Free Herculeah Jones Tarot Says Beware by Betsy Byars Page A

“This was no dream.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œSomeone was here.”
    â€œBut it couldn’t have been Madame Rosa. You saw her body.”
    â€œYou know what, Meat?” she said thoughtfully. “I saw her body, that’s true. But I didn’t actually see her face. That’s what’s making me wonder. Her hair had come loose and had fallen over her face. What if—”
    There was a loud knock at the door. Herculeah and Meat instinctively drew closer together.
    â€œMadame Rosa,” Meat whispered, his voice deep with dread.
    â€œMore likely the police,” Herculeah said.
    Meat gasped, although only ten minutes ago he would have welcomed them.
    â€œHerculeah, open this door,” a voice demanded. “I know you’re in there.”
    â€œIt’s my mom,” Herculeah said. Now there was dread in her voice as well.
    â€œI know you’re in there. Open this door.”
    Herculeah moved to the front door. She unlocked it and pulled it open.
    â€œI knew it!” her mother said. She strode into the hallway. “I knew it. You took that key the minute my back was turned.”
    â€œMom, I can explain.”
    â€œAnd, Meat, is that you back there?”
    â€œYes’m.” Meat stepped forward.
    â€œMeat, you’ve got better sense than Herculeah. You should have stopped her.”
    â€œI did my best.”
    â€œHerculeah, this is trespassing!”
    â€œMom, listen. Someone was here. Someone was upstairs. And they came down. Meat heard them, didn’t you, Meat?”
    â€œAnd I saw them—the foot, anyway. And, Mrs. Jones, that was the most terrible foot there could be in the world. I’ll probably have foot nightmares tonight. I know I will.”
    â€œAnd I saw the person. Mom, listen. It was either Madame Rosa or somebody pretending to be her. Oh, Mom, now that you’re here, we can put on all the lights and really search.”
    Meat held up one hand as if to stop anyone from speaking.
    â€œDid you hear that?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIt sounded like the click of the back door closing,” Meat said in a hushed voice. “I think someone just went out the kitchen door.”
    â€œGreat!” Herculeah said, turning in that direction. “If we hurry—”
    â€œIf we hurry,” her mother said firmly, taking her arm, “we can get home before midnight. Come along, Meat.”
    Meat glanced anxiously toward the kitchen. “Gladly,” he said.

19
    THE OTHER HALF OF THE PICTURE
    â€œSo.”
    Herculeah always hated it when her father started a conversation like that.
    â€œSo.”
    Another one. Two “so”s. This was going to be bad.
    â€œYour mom tells me you went back to Madame Rosa’s last night.”
    It was Sunday, and Herculeah and her father were in the car, driving to an Atlanta Falcons football game.
    Her father had spoken in a casual, conversational tone, but Herculeah was aware this was not going to be a casual chat. His profile was stern.
    She said, “Mom told you that?”
    â€œShe did.”
    â€œI wish you and Mom wouldn’t discuss me behind my back.”
    â€œI wish we didn’t have to.”
    â€œSo, what did Mom say?”
    â€œShe said she had taken the key away from you, and you got it out of her drawer and went over there, taking poor Meat along with you. It was a very dangerous thing to do.”
    â€œActually Meat turned out to be the most dangerous part. He tackled me. You’d think he was—who’s that big mean Falcon?”
    â€œThey’re all big and mean.”
    â€œWell, that was the only time I was in any real danger. I got spooked, I admit that, when Madame Rosa appeared.” She turned to her father. “Dad, are you convinced that body was Madame Rosa’s?”
    â€œYes, I am.”
    â€œWell, I’m not.”
    â€œListen, Herculeah, whoever killed Madame Rosa is still out