Sammy Keyes and the Curse of Moustache Mary Read online

  I called over my shoulder, “Did we take a wrong turn?”

  Marissa says, “No, this is right. Mom drove us out here looking at property last summer.”

  “You're kidding! She's thinking about moving out here?”

  “Oh, you know Yolanda. She's always looking for some thing to buy. She never went back, though. I think there was too much dirt around for her.”

  Holly asks, “Dirt?”

  Marissa grins. “Yolanda prefers cement.” She pulls over and wrestles a folded paper out of the hip pocket of her jeans. “I'd better look at Dot's map. I think we're close, but I can't remember the name of the road.”

  We hover around her, checking out the map, then she taps it and says, “Right here. Meadow Lane.” She wedges the map back into her pocket and off we go, past the Spanish-style gateway for High Ridge Homes, past Pioneer Village Estates, past a water tower and half a mile of fields, down the hill to Meadow Lane.

  The road's a lane, all right. It's narrow, overgrown, and dirt. But the name DEVRIES is written across a mailbox nailed to a post, so we all kind of shrug and say, “Let's go.”

  We wobble along single file, dodging potholes and gopher homes. Holly calls, “Why would anybody want to move out here?”

  Marissa calls back, “Dot said they needed more room.”

  “Yeah, but good grief !”

  “They're also starting a nursery.”

  “A nursery? Who'd want to bring their kid out here?”

  Marissa laughs. “Not for babies…for plants!”

  We round the bend and all of a sudden there's Dot's house. And it's big, all right. It's sprawled out, bumper to bumper with enormous oak trees, and has a porch that runs clear along the front.

  Dot comes slamming through the screen door. “You're here! You're here!”

  We all laugh because she's practically jumping up and down.

  “Come on in! Park your bikes over here. Wow, I can't believe it! This is going to be so much fun! Are you hungry? Thirsty? Here, let me help you with your stuff. Who wants a root beer?”

  Dot's old house was like the Land of Blue. Her family is Dutch, and it seems that everything they own has something blue about it. Blue curtains, blue dishes, blue carpet, blue cushions. Blue. And I don't know if I was expecting a little change of decor because this was a different house or if I was just figuring that they couldn't possibly have spread that much blue around in such a short period of time, but the fact is I was way underestimating the Power of Blue.

  In the blue-wallpapered kitchen we found Mrs. DeVries weighing out flour onto a white cloth. On the blue-tile counter to one side of her were Dot's little sisters, patting white flour on each other's faces, and on the blue-linoleum floor snoring away was the sort-of-white family sheepdog, Nibbles. Mrs. DeVries looks up and says, “Your friends have arrived, Margaret?”

  Dot says, “Yup!” then asks, “Are you making enough?”

  Mrs. DeVries laughs. “Ja, I'm sure I am. Four times the recipe.”

  “Because this is Sammy. She eats a lot.”

  “I do?”

  Dot winks one of her big brown eyes at me and says, “And this is Holly. She eats a lot, too.” Holly pulls a face, but Dot just ignores her. “And this is Marissa. You wouldn't believe how much Marissa can eat.”

  Mrs. DeVries studies us for a minute, then says, “No, I wouldn't, but all right. Five times, ja?”

  Dot says, “Yes! Thanks, Mom,” and then whispers, “Oliebollen are my favorite. You wouldn't believe how many I can eat!”

  We laugh, then Marissa asks, “What are oliebollen?”

  Dot's mom transfers the flour from the cloth to a blue ceramic bowl. “A Dutch treat.”

  Dot adds, “We only get them on New Year's Eve.”

  By now Dot's sisters have graduated from patting flour to sprinkling it in each other's hair. And the sprinkling doesn't last long, either. Pretty soon they're bombing.

  Mrs. DeVries cries, “Anneke! Beppie! Stop!”

  They bomb each other one last time and then look at their mom like dusty little angels. “We only did a little.”

  “Go. Right now. Go outside and shake off. Then find your father and help him for a while.”

  They slip off the counter and giggle their way out the back door. Dot says, “Do you want us to help you, Mom?”

  Mrs. DeVries pulls the salt carton off a shelf. “Maybe later. Why don't you show your friends around?”

