search warrant, no search.”

Ruthanda glared at Sheriff Zugg. He glared right back at her. “Suit yourself,” he

said. He turned to Deputy Kronk and held out his hand, into which the Deputy placed an

official-looking document. He smirked and handed it to Ruthanda. “Here’s your search

warrant, Mister… I mean, ma’am.”

Ruthanda sneered at the Sheriff, then took the document and looked it over. “It

seems to be in order,” she said, passing it on to Gertruda and Sylviane for further

inspection. Although her friends were concerned, Marvella seemed not at all disturbed

by the situation. She turned to the Sheriff and Deputy and asked them if they’d care for

cake and coffee before beginning their search. They declined.

“I’m going with them,” Ruthanda announced.

“Vee all are,” Gertruda added.

“Let’s go, Darlene,” Sylviane said to her snake as she stood up from the table.

We followed Sheriff Zugg and Deputy Kronk as they searched the house, looking

in closets and under beds. They went through the attic and the basement. They covered

every square inch of the house and turned up nothing, not even dust as Marvella was an

excellent housekeeper.


52

“Guess the boy isn’t here.” The Sheriff was embarrassed and couldn’t look any

of us in the eye. “But we had to follow up on that lead.”

“It’s perfectly all right, Sheriff,” Marvella reassured him. “You were just doing

your duty.”

The Sheriff headed for the front door followed by Deputy Kronk. He had opened

the door and was about to walk through it when he turned abruptly in my direction. “You

sure you didn’t see anything strange when you were here?” he asked.

I thought about it for a moment. I didn’t want to say anything that would get

Marvella in trouble. I decided to phrase my answer very carefully. “See? No, I didn’t

see anything strange,” I told him.

The Sheriff cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean by

that?” he asked curiously.

“Nothing,” I said, “it’s just…”

“Just what?” The Sheriff moved his big belly in my direction.

“Go ahead, Charlie,” Marvella urged. “If you know something, tell the man.

After all, there’s a little boy missing.”

“I don’t know anything,” I told them. “I thought I heard something in the

backyard. But when I went to see what it was, there was no one there.”

“The backyard, huh?” The Sheriff seemed very interested in this. He motioned to

Deputy Kronk and the two of them headed toward the back of the house. We all

followed them through the kitchen door into the backyard. It was as quiet then as it had

been the previous Saturday afternoon. Sheriff Zugg scoped out the area. “What’s in that

shed?” he asked.

“Oh, just gardening tools and some old lawn furniture,” Marvella told him.

“Mind if I take a look?

“Can we stop you?” Ruthanda asked sarcastically.

The Sheriff held up the search warrant and smiled. He and the Deputy proceeded

toward the shed while the rest of us stood back and watched, confident that the two police

officers were wasting their time. They opened the door and walked in. I remembered

the firstt time I’d seen it opened to reveal my bicycle looking good as new. This time,


53

I could see the light from the Sheriff’s flashlight moving about as it searched the dark

corners of the shed. After several uncomfortable minutes, Marvella called out to them,

“Find anything?”

“No, nothing,” answered Sheriff Zugg from inside the shed, “I guess…”

Suddenly, a loud gasp came from inside the shed. “Ohmigod!” the Sheriff shouted.

None of us liked the sound of that. What could the Sheriff have possibly found? After

an excruciating silence, Sheriff Zugg and Deputy Kronk came walking out of the shed

carrying Billy Hennessey, alive but dirty and unconscious. His arms and legs were bound

and a piece of cloth had been tied around his mouth as a gag. I recognized the cloth as

the missing blue and white napkin. Marvella’s monogram was evident.

I’m not sure but I think at that moment I went into shock. I was there in

Marvella’s backyard and yet I seemed to be floating high above it watching from a

distance. I saw an ambulance arrive and take Billy to the hospital. I saw Sheriff Zugg

arrest Marvella. I saw Deputy Kronk handcuff her. I saw Ruthanda arguing with the

policemen, yet I heard none of their words I saw Sylviane cry. I saw Gertruda’s face

actually register an emotion and it was fear. I saw the Sheriff and Deputy lead Marvella

to their squad car. I saw Miss Fanny looking out the parlor window, sad and confused. I

saw the squad car drive away, its lights flashing and its siren wailing. I saw the ladies

pile into Gertruda’s Volkswagen and follow the squad car to the police station. I saw all

this happening around me and yet I felt apart from it all. I walked home in a daze. I was

so confused. I tried to make sense of it. First, Marvella had been suspected in the

disappearance of Scheherazade. Although the cat’s collar had been found under her

hydrangea bush, I was sure Billy Hennessey was responsible. But now Billy himself had

been found bound and gagged in Marvella’s wood shed. I couldn’t believe that the

Marvella Bubbles I knew would do such a thing. Then a voice in the back of my head

asked a very troubling question: “What if I didn’t know the real Marvella Bubbles?”

Chapter Seventeen: Choosing Sides

After that horrible day at Marvella’s house, I began having the same recurring

nightmare. I would dream I was being chased by a piece of chocolate cake that wanted to


54

eat me. The cake had reptilian eyes and twelve fingers and great big fangs like a

werewolf. Night after night, I would wake up in a cold sweat.

“What’s the matter, Charlie?” my mother would ask the following morning.

“Didn’t you sleep well?”

I lied and said, “I slept fine.” I couldn’t tell her the truth, that I was upset by what

I’d seen at Marvella’s house. As far as she knew, I hadn’t been there since that night I

ran away from home.

“If the police hadn’t gotten there when they did, Marvella Bubbles would’ve

eaten Billy Hennessey,” Jeffrey said to me, “just like she ate Mrs. Flummery’s cat.”

“That’s how she stays so young looking,” Larry said. “She drinks the blood of

little children and grinds their bones into flour. I’m sure glad I didn’t eat any of her

chocolate cake.”

“Me too,” Jeffrey said with relief.

But I did eat her chocolate cake. Four times! How could it taste so delicious if it

was made from the bones of little children? No, I refused to believe it was true. Still, I

had been standing right there when Billy Hennessey was discovered in Marvella’s shed.

And what else could you do with a rotten kid like Billy except eat him?

Despite what Miss Semple referred to as “the recent unpleasantness,” preparations

continued for the upcoming Founders’ Day celebration. Amy Dingler was eagerly

awaiting her public appearance as Founders’ Day princess. I overheard her talking to

Mary Alice Garfein. “Ever since I was a little kid,” she confessed, “I’ve wanted to wear

a crown.” My mom was in high spirits too. She had completed all two hundred and fifty

pilgrim hats with time to spare. Middlington Avenue, the traditional parade route, was

festooned with decorations commemorating the town’s 273rd

birthday. Everyone was in

a festive mood, except for me and Mrs. Flummery.

“I don’t see why she’s only being brought up on charges for the kidnapping of

Billy Hennessey,” Mrs. Flummery protested. “What about Scheherazade? She killed

her!”

“There’s still no proof she did in your cat, Agnes” was Mr. Dingler’s response.

They continued to discuss the matter as he packed up Mrs. Flummery’s grocery order:

one rutabaga, a stewing chicken, three baking potatoes, a box of oatmeal and two gallons


55

of prune juice. “Those boys claimed they saw the collar,” he told her, “but it’s never

been found.” I swallowed hard as I stood next to Mrs. Flummery at the checkout counter

waiting to pay for the Bermuda onions my mom had sent me to pick up. Was I right to

still keep the collar hidden in my bedside table?

“She did it alright,” Mrs. Flummery stated. “I always said there was something

strange about that woman but would anybody listen to me? No.”

I waited impatiently as Mr. Dingler dealt with Mrs. Flummery. The topic of

conversation made me very uncomfortable. I began nervously tapping my right foot and

looking about distractedly. I saw Oscar and The Mole come into the store. They grabbed

candy as they always had, only this time they got on line to pay for it. They were being

honest! I couldn’t believe my eyes. And this was not the only change in their behavior;

they pretty much kept to themselves and didn’t pick on anyone, including Ezra Coates.

“They’re repenting,” Mary Alice Garfein said. “What happened to Billy put the

fear of God in them.”

“I wonder why Marvella Bubbles didn’t kidnap them too?” Jeffrey asked.

“She didn’t kidnap anyone!” I protested.

“Then how did Billy wind up in her tool shed with one of her dinner napkins

shoved in his mouth?”

I couldn’t answer that question. I was stumped. And the longer I was stumped

the more I doubted Marvella’s innocence. And the more I doubted her, the worse

I felt. After all, she was my friend. How could I possibly believe she was responsible for

such a terrible crime? But all the evidence pointed to her.

“Just think, Charlie, it might have been you.” My mom crossed herself as she

said this.

“You don’t have to worry now, Millie,” My dad told her. “They’re holding her

without bail. Agnes Flummery saw to that.”

Apparently, Mrs. Flummery had used her political influence to convince the judge

assigned to the case not to grant Marvella bail. “Keep that woman locked up until she

tells us what she’s done with my Scheherazade,” Mrs. Flummery demanded. The judge

didn’t need much convincing though. He was a friend and neighbor of Mrs. Flummery.

Judge Thaddeus Burple the 7th

was a direct descendent of the original Thaddeus Burple,


56

one of the founding fathers of Middlington, and he was as narrow-minded and

judgmental as his great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather. As far as he was

concerned, Marvella was guilty until proven innocent. Unfortunately, everyone else in

Middlington was of the same opinion; and despite my best efforts to resist, I was

beginning to share that opinion.

“I don’t want to believe she did it,” I told Jeffrey and Larry during lunch, “but I

can’t help it. There’s no other explanation.”

“Of course there isn’t,” Jeffrey said.

“What do you think they’ll do to her?” Larry asked.

I didn’t like Jeffrey’s answer. “Just what they always do to witches, burn them at

the stake.”

“Cool!” Larry said, a bit too eagerly.

I don’t know if they noticed my horror at their statements, but they were certainly

aware of my getting up from the lunch table and moving to the other side of the cafeteria.

Even if Marvella was guilty, I couldn’t bear to hear the awful things people said about

her. I sat myself at an empty lunch table and just stared at my uneaten meatloaf. I had no

appetite at all.

“You like Marvella Bubbleth, don’t you?” I didn’t have to look up to know who

was there. I immediately recognized Ezra Coates’ distinctive lisp.

“I did.” Then I quickly corrected myself, “I mean, I do.”

“You’ve been inthide her howth, haven’t you?” Ezra asked as he sat down

opposite me. I nodded. “Ith not really a playth of evil, ith it?” I nodded again.

“I think she’s innothent,” Ezra said.

“You do?” I was surprised, but pleased to hear it. “Why?”

“Nobody would want to eat Billy Hennethee. He’d taythed terrible.” Ezra smiled

and his magnified eyes twinkled behind his thick eye glasses.

Chapter Eighteen: What to Think? What to Feel?

That day after school, the streets of Middlington were bustling. The typically

sleepy pace of an autumnal day was replaced with the kind of energy and excitement


57

associated with spring. Everyone was making final preparations for that weekend’s

Founders’ Day celebration. Although my mom had finished her pilgrim hats, she

couldn’t resist volunteering to do more. It was while she was decorating the grandstand

with bunting and streamers that she met up with Billy’s father.

“I ran into Liam Hennessey today,” she mentioned that night over dinner.

“Was he drunk?” my dad asked.

My mother quickly reprimanded him. “Frank! The man’s son was kidnapped by

a mad woman. He finally has a good reason to be drunk.”

“That man doesn’t give a hoot about that boy,” my dad told her. “Lord knows if I

had a rotten kid like that I’d hand him over to Marvella Bubbles no questions asked.”

“Frank!” my mom cried. “You don’t mean that!” She looked over at me. “He

didn’t mean that, Charlie.” She then returned her attention to my father. “Well, you’re

wrong about Liam Hennessey, Frank. He’s very upset about what happened to Billy.

He’s even filing a law suit.”

My dad simply shrugged at this news and went back to eating his chicken pot pie.

After dinner, I went up to my room to do my homework. I didn’t do it though. Instead, I

sat on my bed staring at the rhinestone cat collar and feeling incredibly guilty. “I think

she’s innothent.” I kept hearing Ezra words in my head over and over again. He didn’t

even know the woman yet he didn’t think she was capable of what she was accused. And

here I was, supposedly her friend, and I had doubts. I must be a terrible person, I thought

to myself. Downstairs, I could hear the low drone of the television set as my parents

watched the evening news. Aside from that, the house was quiet, quiet enough for me to

hear a low pitched whimpering outside my bedroom window. When I looked down into

the backyard, I saw Miss Fanny, her eyes glowing red in the moonlight. She was sitting

on her haunches looking up at me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked the dog as I walked into the backyard. She

ran to me and jumped up excitedly. That’s when I noticed there was an envelope tucked

into her collar. It was addressed to me. I knelt down and took it, Miss Fanny licking my

face as I did so. She then winked at me, turned her fluffy rear-end in my direction and

scampered off into the darkness. I went back upstairs to my room and opened the

envelope. The letter inside read as follows:


58

Dear Charlie,

We know you must be worried about Marvella. Fear not,

we are doing all we can to help her. We have contacted her

lawyer. He is one of the finest legal minds in the world.

Unfortunately, he has been working on a case in Europe,

but he’ll straighten out this mess when he returns. I have

moved into the house on Half Moon Hill so that I can look

after Miss Fanny. If you can, please stop by the police

station and visit Marvella. I know it would do wonders to

lift her spirits.

It was signed, “Yours very truly, Ruthanda”. If I felt bad before, I felt even worse

now. I didn’t sleep at all that night. My conscience wouldn’t let me.

The following day Miss Semple chose to make an example of me to the rest of the

class for not doing my homework. “No homework?” She said sarcastically, raising her

one eyebrow. “Perhaps you’d like to explain to the rest of the students why you didn’t do

the assignment? It must have been something very important. Why don’t you come to

the front of the class and explain. Now.”

Billy was still absent, recovering from his ordeal. He had spent one night at

Middlington General Hospital and been discharged. No bones had been broken but,

according to old Doc Lumberly, he had been severally traumatized and would need time

to recuperate. While Billy stayed home watching cartoons and reading comic books,

Oscar and The Mole kept a low profile at school, much to everyone’s relief.

On my way home from school, I took an alternate route, one that went passed the

police station. I stood across the street staring at the red brick building, but I never went

in. That night, I stayed awake again, tossing and turning. By the time the weekend rolled

around, I was a wreck. Each and every day I walked passed the police station and, each

and every day, I didn’t go in. Everyone was so sure about Marvella Bubbles’ guilt, but

my uncertainty was driving me crazy. I decided to go for a nice long bicycle ride on

Saturday morning to clear my mind. As usual, I rode around town – passed Mr.


59

Twiddle’s drug store and Mr. Dingler’s market, passed the library and the open field

behind the school. I peddled and peddled until I found myself on the outskirts of town.

When I got to Half Moon Hill, I couldn’t just ride by. I had to stop. I felt I needed to

speak to Ruthanda. I hoped once I explained how confused I was that she’d understand.

“I don’t understand,” Ruthanda said coldly. “How could you not stop by and visit

Marvella?” Miss Fanny seemed annoyed at me as well. For a moment, we all sat silently

in the parlor.

“I… I don’t know.” I stuttered.

“You think she did it, don’t you?” Ruthanda’s question was more like an

accusation.

“I… I don’t know what to think,” I told her. “That napkin…”

“Anyone could’ve broken into the house and stolen it,” Ruthanda said.

“I guess, but…” My mind was a battlefield of conflicting thoughts. There were

things I wanted to believe and things I simply couldn’t deny. “I just wish I…”

“Had never met her?” Ruthanda asked.

“I didn’t say that,” I insisted.

“But you thought it,” she said.

“All I know is,” I began, “is that everybody says she’s guilty. What am I

supposed to think?”

Ruthanda looked at me, stroking her beard. She made a “tsk-tsk-tsk” sound with

her tongue. “What you’re supposed to think are your own thoughts, she said. The tone

of her voice had changed. It went from being harsh and stern to warm and understanding.

She came over to the sofa and sat beside me. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m so caught

up in this mess that I forget you’re only a boy.” She looked at me with genuine concern.

