Do You Know the Monkey Man? Read online

  I already knew what my mom would say if I told her that. She’d say “There’s no such thing as a sixth sense. Sarah is dead. It’s time to move on.” But would my dad see it the same way? After all, he was there when the canoe tipped over. His opinion would carry more weight than my mom’s. If this detective that Coral found online actually found him, I could talk to him about all this. Who knows? Maybe he’d even help me look for Sarah.

  Which made me wonder…had Coral gotten an answer from that guy yet? I decided to call her and find out.

  “Hold on, let me check,” Coral said groggily when she answered her phone. “I just woke up, so I haven’t checked my e-mail yet.”

  I waited while her computer booted up and she checked her e-mail.

  “Doesn’t look like it,” she said after a little bit. “But we just filled out that form yesterday, you know. It could take a few days to hear back.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Thanks for checking.” We hung up.

  A very long day stretched out ahead of me. I had no idea what I was going to do with myself. I figured I could go down in the basement and pack up more boxes, but once I got down there I didn’t feel like doing any packing. So I went back to my room.

  I hadn’t practiced my flute in a couple days. I snapped open my flute case and twisted the three sections together. But I didn’t feel like practicing either. Finally I got out my bike.

  I don’t know whether this was something I decided to do or whether my bike was somehow on autopilot. But I got on it and started pedaling. And before I knew it, I found myself heading down Sixth Street. Sixth Street took me to Rockford Road, which eventually became a gravel road. Old Quarry Road.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out this way. Maybe I hadn’t ever been out here. I doubt my mom ever went. So who else would have brought me?

  It was a really quiet road. There were no houses along the way. No cars or other people out on bikes. No animals. Not even any wind through the trees. The only sound was my bike tires crunching the gravel.

  I had a feeling I shouldn’t be out here. At least not by myself. There wasn’t a single person in the whole world who knew where I was. What if I got kidnapped? Or murdered? What if my murderer dumped my body in the quarry and nobody ever found it?

  I swallowed hard. My imagination was going crazy. This was Clearwater, Iowa. We didn’t have murderers here. But wasn’t that what people always said whenever there was a murder in their small town?

  The gravel road ended at a small parking area, but there were no cars in the lot. I could sort of see the quarry through the trees. I could smell it, too. It smelled like rotting weeds.

  I got off my bike and wheeled it up the narrow dirt path. A mosquito buzzed by my ear. I swatted it away.

  I kept going until the trees ended and I came to a chain-link fence. I could see the trees on the other side of the quarry, but I couldn’t see down into the pit.

  I had to get closer. So I leaned my bike against a tree, then tiptoed up to the fence. It wasn’t very high. I stuck my toe in one of the gaps and curled my fingers around the bar along the top of the fence. Then I heaved myself up onto the top of the fence and jumped down to the other side, landing on my hands and knees. I quickly picked myself up and dusted myself off.

  This was it. There were just a few feet of tall grass and rock, then the ground just sort of dropped off and the quarry lay down below. A huge mouth of water, ready to swallow me up if I stepped over the edge.

  I took a couple of steps back and grabbed for the fence. Then I gazed down at the water again. It was a long way down. Too far to launch a canoe from. So where had my dad put his canoe in?

  It was several miles around the whole quarry. He could’ve done it anywhere. Anywhere but here.

  I started walking beside the fence. Every now and then I stopped to scratch my ankles. I hoped it was just the tall grass that was making me itch and not bugs. As I walked, the patch of grass grew wider. And wider. Holding on to the fence for support, I slowly made my way down a steep hill. When I reached the bottom, I found myself standing in a small clearing.

  It wasn’t so far down to the water here. Maybe a foot or two. I had no idea how deep the water was. People say the quarry is 300 feet deep, but not here at the edge. You probably could get a canoe in here.

  I looked around for a long branch. Something I could put in the water and get an idea of how deep it was. I spotted one over by a sign that read “Danger! Absolutely No Swimming, Boating, or Canoeing.” I ran over and picked up the branch.

  It was about two inches around and stood as tall as my chest. I took it over to the edge of the water and slowly lowered it down. Down, down, down until only the tip where I held it remained out of the water. The other end still hadn’t touched bottom. I let the branch go and it bobbed to the surface, then floated out of reach.

  I shivered. The water was really murky, just like my mom said. It was so thick and cloudy it didn’t wave or ripple or anything. It just sat there, unmoving. Dead.

  I could see why Sarah’s body was never found. Even with all the fancy equipment the police must use to search for people in the water, it would be impossible to find someone here. And even if the divers had an idea where the person was, they’d have to be careful about going down too deep because they might not see the construction equipment at the bottom and they could ram right into it.

  But despite all that, standing here right now, gazing out over the water, that sixth sense was just as strong as it had been back at my house. Maybe even stronger.

  I knew Sarah wasn’t down there.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Angela asked when I called her later that afternoon.

