ISBN 1-59201-003-2
Books Unbound E-Publishing Co.
http://www.booksunbound.com
Publication October, 2002
Cover Art by Tracey Palmer
The Graveyard Mystery
Jeanine Berry
Copyright November, 2000.
All Rights Reserved
To my niece, Lisa, and her children, Courtney and Alex.
Acknowledgements: Many thanks to my wonderful editor, Elizabeth Burton,
and sharp-eyed copy editor, Mary Ann Artz, for making
The Graveyard Mystery
a better book!
Chapter One
A Fake Letter
I don't usually spend Halloween
in the local graveyard, and I certainly don't believe in ghosts. In fact, until
that week in October when I became an amateur ghost hunter, I thought of myself
as fairly normal. I spent most of my days going to school and hanging out with
my friends. And our usual meeting place was not Dracula's crypt.
Nowadays, of course, the whole
town knows the story of my ghostly adventures, and people laugh and call me
Pete Turner, ghost buster. I guess I should be glad they do it in a friendly
way.
I know now that I'm lucky to live in a friendly, normal town. But before my
life got so complicated, I thought it was so normal that they might as well
have named it Dullsville. Actually, it's called Taylorville, and like I said, I
thought it was about the least likely place on the planet for anything exciting
ever to happen.
It's true that the reason I
went to Greenwood Cemetery that night was to look for a ghost, but I wasn't
taking it seriously. You see, at first it was Jenny's ghost, since she was the
one who saw it. We all told her the only reason she thought she'd seen a ghost
was because she'd eaten too much pizza the night before. Then the whole gang
started arguing about whether the ghost really existed, and that made a trip to
the cemetery necessary . . . but let me start at the beginning.
As usual, the fickle finger of
guilt clearly points at Rod and Todd Miller. They're twins and my best friends,
but sometimes I think I'd be better off with one truly dedicated enemy instead.
Their plans always seem innocent enough at the start, but somewhere along the
way, things tend to go wrong when the Miller twins are involved.
It was a quiet day at school
when they started the series of events that ended up with me crouched behind a
tombstone at midnight. October was almost over and we were basking in one of
those warm fall days. Sitting in the sunlight in study hall made me drowsy. I
was slouched down in my chair with my legs stretched out across the aisle,
doing nothing more exciting than daydreaming about scoring the winning basket
in gym class. Someday, I hope to be a star basketball player like my big
brother, Art.
I should have been studying. I
had a special reason for trying extra hard to make good grades this year, but
study hall was so noisy I couldn't concentrate. My study hall teacher was a
real loser and he lost control the first day of class. By October it was pretty
much a free-for-all in there.
This teacher was fresh out of
college, and he looked like he'd spent most of his time there locked in a dark
room reading big books with small print. He had thick glasses that nearly hid
his watery blue eyes; pale skin; and a thin face with a pointed nose and a
wispy mustache.
He seemed to be afraid of us.
Or else he was the world's worst bookworm. All through study hall, he'd sit
barricaded behind his giant teacher's desk with his nose buried in a book,
pretending he didn't hear the constant whispering or see the notes flying
through the air. It was impossible to study; and after the first few weeks I
gave up, despite all my good intentions.
As if this teacher didn't have
enough problems, his name was Pringle. The other kids had fun making up funny
rhymes to go with his name.
Mr. Pringle did have one fan,
though. Marybelle Roberts had a crush on him. Marybelle is painfully shy and
generally keeps her nose buried in a book, too. I guess that's what made her
think Mr. Pringle would be an ideal soul mate for her. Everyone else thought
the goofy way she sat and stared at him was hysterically funny. After about a
month, though, it got nauseating. We all wished Marybelle would stop drooling
over Mr. Pringle and stick her nose back in her book.
That day, an elbow in my ribs
jolted me out of a vivid fantasy about making the winning basket in the state
tournament. Todd and Rod were pointing at Marybelle. She was staring at Mr.
Pringle with a lovesick look on her face. Todd rolled his eyes and puffed his
freckled cheeks into a mask of agony. He clutched at his copper-colored hair,
then let out a terrible sigh.
"Oh, oh, I can't stand it.
It's true love."
Rod panted back at him, "Oh,
oh, be mine, be mine, my little dove."
I tried to stifle a giggle. A
couple of kids laughed out loud. But Marybelle never even noticed. She only sat
there looking blissful. It certainly seemed like it really was true love.
"The pain, the heartbreak," Rod
whispered dramatically, grabbing at his throat. "Be still, my beating heart."
"Oh, my dearest love!" Todd
slid down in his seat, pretending he was swooning. "At the mere sight of you,
my bones melt into water and I cannot stand."
