Missing on Superstition Mountain Page 8

  “So what are we going to do?” Jack demanded. “We can’t be grounded! That is so BORING.”

  “But if we go up there again…” Henry faltered. “What if something happens to us?”

  He looked across the yard at the hulking shadow of the mountain, far in the distance. He thought of the tree branch crashing to the ground so close to him. His heart quickened. “Like whatever happened to that Sara Delgado girl that Emmett Trask told us about?”

  “You mean the ‘fugue state’? That sounded pretty bad,” Simon agreed. He rubbed one hand over his hair. “I think we should go talk to her and see what we can find out. Then we can decide whether to get the skulls.”

  Henry felt a small wave of relief. It was beginning to seem like they had a plan.

  “What else does it say in the book?” Simon asked. “How many more people are on that list?”

  Henry smoothed the pages. The purplish dusk made it difficult to see the print.

  “‘1956 … body of unidentified man found, cause of death: gunshot wound to head. 1960 … skull of Austrian student found; headless skeleton found at foot of cliff.’ Here’s the last entry … ‘1961 … body of Utah prospector found—’”

  “What’s a prospector?” Jack interrupted.

  “Someone who’s looking for gold or silver,” Simon answered. “A miner.”

  Henry continued, “‘Body of Utah prospector found, cause of death: gunshot wound to back.…’” He scanned the page, then turned it. “That’s the end of the list. The rest of this is just stuff about the historical society.”

  “Okay,” Simon decided. “We’ll go see Sara Delgado tomorrow. Then we’ll figure out what to do.”

  * * *

  That night, right after the boys went to bed and Mr. and Mrs. Barker had disappeared into the family room to watch television, Henry snuck into the kitchen and took the phone out of its cradle. He sat on the cold floor, whispering 555–3233 to himself. Carefully, he dialed the number.

  “Hello?” A woman answered.

  Henry sat up straighter. “Um, is Delilah there?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Who are you trying to reach?”

  Henry cleared his throat and glanced down the hall in the direction of the family room, where the television droned. He said a little louder, “Is Delilah there?”

  “Delilah? I think she might be asleep. Who’s calling?”

  “Henry. Henry Barker.”

  “Oh, the boy with the cat! Hold on, let me see if she’s awake.”

  A minute later, Henry heard Delilah’s voice. “Henry? Wait,” she said quietly. And then, louder, “I’m just going to take the phone in my room, Mom.”

  He heard rustling on the other end of the line and then a door latching shut. Delilah’s voice was breathless and eager. “I’m so glad you called! I have something to tell you. But first, did you look at the rest of the book? What did you find out?”

  Henry took a deep breath. “In 1952, three boys from Texas disappeared on the mountain. Their bodies were never found.”

  “Hmmm,” Delilah said. “Well, plenty of people have disappeared up there. At least it’s not anything gross, like the heads chopped off.”

  Henry didn’t know what to say. He knew Delilah was waiting for him to go on.

  “What is it?” she asked impatiently.

  “Well…” Henry paused. He peered into the darkened hallway again, making sure his parents hadn’t heard him.

  “What?” Delilah persisted.

  Suddenly the phone call seemed like a mistake to Henry. What if she told her mother? They would all get in trouble then.

  “You’re not telling me something,” Delilah complained. “After I helped you look through the newspapers and the books! After I went with you to Emmett’s house! That’s not fair.”

  “No, I am telling you,” Henry said. “That’s why I called.”

  “Then what is it? C’mon, just say it.”

  Henry took another breath. “We went up the mountain. Simon, Jack, and I did, a few days ago. Josie ran away, and we followed her, and we went up there, and Jack fell off a rock down into a canyon, and when Simon and I climbed down to get him, we found him on this ledge with three”—he gulped—“with three skulls.”

  The other end of the line was so quiet that Henry thought maybe she’d hung up. “Delilah?”

  “Are you sure they were real? I mean, human?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Henry said. “It was unnerving.”