“But boys grow up to be men; and if you want to be a good man, you’ll have to learn to

think for yourself. That’s what Marvella does. If she didn’t, do you think she’d be my

friend?” She pointed at her hairy face. “Everybody else thinks I’m a freak. But Marvella

ignored that. When she was no older than you, she looked passed my beard and

mustache and saw the girl underneath. She’s a wonderful person filled with kindness and

love. I know she could never have hurt that boy. And I think, deep down, you know it

too.” I wanted to cry and Ruthanda could see that. “Why don’t you go home and think


60

over what I’ve said,” she suggested. “I have to give the dog a bath.” Miss Fanny looked

up at Ruthanda, not at all pleased. She obviously didn’t like the idea of being bathed.

Ruthanda showed me out. Just before she closed the front door, she looked at me and

said, “Good luck, Charlie.” I got on my bicycle and peddled my way back to town.

I spent all evening thinking about what Ruthanda had said to me. My head was

pounding. All I’d done for days was to think about Marvella’s guilt. Then, suddenly, I

decided not to think about it anymore. I decided that instead of thinking I’d try feeling.

Rather than my head, I’d rely on my heart. All at once, I felt relieved. Although my head

had been muddled and confused by disturbing facts and opinions, my heart didn’t

question at all. I let love supply me with the answer I’d been seeking. For the first time

in almost a week, I got a good night’s sleep.

Chapter Nineteen: A Jailhouse Visit

Sunday was Founders’s Day. The parade was scheduled to begin that afternoon.

Right after breakfast, I put on my windbreaker and went to visit Marvella Bubbles at the

police station. Deputy Kronk was sitting at the front desk. Actually, he was sleeping,

which is usually what Deputy Kronk did while on duty. He would draw eyeballs on his

eyelids in magic marker so that no one would realize he was napping. When Mrs. Prattle

came into the station house to report a baseball thrown through her living room window,

she saw him like that and thought he was dead. She screamed so loud it startled him and

he fell out of his chair.

“Deputy Kronk?” My voice was soft and low. I didn’t want to make him fall out

of his chair. He didn’t budge so I tried again, “Deputy Kronk? I’d like to see Marvella

Bubbles.” The Deputy let out a loud snort then began to snore. I walked over to him

and gave him a nudge. He immediately woke up.

“You have the right to remain silent,” he blurted out. “Anything you say may be

used against you in…” He looked around, saw where he was and to whom he was

speaking. “Oh, it’s you. What do you want?”

“I’d like to see Marvella Bubbles please.”

“Alright,” he said, “Follow me. And hurry up, I’m busy.”


61

Deputy Kronk led me through a door to the back of the police station. Middling-

ton was a small town so it had a small police station. There were only three jail cells, two

of which were empty. In the third was Marvella Bubbles. She had been there for a week

and yet she still looked fresh and beautiful dressed in a silk robe and fluffy slippers. In

fact, her hair seemed to be higher than ever.

“Charlie!” she cried out joyously. “How wonderful to see you!” She held out her

hand through the bars of the cell and I ran to take hold of it.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes,” the Deputy said before returning to the front desk.

“He always says that,” Marvella whispered, “then he falls asleep and completely

loses track of the time.”

“Then other people have come to visit?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” she told me, “Ruthanda brings me a clean change of clothes every day.

Gertruda has been here and so has Sylviane. Luigi came by the other night and serenaded

me through the window of my jail cell. Wasn’t that sweet?” It was amazing. She was

locked in a jail cell, accused of a horrible crime and yet she behaved no differently than

she had in the comfort of her own home. Her voice still had that lovely musical quality.

“I knew you’d come too,” she said.

I wanted to apologize. I wanted to say I’m so sorry for having doubts. I wanted

to ask her to forgive me for not being a loyal friend. But I didn’t have to. There was

something in her eyes that told me she understood completely why I hadn’t visited

sooner. “Are they being nice to you?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” Marvella replied, “as they say, ‘I’ve got three hots and a cot’.” She

laughed at her own use of prison slang. “Actually,” she continued, “it isn’t bad at all.

I’ve lived in worse. After I left the circus, I moved to the big city and lived in a tiny little

apartment overrun with cockroaches and mice. Of course, that’s the way all painters live.

They must suffer for their art.”

“You were a painter?” I asked.

“I tried to be,” she told me, “but nobody would buy my paintings.”

“Why not?”

“Because they were terrible,” she said with a smile. “So I became an opera singer

instead. Unfortunately, I’m completely tone deaf. That and my total lack of rhythm


62

ruined my chances as a ballet dancer. After a dismal attempt at stage acting, I finally

discovered what my true talent is. I am a very gifted spectator.”

I was confused. “Can’t anyone be a spectator?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, of course,” she assured me, “but not everyone is good at it. You have to

truly love art and give yourself over to it completely to be a really good spectator. You

can’t unwrap candy or talk to the person sitting next to you.”

“I eat in front of the TV sometimes,” I confessed.

“TV doesn’t count, dear. True art is alive in front of you. It pants and sweats and

sometimes doesn’t smell very good, but that is what makes it so exciting.” Marvella

seemed to glow when she talked about art. “Perhaps if there were more good spectators,

the arts wouldn’t be in such dire straits. The ancient Greeks were good spectators and

look at all the wonderful art they produced. I’m sure nobody unwrapped crinkly candy at

the Theatre of Dionysus.”

Sometimes I didn’t have the slightest idea what Marvella Bubbles was talking

about, but she had such style and such flair that it was enjoyable just to listen.

“So if you didn’t become an artist,” I asked, “what did you become?”

“Why Marvella Bubbles, of course.”

I was confused. “Weren’t you always Marvella Bubbles?”

“Oh, no, dear,” she said, “not until I married Jasper Bubbles.”

I had heard many stories about Marvella over the years but no one had ever

mentioned she’d been married. I wondered who her husband was and what had become

of him.

“Jasper was a lovely man,” she told me. “I never had any plans to marry but when

someone loves you as completely as he loved me, well, your plans tend to change.”

“What happened to him?” I asked.

“He died young.” she said. “He suffered from an illness that afflicts only

dwarves.”

I tried not to appear too surprised. “He was a dwarf?” I asked, “like in Snow

White?”

“Oh, yes, he couldn’t have been more than three and half feet tall,” she informed

me. “Still, he was a man of great stature, a brilliant inventor.”


63

“What did he invent?” I asked.

“Why, the bubble bath, of course.”

I had never considered the origins of the bubble bath before but I suppose

someone had to think it up. And since every kid I knew took a bubble bath at least once a

week, I figured being in the bubble bath business must be profitable. “Was he wealthy?”

I asked.

“Not at first. As newlyweds, we were poor as church mice. It wasn’t until a year

before Jasper died that the money started rolling in. It hasn’t stopped since.”

Marvella Bubbles was rich. I suppose I should’ve realized that. After all, she

didn’t have a job. All she did was drive around in her Cadillac convertible, play mah

jong and bake chocolate cakes. But since she never made any great display of her

money, living simply and quietly as she did, it never crossed my mind that she might be a

millionaire. I was so curious. How much money did she have? Where did she keep it?

What did she spend it on? But my mother had always told me it was bad manners to ask

people about money.

“How much money do you have?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

“Where do you keep it? What do you spend it on?”

Marvella looked amused. She was a woman who knew how foolish people could

be. She understood human imperfection and was always ready to forgive it. “Perhaps we

should discuss something else,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me how things are at

school?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, my eyes downcast.

Marvella laughed and told me not to give it a second thought. As she suggested,

I began telling her all about school and how I had gotten a B- on my essay about

Hezekiah Middlington. She congratulated me but told me she knew I could do better.

For some reason, that didn’t annoy me like it would have coming out of my parents’

mouths. We continued to talk. Our visit lasted far longer than fifteen minutes. In fact, it

might have gone on all morning if Deputy Kronk hadn’t been awakened by yet another

visitor. We stopped talking as the two of them approached. Marvella’s guest was a

glamorous looking gentleman in a green velvet three-piece suit and frilly white shirt.


64

His hair was long and dark like one of the Three Musketeers. He wore a monocle over

his right eye. (Note to reader: A monocle is one-half of a pair of glasses.) I remembered

I had seen a photograph of him on Marvella’s mantelpiece. He was wearing silly clothes

in the picture as well.

“Regis!” Marvella cried out with glee.

Upon seeing Marvella behind bars, the dapper gentleman began ranting at Deputy

Kronk. “This is outrageous!” he bellowed, his arms flying in all directions. “A woman

the caliber of Mrs. Bubbles held without bail! Ludicrious! Absolutely ludicrious! I’ll

have your badge for this! Do you hear me? Your badge!”

“Don’t holler at me,” protested Deputy Kronk. “It wasn’t my decision. I’m just

the deputy. They don’t even let me carry a gun.”

Regis rolled his eyes and said, “Thank heavens for that.”

An angry Deputy Kronk glared at the man in the green velvet suit, but the only

thing he could think to say in response was “huh”.

“Charlie,” Marvella said, “this is my lawyer, Regis Sinclair.”

So this was the man Ruthanda described as having “one of the finest legal minds

in the world.” He looked down at me and nodded. He looked back at Deputy Kronk and

demanded, “I wish to be alone with my client.”

“Sure,” the Deputy said. “No problem. Come on, kid, your time’s up.”

I said goodbye to Marvella and she kissed my cheek through the bars. “Have fun

at the parade,” she told me. As I followed Deputy Kronk out, I could hear Regis Sinclair

carrying on about the injustice of Marvella’s situation. All the while, Marvella kept

trying to calm him down by saying, “Now, now, Regis, don’t get yourself into a tizzy.”

Chapter Twenty: The 273rd

Annual Founders’ Day Parade

I hadn’t even exited out the front door of the police station when Deputy Kronk

began snoring again. Outside, cold November sunlight streamed through the bare

branches of the trees that lined Middlington Avenue. It was a chilly day but I felt warm

inside. I hadn’t felt this good in days. I strolled past Mr. Twiddle’s pharmacy and Mr.

Dingler’s market. They were closed. Church was over and everyone was getting ready


65

for the parade. I made my way to the corner of Middlington Avenue and Old Thistle

Road. This was the very heart of town. It was where the First Presbyterian Church had

stood since 1712. It was also where Town Hall was located and the Middlington war

memorial. It was where they always set up the grandstand for the Founders’ Day Parade.

People had already begun to assemble, hoping to ensure a good view of the festivities by

coming early.

“Hey, Charlie!” Jeffrey called out. “Sit up top with us!”

I climbed to the top of the grandstand and sat with him and Larry Flick.

“Where’ve you been?” Larry asked. “We stopped by your house and you were

already gone.”

“Oh, just walking around.” I decided not to tell them about my visit with

Marvella Bubbles. I didn’t want to get into an argument over her innocence. I knew

what I believed in my heart and that’s all that mattered.

The grandstand quickly filled up with people. Those who couldn’t find a seat

lined the sides of Middlington Avenue. At 2pm, the celebration began as scheduled.

From down the street we could hear the strains of the Middlington High Marching Band.

They made their way down the street followed by “The Sons and Daughters of

Middlington,” an organization comprised of the direct descendents of the town’s

founding fathers. They included Judge Burple and Mrs. Prattle and Mrs. Flummery, and

all of them were wearing my mom’s pilgrim hats.

“Look at those stupid hats,” Jeffrey snickered. I had to admit they did look silly,

even if I did help my mom make them.

Right behind the members of the S.D.M. was the traditional Founders’ Day float.

It featured a cardboard replica of the town as it had looked back in the 18th

century. My

mom had helped paint it. Standing in the center of the float was Amy Dingler, the

Founders’ Day princess. She was wearing a lace party dress and a big glittery crown on

her head. She looked pretty as she waved to everyone she passed.

“Amy Dingler looks like a doofus with that dumb crown on her head,” Jeffrey

remarked.

“She does not!” I said a bit too forcefully. Jeffrey looked at Larry and the two

exchanged a smug “Charlie loves Amy” look.


66

After the parade, Mayor Wendell Liverspot stood on the steps of Town Hall

dressed in a morning coat and top hat and made a long, boring speech about how proud

we should be of our town and how we should uphold its values and traditions. Mayor

Liverspot was the slowest talker I ever heard so the speech was twice as long and three

times as boring as it would’ve been if someone else had given it. Once the official

ceremony was over, the real fun began. There was a merry-go-round and a small Ferris

wheel set up for the occasion. There were booths selling hot dogs and hamburgers and

soft drinks and cotton candy. There was a shooting gallery where you could win prizes.

There was a dunking machine, and if you hit the bull’s eye Mr. Twiddle would fall into a

big vat of water. The young people enjoyed these and other attractions while the old

folks played Bingo on the lawn outside the First Presbyterian Church. Everyone laughed

and ate and walked around town in my mom’s pilgrim hats. I wasn’t enjoying myself

though. How could I? Here were all these people celebrating the values and traditions of

a town that was persecuting a woman as wonderful as Marvella Bubbles. It really

shouldn’t have surprised me. The history of Middlington was full of similar incidents. In

1714, Hezekiah Middlington and his friends accused a woman of being a witch. Her

name was Goodie Teasdale. (Note to the reader: Back in puritan times, all the ladies

were called “goodie,” whether they were good or not.) Goodie Teasdale wasn’t a witch.

She just didn’t like going to church. She thought the churchgoers were phony and the

sermons were dull. Instead, she stayed home and worshipped God in her own way. That

didn’t sit well with the townspeople. One day, the Reverand Dullard, an ancestor of Mrs.

Flummery, overheard Goodie Teasdale call him a “pompous windbag,” so he accused her

of consorting with the devil and burned her at the stake. In 1819, Henrietta Follinsbee

disobeyed her parents and refused to marry Abernathy Semple. Abernathy was old and

ugly and had only one eyebrow running across the length of his forehead, the same as my

homeroom teacher, Miss Semple, who was a relative of his. When Henrietta refused to

yield, claiming a woman had the right to make all decisions regarding her life, people

thought she was insane. Her parents had her committed to an insane asylum until she

came to her senses. She never did. In 1921, Lulu Burple was considered a naughty girl

for kissing boys, bobbing her hair and wearing dresses that exposed her knees. Her

father, Thaddeus Burple the 6th

, disowned her. Penniless and alone, she was forced to


67

leave Middlington in disgrace. Lulu went to the big city and became a dancer on the

Broadway stage. She lived a deliriously happy life, but her family was scandalized and

told everyone she was dead. Throughout the centuries, the good people of Middlington

had upheld their values and traditions, and anyone who violated them had suffered the

consequences. This was what the 273rd

Founders’ Day parade was all about.

Chapter Twenty-One: Look Who’s Back

It was at the parade that Billy Hennessey made his first public appearance since

being “rescued” from Marvella Bubbles. He looked as healthy and mean as ever. Kids

flocked around him, curious to know the details of his abduction. As for me, I didn’t

want to hear him lie about my friend. But I couldn’t avoid it. Everywhere I turned, Billy

was telling his tale of terror to a new group of eager listeners. Eventually, my own

curiosity got the better of me. What exactly was he telling people?

“It was Friday morning and I was on my way to school like usual,” Billy began

very dramatically. “Suddenly, that witch jumped out from behind a tree and grabbed me.

I kicked and punched but she was too strong. Witches are really strong. Then she stuffed

me in a sack and took me back to her house. It was really creepy, spider webs and

everything. She tied me up and put me in her shed. She left me there all weekend

without anything to eat or drink. I was afraid she was gonna kill me like she killed

Scheherazade.”

Lies, lies and more lies. I couldn’t listen to any more, so I turned to walk away

and walked right into Mr. Hennessey. Liam Hennessey was a powerfully built man with

a heavy brow and deep set eyes. He always looked as if he were about to hit somebody.

“What’s the matter, kid?” He asked me. “Don’t you like the story?” I didn’t like

the story and I didn’t like him. He smelled like my Uncle Lester on New Year’s Eve.

His eyes were red and squinty and he seemed to be swaying in the breeze. He was

holding a soda can but I didn’t think it was filled with soda.

“No,” I told Mr. Hennessey. “I don’t like it. I don’t think it’s true.” It couldn’t

have been. Spider webs? Impossible. As I mentioned before, Marvella was an excellent

housekeeper so there wasn’t a single spider web to be found in that house. And if Billy


68

was in that shed all weekend, how come he wasn’t there when I looked in it that Saturday

afternoon?