I shuffled through the pile of
books on my desk and picked up one about monkeys. It was part of a science
project I was doing on jungle ecology. The type looked pretty small. I decided
to give the twins a rough time instead.
"Where do you guys learn to
talk like that? I've had to read some yucky love poems for English class, but
the stuff you come up with is worse than any of them."
"From a magazine our sister
gets," Rod supplied. "It's the funniest thing you'll ever read. The title is
Heartbreaking Secrets of Love's Torments
. She hides it under her pillow and reads it in bed at night."
"It's a wonder the pillow
doesn't catch on fire. Some of it's too-too hot," Todd added.
"Then you shouldn't be reading
it. You're way too young." It was an ongoing joke that I was a month older.
"Besides, your dialogue is so stupid any idiot could write it."
"Oh, yeah?" Rod suddenly winked
at me and gave his brother a nudge in the ribs. I knew from the way his eyes
lit up that some harebrained idea had taken shape. And, as usual, it involved
me.
"Why don't you try writing
something better for us, Pete? I have an idea. You could write a fake love
letter to Mr. Pringle and sign Marybelle's name."
I laughed. "Why would I want to
do a dumb thing like that?"
Todd sat up straight and gave
me his widest grin. I should have known I was in trouble right then. "Oh, come
on, Shakespeare. Don't tell me you're afraid to try. Or is it just that you
don't want everyone to know you only get A's in English because you're Miss
Nelson's pet."
"That's a lie!" I could feel my
cheeks getting red. Miss Nelson was fresh out of college, too, but she was
nothing like Mr. Pringle. She smelled better, for one thing; and she had long,
soft blond hair that glowed like gold in the autumn light.
"Prove it!" Rod smirked. "Let's
see you write something about real love for Marybelle."
They looked at me, two
identical faces set in stubborn lines. They knew I was a good writer and they
wanted that letter. They might be my friends, but two more mule-headed idiots
aren't likely to be found anywhere.
"Okay." I gave in with a shrug,
knowing from bitter experience that it was useless to try and wiggle out of one
of their plans. "But this is just between us. You guys can laugh over it if you
want. After that, I'm going to get rid of it."
Todd and Rod nodded solemnly. I
knew they figured they would talk me into sending it to Mr. Pringle later.
Well, let them try.
First, though, I had to prove
to myself that I could do it. I took out a clean sheet of paper and sat
thoughtfully chewing on the tip of my pen. Mushy love scenes in movies make me
gag, but I tried my best to imagine I was a lovesick girl screwing up my
courage to write to my adored idol.
"Dear Mr. Pringle," I wrote,
then crumpled up the paper. That would never do. I got out another sheet and
started again.
"My perfect, precious Pringle,
I thank the heavens that you are single! I worship you from afar! You are my
shining star! I long for you, my sweet. I pray that we can meet!"
I had to stop writing, because
I was starting to laugh. I looked up at Mr. Pringle and laughed even harder. He
didn't even lift his pointy nose out of his book. He was probably afraid to see
what might be going on.
"Write some more," Todd urged.
"That's not long enough."
"Mr. Pringle, I wish we could
mingle," I wrote, getting into the spirit of the thing. "Oh, how I long to
touch your hand. When I think of it, I can hardly stand." Then I signed it
"Marybelle Roberts."
"I want to read it." Rod
reached out and snatched it away from me.
"Hey, give that back!" I knew I
was talking too loud, but I didn't want that letter out of my grasp for a
minute. I made a grab and Rod pulled his hand back to keep it away from me.
That's when Mark Asher, who was sitting behind him, reached out and took it.
"Give that back!" I demanded.
My voice was even louder this time.
Mark made a face and laughed at
me, shaking his head. He's always butting in where it's none of his business. I
glared helplessly at him. Believe me, if looks could kill, he would have been a
heap of ash on the study hall floor. He just ignored me.
As he read the first line, a
wide smile creased his face. He bent over the fake letter, making a snorting
noise. "Oh, Mr. Pringle," he gasped, rolling his eyes and handing the letter on
to Steve Rinehart.
"I want that letter back," I
whispered as loudly as I dared, but Steve wasn't about to hand it over until he
saw for himself what was so funny. And already other kids were grabbing for it,
wanting to see it, too. In fact, our corner of the study hall was beginning to
resemble the scene of a minor riot as several kids tried to snatch the letter
away from Steve.
"Oh, no," I groaned, sinking
down into my chair. "How do I get into these things?" I slouched down as low as
I could in my chair and stared at the floor, praying to become invisible.
Unfortunately, my guardian angel was out to lunch.
"Listen to this!" In his
excitement, Steve forgot to whisper. He pointed to a line and read in his usual
booming voice: "Mr. Pringle, I wish we could mingle!"