  “Wow,” Delilah said. She was quiet again. Finally, she said, “So you think they’re the skulls of those three Texas boys? And they’ve been missing all this time?”

  Henry nodded, then remembering the phone, said, “That’s what we think. And now we can’t figure out what to do. Simon thinks we have to call the police. But if we go back up the mountain with the police, and the skulls aren’t there, it will be a catastrophe.”

  “Yeah,” said Delilah. “And your parents will be really mad at you. I guess you can’t know for sure the skulls are from those boys, right?”

  “No,” Henry agreed.

  “But if they’re not from those boys, they’re from three other people.”

  “Right,” Henry said. “So then we were thinking maybe we should go see that Sara Delgado girl, the one Emmett told us about, who lives near the cemetery. And try to figure out what happened to her on the mountain.”

  “Why?” Delilah asked. “How will that help?”

  “Well, depending on what she says, we can decide if it’s safe to go back up there.” Henry thought it sounded like a stretch even as he explained it.

  “I don’t know,” Delilah said. “She sounds pretty messed up.”

  “Yeah.” Henry felt bleak.

  “But okay,” Delilah said quickly. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it. I want to talk to her.”

  “Me too.”

  “So then we should go to the cemetery and see what she has to say.”

  “Yeah,” Henry agreed. “Hey—you said you had something to tell me. What was it?”

  “Oh, right, I do.” Delilah took a breath. “It’s nothing compared to yours, but I was reading that library book I brought home, the one on Arizona legends, and it has some true stories too—or at least, the true stories the legends are based on. And one of them is about this guy, Adolph Ruth.”

  Henry had clamped the phone so close to his ear, it felt hot. “That name…”

  “It was in the historical society booklet, I’m pretty sure. One of the first disappearances on the mountain.”

  “What happened to him?” Henry tried to remember.

  “Oh, the usual. He was missing for six months, then his skull was found with two bullet holes in it,” Delilah recited calmly. “But here’s the interesting part: he was a treasure hunter, and he was looking for the Lost Dutchman’s Mine.”

  “Did he find it?” Henry asked eagerly.

  “Nobody knows for sure. But a year after Adolph Ruth’s skull was found, they discovered more human remains with a lot of his belongings, including his checkbook. And there was a note inside, which said he’d discovered the mine! At the bottom, it had the words ‘veni, vidi, vici.’”

  Henry listened blankly. How could there still be so many words he didn’t know? “Is that a foreign language? What does it mean?”

  On the other end of the line, he could hear the door unlatch and an impatient, “Delilah! Are you still on the phone? It’s past your bedtime.”

  Delilah’s faint apology followed. “Okay, I’ll say good-bye.”

  “Now, please.” The door clicked shut.

  “I have to go,” Delilah said reluctantly.

  “But what does it mean?”

  “It’s Latin for ‘I came, I saw, I conquered.’ But listen to this: everybody at the time thought it meant he’d discovered the gold.”

  “Wow!” Henry exclaimed. “Adolph Ruth. We have to find out more about him.”

  “We have to find out more about a lot
of people, including the three Texas boys,” Delilah countered. She must have shifted position on the bed, because he could hear her mattress springs squeaking. “I really do have to hang up,” she said. “But, Henry … what was it like?”

  “What?”

  “The mountain. What was it like up there?”

  “Oh…” Henry hesitated. How could he describe it? “It was—well, it was really spooky, actually,” he said slowly. “Quiet, with lots of trees and a weird feeling. Almost like someone else was up there. Watching us.”

  “That does sound spooky,” Delilah said. “Maybe Superstition Mountain really is haunted. You think?”

  “I don’t know,” Henry said. “That’s what we’ll ask Sara Delgado.”

  CHAPTER 17

  AT THE CEMETERY

  THE NEXT MORNING, the boys rushed through breakfast, not even bothering to squabble over the plastic toy at the bottom of the Cheerios box. They knew where the cemetery was: on the other side of the neighborhood, surrounded by desert, an easy bike ride away. The bigger challenge was getting out the door without interference from Mrs. Barker.