  I couldn’t just keep carrying all this around in my head. I had to talk to someone. Obviously I couldn’t talk to my mom. I’d never been able to talk to my Grandma Sperling. We didn’t see each other enough to have that kind of relationship. If things were different, I might have been able to talk to Bob’s mother. If I’d been born into her family, I mean. But the only reason she and I were anything at all to each other was because my mom was marrying her son. Really, the only person I could talk to was Angela.

  “I’ll say it one more time. There is no way your sister could still be alive, Sam,” Angela said. “You do know that, don’t you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Your sister is dead, Sam,” Angela went on. “She’s been dead for ten years.” She sounded just like my mother.

  “Gee, tell me what you really think,” I muttered.

  “Do you want me to?” Angela asked seriously.

  I shrugged. It didn’t matter. Angela always told me what she really thought.

  “Well, I think you don’t want your mom and Bob to get married.”

  My mouth dropped open. “That’s not true!” I didn’t want Bob to adopt me, but I didn’t care whether they got married or not.

  “I think it is,” Angela said. “But you can’t tell your mom that, so you’re putting all this energy into other stuff. Like looking for your dad. And wondering whether your sister could still be alive. It’s, like, some kind of distraction. Because you can’t deal with the truth.”

  No! Angela was wrong. Way wrong.

  “If you really want to know what I think, you should quit digging around in the past and concentrate on the future. Bob’s a great guy. Why don’t you just give him a chance?”

  “Yeah, well maybe you should give your real dad a chance, too,” I grumbled.

  Angela clammed up when I said that. In all the years we’d been friends, I don’t think we’d ever had a real fight. But I could tell we were on the verge of one right now.

  “You don’t know anything about my father, Sam,” Angela said coolly.

  “No. And you don’t know anything about mine. And you don’t know anything about my sister, either.”

  At first Angela didn’t say anything. Then in a small voice she said, “Okay, maybe neither one of us should tell the other what to do.” />
  “Maybe not,” I agreed, relieved that a fight had been averted.

  But nothing had really been solved.

  Chapter Nine

  After dinner I noticed the little voice mail icon flashing on my cell phone. I immediately dialed in to get my message. “Hey, Sam. It’s me, Coral. Call me ASAP.”

  I had a pretty good idea what that meant.

  My mom and Bob were over checking on the progress of our new house, so I didn’t have to worry about them walking in on me. I punched in Coral’s number. “Hey, it’s me,” I said anxiously as soon as she picked up the phone. “What’s up?”

  “I thought you’d like to know we heard back from that detective guy,” Coral said.

  “We did?” I knew it! I elbowed my bedroom door closed just in case my mom and Bob came home early, then crawled up onto my bed.

  “Don’t get too excited. I don’t have a single, definite address and phone number for you,” Coral said. “What I have is three addresses and phone numbers. The e-mail says they’re pretty sure one of these Joseph Wrights is the one you’re searching for. But if it turns out none of them is, they’ll keep looking for free.”

  “Okay,” I said, pulling my legs up under me. My whole body trembled. “So what have you got?” For the first time in ten years, I was about to get some real information!

  “Do you have something to write with?” Coral asked.

  “Yeah.” I reached over and grabbed a pencil from my desk and a piece of scratch paper from my garbage can. My hand was shaking so hard I could barely write. But somehow I managed to copy the names, addresses, and phone numbers as Coral read them off. There was one Joseph Wright in San Diego, California, another in Richland, Minnesota, and a third in Omaha, Nebraska.

  “Thanks, Coral,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”

  “No problem. Good luck, Sam. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  So did I.

  At first I just sat cross-legged on my bed, my cell phone in my hand, staring at those names, addresses, and phone numbers. One of these men was probably my dad.

  Was it possible for a thirteen-year-old to have a heart attack? All I had to do was pick the right number and I could be talking to my dad in about twenty seconds. And even if I didn’t pick the right number, there were only two others to try. Five minutes, tops, and I’d know which of those Joseph Wrights was my dad. Assuming one of them was.

  With my mom out of the house, this was the perfect time to try and find out. But I’d never been so nervous in my entire life. How was I supposed to make a phone call when I literally could not breathe?

  Of course, I didn’t have to call these people. I had their addresses, too. I could just write them each a letter. There were two reasons writing might be better. One, I wouldn’t have to explain the charge on the phone bill later (though I still might have to explain the charge for hiring the detective). And two, I could take my time and figure out exactly what I wanted to say. But I might have to wait to hear back. And what if the real Joseph Wright never replied? No, calling was definitely the better choice. That way I’d get answers right away. And I’d get to hear my dad’s voice.

  I just needed to work up the nerve to do it.

  I wished I had more than just names, addresses, and phone numbers. I wished I had photographs. And basic information like whether these guys were married or had children. I’d never thought about my dad having a whole new family before. But it was possible.

  “Just do it!” I said out loud. “Just pick up the phone and call.”

  But what was I supposed to say? I argued with myself. “Hi, this is Sam, your long-lost daughter?” What if all he had to say back was “Yeah, so?”

