“I thought you said she came out of a graveyard,” Dad said.
“She did. Like I said, back behind my house is an old, old cemetery. Got too old, I reckon, so they built another one closer to downtown.”
“Mothball,” Tick said quietly.
“Huh?” Norbert replied.
“Her name is Mothball. The lady who gave you this letter.” Tick slipped it from his journal and held it in his hand.
Norbert looked perplexed. “Well what in the Sears-and-Roebuck kind of name is that?”
“She said her dad was in a hurry when he named her, something about soldiers trying to kidnap them.”
Norbert did nothing but blink.
“Never mind.” Tick turned to his dad. “Why in the world would she have given him the sixth clue?”
His dad furrowed his brow for a moment, deep in thought. “Well, maybe it’s like I said—I think they wanted us to be proactive and seek out information, not just wait around to find it. Maybe they went back to all the towns they mailed the letters from and gave copies of the clues to the postal workers who would cooperate. They knew if we did some investigating, going to the source would be the most logical step.”
Tick thought for a second. “Dad, I think you nailed it.”
“I’m brilliant, my son. Brilliant.” He winked.
Norbert cleared his throat. “Excuse me for interrupting, folks, but what in the name of Kermit the Frog are you guys a-talking about? You came here asking me questions, but it sounds like you know a lot more than I do.”
Dad leaned over and patted Tick on the shoulder. “My boy here, the one who’s receiving these letters, is trying to figure out the big mystery behind them. We think it was a test of sorts to see if we’d seek you out, which is why you were given the sixth clue to give to us.”
Norbert nodded. “Ah. I see.” He rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders.
“Look,” Tick said. “Do you know anything else about Master George, Mistress Jane, Mothball, anything?”
Norbert shook his head in response.
“Well, then,” Tick said. “I think we’ve got what we came for. Dad, maybe we should get going. I can read the clue while you drive.” Tick tried his best to hint that he didn’t feel very comfortable in Norbert’s house.
“Just a minute.” His dad looked at their host. “Mr. Johnson, you’ve done a great service for us and we’d like to return the favor. Is there, uh, anything we can do to help you, uh, get your nerve back and go back to work?”
Norbert didn’t reply for a long time. Then, “I don’t know. It’s awfully kind of you to offer. I guess I’m just too scared that woman is gonna come back for me and string me up like a fresh catch of salmon.”
“Well, let me tell you what I think,” Dad said, holding up a finger. “I agree with you one hundred percent. I think this Mistress Jane person must be evil, because we wholeheartedly believe what M.G.—Master George—is doing must be a noble cause because he wants my son’s help. And we’ve committed to that cause heart and soul, as you can tell.”
“I reckon I can see that. What’s your point?”
“Well, if this . . . yellow-dressed, bald, nasty woman made you quit your job, shun society, and hole up in a house all by yourself, then I think she’s won a mighty victory over the world. She’s beaten the great Norbert Johnson once and for all, and will move on to her next prey.”
Tick liked seeing his dad try and help this poor man and decided to do his part. “Yeah, Norbert, you’re doing exactly what she wanted you to do—give up and be miserable. Go back to work, show her you’re the boss of your own life.”
Norbert looked back and forth between Tick and his dad, his face a mask of uncertainty. “And if she does come back? What then?”
“Then by golly,” Dad said, “stand up to her. Show her who’s in charge.”
“And call us,” Tick chimed in. “By then, maybe we’ll have figured everything out and know how to help you.”
Norbert scratched his head. “Well, I don’t know. I’m
a-gonna have to think about this.”
Dad smiled. “Listen, we’ll exchange phone numbers and keep in touch, okay? How’s that sound?”
Norbert didn’t answer for a very long time, and Tick wondered if something was wrong. But then he saw moisture rimming on the bottom of the man’s eyes and realized the guy was all choked up.
Finally, their new friend spoke. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you folks care enough to give me your phone number. I just wished you a-lived up here in Alaska. I could use a friend.”