“You callin’ my son a liar?” he asked.

Normally, angering a man like Mr. Hennessey would’ve been the last thing on

earth I’d want to do, but I was angry myself so I didn’t care. “Yes,” I said defiantly, “I

think he’s lying. And I’m going to prove it. You wait and see.”

Mr. Hennessey looked at me with a blank expression of his face. I didn’t know

what he was going to do next. Would he scream at me? Would he hit me? He did

neither. He simply opened his mouth and let out the biggest belch I’d ever heard in my

life. Then he smiled and said, “They found my boy tied up in that woman’s shed. She

kidnapped him and she’s gonna pay.” And with that, Mr. Hennessey turned and

staggered away.

The music continued to play. People continued to laugh and eat hotdogs. And

Billy continued to tell the story of his terrifying experience at the hands of Marvella

Bubbles to anyone willing to listen. I had to prove he was lying, but I would need help

and I would need it now. I left the celebration, but instead of turning right on Old

Thistle Road, which is the way I would have to go to get home, I made a left and headed

in the opposite direction. I started walking faster and faster. I was running by the time I

turned onto Primrose Court. I rang the doorbell at 45 Primrose, a large white house with

blue shutters. Ezra Coates answered the door.

“You have to help me prove Marvella Bubbles is innocent,” I demanded.

There was a moment of silence as Ezra blinked at me from behind his thick eye

glasses, but then he stepped aside and invited me to “come inthide.” Ezra led me upstairs

to his bedroom. It was a nerd’s paradise. On one wall, there was a poster of the Periodic

Table, listing all the elements from hydrogen to lawrencium. (Note to the reader: I don’t

know what lawrencium is either.) On another wall was a poster of a man with wild white

hair and a big bushy mustache. His name was Albert Einstein. On top of the bureau was

Ezra’s collection of geodes, rocks that were sliced in half to reveal crystal formations

inside. One would have been cool but having thirty-six was definitely nerdy. There was

a microscope and a chemistry set. But the nerdiest thing of all was Ezra’s bed. It was


69

shaped like a space ship, and his sheets and pillowcases had pictures of the solar system

on them.

“Cool room,” I told him.

“Thankth for lying,” Ezra said.

Instead of trying to convince Ezra that I really liked his room – which I didn’t –

I decided it would be better to just switch the subject. “Look, Ezra, Billy is lying.”

I pointed out to him the holes in Billy’s stories. He agreed with me that these were

“dithturbing.”

“Othcar and Dickie muthed be in on it.,” Ezra concluded. “Billy couldn’t have

tied himthelf up.” That made perfect sense to me. “But why would he pretend to be

kidnapped in the firthed playth?”

The answer seemed plain to me: “To get Marvella Bubbles in trouble. He hates

her. She humiliated him.” I told Ezra the true facts about Billy’s encounter with Miss

Fanny.

“I knew there wuth no werewolf.” Suddenly, Ezra began to smile with glee.

“I with I could’ve theen that dog kick Billy’th butt.” But then Ezra returned to more

serious considerations. “Do you think Billy would go thith far juth to get back at

Marvella Bubbleth?”

It did seem a bit extreme, framing someone for a crime just because a little white

bundle of fluff tried to rip off your underpants. But I couldn’t think of any other reason.

And, besides, since when did a bully ever have a good reason for doing something mean?

“I need you to help me get to the bottom of this, Ezra.”

“You mean like Therlock Holmth and Dr. Watthon,” he asked eagerly.

Although I hadn’t read any of the Sherlock Holmes mystery books like Ezra,

I had seen a movie about the famous British detective with my dad on television. “Yes,”

I told Ezra, “just like them.” At that moment, Ezra looked happier than I’d ever seen

him.


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Chapter Twenty-Two: Another Jailhouse Visit

The trial of Marvella Bubbles was not scheduled to begin until after Thanks-

giving. Until then, everyone seemed to put it in the back of their minds – everyone

except me and Ezra Coates. Thanksgiving meant turkey and stuffing and sweet potato

pie and a four-day weekend. It was a great holiday for anyone who didn’t have to spend

it in the kitchen. Traditionally, my mother slaved over Thanksgiving dinner from the

Monday before until the Sunday after, when she served the last of the leftovers. It might

not have been such an ordeal if she didn’t always insist on having all our relatives over to

the house. She must’ve liked being a hostess and yet all she did was complain about it.

“The last thing I need is to cook a holiday meal for twenty people,” my mom

would say.

“Then don’t do it,” my dad would mutter from behind his newspaper.

My mom would snap back, “And eat canned cranberry sauce at your sister’s?

Never!”

So for the four days prior to Thanksgiving my mom would bellyache about all the

work she had to do for Aunt Lois and Uncle Lester, Aunt Bibby and Uncle Boo, Great

Aunt Wanda and Uncle Sherman, and all the cousins: Kurt, Cindy, Johnny, Jillian,

Valerie, Dudley, Austin, Chrissy, Robbie and Pippa. Some of them I liked, some of them

I couldn’t stand. Robbie had really bad breath and Chrissy was always complaining her

thighs were too fat. They looked pretty normal to me. Fortunately, I only had to deal

with any of them on Thanksgiving. As for my mom, once they entered the house she

became “hostess of the year,” passing out hors d’oevres and refilling drinks. You’d

think she was having the time of her life. She probably was. Yet when the last guest left,

she’d always throw herself against the front door and moan, “Thank God that’s over!”

My mom was a good cook, and she always outdid herself at Thanksgiving. So the next

morning, while my parents were still sleeping, I packed up a bunch of leftovers to bring

to Marvella in jail.

Like everywhere else in the country, the day after Thanksgiving was a big

shopping day in Middlington. It marked the beginning of the Christmas season. Like

magic, tinsel and garland seemed to appear in shop windows over night. Middlington


71

Avenue was already crowded with shoppers as I made my way to the police station with

Marvella’s holiday meal. Of course, Deputy Kronk was asleep at the front desk.

“Hands against the wall, legs spread!” Deputy Kronk babbled as he awoke from

his nap. “Oh, it’s you again,” he moaned. “I got better things to do than escort you back

and forth, ya know.” But he did anyway.

“Why, Charlie, how sweet of you,” Marvella said when she saw the bag of

leftovers I’d brought for her.

I had been afraid that Marvella would spend the Thanksgiving holiday alone

eating nothing but bread and water in a cold jail cell. I should’ve known her friends

would never allow that. In her cell was an open picnic basket filled with holiday dishes

prepared by Ruthanda and Gertruda. The cell itself had been transformed into a

comfortable sitting room with pillows and pictures and other knick-knacks brought from

Marvella’s house. There was a small wind-up phonograph called a Victrola that was

playing a recording of Luigi’s La Sonata per un Caro Amico. “Wow,” I thought to

myself, “that twelve-fingered guy sure can play piano”.

“My compliments to your mother,” Marvella said. “This is the best sweet potato

pie I’ve ever tasted.”

“She’ll be glad to hear that,” I lied. I couldn’t tell my mom I’d been to visit

Marvella. As far as she was concerned, Marvella Bubbles was a cat-killing child

snatcher. That’s what everyone thought, except for me and Ezra Coates.

Marvella continued to eat her sweet potato pie, asking me about my Thanksgiving

holiday between bites. Suddenly, we heard a commotion coming from the front of the

police station. The door separating the squad room from the jail cells swung open and

Regis Sinclair came rushing in. Again, he wore a three-piece suit, only this one was

paisley. The man had a very extreme sense of style.

“I will see my client and I will see her now!” Regis bellowed.

“I got better things to do than argue with you,” Deputy Kronk declared, then

slammed the door behind him. It was only a matter of moments before we could hear the

Deputy snoring like a buzz-saw through the walls.

“Good day, Marvella,” Regis said. “Good day, Chester.”

“Charlie,” I corrected him. “My name is Charlie.”


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Regis Sinclair looked me over carefully and declared, “Chester would be better.”

He then sat down, opened his briefcase and pulled out a large file of papers. “We have

much to prepare, Marvella, before we go to trial.” Regis looked at me again and said,

“Would you excuse us?”

“But I want to help,” I told him.

“That’s very sweet of you, Charlie,” Marvella said, “but…”

“I can prove that Billy’s lying,” I declared.

Both Marvella and Regis looked at me with great interest. “How?” they asked in

unison.

I explained, “Billy’s telling everyone he was in the tool shed all weekend. But

when I was looking for Marvella that Saturday, I looked in it and he wasn’t there.”

Marvella stood up and crossed to the bars of her cell, her eyes were bright with

excitement. “That’s wonderful!” she proclaimed. “Isn’t that wonderful, Regis?”

“Are you positive about this?” Regis asked me, as intently as any lawyer would

when questioning a witness.

“Pretty positive,” I told him.

Regis’s eyes narrowed. “Did you search the entire shed?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “but when I looked inside I didn’t see or hear anything.”

He continued to interrogate me. “So you didn’t look in all the corners and behind

all the boxes?”

“Well, no,” I said, sounding less confident.

Regis was not pleased with my answer and Marvella could see that. “What’s the

matter, Regis?” she asked him.

“This is troublesome,” Regis sighed. “They could claim that Chester didn’t see

the boy when he looked inside the shed.”

“Charlie,” I corrected him, not bothering to hide the irritation in my voice. “And I

didn’t see him because he wasn’t there.”

Regis leaned down, putting his face very close to mine. “But you can’t be positive

of that, can you?”

“No,” I replied, a bit shaken, “but…”


73

Regis didn’t wait for me to finish my response. He turned to Marvella and said,

“It would help if he could be positive.”

“But it is something, isn’t it?” Marvella asked hopefully.

“Perhaps,” Regis said, cautiously, “Perhaps not.”

I could see Marvella’s disappointment. She tried to maintain her usually cheerful

disposition but just at that moment she was having trouble doing so. She turned to me

and said politely, “Perhaps you’d better go, Charlie. Mr. Sinclair and I have a lot to do.”

I felt awful. I had raised Marvella’s hopes and then sent them crashing to the

ground. I put on my coat and slumped toward the door.

“Charlie,” Marvella called out to me, “thank you for the lovely leftovers.”

I turned to say “you’re welcome” and the warm and loving smile she always wore

had returned to her face. Nothing could get Marvella Bubbles down for very long.

Chapter Twenty-Three: A True Ally

I left the police station depressed. Why didn’t I search the shed more thoroughly?

If I had maybe they would’ve released Marvella then and there. I wandered about town

for a while, weaving in and around the shoppers. Lost in my own thoughts, I bumped

into two or three people before I decided to sit down on the steps of Town Hall. Up and

down Middlington Avenue, everybody seemed so happy as they emerged from store after

store with their newly-purchased Christmas gifts. They were all enjoying their lives, not

at all concerned that a very nice lady with very big hair soon might be deprived of hers.

My depression slowly turned to anger. I saw Mary Alice Garfein and her friends

chattering their way down Middlington Avenue. I wondered if Mary Alice every really

considered the effect of the gossip she so eagerly spread or were those rumors just a way

for her to exercise her jaw muscles? At that moment, everyone in Middlington seemed

to me to be as silly and bubble-headed as Mary Alice. A town filled with Mary Alice

Garfeins, now that would make a scary horror movie.

“You look thad,” Ezra said as he climbed the steps of Town Hall and sat beside

me.


74

I told him about my visit to Marvella’s jail cell and how her lawyer was less than

enthusiastic when I told him I didn’t see Billy in the shed.

“Ith a shame you couldn’t be more pothitive,” Ezra said.

I lowered my head and mumbled, “Yeah.”

We continued to talk about Marvella’s predicament until we were interrupted by

an all-too familiar sound from across the street. Standing in front of the war memorial

were Billy, Oscar and The Mole repeating a chorus of “nerd lover.” Oscar and The Mole

pretended to be me and Ezra kissing each other. This really amused Billy.

“Lookth like the bulleeth are back in bithnith,” Ezra said, resigned to the fact that

a number of painful wedgies lay in his future.

I glared at Billy. He glared back at me, looking smugger than I’d ever seen him

look before. I turned to Ezra and said, “We have to find that cat. It’s the key to this

whole thing.”

We continued to sit on the stone steps until Billy and his crew got bored. It was

broad daylight and there were too many witnesses for them to beat us up so they

eventually moved on. Ezra and I then walked back to his house on Primrose Court. Ezra

kept looking over his shoulder to make sure that Billy, Oscar and The Mole didn’t sneak

up on us, but they were long gone in the opposite direction. When we arrived at Ezra’s

home, his mom made us mugs of hot chocolate with little marshmallows. There was no

denying that Mrs. Coates was Ezra’s mother. She was a tiny woman with extra thick

glasses and a lisp of her own. “You two kidth have fun,” she said as we took our hot

chocolates up to Ezra’s bedroom.

I sat on Ezra’s desk chair while he sat cross-legged on his spaceship-shaped bed.

We began to discuss what Ezra referred to as “The Cayth of the Purloined Puthycat.” He

smiled with satisfaction when he said it. (Note to the reader: I didn’t smile because I

didn’t know what purloined meant. I looked it up in the dictionary when I got home and

found out it meant “stolen”.)

“The firtht thing to do is figure out what Billy did with the puthycat,” Ezra said

with great authority. Although we’d never actually discussed it, I got the impression that

Ezra was to be Sherlock Holmes and I was to be his assistant, Dr. Watson. I didn’t mind.

After all, Ezra was the smartest kid in my class. I explained to him that I had already


75

tried to find out what happened to Scheherazade by following Billy and his crew for

almost a week, but that I’d eventually given up in frustration.

“Why did they keep going into the woodth?” Ezra asked.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged.

“Maybe they have a thecret hideout,” Ezra suggested. “Maybe that’th where the

puthycat ith.”

“What kind of secret hideout?” I asked.

“Maybe a treehouth,” Ezra answered, “or a cave.”

I thought about that for a minute. Maybe Billy and his crew did have a secret

hideout. But where exactly was it? There were acres of woods on the outskirts of town.

It could be anywhere. Ezra and I decided that starting Monday after school we would

begin following the bullies and see if they would lead us there. I may not have had much

success trailing them before but maybe with Ezra’s help I might find something that

would prove Marvella was innocent of everything she was being accused.

“I’ll bring a flathlight and computh,” Ezra said, “so we don’t get lawthed.”

It was getting on toward dinner time. I thanked Mrs. Coates for the hot chocolate

and headed home. The sky was turning orange as the sun began to set. The air was crisp

and felt good rushing passed my face as I walked toward Loblolly Lane. I was in no rush

though. We would be eating turkey yet again. Three nights in a row was more than

enough for me.

“It’s not just turkey,” my mom insisted. “It’s turkey pot pie.”

My father rolled his eyes. He wasn’t fooled either. Left over turkey was left

over turkey whether you served it cold or baked in a pie. We ate and then spent a quiet

Saturday night at home. My mom did needlepoint, my dad read and I watched television.

At about ten, they sent me up to bed. I stripped down to my underwear and tee shirt and

crawled under the covers. I never wore pajamas. Neither did Jeffrey or Larry. But I bet

Erza did. I began to wonder if his pajamas were in keeping with the rest of his bedroom.

Maybe his pajamas made him look like an astronaut or an alien space traveler. That’s

what I was thinking as I began to doze off. Sleep was on the very tip of my nose when I

suddenly bolted upright in bed. I remembered Ezra saying that the bullies’ hideout was

“Maybe a treehouth or a cave.” I knew where a cave was. It was in the ravine near


76

Marvella’s house where Billy had thrown my bicycle. Luigi had mentioned it. I figured

that must be their hideout. That’s why they were there the day they hit me with that rock.

It made perfect sense. I wanted to call Erza and tell him but it was too late. Dr. Watson

would have to wait until morning to tell Sherlock Holmes his clever deduction.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Thpelunking

I barely slept that night. I was so eager to share my news with Ezra. Waiting

until morning was bad enough but it was Sunday so I had to wait even longer than usual.

“You never call anyone before eleven on a Sunday,” my mom always said. “It’s the one

day of the week people can sleep late.” So I waited, killing time by watching boring

religious programming. The only show I liked was a kids’ show called Davey and

Goliath. It was produced by the Church of Latter Day Saints and every episode had a

moral. Davey was a boy about my age and Goliath was his talking dog. Goliath made

me think of Miss Fanny. No one ever accused Goliath of being a werewolf. Of course,

Goliath was made out of clay.

