The kitchen is quiet and cozy, apricot glaze simmering on the stove. Mrs. Hucklebee is feeling almost content when something suddenly brushes against her arm.
Startled, she begins to turn. There’s a hand on her arm, a thin pale hand. She hears a sound in her throat before she lifts her eyes to see him close behind her, touching her, his free arm reaching. Dead black glass where his eyes should be, teeth bared inches from her face, and Mrs. Hucklebee doesn’t realize she’s moving, pushing at him, until she feels the knife hesitate, meet resistance, then break through and slide easily to its hilt. She removes it, looks at it, then uses it three more times before she stops herself, arm hanging limply at her side.
Wolf crumples slowly, sagging against her. Mrs. Hucklebee backs away, and he continues gracefully to the floor, settling finally on his back. She hears something like a sigh; otherwise he makes no sound.
Her next awareness is of Crystalbell on the floor beside him. The girl feels for a pulse, a heartbeat, then looks up at Mrs. Hucklebee with wide eyes.
She doesn’t ask what happened. She only says in her clear little voice, “He’s gone, Mrs. H. Wolf’s gone.”
Joints creaking, Mrs. Hucklebee plunges to her knees beside him. Her hands shake as she snatches away the black glasses. No use, no use! His eyes are closed.
“He touched me, Crystalbell. He touched me!”
Crystalbell reaches across the body, takes the glasses from her, and gently replaces them over Wolf’s eyes. Then she takes the bloodied knife from Mrs. Hucklebee’s hand and slowly settles back on her heels.
“Me and Wolf sure been a lot of places together,” she says. Their eyes meet. “He was only going to hug you. I told him about the apricot pork and he wanted to give you a hug.”
Mrs. Hucklebee regains her feet with difficulty and sinks into a kitchen chair near his shoulder. She sits for a while, watching blood pool on her freshly waxed floor.
“What am I going to do?” she asks in wonder.
“Well, they’ll put you away for it, that’s for sure,” Crystalbell says. “Let me think.”
“Away?” Mrs. Hucklebee echoes.
After a few moments Crystalbell goes down to the basement and returns with arms full of plastic dropcloths from the last time Mr. Hucklebee painted the house, years before.
“Help me,” she says, and together they wrap Wolf carefully, securing him with duct tape, then drag him to a spot near the kitchen door while Crystalbell meticulously cleans the butcher knife and Mrs. Hucklebee’s kitchen floor.
After that, they wait. When it’s dead dark outside, they carry him between them out into the raw November night and place him in one of his own deep holes against the stone wall, smoothing dirt over its top when they are done.
Back in the kitchen, Crystalbell makes cheese sandwiches and they both drink scalding black coffee. Mrs. Hucklebee feels numb.
Finally, Crystalbell says matter-of-factly, “He never would have hurt you. Ever. I made all that up to scare you so you’d let us stay. Wolf wouldn’t hurt anybody. He had a real bad life, Mrs. H. I don’t know all of it, but I know enough. He needed someone to look out for him and that’s what I did.” Her voice sounds different, older and not so warm.
“His family,” Mrs. Hucklebee whispers. “Someone will miss him.”
Crystalbell shakes her head. “Not from what he told me, they won’t. Besides, I don’t even know his real name.” She lays a firm hand on Mrs. Hucklebee’s arm. “If any of the neighbors saw him and mention it, we’ll just say he went away.” Her eyes look flat and her lip curls. “Who’ll care? He’s just another street kid, right?”
Mrs. Hucklebee is trying to concentrate, but her brain feels splintered. “I simply don’t know what to do.”
“You let me worry about that,” Crystalbell says sharply.
“But you can’t stay here. Not now.”
The girl leans close. Her words are slow and precise. “Now that’s where you’re wrong. You and me are the only ones know about this. We got to stick together. See, I worked hard on setting this up, getting me some kind of family. I won’t let you mess it up. One peep from me and it’s off you go, Mrs. H. Locked up, you understand? What’ll happen to all that stuff you collect then?”
A terrible pain drives itself into Mrs. Hucklebee’s heart. All her treasures. Her eyes rise slowly to meet the brown ones across the table. Pretty puppy eyes.
“I see,” she says. “I understand. Of course you’ll have to stay.”
The first snowfall begins the following morning, tiny wet flakes that sting. Mrs. Hucklebee pores over the weekly wedding announcements while Crystalbell goes to the market with a list of her own making — peanut butter, cookies, potato chips, and pop.
Mrs. Hucklebee is thinking more clearly today. Her treasures are safe. Crystalbell will help her guard what happened here. And the girl has promised they can have the telephone reconnected. When she hears quick footsteps on the porch, she hurries to open the door. Crystalbell has snowflakes sparkling in her hair.
“Look what I found!”
A bag of marbles is thrust into Mrs. Hucklebee’s hand. They are the color of warm caramel.
“Amber!” Crystalbell exults. “I bet you never saw that color before. And it’s the perfect name for you, too — Amber. I told you I’d come up with one.”
Mrs. Hucklebee peers behind the girl to see who’s standing there. Very tall, thick in the chest. Hair black and oily, a gold ring dangling from one ear. This one is a man, not a boy, and something is sitting on his shoulder. Mrs. Hucklebee draws a quick breath. “I don’t like monkeys,” she says softly.
They’re moving past her, into the house. “This is Midnight,” Crystalbell says, clutching the man’s ragged sleeve. “And the little guy is Demon.”
The monkey bares yellow teeth and reaches for Mrs. Hucklebee with leathery little fingers. He smells foul. She shudders, gazing hopefully into the man’s eyes. One is pale blue, watery, shot with red. The other is made of glass. A cold marble eye looking back at her. His face shows no expression.
The front door is closing. Mrs. Hucklebee glances wistfully through it. The girl is pulling the big man into the kitchen.
“Wait till you see,” she is telling him. “We’re loaded with food, all kinds of good stuff. How about some pork roast? Or birthday cake? I made it myself.”
Mrs. Hucklebee looks down at the cluster of clear tawny balls inside the plastic bag. Such a lovely warm color.
“Hey!” Crystalbell is in the kitchen doorway, beckoning. “Come on, Amber, time for something to eat.” Her face is bright. “You really like the marbles?”
Mrs. Hucklebee turns away from her front door. “I do,” she says earnestly. “They’re beautiful. You’re so thoughtful, Crystalbell.”
Detectiverse
Mother Goose Nursery Crimes III
Sing a Song of Sixpence
by Gloria Rosenthal
© 1993 by Gloria Rosenthal
Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye;
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie;
When the pie was opened,
The FDA appeared
And shut the baker down because
His ingredients were weird.
No Connection
by Suzanne Jones
© 1993 by Suzanne Jones
A sunny college town at the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, Boulder, Colorado, is not only the home of author Suzanne Jones but the setting for her latest story. “As always,” she tells us, the story derives from her interest in “why people behave as they do, even if the behavior is sometimes self destructive...”