“Well, hey,” Dad said. “In this world, with the Internet and all that, we can keep in touch just fine.”
And with that, their new friendship was sealed and Tick felt mighty proud of himself.
Frazier watched as Tick and his dad stepped out of the house, then shook hands and embraced their new little buddy. They said a few more sappy words, just like they had inside, and headed for their vehicle.
What is this, a soap opera? I might need a tissue for my weepy eyes.
He snickered at his own joke, then put the car into drive, ready to follow, the twilight of midday having long faded into the full darkness of late afternoon.
Frazier pulled out his half of the special device, fingered the big button in the middle of its shiny gray surface.
In just a few minutes, he thought. Just a few minutes and the show begins.
Chapter
24
Pedal to the Metal
Norbert stared out his frosty window, watching the boy Tick and his father climb into their rental car, warm it up, then begin their long trek back to Anchorage. Norbert hadn’t felt this good in weeks, like he was doing something right, finally taking a stand against the yellow witch who haunted his dreams. He couldn’t explain it—the boy and his dad seemed to pulse with some invisible force, strong and magnetic. Norbert felt like a new person, as if powerful batteries had replaced his old junky ones, revved him up to face the world like he’d never done before.
The new year could bring a new life. He’d go back to work . . .
His thoughts petered out when he noticed another car pull out into the road just moments after Edgar had driven past it. The black Honda had been parked on the sidewalk, idling, and wasn’t in front of a house, just a blank lot of snow-covered weeds and brush. Something about that didn’t seem right. Not at all.
Then it hit Norbert.
The person in the black car was following his new friends. That couldn’t be a good thing. No sir, that couldn’t be good one bit.
The new Norbert acted before the old Norbert could talk himself out of it. He threw on some warm clothes, a wool cap, and his faded, weather-beaten shoes. He frantically searched for his keys, forgetting where he’d put them since his last venture to town. They weren’t on his dresser, weren’t on his kitchen counter—he couldn’t find them anywhere. After five minutes of hunting, he was just about to give up when he saw them on the floor under the table; he grabbed them and turned toward the garage.
The doorbell rang, freezing his blood solid.
Trying to stay brave, he ran up the stairs to his usual spying window and took a peek. Relieved, he saw it was just a kid girl with a man who looked an awful lot like Master George—dressed in a fancy suit, shiny shoes, the works. But this guy stood a lot taller and had plenty of hair, shiny blond hair slicked back against his skull.
Must be another one of those smart kids looking for their letter.
He bolted back down the stairs, grabbed another copy of Mothball’s golden envelopes (could that really be her name?) and tore open the door. He held out the letter and was just about to drop it into the girl’s hand and close the door when he caught a glimpse of his visitor’s car parked in the driveway. It was much nicer and . . . faster than his. An idea popped in his head.
“You folks lookin’ for a clue from M.G.?” he asked.
The befuddled (Norbert’s new favorite word) strangers nodded in unison.
“Someone’s in a whole lot of trouble—friends of Mothball,” he said, then shook the envelope in front of them. “This is the sixth clue. If you want it, you’ve gotta help me save them.”
Driving slowly down Main Street, with a full tank of gas in the car, Edgar settled his bones for the long drive back to Aunt Mabel’s. He looked over at Tick, who was just pulling the sixth clue from its envelope.
“Read it, boy!” he shouted cheerfully. “I can hardly wait. What a trip, huh? What a trip!” He felt so good they’d accomplished something—not just getting the next clue, but perhaps helping poor Norbert get his life back together. Though he’d dared not admit it, Edgar had been scared to death their trip to Alaska would prove a waste, thereby nullifying his value to Tick, who’d had the courage to tell him about everything.
Tick put the white piece of cardstock down in his lap. “Nah, let’s just wait ’til we get back to Washington. What’s the rush?” Tick let out a fake yawn and stretched.
“Professor, these windows do roll down, and I am strong enough to throw you out of one.”
“Okay, okay, if you insist.” Tick read the words out loud, holding the paper up so Edgar could glance at it and follow along as he drove.