My family was not very religious. We didn’t attend church regularly. We went

on Christmas and Easter and whenever someone died or got married. I didn’t know if

Ezra’s family was a church-going family but I figured even if they were, they’d be home

by noon time. Mrs. Coates answered the phone when I called at one minute past twelve.

I waited impatiently while she called Ezra to the phone. I told him about the cave and he

agreed that there was a good chance it was the bullies’ hideout. We decided to meet

outside Town Hall, then ride our bicycles to the ravine and check it out. I put on my

jacket and quickly bicycled to the center of town. Fifteen minutes later, Ezra rode up on

his bicycle. It had a lime green banana seat and more reflectors than any bike I’d ever

seen.

“My mother theth better thafe than thorry,” Ezra explained. This theory applied

to the way Ezra was dressed too. He was bundled up in a heavy winter coat with a hood.

Beneath the hood, he wore a knit hat. He also had gloves and a long, long scarf that was

wrapped around his neck so many times you could barely see his face. We rode out to

the edge of town where the ravine was. Marvella’s house on Half Moon Hill was right


77

across the street and I suggested that Ezra and I leave our bikes up there so no one would

know what we were up to.

“Will that be okay?” Ezra asked.

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll just tell Ruthanda.”

“What ith a Ruthanda?” he asked.

I could tell Ezra was shocked when Ruthanda came to the front door, not only

because she was so hairy but because she was wearing curlers – all over her body. She

had curlers on her head, on her face, on her shoulders, on her arms. I had once wondered

how many curlers a woman like her would need and now I had my answer. I asked

Ruthanda if it would be alright to leave our bicycles around back while we explored in

the woods, although I didn’t tell her what we were exploring for. She said it would be

fine. As we walked back down the hill toward the ravine, Ezra said, “Having a lithp

dothn’t theem that bad anymore.” I smiled at him and nodded in agreement.

When we reached the edge of the ravine, it looked deeper and steeper than I

remembered. I could see the stream at the bottom but I couldn’t see the cave. I figured it

must be directly under us. Ezra and I looked at each other and gulped. Silently, we

began climbing down into the ravine. The last thing I wanted was to fall and end up

lying broken at the bottom of the ravine like my bicycle. It may have been pretty when

Luigi was down there at the end of October, what with all the leaves changing and the

little woodland creatures scurrying about; but now it was almost December and it looked

cold and grey and empty. When Ezra and I safely reached the bottom it was very quiet,

even the stream seemed to whispering, and we could now see the cave.

“Do you think they’re in there,” I asked, staring at the entrance.

“No,” Ezra said confidently. “They’re at the movies.”

I was truly surprised by how certain Ezra was about that. “How do you know

that?” I asked.

“Detective work,” Ezra said. He looked at me, his magnified eyes twinkling. “I

called Mithter Hennethee before I left the houth. I pretended to be a friend of Billy’th.

He told me that Billy, Othker and The Mole were at the bargain matinee. Ith a double

feature. They’ll be there all day. Pretty thlick,huh?” Ezra tilted his head and smiled,

very pleased with himself.


78

We approached the mouth of the cave slowly. There was no sound coming from

inside it. We hesitated before entering.

“Charlie, have you ever been thpelunking?” Ezra asked.

“Have I ever been what?” I had no idea what “spelunking” was.

“Ith the technical term for ecthploring caveth,” Ezra explained. “Have you ever

done it?”

“No,” I confessed.

Ezra shrugged and said, “Neither have I.” He took out a flashlight from inside his

bulky winter coat. “Follow me,” he advised, “and be careful.” That was advice I was

definitely going to take.

I followed Ezra into the cave. It never ceased to amaze me how fearless he was

for a nerd. The cave quickly gobbled up all the available sunlight. There was nothing

but the glow of Ezra’s flashlight to light the way.

“You want to keep going?” Ezra inquired, his voice echoing off the sides of the

cave.”

“Yes,” I said, “let’s keep going.”

We continued to walk deeper and deeper into the cave. There were rustling

sounds all around us. I imagined rats running by my feet and bats flying by my head, but

I didn’t see anything. “This is a mistake,” I thought to myself. What did I expect to find

in this cave anyway? Billy, Oscar and the Mole tossing Mrs. Flummery’s cat around like

a football while discussing their evil plot to frame Marvella? That kind of thing only

happened in the movies, bad movies. I was beginning to think we were on a wild goose

chase when something happened. Ezra sneezed.

“Gesundheit,” I said.

“She’th here,” Ezra said.

“Who’s here?” I asked.

Ezra held the flashlight under his chin to illuminate his face. The shadows made

him look eerie. “Scheherathade,” he declared, “she’th here.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.


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Ezra sneezed again, “Becauth I’m allergic to cat-th.” He aimed the flashlight into

the darkness of the cave. “Let’th go,” he said. “The clother I get to the cat, the more I’ll

thneeth.”

I continued to follow Ezra. He continued sneezing. We went deeper and deeper

into the cave. Suddenly, there was a sound, the sound of something metal being struck.

“What was that?” I asked.

“I kicked thomething,” Ezra replied. He aimed the flashlight down toward the

floor of the cave and there we saw an empty can of cat food. Although I couldn’t see his

face and he couldn’t see mine, we both knew the other was smiling. I reached down to

pick up the can. As my arm entered the beam of light from the flashlight, Ezra shouted,

“Don’t touch it! You’ll thmudge the fingerprinth!”

He was right. Billy or Oscar or The Mole – or all three of them – had left their

fingerprints on that can, and those prints would prove they were responsible for the

catnapping. I quickly pulled my hand away from the can of cat food. “What do we do if

we can’t touch it?” I asked.

“We’ll call the poleeth and tell them to come and get it,” Ezra explained. “Thith

hath to be handled properly,” and he punctuated that statement with a series of sneezes.

Perhaps in response to Ezra’s sneezing, we heard the sound of a cat meowing in

the darkness. “Scheherazade!” we both cried out excitedly. But there was something

else in the darkness besides the cat, a person, someone who reached out of the darkness

and pushed Ezra, knocking his flashlight out of his hand. It hit a rock, breaking the light

bulb, and plunging us into total darkness.

“Who’s there?” I called out.

“Charlie, where are you?” Ezra asked.

“I’m right here,” I replied, groping through the darkness to find Ezra.

Suddenly, a beam of light began to shine in the direction of the cave’s entrance.

It was another flashlight. We couldn’t see who was holding it but whoever it was they

had Scheherazade because we could hear the sound of her meowing grow fainter and

fainter as the mysterious person ran out of the cave. In a few moments, the light, the cat

and the mysterious person were gone.

“Ezra! Ezra!” I cried out. “Are you alright?”


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I heard a scratching sound then saw the flickering of a small flame. In the glow of

the flame, I saw Ezra holding a box of kitchen matches in one hand and a lit match in the

other. Ezra reached down and picked up his broken flashlight. He shook it but it

wouldn’t work. “Rat-th,” he muttered. He put out the match before it could burn his

fingers then lit another one. He handed me some matches and we began to make our way

out of the cave. When we came to the spot where we had found the empty can of cat

food, we noticed it was gone. The mysterious person had removed any and all evidence

from the cave.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Now You See Her, Now You Don’t

Ezra and I climbed out of the ravine. We ran up Half Moon Hill and knocked on

Marvella’s front door. We were still out of breath when Ruthanda let us into the foyer of

the house. She had removed the hair curlers and combed out all the hair on her head,

face, arms and shoulders. She looked like a prize show dog just back from the groomer.

Ezra followed me into the house. Miss Fanny ran up to us, bright eyed and smiling. She

jumped up on my leg and sniffed around Ezra’s feet. I could tell that she liked him.

“Why are you boys panting?” Ruthanda asked.

We explained to her all about the cave and the can of cat food and the mysterious

person who ran off with Scheherazade, at least we thought it was Scheherazade. We both

spoke at once, gesturing and pointing, in order to bring to life each and every thrilling

detail of our adventure. Ruthanda listened with a scowl on her bearded face.

“Whatever possessed you boys to go into that cave?” she asked sternly. “You

could’ve been killed.”

“We wanted to help Marvella,” I told her.

“And how will getting killed do that?” she snapped back. Ruthanda had her

hands on her hips and she was tapping one foot on the floor impatiently.

I tried to explain, “We figure if we could prove Billy took Mrs. Flummery’s cat

people will see he isn’t as innocent as he claims and they’d let Marvella go.”

“One thing has nothing to do with the other,” Ruthanda said.

“It might,” I protested. “I think they’re connected.”


81

“It dothn’t matter now,” Ezra said, “becauth Billy didn’t take the cat. Whoever

wuth in the cave ith the culprit.”

This was not something I wanted to hear. “How do you know it wasn’t Billy?” I

asked, a note of desperation in my voice.

“Becauth he ith at the movieth,” Ezra reminded me. “Bethide-th, whoever it wuth

wuth a grown-up.”

“How do you know that?” I asked, the pitch of my voice rising higher. “It was

too dark to see who it was.” I was determined that the person responsible would be Billy.

“I’ve been pushed by Billy a lot. I know what it feelth like. Thith perthun had

bigger handth than Billy, big like a grown-up.” Ezra’s magnified eyes blinked after he

said this, almost as if he were punctuating the statement with his eyelids.

I didn’t know how to respond to that. I had been so sure than Billy was behind

the entire plot against Marvella Bubbles, starting with the catnapping of Scheherazade.

But now it seemed that some mysterious person was responsible for that. And if I was

wrong about the catnapping, was I wrong about the kidnapping too? “No,” I thought to

myself, “I won’t begin doubting Marvella, not again.”

“Listen, boys, I know Marvella will be grateful for what you tried to do for her,”

Ruthanda said, “but you must not do any more foolish things. This is a matter for

adults.”

I felt defeated. I could tell Ezra did too. After a few moments of sad silence, we

said good bye to Ruthanda and Miss Fanny and headed toward the backyard to get our

bicycles. We peddled back to town without saying a word. As we approached the police

station, I decided to stop and tell Marvella what had happened. Maybe she would have

some idea who the mysterious person in the cave was. Ezra had never met Marvella and

was anxious to join me. We rested our bikes against the brick wall of the police station

and went in. Deputy Kronk was, of course, sleeping with his police hat over his face. I

nudged him and he awoke with a start. He put his hat back on his head and showed us

back to Marvella’s cell, complaining all the way. It was very quiet. The last time I had

visited, Marvella was playing music on her old victrola. I wondered if she was asleep.

But when I peered through the bars I saw that the cot was empty. In fact, the entire cell

was empty. Marvella was gone. The cell was locked yet she had gotten out.


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Deputy Kronk ran back to the front desk and called Sheriff Zugg on the short

wave radio. “She’s gone!” he yelled into the microphone. “Marvella Bubbles escaped!”

Over the speaker, we could here Sheriff Zugg screaming a lot of bad words.

Ezra and I figured it would be best to leave the police station before the Sheriff

arrived. As we walked toward our bicycles, Ezra asked me, “How do you thuppothe she

got out of that locked thell? Thoth barth are made of iron.”

I shrugged and answered, “I don’t know.”

Ezra looked perplexed. He scratched his head and said, “Maybe she really ith a

witch.”

This was not something I wanted to hear Ezra say. He was the only other person

in town who believed in Marvella’s innocence. If he turned against her, I’d be all alone.

“She not a witch,” I insisted. “You don’t even believe in witches.”

“That’th true,” Ezra said as he climbed onto the banana seat of his bicycle. He

was about to start peddling when he was struck with a thought, a horrible thought: “You

don’t think that wuth Marvella Bubbleth in the cave, do you?”

When I was a baby I had a blue blanket. It had balloons embroidered on it and it

was very soft. I took that blanket with me everywhere I went. When I was four, I lost it.

The moment I realized it was gone, I felt lost and confused. That’s exactly how I felt

when Ezra asked that terrible question. I stood frozen. I couldn’t move. My mouth hung

open and I could feel the air rushing across my tongue with each breath I took.

“Charlie, are you all right?” Ezra asked, very concerned.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “I have to go.” And with that I leapt on my bicycle and

peddled home as fast as I could. I wanted to get away from the police station and Ezra

and his terrible question. I didn’t want to think about it. The mysterious person in the

cave couldn’t have been Marvella. It just couldn’t have been!

I got home in record time. I’d barely stepped through the front door when my

mom came barreling out of the kitchen waving a spatula in the air. “You brought that

woman leftovers in jail!” She was furious.

“Calm down, Millie,” my dad yelled from the living room. “It was just leftovers.”

My mother grabbed me by the sleeve of my jacket and pulled me into the living

room. “It’s not about the leftovers!” she screamed at my dad, who was sitting in an


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armchair, safely hidden behind a magazine on fly-fishing. “What will people say? Our

son, associating with a criminal!”

“She is not!” I protested. But if she wasn’t, why had she broken out of jail?

Doubt was beginning to show me its ugly face again.

“Not a word out of you, young man,” my mother warned as she waved the spatula

under my nose. “We told you to stay away from that woman. Didn’t we, Frank?”

My dad lowered his magazine and in a very unconcerned manner said, “Stay

away from that woman.” He then raised the magazine and continued reading.

My mom made her eyelids into angry slits and glared at my dad. She had

expected more support from him, and she was determined to get it. So she decided to use

her secret weapon. She burst into tears. Whenever my father or I didn’t do what she

wanted, she cried. There’s something about female tears that eats through a man’s

defenses like sulfuric acid. She collapsed on the couch and buried her face in a throw

pillow. Her muffled sobs filled the living room. The battle was already over and I’d lost.

My dad dropped his magazine on the floor and hurried to the couch to comfort my

mother. “Now see what you’ve done?” He said to me. “You’ve made you’re mother

cry.” I stood there, my jacket half-on and half-off, as my father rubbed my mom’s back

and whispered soothing words to her. “Now, now, Millie, don’t get yourself all upset.

You don’t want to get tear stains on the new upholstery.” My mom had had the sofa and

chairs in the living room recovered last June with an ugly fabric some silly ladies

magazine had convinced her she couldn’t live without.

“It’s all over town,” she whimpered. “If I know, you know everybody else

knows. I mean, I heard about it from Rhoda Garfein.”

Rhoda Garfein was Mary Alice’s mother. Need I say more? Apparently, Deputy

Kronk mentioned my jail house visit to his wife Sissy, who just happened to mention it to

her best friend, Rhoda Garfein, who, of course, mentioned it to everyone in town. My

dad continued to calm my mother down. It wasn’t easy. She was really upset. My mom

was always very concerned about what people had to say about her. I think that’s one of

the reasons she joined so many committees, to promote her public image. She wanted

people to say things like “Oh, that Millie Witherspoon is such a concerned citizen” or

“Oh, that Millie Witherspoon is such a nice person” or “Oh, that Millie Witherspoon can


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make the most amazing things out of popsicle sticks and crepe paper.” What she was

terrified of hearing was, “Millie Witherspoon’s son hangs out with criminals.” But that

is exactly what she would be hearing in the days to come.

“Charlie, go to your room,” my dad said. “We’ll discuss this later.”

But there was nothing to discuss. They didn’t need to worry about me seeing

Marvella. She had escaped from jail and would probably never be heard from again.

For all I knew, she was on her way to Canada or Mexico or Bora Bora. Jacket still half-

on and half-off, I slunk out of the living room and climbed the stairs to my bedroom.

Once inside, I closed the door behind me and plopped face down on the bed. I was so

upset; I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned all night long, worrying about Marvella. I

needn’t have. As it turned out, shortly after Ezra and I left the police station, Marvella

Bubbles had reappeared in her jail cell just as mysteriously as she had vanished.

Chapter Twenty-Six: A Very Confused Kid

There is nothing as sad as returning to school after a four-day weekend. The

sense of let-down is almost overwhelming. You ask yourself, “How did my vacation go

by so quickly?” Unfortunately, you’re never able to give yourself a good answer. The

mystery of time is beyond most adults so how could a ten year old possibly understand it.

And even if you could, what would it matter? It’s back to homeroom and homework and

there’s nothing you can do about it.