  Dot gives her a big smile. “Okay!”

  “Oh, there is one thing you can do. Track down the sjoelbak. I haven't seen it since we moved. Ask your father. He might know.”

  “Okay. We'll find it!”

  “Oh, and Margaret?”

  “Yes, Mom?”

  “Are you sure you want to stay in the carriage house? There's plenty of room inside…”

  “It'll be more fun out there. More like camping!”

  Marissa looks over at me and pulls a face, but she's too polite to say, Um, excuse me…but I'd rather be nice and cozy inside than sleep with bugs in the freezing cold, so she doesn't say a thing. She just drops her duffel in a corner with ours and follows us out the back door.

  Dot's backyard isn't exactly a yard. It's more like a forest of oak trees. They're not bunched real close together or anything, they're just so old and large that they arch together into a giant green canopy. And there's no lawn covering the ground. There's a carpet of tan leaves instead. And it's thick. Like extra-plush, only crunchy. And as we're crunching our way across it, Dot says, “Dad's got to make a delivery for a big party up the road, so he's probably in one of the greenhouses.”

  Just past the oak canopy are two arched buildings sitting on the ground like enormous white cocoons. Dot smiles. “There they are.”

  Holly says, “Wow! Did your dad build those?”

  “No. They were already here.” Dot laughs. “Dad tells everyone we moved because we needed more room, but actually I think it's because his plants needed more room. They moved in way before we did!”

  Dot opens the door to the first greenhouse, and we all peek inside as she scans the place for her dad. There are rows and rows of plants—I'm talking some are trees— and they go from one end of the cocoon to the other. And then, almost connecting with them, are philodendrons and ferns the size of laundry baskets hanging from the roof. It's like we've stepped into the steamy belly of a gigantic jungle-eating caterpillar.

  Dot says, “There he is!” and heads off through the trees.

  Mr. DeVries is adding plants to a long wooden pallet on wheels. He spots us and says, “Oh, hello, girls! You made it!”

  Dot says, “You remember Marissa and Sammy from Halloween, Dad?”

  Mr. DeVries grins. “You mean the Mummy and the Marsh Monster, ja?”

  We laugh and say, “That's right!” Then Dot adds, “And this is our friend Holly.”

  Mr. DeVries says, “Glad you all could come.”

  Dot bounces up and down on the balls of her feet. “Mom asked us to find the sjoelbak. Do you know where it is?”

  “In the basement, I think.” He looks at his watch and asks, “Do you know where your brothers are?”

  Dot shakes her head. “I thought they were helping you out here.”

  “They went off to find some rope, but it's been quite some time.”

  Dot says, “We'll help you, Dad,” then she looks at us like, Won't we?

  We give a chorus of “Sure, we'll help” and watch the knots in Mr. DeVries' face disappear. “Really? But this is supposed to be a day for you and your friends. You helped me plenty yesterday, hon.”

  We all shrug and say, “We don't mind,” and then Dot says, “Tell us what to do.”

  “Well, let's get these plants to the truck. I've got a wagon of cut flowers in the other greenhouse. Bring them together outside and I'll back the truck up.”

  We'd barely gotten the wagons together when Mr. DeVries comes rumbling up in the delivery truck. Now this is not a truck like you're used to s
eeing. It's a panel truck, but it's got screened windows for vents along the back, and it's green. Bright, sour apple green. And there are yellow and orange flowers bursting from behind one-foot arched lettering that spells out DEVRIES NURSERY.

  Dot must have noticed us gawking because she says, “Pretty attention-grabbing, huh? Dad did it himself—can you believe it? He put in the windows and the hydraulic liftgate. Even painted it himself. Cool, huh?”

  The rest of us tried to look sincere as we smiled and nodded. After all, who am I to criticize someone for going a little crazy with green paint? And the liftgate was cool. It powered up the plants and buckets of flowers in no time, so all we had to do was shove them up against the cab.

  When we're done, Dot asks her dad, “You want us to ride in back and keep the buckets from spilling?”

  He says, “Hmmm,” then shakes his head. “I don't think that's such a good idea.” He looks over his shoulder. “Where are those boys? How long can it take to find a length of rope?”

