The Spy Catchers of Maple Hill Read online

  “Hazel Kaplansky!” her mother called from back in the kitchen.

  “Mom, I—”

  Hazel’s mom pointed outside without saying another word.

  Hazel knew when she was beat. She left the paper where it was and went outside.

  She decided to work by the statue of the Three Graces. As she walked, she could see Mr. Jones across the way. The one good thing about being suspended was that it gave her more time to observe him. He had finished digging the grave the day before and now was standing above it with his shovel, ready to smooth things out. Her gaze traveled over to the garden shed. That’s where he stored all the secrets. She needed to get in there.

  As she set to work devising her plan, she got down on her knees and began plucking out crabgrass, dandelions, and stray bits of ground cover. After a moment, she looked up at the sculptures. “Yes, Abitha, it is a school day. I’ve been suspended.” She gathered the weeds she had pulled into a pile. “It means I can’t go to school for the day, but it’s a bum rap. It was self-defense.”

  She moved closer to the base of the statue. “I was sticking up for a friend.” There was a big weed with roots that went deep and wide and she had to lean way back to pull it. “Then he left me out to dry, swinging in the breeze, you know. So I don’t know if we’re friends anymore.”

  She kept moving around the base of the statue. “Oh, Tabitha, I’m glad you asked. You see, Maryann and Connie, I’ve told you about them. They were being their same old rotten selves and they started to say something awful about Samuel and it was like something just swelled up inside of me and I pushed Maryann as hard as I could and she fell down right on her butt.”

  She laughed, and the hollow sound echoed around the stones.

  “Yes, she did deserve it.”

  Her weed pile was pretty big, so she went and got the wheelbarrow and filled it. She tugged up a few more around the edge of the pond. All the while she was stealing glances at the garden shed. She’d been out there most of an hour already and Mr. Jones hadn’t gone anywhere near it. She said good-bye to the Three Graces. “Nice talking to you girls.”

  In the time she’d been weeding, the funeral had begun. Mourners were around the grave in their black clothes. There were few things sadder than a funeral on a gray fall day, the trees barely holding on to their leaves. Hazel made a big circle around to get to the compost pile, where she dumped her weeds on top of the husks of acorn squash they’d had for dinner the night before.

  Living right next to a cemetery, she’d had many occasions to think about her own funeral. When she was little, she had wanted a white casket with silver satin inside. She’d wanted the casket to have her initials carved in curlicue letters on the outside. Now, though, she wanted something much more simple. She’d seen a man buried in a casket that was a perfect rectangle, made out of a dark wood. She thought that seemed rather dignified. She’d have a big headstone listing all her accomplishments.

  HAZEL KAPLANSKY STAR STUDENT HOLDER OF KNOWLEDGE SOLVER OF MYSTERIES

  She thought that was far more important than the Bible quotes that most people put on their headstones. It would certainly help people like Samuel with their research.

  She’d want her funeral to be somber and sad, with lots of wailing to show how much people missed her. Maybe someone could throw themselves on her coffin and beat the wood with their fists. Mrs. Vorschat’s funeral was far more subdued. It was pedestrian, which, Hazel had learned, did not mean walking, but ordinary, and Hazel was not ordinary.

  She started back into the cemetery, thinking about the night before when she’d overheard her parents talking about her and Samuel.

  “I don’t know what’s going on. Hazel has never been in trouble before. Clara Rushby said she was sticking up for the Butler boy. It’s hard to fault her for that.”

  “That’s it precisely. She never had any trouble before that Butler boy came back.”

  “George, try to have a little sympathy. Lacey Switzer might have made a mistake, but that boy didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Of course. And it’s nice for her to have a friend, but—”

  “It’s not his fault. His situation, it’s, well, just not his fault.” Her mother’s voice had sounded sad and weary.

  “I know, I know. Of course.” He’d sighed. “But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that she’s gotten in trouble since he’s come around.”

  “True.”

  “I know he needs a friend, but if it’s going to be at the expense of Hazel …”

  “I know,” her mom agreed. “So what do you want to do? Tell her they can’t be friends?”

  A breeze kicked up some leaves and they danced around her legs like her flitting thoughts about what her parents had said. His situation. He needs a friend. Not his fault. Maryann and Connie said that everyone knew why he’d come back to town. What was his situation and why did everyone seem to know about it except Hazel? What had his mother done that was so awful?

  She bit her lip hard. Maybe she was a Communist, too! That made a lot more sense than blaming the Lis. If Samuel’s mother was Red, it would be the perfect opportunity to get spies into the Switzer plant. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t around. Maybe the FBI had her. And that was probably why Samuel kept questioning whether Mr. Jones was a spy. Maybe Samuel had even been thwarting her all along.

  She rounded a curve and there, as if by magic, was Mr. Jones in Pauper’s Field. She dropped to her knees as if she were weeding and observed him. He wasn’t doing anything but standing, his back to her. After a moment, he left, the gate creaking closed behind him. She waited, filling the wheelbarrow with more weeds in a part of the graveyard that wasn’t used yet. Once she was sure he was gone, she crept down to the paupers’ graveyard. At Alice’s headstone she saw something glinting. She dropped to her knees and brushed aside some of the fresh dirt. It could be any number of things. Gold coins. Jewels. A gun.