“You will come home directly from school,” my dad informed me in the sternest

tone possible. “No library, no playground and definitely no police station. Is that

understood?”

“Yes, sir,” I muttered as I aimlessly moved bits of cereal about in my cereal bowl

with my spoon.

“Good,” my dad said before disappearing behind his morning paper.

“Eat your cereal,” my mom said as she brought my dad his plate of scrambled

eggs.

“I’m not hungry,” I told her. “May I be excused, please? I have to finish getting

ready for school.”


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My mother agreed to let me leave the table without eating my breakfast. I stood

up and headed out of the kitchen. I went up to my room, collected my school books and

walked out the front door without saying goodbye to either of my parents. I walked to

school as I usually did, but it was an angry walk. I muttered the whole way. I felt

misunderstood by my parents. I felt deceived by Marvella. I may have felt bad as I

approached the school, but I felt a whole lot worse once I entered it. Just as Mrs. Garfein

had told every adult in town about my bringing leftovers to Marvella, Mary Alice had

spread the word to all the kids in school by lunch time. Everyone looked at me warily

out of the corners of their eyes as if suddenly I might start foaming at the mouth like a

wild dog. In their minds, Marvella was a maniac so I must be too. Everybody kept their

distance, even Jeffrey and Larry avoided having lunch with me by claiming to be

suffering from severe colds they didn’t want me to catch. One thing my mom always

said was proving to be true: people judge you by the company you keep.

All during morning classes, I could tell that Ezra was trying to get my attention.

He kept turning around in his seat and mouthing words at me. I had no idea what he was

trying to say and I didn’t want to know. I wanted to avoid him and everyone else, so I

just stared straight ahead at Miss Semple and the blackboard. I wanted to block out the

entire world. Everything about it was making me sad, sad, sad.

“Can you believe it?” Ezra said as he sat down at my lunch table. “Turkey the

Monday after Thankthgiving. The cafeteria ladieth need to loothen their hair net-th.

I think they’re cutting off the thirculation to their brainth.” He laughed at his own joke.

I didn’t even crack a smile. I was in a bad mood and saw no reason to hide it from

anyone. Ezra could sense I was upset. He had tried to jolly me up and failed. But he had

something on his mind and was determined to share it with me no matter what mood I

was in. “Thomething thtrange ith going on,” Ezra whispered as he leaned in toward me.

“There wuth nothing in the newthpaper thith morning about Marvella Bubbleth jail

break.” Ezra Coates was the only ten year old I knew who read anything other than the

comics in the daily paper.

“So what,” I said without any enthusiasm.


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“Thumthing like that would usually be right on the front page. I think ith very

thrange,” Ezra said. “I called the poleeth thation thith morning to athk about it and

Deputy Kronk pretended like it never even happened.”

Suddenly, I was interested, “What do you mean?”

“Deputy Kronk thed she wuth in her thell and had been there all the time,” Ezra

said.

That was strange. We had been there and seen the jail cell was empty with our

very own eyes. “Why would he lie like that?” I asked.

“He didn’t,” Ezra said, his magnified eyes wider than I’d ever seen them before.

“I walked by the poleeth thaytion on my way to thchool and I thaw Marvella Bubbleth

thtanding in the window of her jail thell. She wuth smiling and humming and combing

her hair thraight up into the air.” Ezra blinked in amazement.

None of this made any sense to me. Why had Marvella escaped from jail? Why

was she so happy to be back? Why had she even escaped in the first place? And why

were the police acting as though it had never happened? I stared down at my lunch tray,

hoping the answers might be found among the watery peas and carrots on my plate. They

weren’t. Besides, the only question I was really interested in answering was this: Was

the mysterious person in the cave Marvella Bubbles? I was terrified the answer might be

“yes”. She certainly had the opportunity. And she knew about the cave; she was there

when Luigi told me about it. But could I have been that bad a judge of character? Had

she really catnapped Scheherazade? Had she really kidnapped Billy? Was she a witch

after all? My head was beginning to throb from all the questions spinning around in my

brain.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Evil Puns and Cute Poems

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the nerd lovers being all lovey-dovey,” Billy called

out as he and his crew approached our table. To illustrate Billy’s point, Oscar and The

Mole threw kisses at each other. This was one gag Billy never seemed to tire of; he

laughed and laughed and laughed. “Heard you went to visit the witch,” Billy said as he

sat on the corner of the lunch table.


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“There are no thuch thingth ath witcheth,” Ezra said with confidence. Someday

I’d have to tell him all about Gertruda von Gerkin.

“I wasn’t talkin’ to you, four eyes,” Billy snarled. “Right, Oscar?”

“Shut up, four eyes,” Oscar said as he smacked Ezra on the back of the head.

“Yeah,” added The Mole as he too smacked Ezra.

Billy took a pea off my plate and flicked it at my head. He said, “I’ll tell you

something, Witherspoon. That witch is gonna pay for what she did to me. And I mean

pay. And there’s nothin’ you can do about it.” There was a look on Billy’s face, a look

that said “I know something you don’t know.” It was maybe the creepiest look I’d ever

seen on Billy’s face, and that’s saying a lot. He started to snicker just like villains do in

movies when they think they’ve bested the hero. Oscar and The Mole started snickering

too but I got the distinct feeling they didn’t really know why.

Billy stood up and was about to walk away when he said, “Oh, and in the future,

stay out of our cave.” I could feel my eyes bug out of my head when I heard Billy say

that; at that moment, they probably looked bigger than Ezra’s. Startled, I sat motionless.

“What’s the matter?” he smirked, “Cat got your tongue?”

“Oh, my God,” I thought to myself, “Billy made an evil pun.” (Note to the reader:

A pun is a joke, a play on words, and it usually makes people groan.) All the meanest

villains made evil puns. It was their trademark. When Billy made that evil pun, he was

boasting about his part in the disappearance of Scheherazade. He wanted me to know he

was involved in the plot to destroy Marvella Bubbles and that he was going to get away

with it. At that moment, I knew Billy was worse than I ever imagined. And just to make

sure I knew how rotten he was, he grabbed Ezra’s glasses and shoved them in his mashed

potatoes. Oscar and The Mole laughed and kept laughing as they followed Billy out of

the cafeteria.

I turned and looked Ezra square in the eyes. Since his glasses were still in his

mashed potatoes, his eyes were normal sized. I’d never seen them like that before. He

looked just like anybody else. “What did you think of that?” I asked him.

“I think Billy made an evil pun,” Ezra said as he began wiping mashed potatoes

off his eye glasses.


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“Are you sure that wasn’t Billy in the cave yesterday?” I asked. “I mean, how

else would he know we were there?”

“I told you, it wuthn’t, Billy,” Ezra said. “He wuth at the movies.”

Ezra was right. That fact had been verified by Mary Alice Garfein. She had spent

all morning telling everyone how, once again, Billy had pulled down her underpants as

she left the movie theatre after the double feature She was prepared this time, though,

and had worn a second pair of panties. She was very proud of herself.

“Then who was that in the cave with us? It wasn’t Marvella,” I declared. “I

know it wasn’t.” And now with Billy practically confessing to the catnapping, I was sure

of that. “Isn’t there anything you can remember about the person?” I asked.

“Thorry, it wuth too dark,” Ezra said, a note of disappointment in his voice. “All

I know ith that the perthunn wuth big and thmelly.”

My ears pricked up when I heard him say that. “You didn’t tell me the person

was smelly,” I said.

Ezra’s eyes moved from left to right as he tried to remember whether or not he

had shared that bit of information with me before. He put his glasses back on and said, “I

thought I’d mentioned it.”

“No,” I told him, “you didn’t. What did the person smell like?”

Ezra thought about it for a moment then said, “Fruit cake.”

“Fruit cake?” I repeated out loud. “What does fruit cake smell like?”

“My mom put-th a lot of rum in her fruit cake,” Ezra told me. “That ith what the

perthun thmelled like – rum.”

Rum – I knew what that smelled like. It smelled like my Uncle Lester on New

Year’s Eve. It also smelled like Mr. Hennessey at the Founder’s Day Parade. That must

have been who it was in the cave – Mr. Hennessey. But how did he known we were

going to be there? When I asked Ezra that same question, he bit his lip the way people do

when they feel embarrassed or guilty.

“I may have mentioned it to him,” Ezra confessed.

That’s when Ezra told me exactly what he had said during his phone call with Mr.

Hennessey the day before. The conversation went like this:


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Ezra: Hello, ith Billy there?

Mr. Hennessey: Who wants to know?

Ezra: A friend.

Mr. Hennessey: What friend? You don’t sound like any

friend Billy would have. You sound like a

nerd.

Ezra: I’m not a nerd. I’m a bully. My name ith Butch.

I’m very tough.

Mr. Hennessey: So whatta ya want, Butch?

Ezra: I want to know if Billy ith going to be at the thecret

cave in the ravine today?

(Note to the reader: Ezra was smart and had read many of the Sherlock Holmes

mystery stories, but he was only ten so it’s not too surprising that his investigative work

was a little… uh, clumsy.)

“You mentioned the secret cave to Mr. Hennessey,” I said.

“Yeth,” Ezra said, hanging his head in embarrassment. He was so ashamed I

decided not to say anything else about it.

“So Billy’s dad is part of this too,” I said as I tapped my fingers nervously on the

lunch table.

“Ith a conspiracy!” Ezra declared. “Like Watergate!” (Note to the reader: A

conspiracy is an evil plot. Watergate was a political conspiracy in the 1970s that resulted

in a man named Richard Milhouse Nixon’s resigning from the presidency of the United

States. Ever since then, people have been adding the word “gate” to anything bad that

happens, so it’s little wonder that Ezra began referring to the disappearance of

Scheherazade as “Puthygate”.)

Lunchtime was almost over. Kids were beginning to take their trays back to the

cafeteria ladies, who looked sad and wilted from the heat of the kitchen. Compared to a

cafeteria lady in a hairnet, Miss Semple and her one-eye brow looked pretty good.


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“Do you want to come to my houth after thcool?” Ezra asked. “We can continue

our invethtigation of Puthygate.” Ezra rubbed his hands together as he said this. He was

so excited he could barely contain himself.

I explained to him that I was grounded and would have to go home directly after

school. Although I was supposed to be punished for the entire week, I knew it wouldn’t

last that long. It never did. I could usually cut my punishments in half by being “extra

good” around the house. Sometimes I could get unpunished in a matter of hours if I

cleaned my room without being asked or wrote a really cute poem like this one:

To a mother, oh so dear,

You make me smile from ear to ear.

I know sometimes I make you cry

But I’ll be good. I swear I’ll try.

I love you, Mom, because you’re sweet.

I’d even kiss your stinky feet.

I’ve learned my lesson, don’t you see.

So won’t you please unpunish me?

That’s exactly what I did. After recess, I wrote that poem for my mother while

Miss Semple gave a very boring lecture on the Louisiana Purchase. (Note to the reader:

In 1803, Thomas Jefferson paid the French only $15,000,000 for Louisiana, Missouri,

Oklahoma, North and South Dakota, and several of other states. The lesson to be learned

is that the French are very bad at business.) The lecture was so dull that everyone in

class was actually relieved when she made them do math problems. I hurried home after

school and gave my mom the poem. As usual, it melted her heart. Her eyes filled with

tears and she kissed my forehead over and over again. My mom was a sucker for a cute

poem.

“Can I go to Ezra Coates house tomorrow after school?” I asked my parents that

night at the dinner table.

“I believe you’re punished for the entire week, young man,” my father said as he

cut into his pork chop.


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“Frank,” my mom chimed in, “I think maybe I overreacted yesterday.” She

looked at me and smiled.

“Oh?” he asked, his voice rising in fake surprise. He stopped cutting, holding his

knife in mid-air as he asked, “Did somebody write a poem?”

“It’s taped to the refrigerator,” my mom said proudly. “It’s beautiful.” Only a

mother would think that rhyming “sweet” with “stinky feet” was beautiful. Whether it

was or not didn’t matter, the poem had served its purpose. I was free!

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Hatching a Plan

Later that night, I once again heard Miss Fanny whining outside my bedroom

window. I tip-toed down the backstairs and found her sitting on her haunches in the

backyard. She was smiling, as usual. I looked around to see if my parents were

anywhere in sight. Although they had lifted my punishment, they had still forbidden me

to have anything to do with Marvella Bubbles. I hurried over to Miss Fanny, knelt down

and took the envelope that had been stuffed in her collar. She licked my face, turned and

scampered off into the darkness. I went back up to my bedroom, opened the envelope,

and read the letter.

Dearest Charlie,

Ruthanda told me what you and your friend tried to do for

me. I cannot tell you how grateful I am. But, please,

promise me you won’t climb down any more ravines or

scrounge around any more dark caves. I would be so

unhappy if you got hurt trying to help me. I am so for-

tunate to have good friends like you and Ruthanda and

Gertruda and Luigi. He composed a new sonata for me but

refuses to perform it until the day I am released. That

should be very soon. The trial begins in less than two

weeks. Hopefully this will all be behind me by the New

Year. I understand if you are unable to pay me any more


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visits. It’s probably best if you don’t. Do take good care of

yourself.

Your friend,

Marvella Bubbles

I was glad to receive this letter from Marvella. In advising me not to visit her, she

seemed to understand my situation completely. Unfortunately, there were things about

her situation I didn’t understand at all. How had she managed to get out of her jail cell

and where had she gone? This was still a mystery to me.

The next day at school, Miss Semple was getting into the spirit of the Christmas

season. She wore a green skirt and red blouse, and put a poinsettia plant on her desk.

She had us make holiday decorations for the classroom using colored paper and paste.

Amy Dingler made a wreath and drew little holly berries on it with a red crayon. Jeffrey

made a snowman wearing sunglasses. Larry made a reindeer that looked more like a pig

with horns. Ezra made a Christmas stocking with presents sticking out of it. Mary Alice

Garfein made a menorah because she was half-Jewish. Billy refused to make anything

because, in his words, “only sissy boys do arts and crafts.” Upon hearing that, Oscar

immediately destroyed the elf he was making.

Since my parents had lifted my punishment the night before, I was free to accept

Ezra’s invitation to go over to his house and try to solve the mystery of “Puthygate.”

Jeffrey and Larry were more than a little surprised when they saw me leave school with

Ezra. I didn’t see why it should bother them considering they were avoiding me anyway.

When we got to Ezra’s house, Mrs. Coates made us hot chocolate with marshmallows

just as she had the last time. We then went up to Ezra’s bedroom, sat on the floor Indian-

style, and discussed the situation.

“I can understand why Billy would want to steal Mrs. Flummery’s cat and frame

Marvella,” I said, “but why Mr. Hennessey?”

“Maybe he hateth her too,” Ezra suggested.

“Everyone hates her,” I said, “but no one’s ever been mean enough to do

something like this to her.”


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Ezra and I both took sips of our hot chocolate. When he put down his mug, I

noticed that Ezra had a chocolate milk mustache.

“Where do you thuppoth the puthycat ith now?” Ezra asked.

“Maybe Mr. Hennessey brought her home with him,” I said.

“Hum,” Ezra said, his hand rubbing his chin as he thought this over, “that would

be rithky. Thumone could find the puthycat there.”

“But no one’s looking for her anymore,” I said. “No one but us.”

“Thath true,” Ezra said. “Where do you think they put her? In the baythment?”

“Or the attic,” I added.

“We’ll jutht have to thurch both the baythment and the attic,” he said, then took

another sip of his hot chocolate.

I couldn’t believe it. Ezra was suggesting that we break into Billy Hennessey’s

house and search for Scheherazade. That would be dangerous, very dangerous. So, of

course, I said “Let’s do it!” We decided to go to Billy’s house the following day directly

after school. We figured Mr. Hennessey would be at work until at least 5pm, the same

way our fathers were. The only problem would be to ensure that Billy stayed out of our

way. Ezra came up with a plan but I didn’t like the sound of it. I was certain he’d get

hurt. That didn’t seem to bother him. He said it was the perfect plan, guaranteed to keep

Billy from the house.

It was starting to get dark when I left Ezra’s. It gets dark very early in December.

As I walked home, the sound of dead leaves crunched beneath my feet. What a sad and

lonely sound that is. There were several times when I was sure there was someone

following me. I would stop walking yet I would still hear the crunching sound of leaves

behind me. But when I’d turn around and look, there was never anyone there. I sped up

my pace and hurried home.