  Dot gives him a secret grin. “It's Stan and Troy, Dad— it can take all day!” He grins back and shakes his head, so she adds, “It's probably not even a mile, and you do need something to keep these from sliding around or tipping over.”

  Marissa and I shrug and say, “We don't mind. It'll be fun!” and Holly adds, “And then we can help you unload them, too.”

  Mr. DeVries laughs and says, “Okay, then. What can happen in a mile, ja?”

  We all laugh and say, “Right!”

  Ha!

  THREE

  We bumped along Meadow Lane and made it back onto the main road without spilling a drop. Mr. DeVries checked on us a couple times through the cab's pass-through window, calling, “You girls all right back there?”

  And we were rumbling along fine, taking the curves in the road with no problem, when all of a sudden Mr. DeVries slams on the brakes and swerves.

  It's amazing what a little swerve can do to you if you're in the back of a delivery truck. There's nothing to hold on to because everything's slipping and sliding around, so you just kind of go with it. And even though we managed to keep the plants and buckets from falling over, that didn't stop us from taking a tumble. I landed sideways on my shoulder holding up a bucket of flowers, and so did Holly. Somehow Dot and Marissa stayed upright, but Dot's pant leg got soaked.

  Mr. DeVries calls, “You girls all right?”

  One at a time, we say, “Yeah…!” and then Dot adds, “What's wrong, Dad? What happened?” but Mr. DeVries is already outside, slamming the driver-side door closed. And since we couldn't see much out front, we rolled up the back door and scrambled out.

  The truck wasn't exactly parked, it was just stopped in the middle of the road. So we ran over to the shoulder, and that's when we saw her—the Lady in Black.

  She had on a black dress with a black wool coat over it, and shoes that looked like black army boots, only with buckles instead of laces. A small black purse was looped around her arm, and arching across her white hair was a fuzzy black hat with a little black feather sticking out of it—like a Robin Hood cap, only velvet. She was frail, and hunched over so much that she'd have to get way up on her tiptoes to reach the five-foot mark.

  And it was strange enough, seeing this crooked old woman decked out in boots and all black, but ambling alongside her was a pig. A big black pig with a big black satin bow attached to its collar.

  Mr. DeVries gets in step beside her. “Ma'am! You're blocking the road!”

  She stops walking, then cocks her head to look at him. “Blocking it? Young man, that's quite an exaggeration. You have plenty of room to go around.”

  Just then a silver Town Car with tinted windows rounds the bend toward us and slows down. And even though we can't really see the driver, you know he's in there wondering what in the world a bright green truck, a black-bowed pig, and a four-foot woman are doing decorating the roadway.

  Mr. DeVries waves the car along, then tries to coax the Lady in Black to the side of the road, asking her, “Are you lost?”

  She gives him a coy little smile. “Hardly.”

  “Are you on your way somewhere?”

  “That I am.”

  “Would you like a lift?”

  She eyes him. “I'm afraid that wouldn't be proper.”

  By now we've moved so that we can practically reach out and touch her, but she hasn't seemed to notice us.

  Holly asks, “Is that a pet?”

  The Lady in Black doesn't jump or act startled, she just turns and smiles like she's known we were there all along. “Hmm. A pet. No, I'd say Penny is more like a friend.”

  Then she turns to look at me, and it's the strangest thing. Even though her skin is wrinkled and so thin that her cheekbones seem ready to poke right through, her eyes are clear. Clear and bright, and very blue. And suddenly she doesn't look like your average old woman out for a walk with a big black pig. She may be tiny and have a weak voice, but in her eyes there's something very strong about her.

  She grins down at Holly, who's petting her pig. “Like animals, do you?”

  Holly smiles. “Yes, ma'am.”

  Mr. DeVries holds his hands out like he's talking to God. “In the middle of the road? Girls, I'm trying to get her to the side!”

  “No cause for panic, young man. I'll move aside and you can be on your way.”

  He scratches his neck and says, “Are you sure we can't give you a lift?”

  “That's very kind, but as I said, it wouldn't be proper.”

  Marissa says, “Well, where are you headed?”

  “Just up the road a piece.”

  Dot asks, “You wouldn't be going to the Murdock party, would you?”

