Two blocks down the street from the deli, where Spoke Street hit the east end of town, sat Saint Zita\u2019s Church. Saint Zita\u2019s was old and sturdy, but there was something silly about the the way it was made of gray rocks which were so clearly too big for it that it looked like a toy built from the leftover scraps of a mighty cathedral. Square windows of stained glass were set evenly along the exterior, three per side, and double doors of heavy oak were positioned at the base of a short, squat bell tower at the southwest corner of the building. A flagstone path led from the street to the door, with a branch veering off to the left that wound around the back to a churchyard covered with gravestones and wildflowers.<\/p>\n
\n\t\u201cSo,\u201d said Ari, pausing at the edge of the churchyard. \u201cWhere did Yumigawa come from anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\t\u201cI guess we\u2019d better check out the chiseled stones,\u201d replied Arden with a smile. <\/p>\n
\n\tAri was feeling increasingly glad that Arden had come. Anytime Flossie Beemis was nearby he felt like he was choking on a powder puff, but Arden was funny, smart, and could do an impressive spoof of their teacher, Mrs. Kirkle, describing fish anatomy.<\/p>\n
\n\tThey walked around the church to the cemetery, and Ari started scanning headstones. \u201cSpanky Hankins, Nelly Pastori, Marvin Puck…\u201d<\/em> he read. \u201cHey, you want some food?\u201d <\/p>\n \n\t\u201cThanks,\u201d said Arden. She took an apple from the bag as he held it out, and moved to the next row. \u201cSally Anne Sosa, John Pitcher<\/em>…you know what? I don\u2019t think any of these people are ancient enough to have been the old neighbors of Miss Samms the librarian.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tAll the stones in this row were of shiny polished granite, and according to the dates on them, most of these people had died within the last twenty years.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cWhat about over there?\u201d Ari pointed toward the back of the cemetery, where the wildflowers were growing out of control, and many of the headstones were leaning at awkward angles.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cYeah, maybe,\u201d said Arden. She ran toward a group of grave markers which were dull and splotchy. The inscriptions were weather-worn and harder to read.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cCaroline Pill,\u201d<\/em> she read. \u201cHuey…Friedrich Carter, Sarabeth Carter-Smith…\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \n\t\u201cWho?\u201d said Ari. \u201cWhat was that last one?\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cSarabeth Carter-Smith,\u201d replied Arden.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cNo,\u201d said Ari, \u201cjust before her.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tArden crouched down and ran her fingers over the letters whose edges had been blurred by the years. \n\t\u201cA bad baby,\u201d said Ari as he pulled the poem out of his pocket and smoothed it out. \u201cBaby Huey, little love,\u201d <\/em> Ari read, \u201cWhat was he the apple of?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \n\t\u201cTheir eyes,\u201d said Arden, opening her notebook and beginning to write. \u201cHe was the apple of…our…eyes.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cSo we\u2019re looking for a book about eyes?\u201d said Ari.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cWe\u2019re looking,\u201d replied Arden, \u201cfor a bunch more names.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cFive more names,\u201d said Ari, looking at the rhyme, then scanning a row of headstones until one in particular caught his eye. \u201cFive more…like…Myrtle Mutt!\u201d <\/p>\n \n\t\u201cWhat does it say about Myrtle Mutt?\u201d said Arden scrambling between two headstones to have a look at the note.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cYou\u2019re an oldie Myrtle Mutt,\u201d<\/em> read Ari, \u201cLet the angels be your what?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \n\tArden squinted at the skinny, crooked headstone, which was greenish-gray with lichen.\u201cMyrtle Mutt,\u201d<\/em> she read, \u201cBorn June 2, 1800, Died June 1, 1920.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \n\t\u201c1920?,\u201d said Ari. \u201cThey weren\u2019t kidding about the oldie part.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tArden continued to read: \u201c\u2019We learned to seek, we learned to hide, we learned to swing and use the slide, and eat the chicken that you fried. Let the angels be your guide.\u2019 <\/em> Your…guide,\u201d she said, making an entry in her notebook.<\/p>\n \n\tThey scanned several more rows of headstones. Some were overtaken by ivy, and a few were lovingly groomed and decorated with fresh flowers, but nothing seemed familiar about the names as Ari read them off.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cDonald Barker, Carol Binker, Beebe Black, Davy Black, Cindy Black, Nancy Black, Abby Black, Charlie Black…<\/em>that\u2019s a lot of Blacks…Randy Black, Betsy Black, Carlyle Black, Veronica Black, Royroy Black, Lettie Black, Suzette Black<\/em>…and then these last two are on one big headstone…maybe they\u2019re the parents…Charlotte Black and Royston Black.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \n\t\u201cThat\u2019s thirteen kids,\u201d said Arden, \u201cin the Black family.