2

Dig Up the Dead

After ten minutes, the front door slammed. Heavy footsteps hammered the floor, until Maria snapped from her trance. The closet door flew open, flooding her room with light.

“John screwed up again,” said Madame Destine. She brushed the parrot off her shoulder and pulled the fur coats across the bar with a harsh screech. She slipped out of her mink and slung it on Maria’s mattress. The fringed dress Madame Destine wore might have once belonged to a flapper during the 1920s, but after a century, it was riddled with moth holes and stains.

Maria stood up. “Did she fall for it?” she asked.

“Too soon to tell,” said Madame Destine.

“I did it as we rehearsed. When Mr. Fox started in on the pipes early, I turned on the fan, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Madame Destine shook her off impatiently and threw on a black fur. She looked like a giant stain in the bright room. Houdini fluttered back to her shoulder. “That woman better come through. If she loved her husband, she’ll do as she’s told.”

Maria thought about the old woman. Mrs. Fisher seemed kind, and she could tell the widow would do anything for her husband. Kindhearted people could be gullible. But something pulled at Maria. Edward had said her heart was wise and sweet. “But…,” began Maria, her voice wavering. “Do you feel like what we’re doing is … wrong?”

Madame Destine stopped.

She turned around to face her child, her eyes narrowing as if to study her. “My sweet and caring Maria,” she said. “Have I not told you again and again? There’s no right and wrong, only—”

“Opportunity,” they said in unison. Madame Destine shouted it with gusto, but Maria only mumbled it.

“OPPORTUNITY! OPPORTUNITY!” mimicked Houdini.

“Knock it off!” Madame Destine said. She held her parrot’s beak in place, but he shook his head free and shifted farther down her arm.

Maria slipped past Madame Destine and into the light of her mother’s master bedroom, where a queen-size bed and a dresser were surrounded by four walls decorated with yellowed newspaper clippings—all obituaries going back many years. The clippings had been tacked in clumps, one on top of the other, and a light breeze from the two open windows sent the papers fluttering.

“Besides,” Madame Destine added, handing Maria a broom, “that old bag has no relatives. She’ll take that ring to her grave, where someone else will snatch it. I’m just getting there first.” Then she pointed to the kitchen. “Shouldn’t you be cleaning—”

The door to the kitchen swung open, and a tall, thin man with dark features wearing a black turtleneck and a newsboy cap stepped in. His heavy unibrow stretched over his face. “Can’t hear a stinkin’ thing in the basement!” he said. “I bang on the pipes, I do my moaning, but I can’t for the life of me hear my cues!”

Madame Destine greeted him with a stern look. “You came in too early, John.”

“I’ll do better next time,” said Mr. Fox.

“Well, clean out your ears. You almost ruined it for us!”

Maria quickly added, “It’s okay, Mr. Fox. I was able to turn on the fan. She didn’t notice a thing.”

John Fox rubbed his chin. Then he lifted his heavy brow. “Did she take the bait?”

Madame Destine’s smile snaked across her face. “She took the bait. She’ll likely investigate the organization to see if it’s legit. Did you finish the website?”

“I worked all night on it,” Mr. Fox answered. “I made it real nice, see?” He brought out his phone and typed something before he held it up.

Madame Destine slapped the phone out of his hand. “It’s gotta match the business card! Who’s gonna support an organization that doesn’t look legit?”

“Aye-aye, Captain!” Mr. Fox said with a salute.

Maria tugged on Mr. Fox’s sweater and dug into the pockets of her patched blue jeans. “If you want me to take a look, I can help like I did with the bait.” Maria pulled a business card from her pocket that read

MR. BENJAMIN EDMOND FACTOR

Brooklyn Urban Youth Initiative for Tomorrow

Giving Children an Opportunity to Grow

718-555-5555

www.buyit.org

Mr. Fox slapped the card out of her hand. “I don’t need no help from a kid!” he said. “You just go back in that closet and stay put.”

“Mr. Fox!” exclaimed Maria, trying to keep her voice from shaking as she picked up one of her library books from her mother’s dresser. “I can’t be in two places at once! How can I be in my room when I have to clean in the kitchen?” Maria hugged the broom and book as she slid behind her mother.

Mr. Fox was unmoved. “I don’t like your girl doing all this reading.” His lips curled before turning his gaze on Maria. “She’s gonna get too smart for her own good.”

Maria gripped her book a little harder.

“Knock it off, John,” said Madame Destine as she fluffed up her collar and straightened her turban. “My little girl’s gonna have brains just like her mama. One day you’ll be Madame Destine, Maria, just like your grandmama before me.”

Maria tried to picture herself in her mother’s heavy turban and musty coat, but she couldn’t see it. Although a life of conning was all she’d ever known, Maria wondered if there was something better for her out there. Something that involved actually helping people—like the characters she’d read about in books.

Maria gazed up at the poster that read MADAME DESTINE, THE GREATEST SPIRITUALIST MEDIUM. The portrait of her grandmother under the banner showed a soft, saintly looking woman.

Madame Destine pushed Maria toward the kitchen door, but Maria kept her gaze on the portrait. She’d inherited her grandmother’s large brown eyes and soft, round face. “Is it true that Grandma really did convene with the spirits?” she asked. “The papers say she was a real diviner.”

Madame Destine moved slowly across the floorboards with her daughter. “Now, Maria,” she said, pushing her through the kitchen door, “how many times have I told you? There’s no such thing as spirits. People who think that stuff is real are foolish!” Madame Destine playfully jabbed Maria in the side with her elbow, but it hurt.

“FOOLISH! FOOLISH!” squawked Houdini.

“Knock it off!” Madame Destine shouted. Houdini turned around and fluffed his feathers.

“But what if—”

“I mean it, child! Your grandmother shared none of her secrets with me. I don’t know her method, but take it from me: Hard work and crafty research is needed to dig up the dead. You can only see into the past by using the magic of your wits and natural instincts. Haven’t you learned how to use the library?”

Maria put down the book and began sweeping the floor while her mother followed behind her. “Mom, I told you! I’ve BEEN using the library. I’m always reading stuff I like.”

“Ah! Stories! It’s a waste of time. You need facts. Facts for you to use to your advantage.” Her lips slithered into a smile. “You should be researching public records and family trees, snipping obituaries and highlighting their survivors. We’re researching widows, my dear. LONE. SURVIVING. WIDOWS.”

“Okay,” murmured Maria. She rested the broom against the counter and filled the sink with water.

“Good! And don’t you forget it. Now, clean up the place while Mama’s gone. Me and John are off to scrounge up some dinner.” She slid her arm through Mr. Fox’s, and the two of them exited the apartment through the front door, leaving Maria alone in the kitchen to ponder spirits and libraries, fiction and facts.