  “I don't know that I would call it a party.”

  Mr. DeVries asks, “But is that where you're headed?”

  She nods.

  “That's where we're headed. Why don't you let us give you a…”

  She looks him square in the eye. “And you are…?”

  Dot says, “Oh, I get it!” She takes a step forward. “This is my father, Jan DeVries. My name's Margaret— but everyone calls me Dot—and these are my friends Marissa, Holly, and Sammy. We're on our way over to the Murdocks' to deliver some plants and flowers. My father runs a nursery—we just moved in down Meadow Lane.”

  She looks at us one at a time, then nods and smiles. “Pleased to make your acquaintances. I'm Lucinda Huntley.” She turns to Mr. DeVries. “If you're sure you've got the room?”

  Mr. DeVries looks completely confused.

  “Now that I've made your acquaintance…?”

  “Oh! Oh, certainly.” He moves to open the passenger-side door. “There's room for you up front, but your pig will have to ride in back.”

  Lucinda corrects him, saying, “Her name's Penny. And if it's all the same to you, we'll both sit in back with the girls.”

  “But ma'am, there're no seats back there.”

  “That's all right. Just mind the curves.” She smiles. “And pedestrians. Can't have you swerving to miss something you should've been expecting.”

  Mr. DeVries is figuring out in a hurry that there's really no arguing with a four-foot woman in a Robin Hood cap walking a two-hundred-pound pig, so he bites his tongue and liftgates both of them into the back.

  The rest of us scramble in, then anchor the plants and buckets while Mr. DeVries gets back in the cab and throws the truck in gear. Lucinda Huntley makes Penny sit beside her, then sizes up the situation. “A length of rope would've done the job nicely.”

  Dot laughs. “My brothers are still out looking for one.”

  Lucinda winks at her. “Brothers can be like that.”

  “Besides, Dad had to get these to the Murdocks right away, and it's not far.”

  Her eyes sharpen on Dot. “Are you friends?”

  “With the Murdocks?”

  She nods.

  “No, ma'am.”

  “The name's Lucinda.”

  Dot blinks at her a bit, and you can te
ll she's thinking that anyone so old can't possibly have a name without a Mrs. or Miss attached to it and that maybe she'll just get around the whole situation by not calling her anything at all.

  Lucinda's onto her. “Say it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My name. Go on, say it.”

  “Uh…Lucinda.”

  “Good. Now you were telling me that you are not friends with the Murdocks, is that right?”

  “They just placed this order with my dad for their party, that's all.”

  Lucinda nods, then asks, “Are you going in?”

  “To the house? Probably, but just to help unload.”

  She adjusts her Robin Hood hat, then looks around at all of us. “Good.”

  I can tell she's thinking something, and that something has nothing to do with stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. So I ask her, “Why do you care if we're going in?”

  Penny snorts and nudges her, so she gives her ear a rubbing and says, “It'll just make things easier.”

  “How's that?”

  She cocks her head my way and gives me a closed smile.

  “Sammy, is it? That would be short for Samantha?”

  “Uh…uh-huh.”

  “And are you always so inquisitive, Samantha?”

  “I wasn't trying to be inquisitive…I was just wondering, that's all.”

  “Hmmm,” she says, like she doesn't quite believe me.

  The truck slows way down and then turns up a driveway. Lucinda looks at me and whispers, “I just don't want trouble.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Trouble,” she says, but her blue eyes are twinkling. What I wanted to ask her was, How do you expect me not to ask questions when you say something like that? but the truck was slowing to a stop, and I could tell from the way she was fixing the bow on her pig that the subject was closed. Instead, I peeked out one of the vent windows and asked, “You really think they're going to let a pig in that place?”

  She muttered, “I don't see why not…they've been living there for years.” Then she looks out the window and her jaw drops. “Land sakes! Are you sure this is the Murdock place?” She scoots across the truck to the opposite window and says, “There's the oak…and the wagon wheel…” She moves back to look at the house. “Lord! Have they taken on airs!” She straightens her hat again and says, “Well, airs or no airs, I'm here, I'm dressed, and I'm goin' in!” She gives Penny a nuzzle, then says to Holly, “You'll take care of her, won't you, dear?”