“Did you have fun with Ezra Coates today?” my mom asked as she brought a tray

of salmon croquettes to the dinner table.

“Yes,” I replied. “Can I go back tomorrow?”

“We’ll see,” my mom said. “Eat your salmon croquettes.”

I don’t know who invented salmon croquettes but I hope God sentenced them to

eternal damnation. They are truly disgusting. And what’s worse, my mom chose to serve


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them with cauliflower. I couldn’t risk not being allowed to go to Ezra’s so I cleared my

plate.

“Well,” my mom said cheerfully, “looks like someone’s ready for seconds.”

I gulped and with a pained smile on my face said, “Yum,” as my mom put a

second helping on my plate.

“What’s the matter, Frank?” my mom asked. “You haven’t touched your salmon

croquettes.”

“I don’t plan to,” my dad said from behind his evening paper. “No one should be

forced to eat this stuff.”

I stopped eating in mid-chew and thought to myself, “He couldn’t have said that

before I swallowed?”

My mother gave me permission to “go to Ezra’s” even though that wasn’t where I

was really going. The next morning as I dressed for school, I took Scheherazade’s collar

out of my night table and put it in the pocket of my jacket. That’s how certain I was that

we’d find her in Billy Hennessey’s house.

During lunch, I asked Ezra if he was sure he wanted to go ahead with his plan for

keeping Billy away from his house after school. He stuck out his chin bravely and said

he was positive. That afternoon at recess, he put his plan into action. The entire class

was out on the playground. Billy and his crew were hanging out by the monkey bars so

everybody else steered clear of that side of the playground – except for Ezra. Gathering

all his courage, he walked over to Billy.

“What do you want, four eyes?” Billy asked with great hostility. Oscar and the

Mole snickered.

“I know why you’re alwayth pulling down Mary Alith Garfein’th underpanth,”

Ezra said.

“Oh, yeah,” Billy sneered, “why?”

Ezra took a breath then said, “Because you want to wear them.”

I was on the other side of the playground but I could still hear Oscar and the Mole

gasp. They couldn’t believe this little nerd would have the nerve to say something like

that to Billy Hennessey. As for Billy, when people in cartoons get as mad as he got

smoke comes out of their ears. That would’ve been a neat trick, but it didn’t happen.


95

What did happen was just what Ezra planned: Billy jumped on him and started beating

the living daylights out of him. Kids screamed and yelled and gathered round to watch.

It took three teachers to pull Billy off of Ezra, who was immediately taken to the school

nurse. As for Billy, Miss Semple ordered him to stay after school and write on the

blackboard five hundred times, “I will not attack other children on the playground.” That

would take him a good two hours. Mission accomplished.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Plan Backfires

I didn’t see Ezra again until after school. His face was all bruised and his left eye

was swollen shut. There was a big tear in his cardigan sweater and his pants were ripped

at the knee. He couldn’t have been happier about it. To him, every wound was a badge

of honor. We were fighting a battle against evil and Ezra was a war hero.

Just as I told my mom that I was going to Ezra’s, Ezra told his mom that he was

going to my house. Together, we both headed off toward Billy’s. The Hennesseys lived

in what my mom referred to as “the wrong side of town.” It was a neighborhood near the

railroad tracks. When the trains went by, the ground would shake and the smell of diesel

oil filled the air. The houses were all grey and looked as though they were sagging. It

was the most depressing-looking place I’d ever seen. Billy lived at 127 Cripple Creek

Road. Ezra had looked up the address in the phone book. Of all the grey houses, Billy’s

was the greyest. We stood across the street and stared at the house, though how Ezra

could see anything with his scarf wrapped up to his eyebrows was beyond me.

“What do we do now?” I asked.

“We find a way in,” Ezra said. And with that, Ezra unzipped his big winter coat

to reveal what he had hidden inside: a small crowbar, a hammer, a screw driver and a

paperback book entitled How I Became a Master Criminal by Joey X. Ezra had

obviously done his homework. As we crossed the street toward the house, I couldn’t help

feeling we were being watched. I looked around but saw no one.

The lawn outside Billy’s house was overgrown with weeds and the grass came

way up past our ankles. There were shutters on the grimy windows. One shutter was

lose and squeaked as it moved back and forth in the breeze. We slowly walked around to


96

the backyard where we saw a rusty old swing set; one side of it seemed to be sinking into

the earth. There was a broken-down lawnmower and a tricycle that was missing one of

its back wheels. Outside the kitchen door was an open garbage can that overflowed with

empty beer cans. Ezra tiptoed up to the door to see if it was open. He tried to turn the

knob but it wouldn’t move.

“Leth try one of the windowth,” Ezra suggested. But each window we tried to

open was locked.

“What do we do now?” I asked.

Ezra pulled the paperback out of his coat and said, “Leth see what Joey X has to

thay.” We sat down in the tall grass and thumbed through the book.

In the 1960s, Joey X had robbed over two dozen banks – until he got caught. He

wrote his book while serving a twenty year sentence in a prison called Sing-Sing. What

we learned from browsing through the chapter entitled “Getting into Hard Places” is that

if we had a couple of sticks of dynamite and a bottle of nitroglycerin we could blast our

way into a steel vault. Unfortunately, there was nothing in the book about breaking into a

house with a wooden door.

“Maybe I could pry the door open with my crowbar,” Ezra suggested. He stood

up and removed the small crowbar from the inside of his coat. He narrowed his one good

eye and looked at the crowbar closely. He then turned it upside down and examined it

from a different angle. He then turned to me and asked, “Have you ever uthed one theeth

before?” It was all beginning to seem hopeless.

Out of nowhere a voice asked, “What do you boys think you’re doing?” Startled,

Ezra dropped the crowbar on the ground. I looked around and there was Marvella

standing near the rusty swing set with Miss Fanny by her side.

“Marvella!” I cried out in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you boys don’t get into trouble,” she said as she glided toward us in

one of her flowing chiffon gowns. The woman walked as though floating on a cloud. A

happy Miss Fanny trotted behind her through the tall grass.

“But how did you know we were here?” I asked.


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“Ever since Ruthanda told me about you going into that nasty cave, I’ve had Miss

Fanny follow you. I told her to come and get me the moment she saw you doing

anything dangerous.”

Ezra looked at me, his face full of confusion. He was unwilling to believe that a

dog could do such a thing. I didn’t think this was the time or place to explain Miss Fanny

to him.

“You broke out of jail,” I said. “Again! How did you do that?”

As curious as Ezra was about Miss Fanny, he was more curious to know the

answer to that mystery. He turned toward Marvella, eager to hear her explanation.

“Charlie,” Marvella said, “don’t you remember? I told you that Sebastian the

Magnificent taught me how to escape from a locked box.”

“How did you get out of the police station without getting caught?” I asked.

Marvella smiled sweetly and said, in her most musical tone, “Deputy Kronk is a

very sound sleeper. It would be a shame to wake him, don’t you think?”

There was still one more question that needed answering, “But why did you break

out of jail that first time?”

“I had to go the cemetery,” Marvella said, matter-of-factly. “It was the

anniversary of Bettina Petite’s death. I told you, every year I place flowers on her grave

without fail. I’ve been inconvenienced enough by all this silliness. I certainly wasn’t

going to let it keep me from my yearly visit with Bettina. She was like a second mother

to me.”

This too made perfect sense, especially if you knew Marvella Bubbles. She was a

good friend to you even if you were dead.

“But the poleeth thed you never ethcaped at all,” Ezra said.

“I suppose they were embarrassed,” Marvella told him. “You see, when I came

back from the cemetery, the police station was empty. I suppose they were out looking

for me. So I put myself back in my cell and waited for them to return. They were

awfully surprised.”

“Why didn’t you run away when you had the chance?” I asked.

“Because that would be against the law,” Marvella said, simply and directly, “and

so would breaking into this house. I won’t let you do it.”


98

“But the puthycat ith in there,” Ezra told her. “We have to get inthide.”

Before Marvella could respond, the kitchen door to the house swung open and

there stood Mr. Hennessey. He was unshaven and dressed in nothing but his boxer shorts

and a ripped tee shirt. Obviously, he had not gone to work that day. He held a shotgun in

his hands and looked very, very mad.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing in my backyard!” he yelled.

Ezra had read a lot of books in the first ten years of his life and many of them

described guns, but he’d never seen one for-real and up-close. Looking down the barrel

of an honest-to-goodness shotgun made his knees wobble. I felt a little uneasy myself.

As for Miss Fanny, she let out a low growl.

“Mr. Hennessey,” Marvella said calmly, “I suggest you put down that shotgun

before someone gets hurt.”

“Why aren’t you in jail?” Mr. Hennessey asked, still aiming his gun at us.

“I will be,” Marvella replied, “right after I see that these boys get home safely.

Come boys.” Marvella put her hands on both my and Ezra’s shoulders and began to lead

us out toward the street.

“Nobody’s goin’ anywhere ‘til the police get here!” Mr Hennessey shouted. He

lowered his shotgun and ran toward us. He grabbed hold of my jacket. Terrified, I shook

free of his grasp. He snatched at me again, this time tearing my jacket pocket, the one

containing Scheherazade’s collar. The collar fell to the ground, sparkly-side up. We all

stood frozen, staring down at the cat collar. “Well, well, well,” Mr. Hennessey said with

evil glee, “what do we have here?”

“Charlie, what are you doing with Scheherazade’s collar?” Marvella asked.

“I… I…” was all I could manage to say before I heard the siren of Middlington’s

one and only police car approaching. Sheriff Zugg pulled the police car into the

Hennessey’s driveway. He dragged his big belly out from behind the steering wheel and

slammed the car door closed.

“We’re in the backyard,” Mr. Hennessey yelled to him.

When Sheriff Zugg rounded the corner of the house and saw Marvella Bubbles

standing there big as life, his mouth grew tight with anger. “Wait ‘til I get my hands on

Rupert Kronk,” he muttered through clenched teeth.


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“I want these people arrested!” Mr. Hennessey told the Sheriff. “They’re

trespassing.”

“We’re just trying to find Mrs. Flummery’s cat,” I blurted out.

“He hath it,” Ezra said as he pointed a guilty finger at Mr. Hennessey. “Ith in hith

houth.”

“Oh, really?” Mr. Hennessey said smugly, “Then why was the cat’s collar in that

boy’s pocket.” He pointed down at the ground where the sparkly collar lay. Sheriff Zugg

bent down with great difficulty and picked it up. “They’re trying to frame me,” Mr.

Hennessey told him.

“That’s not true!” I said. “You’re the one trying to frame Marvella Bubbles!”

“That’s crazy,” Mr. Hennessey said.

Sheriff Zugg dangled the collar in front of my face. “Tell me, boy, was this in

your pocket?”

I lowered my eyes and said, “Well, yes, but…” I quickly turned toward Mr.

Hennessey and pointed an accusing finger, “We saw him take the cat out of the cave in

the ravine.”

“You didn’t see anything,” Mr. Hennessey said. “It was too dark.” Suddenly, he

became flustered and corrected himself, “I mean, it must’ve been too dark to see

anything.”

“Maybe,” I admitted, “but Ezra smelled you.”

Ezra took a few steps in Mr. Hennessey’s direction and took a deep breath. As he

exhaled, he nodded his head and said, “Fruit cake.”

Marvella looked at Mr. Hennessey carefully. It was the same way my mom

looked at a piece of fruit in Mr. Dingler’s market to see if it was rotten. Feeling her eyes

upon him made Mr. Hennessey very uncomfortable.

“Sheriff, I want them off my property,” Mr. Hennessey demanded. “Now!”

There was a moment of silence as the Sheriff looked at us then at Mr. Hennessey

then back at us again. He took Marvella by the arm and said, “Let’s go.”

“Aren’t you going to look in the house?” I asked desperately.

“Not without a warrant, you ain’t,” Mr. Hennessey said triumphantly. “Now get

out of here.”


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Reluctantly, Ezra and I followed the Sheriff as he led Marvella to his police car.

She went without a struggle. “You will see that the children get home safely,” she asked

The Sheriff nodded his head then put her in the backseat of the car. Marvella stuck her

head out the window and said, “Miss Fanny, you go home too.” The little white dog

looked up at her sadly then slowly turned and walked away, her head hanging.

Sheriff Zugg looked down at us over his big belly and said, “Get in the front,

boys.”

As we drove down Cripple Creek Road away from the Hennessey’s house and

toward “the right side of town,” I wondered what would happen next. Would Ezra and I

get in trouble? What about Marvella? I had wanted to help her but, instead, I seemed to

have made things worse.

Chapter Thirty: Mrs. Witherspoon Freaks

When Sheriff Zugg brought me home, he came inside and explained to my mother

that by hiding Scheherazade’s collar I had withheld evidence in a criminal investigation.

He said he wouldn’t press any charges because he knew that any punishment my parents

dreamed up would be far worse than anything he was permitted to do by law. My mother

said not to worry, that I would be grounded until my eighteenth birthday. “It will take a

lot of poems to get out of this punishment,” I thought to myself.

The next day at school, I asked Ezra how his parents had reacted to his being

brought home by the police. He said his mother was frightened but that his father was

thrilled. “He ith hoping thith meanth I’m not thuch a nerd.”

As for Marvella Bubbles, she was transferred to the jail in the Peppercorn County

Courthouse. That was where her trial would be held. She wasn’t scheduled to be moved

there until the trial began but seeing as how Deputy Kronk was having trouble keeping

her in her cell, Sheriff Zugg thought it would be a good idea to relocate her early.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully. As required by my punishment, I came

home everyday after school and spent the entire weekend in my room. I wrote five

different poems for my mother and by the following week she was beginning to soften.

But something happened that quickly hardened her up again. It was exactly one week


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after the attempted break-in at Billy Hennessey’s house. It happened just as I returned

home from school.

“Charlie, come into the living room,” my mother called out when she heard the

front door open. She was sitting on the sofa looking very uncomfortable. Beside her was

Regis Sinclair, all decked out in a shiny gold suit and his signature ruffled shirt. “This is

Marvella Bubbles lawyer,” she said, her voice only barely masking her displeasure. “He

wants to see you.”

“How are you, Charlie?” He asked, pronouncing my name very carefully.

I could tell he was fighting his desire to call me Chester.

“Oh, fine,” I said, not at all sure why he had come to see me. “How is Marvella?”

I asked.

“Bearing up as best she can,” Regis explained. “The woman is the epitome of

grace under pressure.” (Note to the reader: If you didn’t use your dictionary to look up

“melancholy,” you better use it now to look up “epitome”; and keep it handy because

Regis Sinclair used a lot of big words that night.)

“Would you tell her I said hello.” I asked.

“I most certainly will,” replied Regis.

“What exactly do you want with my son, Mr. Sinclair?” asked my mom

impatiently.

“Well, Mrs. Witherspoon, I would like him to testify on behalf of my client.”

(Note to the reader: You don’t take a test when you testify; you simply tell the truth.)

I had heard my mom yell before but this was the first time I ever heard an honest-

to-goodness scream come out of her mouth. “WHAT!!! TESTIFY!!! WHAT DO YOU

MEAN?” I thought my mom’s head would explode.

“Do calm down, Mrs. Witherspoon,” Regis said, calmly and politely.

My mother was up on her feet, pacing the living room, ranting and raving. “Calm

down? How can I calm down? You expect my son to testify on behalf of that…. that…

awful woman. No! Never! I will not allow it! Forget it! Absolutely not!”

Regis Sinclair remained seated. He adjusted the cufflinks on his ruffled shirt as

he waited for the tornado that was my mother to pass. His patience paid off. After a few

minutes of uncontrolled hysteria, my mom exhausted herself and sat back down in an


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armchair. Regis Sinclair put his hand to his chin and looked directly at my mother.

“May I ask you a question, Mrs. Witherspoon?”

“What?” my mother said, panting.

“What makes you think Marvella Bubbles is an awful woman?”

Without hesitation my mother responded, “Well, just look what she’s accused of.”

Regis Sinclair leaned in toward my mother, “Accused being the operative word.”