\u201d She crouched down to read the large double marker. \u201c’Rolls and pies and flaky pastry, everything so good and tasty. Cookies or a French baguette, Roy\u2019s were fresh as you could get.’<\/em> Wow,\u201d said Arden, looking down at the unusually large plot she was standing on. \u201cLooks like Royston wasn\u2019t exactly a small guy.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cHe was big? Wait a minute,\u201d said Ari, pulling out the note. \u201che was a baker, he was chubby…\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cHe had thirteen children,\u201d said Arden, reading over his shoulder, \u201cthat\u2019s a baker\u2019s dozen.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cAnd his wife\u2019s name,\u201d said Ari, \u201cwas…Charlotte?\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cWhich,\u201d said Arden, \u201ccan be shortened to Lottie!\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tAri picked up the note and read: \u201c’Look for Lottie and her hubby, (I\u2019ve heard rumors he was chubby,) no baker\u2019s dozens anymore…’\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \n\t\u201c’What name stood above their door?’\u201d<\/em> read Arden over his shoulder.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cBlack,\u201d replied Ari. <\/p>\n \n\t\u201cBlack,\u201d repeated Arden, writing it in her notebook. \u201cOkay…so…so far we have \u2018eyes, guide, and Black.\u2019\u201d <\/p>\n \n\t\u201cEyes, guide, black,\u201d repeated Ari. \u201cWhat do you think Miss Samms can do with that?\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cProbably nothing,\u201d said Arden. \u201cLet\u2019s keep looking. We still need Effie, Yumigawa, and Charlie Krew.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cYou want to eat first?\u201d said Ari, who had just spotted a comfortable looking marble bench in the overgrown section of the cemetary, under an apple tree.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cYeah,\u201d said Arden. She sat down, and Ari handed her a cheese stick, a bag of trail mix and a lemonade.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cAren\u2019t you wondering why I\u2019m trying to solve the riddle?\u201d asked Ari.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cBecause it\u2019s an old mystery, and you like old mysteries?\u201d suggested Arden. \u201cAlthough, now that you mention it, you\u2019ve always seemed like more of the kickball type than the old mystery type.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cThat\u2019s true,\u201d replied Ari, \u201cbut it\u2019s more complicated than that. See, my uncle…\u201d<\/p>\n \nBut the words which he meant to say next were drowned out by a long blaring honk from a black car trying to pass a vegetable truck on East Street, just beyond the low stone wall of the cemetery. But the vegetable truck showed no signs of speeding up or pulling over, and the black car–surprisingly, considering what a hurry it had been in seconds earlier–stopped abruptly beside the stone wall.<\/p>\n \n\tAri\u2019s stomach sank like a bag of rocks. It was a feeling he was getting used to by now, so it was no surprise when Wilton Daylatch stepped out and peered intensely at him from the other side of the wall.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cYoung Mr. Soffit,\u201d called Wilton Daylatch with his usual spidery smirk. \u201cWhat might you be looking for in such an unlikely place as a graveyard? And, pray tell, have you found it yet?\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cIt\u2019s a school project,\u201d replied Ari, suspiciously. He wondered now, as he\u2019d wondered when he\u2019d seen Daylatch studying the dog statue, whether Daylatch might know something about the mystery he and Arden were now working on. The clues were, after all, planted by Daylatch\u2019s great-grandfather.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cInteresting,\u201d said Daylatch. \u201cWell, enjoy your picnic. And give my regards to your uncle when you get home. My secretary just informed me that he\u2019s accepted my offer.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cWhat?\u201d said Ari, wondering if he should believe anything Daylatch said. <\/p>\n \n\t\u201cThe boxing match,\u201d said Daylatch. \u201cWise choice. For everyone. Nothing like a little sports action to pump some excitement into this town, don\u2019t you agree?\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tAri just stared. What he really wanted to do was throw a rock at Daylatch, but he knew that that was not only uncivilized, but it was the kind of behavior that was likely to get him enrolled at Daylatch Academy.<\/p>\n \n\tDaylatch chuckled, and Ari had the uncomfortable feeling that Daylatch was reading his mind as he got back in his car and drove away.<\/p>\n \n\tArden said, \u201cWhat in heck was that all about?\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tAri looked at the treetops and, with a bewildered shrug, spilled almost the whole story. Somehow he still couldn\u2019t quite bring himself to tell Arden about Dewey Daylatch.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Two blocks down the street from the deli, where Spoke Street hit the east end of town, sat Saint Zita\u2019s Church. 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\n\t\u201cHuey Friedrich Carter,\u201d<\/em> she read. \u201cBorn August 15, 1875. Died July 12, 1876. The apple of our eyes you were, when pulling out the kitty\u2019s fur, And still we loved you even more when you threw oatmeal on the floor.\u201d<\/em> She paused thoughtfully, then said, \u201cIt\u2019s sad. He was a baby.\u201d<\/p>\n