  Her hand closed around something small and cool. When she lifted it up, she found it was a tiny wooden doll, no bigger than her pinkie, shaped like a bowling pin. Her eyes grew wide. She knew what this was. It was one of those nesting dolls. Russian nesting dolls. Her grandmother had a set, and Hazel liked to play with them. Each wooden doll could be twisted apart and inside was a smaller one. The doll The Comrade had left behind was the smallest one, solid wood that didn’t come apart. The doll was painted wearing a black jumper with a red shirt underneath. Her hair was black and the eyes were green. A small daisy was painted on the black jumper.

  A Russian doll left at Alice’s grave: her first piece of tangible proof!

  18

  Invitations and Gifts

  Hazel wasn’t sure how she was going to avoid Samuel back at school, but it was Connie of all people who made it easier. On Hazel’s way into the building, Connie stepped out of a side hallway. Hazel stopped short. This had to be some sort of a setup. She looked over her shoulder, sure there would be a mob of angry fifth graders, but there was only a group of third-grade boys. Still, Hazel kept her mouth shut.

  Connie extended her hand. In it was a bright yellow envelope. “It’s for my birthday. My mother says I need to invite the whole class because, well, just because.” She shook the envelope in Hazel’s direction.

  Hazel hesitated. If she took the invitation, then Connie would assume she actually wanted to attend the party, and Hazel would rather be locked in a room with the alien plant-monster in The Thing from Another World. What she really wanted to do was take the invitation and throw it on the ground and maybe even stomp on it for good measure. She was about to do just that when she had a startling realization: this could be the break in the case she’d been looking for. Nancy Drew had faced a similar situation in The Secret of the Old Clock. She needed to get inside the Tophams’ house to try to find the old clock that had a will hidden inside it, so she used the ruse of selling tickets to a charity ball to get into their house. Well, Hazel could use the party as an excuse to get into the Shorts’ house to find
more evidence to tie Mr. Jones to Mr. Short.

  Hazel reached out her hand to take the invitation. Connie didn’t release it. She looked at the envelope, then back up at Hazel as if she couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “It’s awfully nice of you to invite everyone.”

  “My mom said I had to.”

  “So you said.” Hazel tugged and the invitation came loose in her hand. “Of course I will have to check my social calendar. This is a busy time of year.”

  Connie took a step back. “You do that,” she said. “My phone number is on there so your mom can call my mom and let her know if you’re coming.”

  “Marvelous!”

  Connie rolled her eyes, and turned to go, not realizing that Otis Logan had come in the door behind her. She nearly pigeon-toe-walked right into him. He jumped back with his hands held in the air like he’d just been caught in a robbery. “That was close,” he said.

  “Sorry,” Connie said breezily, and Hazel knew she didn’t mean it.

  “I sure wouldn’t want to catch the Commie germs off of you.” It was a typically stupid thing for Otis to say. Communism wasn’t a disease, not really. They called it the Red Menace, but it wasn’t like the Blob that swallowed you up. It was something you chose. Just because Mr. Short chose to be a Red spy didn’t mean Connie was a Communist, too. Otis, though, thought he was clever as could be and started guffawing as he limped down the hall.

  Connie stood straight as a board. Then without even looking at Hazel or saying anything, she marched away toward the classroom, leaving Hazel in the hall holding the sunshine-yellow envelope. Hazel hurried to class and took her seat just in time; she didn’t even have to give a glance to Samuel.

  Samuel, Hazel quickly realized, was nearly as relentless as she was. All morning he looked at her with sad eyes, but she didn’t care. Or she told herself she didn’t care, and concentrated so hard on making it look like she didn’t care that she almost believed it.

  Music class was the hardest.

  “Announcement!” Mrs. Ferrigno sang once they were all settled. “The school will be putting on a recital to celebrate the fall harvest season, and we shall be performing a percussive piece.” She shook a piece of paper. “‘Simple Gifts,’” she declared, and began warbling: “ ’Tis a gift to be simple, ’tis a gift to be free.”

  She dispensed with the usual pageantry of handing out instruments and gave the students what they always got. “We have so much work to do. Rehearse, rehearse, rehearse!” Hazel was stuck with her crooked triangle sitting right next to Samuel.

  The piece called for them to ding their triangles each time the chorus came up. It was all percussive instruments, with no one singing, but if they had been singing, it would have been like this:

  ’Tis a gift to be simple, ’tis a gift to be free,

  ’Tis a gift to come down where we ought to be.

  And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

  Ding!

  ’Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

  Mrs. Ferrigno was nervous about this added responsibility for her triangle players.

  “Triangle people,” Maryann muttered, and rubbed her arm. She’d been feigning injuries all day: back, arm, leg, even her head, which she hadn’t come close to hitting. Hazel bared her teeth at her.

  “You understand, you two, right? You understand when you need to play?” Mrs. Ferrigno asked.

  Hazel nodded, but all she could think about was that she was sitting right next to a traitor. She shifted away a little.