My mother understood what he meant. In the American justice system, a person

is innocent until proven guilty. At least, that’s the way it’s supposed to work. “You

don’t think the Hennessey boy tied himself up?” My mother inquired. Like everybody

else, she seemed pretty confident that this was proof positive of Marvella’s guilt.

“Certainly not,” Mr. Sinclair replied, “someone helped him. It was all part of the

conspiracy.”

My mother looked amused. “A conspiracy? Really? And who is behind this

conspiracy?”

Mr. Sinclair leaned back and sat up very straight. “I’m not at liberty to say. All

will be revealed at the trial.”

“Perhaps,” my mother said curtly, “but my son will not be a part of that trial.”

At that moment, I did what every child has done since the dawn of time. I

whined, “But, Mo-om!” She shushed me.

“He will testify, Mrs. Witherspoon,” said Regis Sinclair. “And if you refuse to

give your consent, I will subpoena him.” (Note to reader: See, I told you you’d need a

dictionary.)

My mother’s jaw dropped. She was truly stunned. “But why?” she asked. “What

does Charlie have to do with this?”

Regis Sinclair looked my mother squarely in the eye. “He can refute the

Hennessey boy’s claim that he was held captive in Mrs. Bubbles’ shed the entire

weekend in question.”

Now my mom was completely confused. “But how can he do that?”

Mr. Sinclair tilted his head in my direction as a cue for me to explain this to my

mother. I gulped and said, “Because I was there.”


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“You were what?” my mom was about to lose her temper again but caught

herself. Instead, she turned toward me with a look in her eyes that said, “Young man,

you are in such trouble!”

Regis Sinclair stood up from the sofa, his golden suit reflecting the light from the

table lamps. “Mrs. Witherspoon,” he began, “Marvella Bubbles is innocent. I will prove

she did not commit the crime she is accused of, and your son’s testimony will help me do

so. To ensure that, I will have a subpoena delivered in the morning. Good night. I will

see myself out.” He threw back his shoulders and began to exit. Just before disappearing

into the hall, he turned back toward me and said, “Good night, Chester.” He then strode

out of the room and out of our home.

Chapter Thirty-One: The Trial of Marvella Bubbles

Shortly after Regis Sinclair’s visit, my dad returned home from work and my

punishment was extended to my 21st birthday. I didn’t mind. Punished or not, I was

going to testify at the Marvella Bubbles trial. It was estimated the trial would take about

two weeks. First, there would be the selection of the members of the jury; then the

prosecution would present their case against Marvella. I was a witness for the defense

and wouldn’t testify until the second week. Finally, I was going to be able to help my

friend.

The night before I was to testify in court, my mom was nervous as a cat. She was

terrified my being a witness for the defense would have a negative effect on her social

standing. What would Agnes Flummery say? What would she do? She might prevent

her from ever working on another parade committee. For my mother, never being able to

make another Pilgrim hat would be horrible. She fidgeted at the dinner table and barely

touched the food on her dinner plate, but my dad took the situation in his stride. In fact, I

think it even amused him.

With his mouth full of pot roast, my dad said, “Tomorrow’s the big day, Charlie.”

“I guess.” I was more excited than I let on.

“Should be interesting,” my dad said as he tried to pry a piece of meat out from

between his teeth with his pinkie. “Wish I could be there.”


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“Frank!” my mom scolded him, “Don’t pick your teeth.”

“What are you going to do, Millie?” my dad asked. “Throw me in jail with

Marvella Bubbles?” He smiled slyly. “Uh, oh, Charlie, you may have to testify at my

trial too.”

“That’s not funny, Frank,” my mom said. “Not funny at all.” Her voice began to

quiver the way it did just before she began to cry. My dad and I both looked at each

other, fearful that she’d burst into tears.

“Now, Millie, don’t get upset.” My dad stood up from the table and walked over

to my mom. He put his arms around her shoulders to comfort her. “It’ll all be over soon

and everyone will forget about it.”

“No,” my mom wailed, “They won’t!” She pulled away from my father and ran

out of the room.

My dad stood silent for a moment staring in the direction my mother had gone.

He then sat back down in his chair and resumed eating his pot roast. “She’ll be fine,” he

said between mouthfuls.

I barely slept at all that night. I was too excited. Not only was I going to be able

to help Marvella but I would get to miss a day of school doing it. The only aspect of

going to court that I wasn’t looking forward to was that I had to wear a suit and tie. My

mom insisted. Right after the subpoena arrived from Regis Sinclair, she took me out to

buy a new suit of clothes. We went to Mr. Winkleman’s Wee World of Fashions. It was

located right across the street from Mr. Dingler’s grocery store and down the block from

Mr. Twiddle’s pharmacy. Mr. Winkleman was a funny old man with a few strands of

white hair that he combed from one side of his bald head to the other. He was practically

deaf and never heard a word people said.

“I’d like to get my son a new suit,” my mom said to Mr. Winkleman.

“Fruit?” he shouted. “We don’t sell fruit.”

It was Mr. Winkleman who couldn’t hear yet he was screaming at us. My mother

eventually made him understand that we were there to look at clothes. He showed us a

variety of suits and sport coats.

“Do you have anything in a nice gabardine?” my mom asked.


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“Nectarine?” Mr. Winkleman shouted. “No nectarines. I told you we don’t sell

fruit.”

Forty-five minutes later, we left Mr. Winkleman’s store with one suit and two

headaches. My mom had the suit altered and it was hanging on the door to my closet

waiting to be worn the morning of the trial. The trial was not being held in Middlington.

It was being held in Fort Pious, which was the county seat. It’s where the Peppercorn

County Courthouse was located. Fort Pious was about an hour’s drive from Middlington.

So dressed in my new suit, penny loafers and a clip-on-tie, I climbed into the passenger

seat of my mom’s Dodge Dart and she drove me to the trial. I’d only been to Fort Pious

twice before: once for the wedding of my cousin Dudley, another time to see a touring

production of a Broadway musical. It was called Mame and it was about a little boy who

goes to live with his kooky aunt. At the matinee, there were two old women sitting next

to us who talked all through the performance and crinkled their candy wrappers. It really

annoyed me. Thinking about that made me remember what Marvella had said about

being “a talented spectator”. She was right, not everybody could be one.

Middlington is a small town, but Fort Pious is a city. Not a big city like New

York or Los Angeles, but a city nonetheless. When you drive into it, you pass a sign that

reads “Welcome to the City of Fort Pious”. Since it is a city, it has a big theater for

visiting Broadway shows, department stores and a courthouse. My mom had trouble

finding a parking space – as everyone does in a city – but she eventually found one a few

blocks from the courthouse. When we got out of the car, my mom put on a pair of dark

glass and a large hat with a veil. She didn’t want anyone to recognize her. The truth is

she looked so silly in that hat that everybody turned to look at her. We passed one

woman who pointed at her and snickered, “Madame X”. (Note to the Reader: If you

don’t know who Madame X is, I bet your mom or grandma does. Ask and she’ll tell

you.)

As we approached the courthouse, my mom stopped short. She stiffened and

clutched my hand. There were reporters with cameras all over the place. They were

there to cover the Marvella Bubbles trial. Apparently, it was a much bigger deal than I

was aware of. After all, I was only ten. I didn’t read the papers or watch the news

programs. My mom took a deep breath and led me quickly through the line of reporters


106

and up the courthouse steps. The Peppercorn County Courthouse was huge, two or three-

times the size of the Middlington Town Hall. Inside, the floors and stairways were made

of marble. There were big stone columns and a high, high ceiling. I felt as though I’d

entered a palace. When I looked up, I saw a mural painted on the ceiling. It was a

picture of a lady, blindfolded and holding a set of scales in her hand. When I asked who

the lady was, my mom said she was “Justice”. My mom and I were instructed by a

guard to wait in the hallway outside Courtroom A. That was where the trial was taking

place. I would be told when I could go in and testify.

“Are you scared?” my mom asked.

Only of that hat, I wanted to say. Instead, I shook my head and said, “No.” And I

wasn’t scared. I was going to tell the truth so I had nothing to be scared about. But I was

nervous, nervous that the judge and jury would believe Billy and not me.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Charlie Takes the Stand

It was about two in the afternoon when a guard came out of Courtroom A and

called out, “Charles Witherspoon!” Silently, my mother and I stood and followed him

through the big oak doors into the courtroom. My mom sat down with the other

spectators. I continued toward the front of the room where Judge Thaddeus Burple the

7th

sat high above the crowd. He was the whitest man I’d ever seen: white hair, white

skin, white eyebrows. The guard led me to the witness box and indicated that I should

enter it. Another guard came over with a Bible, asked me to put my hand on it and to

swear to tell the truth. I did. I then sat down and looked around the room. It was

covered in wood paneling. I felt as if I were inside one of my Uncle Boo’s cigar boxes.

On one side of me was the judge and on the other the twelve members of the jury, who

would decide whether or not Marvella was guilty or innocent. In front of me were two

long tables. At one table sat Regis Sinclair and Marvella Bubbles. She looked elegant as

always. At the other table was District Attorney Seymour Weisenheimer, a cousin of our

town’s mayor. Seated with Mr. Weisenheimer were Billy Hennessey, looking almost

civilized in a suit and clip-on-tie of his own, and his father. Liam Hennessey was dressed

in a suit too, but looked as if at any moment he might go into a rage and rip it off like the


107

Incredible Hulk. Among the spectators I could see Ruthanda, Gertruda von Gerkin, Luigi

Della Fortuna and Sylviane, who was there without her snake Darlene. Also in the crowd

was Mrs. Flummery. She was clutching a framed photograph of her beloved

Scheherazade.

Regis Sinclair stood up from behind his table and approached me. He was

dressed far more conservatively than in the past. He wore a dark black suit. It wasn’t

until he got closer that I realized the vest was covered in black sequins. The man just

couldn’t resist. “State your name for the record,” he said in a very official tone.

“Uh… Charlie Witherspoon.”

“Are you acquainted with the defendant, Marvella Bubbles?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“Did you stop by Mrs.Bubbles house on the afternoon of Saturday, November

8th

?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Did you at that time have cause to look inside the shed in Mrs. Bubbles’

backyard?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I said. I could feel Billy Hennessey’s eyes boring into me. “I heard a

noise, like a door slam. I went in back to see if Marvella was there. When I didn’t see

anyone outside, I looked in the shed.”

“Did you see anything inside?” he inquired.

“Some old lawn furniture,” I told him, “and lots of rusty tools, boxes and crates,

stuff like that.”

“Did you see Billy Hennessey there?” he asked.

Before I could answer, District Attorney Seymour Weisenheimer stood up and

yelled, “Objection. Leading the witness.”

“Objection sustained,” announced Judge Burple. “Rephrase the question, Mr.

Sinclair.”

I had no idea what any of that was about. I got nervous. Maybe I had done

something wrong. I looked over at Marvella. She could see I was worried. She smiled

and nodded as if to tell me “go on, you’re doing fine.”


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Regis Sinclair asked me the same question again, only slightly different. “Did

you see anybody in the shed when you looked inside?”

“No, sir,” I replied.

“Did you hear anything?” he asked. “Any crying or moaning?”

“No, sir.”

“So you didn’t see or hear anybody in the shed on the day in question?” Rather

than asking me a question, he seemed to be making a statement to the jury.

“No, I didn’t,” I told him confidently.

“Thank you, Ches…” Regis was about to call me Chester but caught himself in

time. “Thank you, Charlie.” He walked back to his table and sat down beside Marvella.

“Mr. Weisenheimer,” the judge called out, “do you wish to cross examine the

witness?”

“I most certainly do,” the District Attorney said as he stood up and approached

me. Seymour Weisenheimer was skinny like a skeleton. His face was bony and his

clothes hung helplessly off his body. He seemed lost in the fabric of his jacket.

“Charlie,” he began, “Billy Hennessey has testified that he was held captive in Marvella

Bubbles’ woodshed from Friday, November 6th

to Monday, November 9th

. Were you

there on November 9th

when the police discovered Billy bound and gagged in the shed?”

“Uh… yes,” I replied unwillingly.

“And yet you claim he wasn’t there two days earlier,” the District Attorney said.

“No, sir,” I told him. “He wasn’t.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Sure, I’m sure.”

“Did you go all the way into the shed?” he asked.

“Far enough,” I told him.

“Did you look all over the shed?”

“Whatta you mean?” I knew what he meant but I hoped maybe I could avoid

answering him.

“Did you look in all the corners?” he asked. “Under all the furniture? In all the

boxes and crates?”

“Uh… no,” I admitted.


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“So for all you know, Billy Hennessey was in the shed only you didn’t see him?”

Just like Regis Sinclair, the District Attorney sounded more like he was making a

statement to the jury than asking me a question.

“He wasn’t there,” I insisted. “I looked. When I called out, no one answered.”

“How could he? He was gagged.”

“I didn’t hear anyone moving around,” I added.

District Attorney Weisenheimer leaned into me and said, “Because Billy

Hennessey was unconscious, weak from lack of food and water.”

“Objection!” Regis Sinclair cried out as he leapt from his chair.

“Objection sustained,” said the Judge, only not very enthusiastically.

The District Attorney looked at me as though he couldn’t stand the sight of me.

He waved his hand as though shooing away a fly and said, “I’m through with this

witness,” and walked back to his table.

“You can step down, son,” said the Judge.

It was over. I’d given my testimony and told everything I knew. Maybe it would

help Marvella, maybe it wouldn’t. Hopefully, it would make people wonder if Billy was

telling the truth. If only the jury could see the real Billy – the name-calling, nose-

punching, wedgie-giving bully – they’d think twice before believing anything he said. I

stepped out of the witness box and walked toward the back of the courtroom to sit with

my mother. As I passed Marvella’s table, she winked at me. I smiled and winked back.

Chapter Thirty-Three: A Surprise Witness

“Call your next witness, Mr. Sinclair,” instructed the Judge.

Regis stood and announced, “The defense calls Mrs. Mavis Hennessey.”

The guard echoed what Regis said as the oak doors opened and Billy’s mother

entered the courtroom. She was an ordinary woman with sad, sad eyes. She looked as

though every drop of happiness had been squeezed out of her. She wore a plain dress and

carried a large handbag. Billy’s father turned to look at her. From the expression on his

face, he was not happy to see her. She sat in the witness box and was sworn in. Mr.


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Sinclair asked her who she was and what her relationship was to Billy. There was no

love in her voice when she spoke about her son.

“And you are divorced from Mr. Hennessey?” Regis asked.

“Yes,” she replied, “divorced for the last three years.”

“Do you have any contact with Mr. Hennessey?” Regis inquired.

“Lord, no,” she said, “There’s a court order on account of his temper. He can’t

come within a hundred feet of me.”

“You don’t see him or speak with him?”

Mrs. Hennessey shook her head and said, “Not at all. Anything we got to say to

each other we say through our lawyers.”

Regis looked at the jury with a sly look and said, “Will you explain to the court

then, Mrs. Hennessey, why your ex-husband telephoned you on October 22nd

of this

year.”

Mrs. Hennessey shifted her rear end back and forth in her chair to get comfortable

before speaking, “Well, sir, he’s terrible with his alimony payments. I mean, real terrible.

I always have to get my lawyer after him. Well, sir, by October he was four months

behind. Four months! I have bills, ya know, and I gotta eat, so I get my lawyer after

him. That usually makes him pay up pretty quick. Only this time it doesn’t. Instead, he

calls me. Mind you I haven’t spoken to the…” She stopped herself, deciding that the

phrase she was going to use might not be appropriate for a courtroom. She continued, “I

haven’t spoken to the man in three years. Anyway, he’s all nice and sweet on the

telephone, asking me how I am and how I’m feelin’. I says to him, ‘Knock it off, Liam,

whatta ya want?’ That’s when he gets to the point. Says if I’ll just be patient about the

alimony, he’ll give me an extra ten thousand dollars. I says to him, ‘Where are you

gonna get ten thousand dollars?’ He tells me I shouldn’t worry, that he’s got a plan in the

works, a big lawsuit that’s guaranteed to pay off. Well, I sure could use ten thousand

dollars so I say to him, ‘Okay, Liam, you got to the first of the year then I want my

money.”

“And this was on October 22nd

?” Regis asked.

“I remember because it was my birthday,” she said, “which he forgot like

always.” She glared at Mr. Hennessey.