  “What’s up?” their mother asked suspiciously. “Why the big hurry?”

  “No reason,” Simon said.

  As they scrambled to put on their shoes, she continued to watch them. “Have you made your beds?”

  “Yes,” they chorused.

  “Fed Josie?”

  “I did,” Henry answered.

  “Straightened your rooms? Because if I go back there and find clothes on the floor—”

  “Mom! Can we go, please?” Henry begged.

  “Go where?”

  “Just for a bike ride, Mom,” Simon told her impatiently.

  “Again?” Mrs. Barker stood over them with her hands on her hips.

  “We’ll check in this time,” Simon promised.

  “We’re going with Delilah,” Henry volunteered. “She doesn’t have anyone to play with otherwise.”

  A cheap appeal to Mrs. Barker’s sympathies often worked rather well. “Okay,” she relented. “It must be hard for her, not having any brothers or sisters. I think it’s nice that you boys are trying to include her in your activities. Remember to put on sunscreen.”

  Jack opened his mouth to complain, but Henry grabbed his arm and pulled him up from the floor, where he was struggling with his shoelaces. “We’ll take it with us,” he told their mother, snatching a tube from the kitchen counter. “Come on,” urged Jack, “she’s waiting for us.”

  “Boys, listen to me! I want you to come home for lunch,” Mrs. Barker called as they dashed out the door.

  * * *

  They rode to Delilah’s house and turned into the driveway.

  “You get her, Henry,” Simon ordered, and Henry dropped his bike and ran to the front door. Moments after he knocked, a woman with wavy reddish hair and Delilah’s same smile opened it.

  “Hi,” Henry said, a little nervous. “I’m the one who called last night.”

  “Oh, hi, hon,” the woman said warmly, holding the door wide. “I’m glad to meet you. Delilah certainly has been talking about you Barker boys. You have such a pretty cat! We just love her. Come on in.”

  “Actually, we were wondering if Delilah—”

  Delilah herself appeared before he could finish, slipping past her mother and joining Henry on the porch. “We’re going to ride our bikes,” she told her mother.

  “Okay,” her mother said easily. “You have your key? I have to go in to work later.”

  “Yeah, I have it,” Delilah answered. She was already hoisting up the garage door to retrieve her bike.

  “All right, have fun.” Mrs. Dunworthy closed the front door, and Henry ran down the steps after Delilah.

  “Your mom is cool,” he said. “She doesn’t ask a ton of questions about where you’re going and when you’ll be home.”

  Delilah nodded. “She doesn’t bug me about that.”

  “And she doesn’t even make you have a sitter when she’s gone?” Henry asked enviously.

  Delilah paused, looking a little embarrassed. “No, not anymore. That’s too expensive. But I’m really responsible.” She added this matter-of-factly, not like she was boasting. “And she trusts me.”

  “You’re lucky,” Simon said. “Our mom grills us about everything.”

  “But your mom’s nice too,” Delilah said. “She makes lemonade.”

  Henry wondered whether the kind of mom who made lemonade was also more likely to grill you about everything. He wasn’t sure why that would be true, but it seemed like it might be.

  * * *

  Superstition Cemetery stretched over a large plot of land surrounded on three sides by a white concrete wall. The front of the cemetery had an ornate wrought-iron fence and a tall gate through which you could see rows of pale tombstones facing the street. It was so quiet and orderly, it almost looked like a classroom, Henry thought … except with graves instead of desks. Small, colorful bouquets of flowers leaned against some of the tombstones.

  “Hold your breath!” Jack whispered as they walked toward the gate. They always held their breath when they passed the cemetery in the car or on their bikes—Henry couldn’t remember why, exactly; something to do with not breathing in the spirits of the dead. But that clearly wouldn’t work today.

  “Jack, that’s dumb,” Simon said, rolling his eyes. “If you hold your breath the whole time we’re here, you’ll die.”

  “Don’t call me dumb!” Jack lunged at Simon.