Have you ever noticed how you
always hear your own name when someone says it, no matter how noisy the room
is? I sure can, and I guess Mr. Pringle could, too, because he took his nose
out of his book and looked up to see what was happening for practically the
first time since school began. Naturally, the first thing he saw was the letter
being waved in the air like a white flag as it was handed on to the next eager
reader.
I wasn't even watching. I had
shut my eyes. I guess I was thinking it might speed up the process of making me
invisible if I made the rest of the world disappear. That's another theory that
doesn't work.
Todd and Rod noticed Mr.
Pringle looking up. They also noticed the way his eyes narrowed. " Uh-oh, dude,
look out," they said in unison.
By this time, a cluster of
students had gathered around the letter. They couldn't wait to read it. Because
everyone was so used to the way Mr. Pringle ignored us they weren't even
thinking about him.
"Students!" The word came out
high and squeaky. Mr. Pringle cleared his throat and tried again. "Students!"
Heads jerked up all over the
room at this unusual sound from the front. Instantly, silence fell over the
study hall for the first time in weeks. Kids froze. I opened my eyes, scanned
the scene and moaned silently to myself. I was going to get it this time.
With slow deliberation, Mr.
Pringle put down his book, rose from his chair, and came down the aisle.
Everybody stayed still, in a hush of silent wonder, only their eyes moving as
they watched him approach. I felt as if I were witnessing a statue come to life.
Two bright red spots appeared
on Marybelle's cheeks. She sighed, opened her eyes wide, and fluttered her
lashes at him as he passed by. She looked like an owl with a nervous twitch. I
sputtered and had to choke down hysterical laughter even though I could see
disaster rapidly heading my way. The watery blue eyes behind the thick glasses
turned and focused on me.
I held my breath, not daring to
say a word. Mr. Pringle cleared his throat again, fixing me with a surprisingly
penetrating glare. He picked up the letter from where Steve had dropped it on
his desk. No one moved a muscle. Every kid in the room was staring at Mr.
Pringle as if we'd been hypnotized.
"Who wrote this?" His voice had
a cold edge to it that I didn't like. I was rapidly reevaluating Mr. Pringle.
It seemed we had finally pushed him too far.
Mr. Pringle scanned our faces.
He pursed his lips and slapped a hand against his leg. There was absolute
silence in the study hall for the first time since school began. I had a
feeling there would be a lot more of it from now on.
"You might as well confess,
because I'll show this to every teacher in the school. Someone is bound to
recognize the handwriting."
Rod and Todd glanced
desperately at me. Rod's lips moved silently, forming the words "We'll take the
blame."
I shook my head.
"I wrote it, Mr. Pringle." I
stood up.
He turned to me and I could see
the distorted reflection of my pale face in his thick lenses.
"So, you're the troublemaker."
He eyed me up and down. I could almost see my image being filed in his mind
under the heading "Guilty." Whatever happened from now on, I was sure to be
blamed for it.
He grabbed my arm and jerked me
toward the door. His other hand was still clutching the letter. He smiled a
cold smile. "The principal is going to be very interested to learn about your
study habits, Pete Turner."
We marched down to the
principal's office in double time. I was beginning to wonder if Mr. Pringle had
been in the marines.
Mr. Paulson, the principal,
read the letter and shook his head. "This is a very childish prank, Pete."
Mr. Paulson was planning to
retire at the end of the year. I think all he wanted was to get through his
last few months in peace.
"I didn't mean for anyone to
read it." Some excuse that was! My words sounded pretty lame, even to me.
Mr. Paulson sighed. "Surely you
can find more worthwhile things to do in study hall, young man. I suggest you
try to think of a few while you spend the rest of the week in detention."
Detention! I could hear my
father screaming at me already. I would be grounded for weeks.
Author's Biography
An avid reader all her life,
Jeanine Berry dreamed of becoming a writer when she grew up. Stories were
constantly dancing through her head and she wanted to put them down on paper
for other people to share.
In college she studied both
English and journalism and then began working for a newspaper. After ten years
of daily deadlines, she switched to editing for magazines. She now has 20 years
of experience as an editor and still enjoys the challenge of working with
writers to improve their articles. She is presently employed as a copy editor
with a major agricultural publication.
Meanwhile, Jeanine pursued her
dream of creative writing. She started by tapping into some of her own
childhood memories and writing stories about them.
The Graveyard Mystery
is based in part on one of these memories. In addition to her young adult
novel, she is the author of two fantasy novels,
Dayspring Dawning
and
Dayspring Destiny
. She is currently working on the third fantasy novel in this series.
Jeanine lives in the Chicago
area with her husband and two very spoiled Australian Silky Terriers.
You can visit her Web site at
members.aol.com/dayworld/graveyard.html |