  I remembered what Angela said about how when you don’t know your dad, you can pretend he’s anyone you want him to be. Maybe she was right. Maybe deep down I did just want to pretend. Maybe I didn’t want to find out who he really was.

  No, I wanted to know who he was. I wanted to know whether he ever thought about me. Whether he ever thought about Sarah.

  So…which Joseph Wright should I try first?

  Probably the one in San Diego. I knew my dad had been in San Diego seven years ago when he sent me that postcard, so San Diego was a good place to start.

  I crept out into the hallway and listened for my mom and Bob. It didn’t sound like they were back yet. But if I didn’t hurry this up, they would be. I tiptoed back to my room, closed the door, and hopped back up onto my bed. Then I took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and quickly punched in the San Diego number before I could change my mind. The phone felt slippery in my hands. I could feel my heart in my throat. I almost hung up, but I forced myself to hang on until someone finally picked up on the fifth ring.

  “Hello?” It was a woman. A woman around my mom’s age, it sounded like. My dad’s new wife?

  “Um, hi,” I said. My mind suddenly went blank. Why didn’t I at least write out a speech ahead of time?

  “Yes?” the woman said.

  I swallowed hard, then plunged ahead. “Um, you don’t know me. My name is Sam. Sam Wright.”

  “Yes?” The woman sounded a little impatient now.

  My heart was pounding so hard I thought my chest would crack open. “D-d-does that name mean anything to you?” I asked.

  “Well, other than the fact we share the same last name, no.” The woman sounded nicer this time. “Should it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. Gee, if this woman was my dad’s new wife, this call could come as a huge shock.

  “I-I-I’m looking for my father,” I stammered. “His name is Joseph Wright. I know there’s a Joseph Wright at this number. C-could I maybe talk to him, please?”

  “I’m afraid not,” the woman replied matter-of-factly. “Joseph died three years ago.”

  “What?” No!

  “But Joseph couldn’t have been your father,” the woman went on.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when she said that. This was the wrong Joseph Wright. My dad was still alive.

  But the feeling disappeared almost as suddenly as it had appeared. “Are you sure?” I asked. Wasn’t it possible my dad ran off to California after Sarah died, got married, and never told his new wife about me?

  “Joseph and I were married for fifteen years. We both wanted children very much, but Joseph …” she broke off.

  “What?”

  “He couldn’t have children,” she said softly.

  “Oh.” I suddenly felt very sorry. And very embarrassed. That was such personal information. And it was none of my business.

  I felt bad for this woman. She seemed so nice. I bet her husband, Joseph, was nice, too. He probably would’ve been a good dad if he had had children.

  “Well, thanks anyway,” I said, not knowing what else to say. “And—I’m really sorry about your husband.” Then I hung up.

  Whew! One down, two to go. After making one call, it wasn’t quite as hard to do it again. I wiped my slippery hands on my shorts, then punched in the number for the next Joseph on my list. The one in Minnesota.

  This time an answering machine picked up.

  Goosebumps dotted my arms.

  I knew that voice!

  I couldn’t believe that after all those years, I recognized my dad’s voice. But I did. “Yo—” Yo, Sammy! Yo, Sarah! Yo, Suzanne! He always said that instead of hello. “We can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message. We’ll get back to ya.” Beep!

  I slammed the receiver down.

  I could feel the blood pounding inside my head. My hands were shaking. It was him. I knew it was him.

  I took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

  Another breath.

  And another.

  What was I going to do now?

  I got up from my bed and wandered around my room. He was married. Or at least living with someone. The voice on the answering machine had said, “We’ll get back to you.”

  I grabbed my pillow, then set it back down. I loo
ked out the window, but my eyes didn’t focus. I replayed that voice, his voice, over and over inside my head. Yo. We can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message. We’ll get back to ya.

  He was in Minnesota. Just one state away. Just like Angela’s dad. Had he been there all this time? Why hadn’t he at least called me once in the last however many years? Why?

  I had to call him back. I had to call him back right now and leave him a message. I picked up the phone and started dialing before I could chicken out.

  This time the answering machine picked up on the second ring.

  “Yo. We can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message. We’ll get back to ya.”

  “Hello? Dad?…It’s me, Sam …” My throat tightened as my eyes filled with tears. “Do you remember me? Please call me,” I said. I barely managed to get my cell phone number out before the tears started to roll down my cheeks.

  Chapter Ten

  I didn’t set my cell phone down the rest of the night. Come on, Dad. Hurry up and call me back before Mom gets home!

  Unfortunately my cell phone stayed silent.

  Our other phone, on the other hand, never stopped ringing. First the telephone company called wanting to know if we wanted to switch long-distance providers. Then my mom called to tell me she and Bob were going to a movie, did I want to come (no). Then the stationery store called to say the wedding invitations were in. And then Angela called. She probably called our house line because I didn’t answer my cell phone when I saw it was her. I didn’t want to tie up that line.

  “Angela!” I said when I picked up the phone. “You’re never going to believe what happened.” I proceeded to tell her all about my evening.

  But Angela just couldn’t get excited for me. “How do you know that guy is really your dad?” she asked.