Death's Door

Table of Contents

 

 

IF SHE SCREAMS, WILL ANYONE HEAR HER
?

Herculeah picked up the phone and held it against her chest for a moment, overcome with relief.

Her father would have a squad car here in minutes, policemen running up to the store, guns drawn.

She punched in her number and lifted the phone to her ear.

She heard no sound of a phone ringing.

She heard no dial tone.

The line was dead.

And with that thought came others that were even worse.

Somebody has cut the wire.

And whoever did it is out there.

“An entertaining read.”—
Booklist

 

 

PUFFIN BOOKS

 

Published by the Penguin Group
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Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England

 

First published in the United States of America by Viking,
a division of Penguin Books USA Inc., 1997

Published by Puffin Books, 1999
This Sleuth edition published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group,
2006

 

 

Copyright © Betsy Byars, 1997

All rights reserved

THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE VIKING EDITION AS FOLLOWS:
Byars, Betsy.
Death's Door / by Betsy Byars. p. cm.—(A Herculeah Jones mystery)
Summary: Super-sleuth Herculeah Jones's investigation of the attempted
murder of Meat's uncle leads them to a mystery bookstore named Death's Door.

eISBN : 978-1-101-12721-6

 

[1. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Title. II. Series: Byars, Betsy. Herculeah Jones mystery.
PZ7.B9836Dg 1997 [Fic]—dc20 96-34425 CIP AC

 

 

 

 

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume
any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

Herculeah Jones sat in a window booth at the Kit Kat Cafe. She was watching the motel across the street.

She had been here for most of the morning, ever since her mom had sent her. Her mom had said, “Now keep your eyes on the Peachtree Arms Motel across the street and when a red-headed man in a tan windbreaker comes out, give me a phone call.”

“But why? Who is he?”

“Just do it. It's important.”

“But—”

“I need the information, all right? I'll explain later.”

“But—”

“Five dollars an hour?”

“You got a deal.”

When Herculeah first came in, she had ordered toast and orange juice. Now the toast was long gone, but she was making her orange juice last. Her mother hadn't said anything about paying her expenses.

“You through yet?” the waitress asked for the third time.

“I wish.” Then Herculeah smiled and added, “I might as well be honest. I'm waiting for someone.”

“He's sure taking his time.”

“You're right about that.” She took a tiny sip of her remaining orange juice. It was warm. Then she raised her binoculars and looked at the Peachtree Arms across the street.

“You won't need the binoculars,” her mother had told her, but Herculeah had wanted them. “I might need to see something up close,” she said. “Anyway, I feel better with binocs around my neck.”

She adjusted the focus. She hadn't bothered with the binoculars before, but now something she saw out the window was making her curious.

Through the binoculars Herculeah noticed three things:

She lowered the binoculars. The face under the cowboy hat was familiar. “Meat? Meat, is that you?”

He nodded and came quickly into the cafe. “How do you like it?”

“The hat?”

“Yes. It's really done a lot for me. I see why cowboys wear these things. It makes them feel manly. Want to try it on?”

“No, thanks. I feel womanly and that's good enough for me.”

Meat sat down across from Herculeah.

“The hat really belongs to my uncle, but he's taking a nap and won't need it. I probably shouldn't have taken it without asking but—” He shrugged. “After I saw how I looked I couldn't help myself.”

“I'd like to meet your uncle.”

“Now's your chance.”

Meat peered at his reflection in the Kit Kat window. Then, satisfied, he leaned across the table toward Herculeah. “So what are you doing in here?”

“I'm supposed to be watching the motel across the street for my mom.”

“Why
^?
”

“So I can call her when a certain man comes out, but you know what I'm beginning to think?”

“What?”

“I'm beginning to think my mom sent me over here just to get me out of the way. The motel is closed. Look at it.” She offered him the binoculars, and he took a look for himself.

“Nobody's going to come out of there, Meat.”

“Unless he's a workman or a watchman or something.”

“If he's a workman or a watchman, where's his car?”

Meat caught a glimpse of his reflection in the metal napkin dispenser. What a hat: the tall crown, the purple band, the peacock feathers tucked inside.

“So why is my mom paying me five dollars an hour to watch it? Five dollars, and my mom does not part with money easily. So what is going on?”

The waitress came to the table holding a pad and pencil. “What can I get you?” she asked Meat.

“Nothing, I'm on a diet—oh, maybe a glass of water.”

“Anyway,” Meat said, turning back to Herculeah, “getting back to Uncle Neiman—”

“That's his name? Neiman?”

“He was named for a store.”

“You gotta be kidding.”

“No. All my mom's brothers and sisters were.”

Herculeah looked at him in amazement. “I've heard of people being named for towns and states and even characters on soap operas, but stores?”

“My aunt Tiff was named for Tiffany's. My aunt Macy was named for—”

“I can guess that one.”

“My grandfather had no idea his kids were being named for stores. He didn't have a clue. The only store he knew was Ace Hardware. But when Neiman came along and he raised a fuss, my grandmother told him it was either Neiman or Marcus. It was too late then to unname everybody.”

The waitress came back to the table. “We're out of water,” she said.

“Oh, come on, Meat, let's go. This is stupid. We're wasting our time.” Herculeah got up and hooked the strap of her binoculars around her neck.

They paid and left the Kit Kat, and walked to the intersection. Herculeah paused at the phone booth. “What are you doing?” Meat asked.

“I've got to call my mom. She told me to call as soon as I saw the red-headed man.”

“But he wasn't there.”

“That's the whole point.” Herculeah stepped into the phone booth, deposited a coin and dialed her mother's number. Her mother's voice said, “Mim Jones's office.”

“He just came out,” Herculeah said.

“Who?”

“The red-headed man in the tan windbreaker. The man you told me to watch for.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line.

Herculeah was the one who broke it. “There wasn't any red-headed man, was there?”