  “Are they always like this?” Delilah said to Henry. She stepped between them. “You only have to do that if you’re passing a cemetery,” she told Jack. “Not if you’re in one.”

  “Really?” Jack asked, doubtful.

  “Really,” Delilah replied.

  “Look, the caretaker’s house is over there.” Simon pointed to a beige ranch with green shutters. The front door was flanked by two flower beds, and a teenage girl was kneeling next to one pulling weeds.

  “Hey,” Simon said, as they walked toward her.

  She jumped to her feet, looking startled, and her dark hair fell forward, almost hiding her face. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she mumbled quickly, backing away from them.

  Simon and Henry looked at each other. “What loss?” Simon asked.

  “Time heals all wounds,” the girl replied, starting toward the door of the house.

  “Wait,” Delilah said. “Are you Sara Delgado? We want to talk to you.”

  “Sara, yes, yes, Sara. They’re in a better place.”

  Jack tugged Henry’s sleeve. “What is she talking about?” he asked. “I don’t understand what she’s saying.”

  “Me neither,” Henry whispered.

  “Nobody understands,” Sara said. “Nobody can ever understand.”

  Simon walked slowly toward her. “We wanted to talk to you about the mountain. About what happened when you got lost up there.”

  Sara’s eyes widened. Abruptly, she clapped both hands to her ears, backing toward the door of the house. “No, no, no, no, no. Not the mountain.”

  “Why not?” Delilah asked gently.

  Sara stared at them. “Nothing will ever be the same,” she said. She opened the door of the house and darted inside, slamming it behind her.

  “Well, that helped a lot,” Simon said unhappily.

  “She’s crazy!” Jack said.

  “Shhh, Jack, not so loud,” Henry warned. “She’ll hear you.” He turned to Simon and Delilah. “Why was she saying all that weird stuff? It didn’t make sense.”

  “It sounded like what you say to people at a funeral,” Delilah said. “You know, ‘Sorry for your loss,’ that kind of stuff.”

  Henry had no idea what people said to one another at funerals. He looked at Delilah curiously. “Really? That’s what they say?”

  “Yeah,” Delilah answered.

  “We didn’t find out anything.” Simon kicked the dirt. “We might as well go home.”

  “Hey!” J
ack shouted. “Look! There’s Josie!” He pointed toward the cemetery, and there, beyond the tall black gates, was Josie, trotting purposefully among the tombstones.

  “Now, what do you think she’s doing?” Simon asked. “She doesn’t usually come all the way over here, does she?”

  The truth was, none of them knew much about where Josie went during the day or how she spent her time when she wasn’t in the house.

  “Maybe she’s chasing a gopher or something,” Henry suggested. But she wasn’t in her stalking pose—crawling low across the ground, then leaping.

  “Let’s get her,” Delilah said.

  Henry found this suggestion remarkably optimistic. It showed how little Delilah really knew Josie. But he followed as she walked through the gates, calling, “Josie! Josie, where are you?”

  The cemetery was quiet. The morning sun glinted off the granite headstones. Henry decided it didn’t feel scary, especially not compared to Superstition Mountain. It just felt peaceful and a little stern, like church. They wandered through the long rows, being careful not to step on the ground in front of the markers. “That’s where the dead bodies are,” Jack reminded everyone at regular intervals. Sometimes they came upon a white gravel path and walked on it for a while. Josie was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where did she go?” Delilah asked.

  “She’s probably hiding,” Jack explained. “She likes to do that.”

  Simon slowed down. “Wow,” he said. “Some of these graves are really old.”

  Henry noticed they’d come to a part of the cemetery where the stones were crooked and chipped, discolored with age. The names and dates were difficult to read.

  “This guy died in 1878,” Simon said. “And his wife even earlier, 1872.”

  Delilah stopped before a small brown headstone that tilted to one side, with tufts of grass growing at its base. “Hey,” she said.

  Henry walked over to where she was standing. “What?” he asked.

  He looked down at the stone, with its faded engraving. He could see the dates 1825 to 1896, but it was hard to read the name in block letters across the top.