  Mrs. Ferrigno began by teaching the parts to the other players, so Hazel sat back and thought about what it would take to get her to turn tail on a friend like that. She was narrowing it down to the threat of death to her puppy—if she had a puppy, which her parents said could not happen, given where they lived and a dog’s propensity for digging—or the kidnapping of her parents. Certainly not the mere intimidation by a couple of girls.

  Of course, this gave more credence to the theory that he was protecting his Red mother. He knew she was on the trail of the Communists and he was trying to throw obstacles in her path.

  “Hazel,” he whispered.

  She untied and retied the skinny laces of her brown-and-white saddle shoes. She wanted penny loafers with a bright copper penny in each one, but her mother said saddle shoes were more practical.

  “Hazel,” he whispered.

  “Vibraslaps!” Mrs. Ferrigno called out.

  “I’m ignoring you,” she whispered back.

  He looked down in his lap.

  Mrs. Ferrigno started working with the xylophones and the glockenspiels. Maryann and Connie wore looks of intense concentration. “You’ll get it, you’ll get it. Good!”

  “I need to tell you something,” he whispered.

  Mrs. Ferrigno glanced over at them and wiggled her eyebrows like little worms slithering above her eyes.

  “You’ve already gotten me in enough trouble.” She moved even farther away from him.

  “Now let’s add the ratchets and rattles.”

  The period was nearly over by the time she got to Hazel and Samuel. “Now, Hazel and Samuel, Maryann and Connie will play their part of the chorus, and then you will chime in.”

  Hazel laughed, but Mrs. Ferrigno just drew her worm-eyebrows closer together. “Is something funny?”

  “Chime in,” Hazel said. “I thought you were making a joke.”

  “This is serious work, Hazel. Can you handle it?”

  “Yes,” she said with a sigh.

  They practiced a few more times and then Mrs. Ferrigno said, “From the top!”

  The first time, Hazel hit the note perfectly, which elicited a small, surprised smile from Mrs. Ferrigno. Then they did it again and Hazel was looking at the vibraslaps with envy. As their part came up, Samuel elbowed her. She’d been ready, but just to get him back, she didn’t play her note.

  Mrs. Ferrigno sighed and threw her hands up into the air. “Hazel Kaplansky, what am I going to do with you?”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Ferrigno. It won’t happen again.”

  Mrs. Ferrigno turned to the class. “I’m sorry to end on such a low note, but that’s our time for the day. Please put your instruments away.” The class began to shuffle and rise. “Carefully, carefully,” Mrs. Ferrigno sang.

  On the way out the door, Samuel tried to catch up to her, but she sidestepped some classmates and tucked into the girls’ room, even though they were supposed to return directly to class. She stood with her back against the chipped sink and wondered how long she could keep avoiding Samuel.

  19

  In the Turret You See the Whole World

  After school Hazel hadn’t gone more than a few steps toward the bike rack when Samuel jumped into her path. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “A little late for that,” she replied.

  “I need to show you something. About Alice.”

  The story of the Russian doll burbled on her lips, but she clamped down. “I’m afraid your assistance on that project is no longer needed. Someone was being made fun of, and someone else stuck up for him, and that someone else, who was me, got in trouble, and that first someone, who is you, didn’t do anything, and now that second someone is grounded and needs to go directly home with no stops and no talking and no nothing.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I froze.”

  “Yes. You did,” she said, and started walking.

  He fell into step beside her. “I have some information that I want to run by you.”

  “Just tell me, then.”

  “It’ll be easier to show you.”

  “As I’ve already explained, I’m grounded.”

  “Can’t you just tell your parents you’re working on a school project?”

  “Lie to them? Sure, and if I get caught I’ll just be grounded for another indefinite period. I’ll be grounded indefinitely to infinity.”

  “Could you just ask to go to my house? My grandmother says you’re a nice fa
mily.”

  Hazel thought of the conversation she’d overheard between her parents. Going to Samuel’s house was definitely not going to be approved.

  “Hazel, please,” he said. His eyes were wide and gray as clouds. He looked like he might cry. She didn’t think she could stand to hear that gulping sobbing sound again.

  “Oh, all right.” Hazel figured her parents would be outside working since the clouds had blown through and now it was a warm, bright October day, perfect for planting bulbs.

  “I want to stop at the library first,” he said.

  “Samuel! Do you not understand that I am grounded and I am taking my life into my hands just by agreeing to talk to you?”

  “I want to ask Miss Angus something about the case.”

  Hazel slapped her forehead. She always liked when people in the movies slapped their foreheads and had been looking for an excuse to do it herself. “What is wrong with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can’t go asking Miss Angus about this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Adults don’t think we should talk about death. They think you should put it in a box and bury it in the ground.”

  “They talk about it. My grandmother—”

  “They don’t think it’s normal to talk about it, especially not for kids. Trust me on this. If we ask questions, they’ll shut us down faster than you can say ‘Who the heck was Alice?’”

  “So we’re back on the case?” he asked, extending his hand.

  Hazel hesitated, but the truth was that Samuel was the second-smartest person in town, and she still needed his help. She reached out and took Samuel’s small, warm hand. “We’re back on the case.”