111

“Did he tell you what this lawsuit was?” Regis asked.

“He didn’t want to,” Mrs. Hennessey said, “but I told him if he didn’t he’d have

to give me my alimony.”

Again, Regis looked at the jury while addressing Mrs. Hennessey, “What exactly

did Mr. Hennessey tell you?”

“He said he was gonna sue Marvella Bubbles.”

There was an audible gasp in the courtroom. People began babbling to one

another. The Judge hit his gavel and yelled, “Order! Order!” until everyone became

silent again. For the first time since we entered the courthouse, my mom lifted her veil

from her face. I could see that she was shocked.

Regis walked over to the defense table and picked up some papers. “Your honor,

I would like to enter into evidence a copy of the civil suit Mr. Hennessey recently filed

against Mrs. Bubbles for abducting his son. It is for the sum of one million dollars.”

“That’s it!” Mrs. Hennessey cried out. “He’s suin’ her for one million dollars and

he offers me a measly ten grand! Lousy cheapskate!” She leaned forward in the witness

box and hissed at Mr. Hennessy, “I hope they lock you up and throw away the key!”

Again, the Judge used his gavel, this time to warn Mrs. Hennessey that he

wouldn’t tolerate anymore outbursts like the one she had just made.

Regis concluded his questioning of Mrs. Hennessey by asking, “Is it your

testimony that your ex-husband discussed this lawsuit with you more than two weeks

before your son was allegedly abducted by Marvella Bubbles?”

Mrs. Hennessey crossed herself and said, “So help me, God.”

Regis Sinclair walked back to his seat at the defense table, allowing the District

Attorney to cross-examine Mrs. Hennessey. He tried to rattle her as he had rattled me

but she was unshakeable. Although he painted her as a bitter, angry woman who had

deserted her family, there was still the ring of truth to what she had to say. When she left

the witness box, she strode out of the courtroom without even looking at her ex-husband

and son. Regis then stood up and called his next and final witness, “The defense calls

Liam Hennessey to the stand.” Liam Hennessey took a moment to collect himself before

rising and walking over to the witness box. He was a stocky man, not fat but solid. He,


112

like all the witnesses before him, put his hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth, the

whole truth and nothing but the truth.

“Mr. Hennessey,” Regis began, “you have heard your wife’s testimony.” Before

Regis could continue, Mr. Hennessey left out a loud snort of contempt. Regis continued,

“Do you deny telephoning your wife on October 22nd

as she described?”

“I sure do,” Mr. Hennessey replied in a gruff, hoarse voice. “She’s a liar. She’s

always been a liar.”

“So you did not call her?” Regis asked.

Mr. Hennessey looked annoyed. “No, I did not call her. Like she said, we

haven’t spoken in almost three years.”

“You are positive of this?” Regis asked.

“Yeah,” Mr. Hennessey said, “I dare you to prove otherwise. It’s her word

against mine.”

Regis turned toward the jury and smiled. It was a triumphant smile. He then

walked over to the defense table and picked up a piece of paper. “Mr. Hennessey, this is

copy of the October phone bill from the sardine factory where you work.” He

approached the witness box and stuck the piece of paper under Mr. Hennessey’s nose.

“Circled in red is a call to your wife’s home phone number dated October the 22nd

.”

There was a rumble from the crowd. Although I couldn’t see his face, I knew the District

Attorney was not happy about this piece of evidence because his head fell forward into

his hands.

“I didn’t make that call,” Mr. Hennessey insisted. “It must be a mistake. Maybe

someone else at the factory called her.”

“And who would that someone be?” Regis asked.

“I don’t know. Somebody.” The jury did not seem very satisfied with that

answer.

Regis Sinclair put the phone bill back on the defense table. He then spun around

and asked Mr. Hennessey, “Have you ever been inside Marvella Bubbles’ home?”

“No,” Mr. Hennessey replied.

“Not for any reason?” Regis asked.


113

“I told you, I never been in her house.” Mr. Hennessey appeared confident about

this.

Regis leaned into Mr. Hennessey and asked, “Then why were you fingerprints

found in her kitchen?” The crowd began to chatter excitedly. The judge banged his

gavel to quiet them down. Regis picked up yet another piece of paper from the defense

table. “This is a copy of your fingerprints. They were on file at the Middlington Police

Station. They match fingerprints found in Marvella Bubbles’ kitchen.” Mr. Hennessey

looked nervous. His eyes darted about and sweat began to run down his face. “You

broke into Marvella Bubbles’ house while she was at Tranquility Lake, didn’t you, Mr.

Hennessey?” Regis didn’t wait for an answer. He continued with his accusation, “That

was the door slam the boy heard, wasn’t it? It was you leaving the house with the stolen

napkin, the napkin with Mrs. Bubbles’ monogram that you used to help frame her for the

kidnapping of your son. But there was no kidnapping, was there, Mr. Hennessey? There

was only a plot to get a million dollars from Marvella Bubbles by filing a false law suit.

The truth is that you tied up your own son and put him in Mrs. Bubbles’ shed, then called

the police with the anonymous tip that he was there.”

“That’s a lie!” Mr. Hennessey yelled. He stood up in the witness box as though

he were about to pounce on Regis Sinclair.

“Really?” Regis said with a smile, “I have another phone bill, Mr. Hennessey, if

you’d like me to offer it into evidence.”

Like a deflated balloon, Mr. Hennessey seemed to collapse in on himself as he

sunk back down into his chair. He was defeated and he knew it. I looked over at my

mother, her jaw was hanging open in total amazement. I wasn’t quite sure what had just

happened, but from the reaction of the adults around me I could tell things were going

well for Marvella.

Regis Sinclair threw back his shoulders and in a loud dramatic voice declared to

the entire courtroom, “You, Mr. Hennessey, you and your son are guilty of perjury, fraud

and criminal conspiracy.” (Note to the reader: This means they lied and cheated and got

caught.) Regis turned toward Billy and directed this last statement directly at him, “And

I will see that you are put in jail for as long as the law will allow.”


114

Before the District Attorney could stop him, Billy leapt out of his seat and cried,

“It’s all his fault!” He pointed at his father and yelled, “He made me do it! I didn’t

wanna do it!” Then the most amazing thing happened, Billy Hennessey burst into tears

and wailed, “I want my mommy!”

The courtroom went crazy. Reporters jumped up and ran out through the big oak

doors. Regis Sinclair demanded the charges against Marvella Bubbles be dropped

immediately. District Attorney Seymour Weisenheimer ordered the guards to take Mr.

Hennessey and Billy into custody. I watched as Billy and his dad were forcibly removed

from the courtroom. All the while, the Judge pounded his gavel trying to restore order.

When the room finally quieted down, a reluctant Judge Burple announced that the

charges against Marvella Bubbles were dropped and that she was free to go.

Mrs. Flummery was livid. She ran up to the Judge screaming, “What about my

cat? What about Scheherazade?”

Ruthanda, Gertruda, Luigi and Sylviane flocked to Marvella. They hugged her

and congratulated Regis Sinclair. I wanted to do the same but was afraid my mother

would get angry. I looked up at her, my eyes pleading for understanding. She looked

down at me, a soft smile on her face, and nodded. As fast as I could, I ran down the aisle

toward the defense table and threw my arms around Marvella Bubbles.

I said, “I’m glad you’re innocent, Marvella.”

She put a finger under my chin and lifted my head so she could look into my face.

“It’s all because of you,” she said.

“Me?” I asked. “How?”

“After that day in Mr. Hennessey’s backyard, I became suspicious. There was

something about the man I just didn’t trust. I told Regis that he ought to start

investigating him. So, you see, if it hadn’t been for you and your friend Ezra, I might

have been convicted of a crime I didn’t commit.” And with that, she knelt down and

kissed me on the cheek.


115

Chapter Thirty-Four: An Almost Happy Ending

“Well, I never thought she actually did it,” Mr. Twiddle said as he rang up Mr.

Flummery’s latest order of laxatives.

“She may not have been guilty of that crime,” Mrs. Flummery said, “but she’s

guilty of something. I can feel it in my bones. There’s something not right about that

woman.” No court of law would ever make the Mrs. Flummerys of this world change

their mind about Marvella Bubbles. She wouldn’t budge an inch in her opinion of

Marvella, not even when Scheherazade was discovered in a cage in the basement of Billy

Hennessey’s house. The police found the cat when searching the house for further

evidence against Liam Hennessey. Mr. Hennessey eventually went to jail for ten years.

Billy was sent to a detention center where, according to Mary Alice Garfein, boys who

were even meaner than him gave him wedgies on a daily basis. If anyone would know, it

would be her. Although Oscar and The Mole had been involved in the catnapping, they

played no part in Mr. Hennessey’s elaborate scheme to steal a million dollars from

Marvella Bubbles. But Mrs. Flummery saw to it that their parents punished them for

what they’d done to her Scheherazade. With Billy out of their lives, Oscar and The Mole

changed over time. Oscar became nicer and discovered he had a real talent for arts and

crafts. The Mole became meaner and started beating up Oscar. It’s funny the way things

turn out.

“I heard you went to court,” Amy Dingler said as she sat down beside me in the

cafeteria.

“Uh, yeah,” I said, surprised and pleased to have her at my lunch table.

“That must’ve been exciting,” she said, her green eyes shining.

“It was.” And I proceeded to tell her all about it. Ezra, who’d been sitting on the

opposite side of the table from me, left us alone with the excuse that he was going to get

more tater tots from the cafeteria ladies. Of course, we didn’t really need to be left alone;

we were only ten. But it was thoughtful of him anyway.

“Mavis Hennessey is moving back to town,” my mom told my dad while dishing

out macaroni and cheese. “With Liam in jail and Billy at reform school, she’s going to

move back into the house.”


116

“That’s nice,” my father mumbled from behind the latest issue of his fly fishing

magazine.” Nothing ever seemed to change between my mom and dad. But they did

change their attitude toward Marvella Bubbles after the trial. My mom no longer

objected to my friendship with Marvella. She said I could visit. My dad agreed so long

as I brought back a piece of chocolate cake for him. Of course, my mom didn’t fully

embrace Marvella. She merely tolerated my relationship with her. As long as the

majority of the people continued to view Marvella Bubbles with skepticism, my mother

would never fully accept her.

About a week after Marvella was found innocent and released from jail, I heard a

familiar sound outside my bedroom window. It was the soft, sweet whine of Miss Fanny.

She had another letter for me. It was written on Marvella’s personal stationary with her

initials printed at the top, those same printed initials that were on her dinner napkins and

had almost gotten her convicted of a crime she didn’t commit. The letter read as follows:

Dearest Charlie,

Now that this ordeal is finally behind me, life can return to

normal. The first thing I would like to do is have a party

with all my friends in attendance. It will be this coming

Saturday afternoon. I will, of course, be serving chocolate

cake. I would be honored if you and your friend Ezra

would accept this invitation. The highlight of the afternoon

will be Luigi’s performance of his latest composition,

“L'inno a una Cellula di Prigione Vuota” (“Hymn to an

Empty Jail Cell”). I will expect you at 2pm. Dress casual.

Much Love,

Marvella Bubbles

I called Ezra and told him about the party. He was very eager to go. He wanted

to know who else would be there “bethides the hairy lady”. I told him all about Gertruda

von Gerkin and Luigi and Sylviane. He was particularly interested in Sylviane. He told

me, “I’m an amateur herpetologitht, you know.” Of course, Ezra had to explain to me


117

that a herpetologist was somebody interested in snakes. I told him Sylviane most

probably would be there with her snake Darlene. He was overjoyed.

That Saturday afternoon was Christmas Eve. My dad drove me and Ezra to the

house on Half Moon Hill. I got out of the car, but before I slammed the door behind me,

my dad said, “Don’t forget to bring me a piece of cake.” Ezra and I walked to Marvella’s

front door as my dad drove away. Before we could knock, the door swung open and

there was Marvella, Miss Fanny by her side. Marvella looked lovely. There were

diamonds in her high hair. She took both Ezra and I into the folds of her flowing chiffon

gown as she greeted us with a warm hug.

“Come in! Come in!” she said. “Now the party can really begin.”

Marvella led us into the parlor. Everyone I had told Ezra about was there,

including Regis Sinclair who wore a suit that had electric lights threaded into it. His

clothes kept flashing like a movie marquee. He was almost as bright as the ceiling-high

Christmas tree that stood by the fireplace. Luigi was at the piano, of course, putting his

twelve fingers to good use playing Christmas carols. I introduced Ezra to everybody and

he immediately hit it off with Sylviane and Darlene. By the end of the afternoon, Ezra

was walking around with Darlene wrapped around his neck. Marvella kept disappearing

to prepare food and drinks. I wanted to spend some time alone with her so I followed her

into the kitchen.

“Can I help?” I asked.

“Aren’t you sweet,” she said. “You can sprinkle paprika on that tray of deviled

eggs.” The tray was on the kitchen table. Marvella handed me a container filled with red

pepper and I began sprinkling it on the eggs. She went back to the cast-iron stove to

check on all the goodies she had cooking. There were a stack of letters on the other side

of the table. One of them was open. Written in large black letters were printed the

words, “Die, Witch, die!” I froze when I saw it. Marvella noticed and quickly snatched

up the letter. “Oh, dear, I don’t know why I left that out,” she said as she put it back in

its envelope.

“Did someone send you that during the trial?” I asked.

“No, dear,” she replied, “that arrived in today’s mail.”


118

I didn’t understand. It had been in all the papers that Marvella was innocent.

Why would anybody write such a terrible letter? “What about those other envelopes?”

I asked.

“More of the same,” she told me. Marvella could see that I was troubled by this

and sat down at the table beside me. She put her hand on my shoulder. “Unfortunately,

the world outside this house can be very cruel. People have trouble accepting things that

are different. Everyone in my parlor knows that for a fact. But they’re not the ones I feel

sorry for. It’s the people who wrote those letters that I pity. They’re the ones missing out

on the magic and the wonder all about them. Just listen to that music.” She paused for a

moment, closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the piano floating through the air.

It seemed to transport her to some heavenly place. “No one else in the world plays like

that,” she said, “because no one else in the world has twelve fingers. And just think,

we’re among the very few who get to enjoy it.” She smiled and kissed me on the

forehead. “I don’t want you to worry about unpleasant things.”

“Isn’t there something we can do?” I asked.

“I’m afraid not, dear,” Marvella said. “People are the way they are.”

“Like Mrs. Flummery,” I said.

Marvella nodded and sighed, “I’m afraid so.”

“She thinks you’re a witch because you never get old,” I said.

“Poppycock!” Marvella said. “I get older every day.”

“Then why aren’t you all wrinkled like Mrs. Flummery?” I asked.

“Because I’m not filled with fear and hate,” she told me. “A sweet disposition is

the best beauty treatment of all.” And Marvella Bubbles had a sweet disposition, the

sweetest in the world. “Now,” she said, “shall we join the others?”

Marvella and I went back into the parlor with trays of deviled eggs and caviar.

(Note to the reader: It may sound good but caviar is really fish eggs. Beware!)

Everyone continued to laugh and eat. Later that afternoon, we all sat quietly while Luigi

performed his new composition. All the while that he played, he looked directly at

Marvella with the mushiest expression on his face. I wondered if I’d ever looked at Amy

Dingler that way. I hoped not. It would be embarrassing. At 6pm, my dad showed up to

take me and Ezra home. Marvella presented him with an entire chocolate cake as a


119

Christmas gift. He was thrilled. She then handed me and Ezra gifts of our own. They

were wrapped and not to be opened until Christmas morning. She and Miss Fanny stood

on the front porch and watched as we drove away.

“Did you boys have a good time?” my dad asked.

“The betht,” Ezra declared.

Ezra was right. It was the best. I didn’t see how anything could ever top it.

When Christmas arrived the following morning, Ezra unwrapped his gift and was

delighted to find a geode. That would make 37. As for my gift, it was a framed

photograph, just like the ones that filled Marvella’s parlor. It was a picture of her and

Miss Fanny, and there was an inscription at the bottom. It read, “My life is richer for

knowing you.” I put the picture on the table by my bed. Every time I looked at it I knew

that it was my life that was the richer for knowing Marvella Bubbles. In the years to

come, I would meet the most unusual people and do the most unusual things because this

unusual woman was now a part of my life.

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