10
One morning, Truman awoke to what he thought was the sound of fighting outside. He poked his head out the window and spotted Nelle walking along the top of the stone wall that separated their houses. She was doing battle with some unseen foe, wearing a patch over one eye and a pirate hat made of newspaper. Truman was so amused, he yelled, “Watch out for the gators!”
Nelle lifted her eye patch and smiled at him. “Ahoy!”
Truman pointed again at the invisible gator; she took a stone from her pocket and pegged a log next to the wall. “Got him! I ain’t afraid of no gators! Look what I can do!” She attempted a somersault but took a tumble and fell off her side of the wall.
“Nelle?” Truman cried, worried.
Nelle popped up, pretending to fight off a fallen branch. “Snakes! Help me, Tru!”
Truman ran down in his pajamas and slippers. He poked his head out on the front porch, but all was quiet. “Nelle?” he called out. He crept up to the wall and peered over. She was nowhere to be found.
“Psst!” Truman heard a voice from far overhead. He followed the sound up the huge double chinaberry tree and suddenly he saw it: the magnificent secret headquarters Nelle and Big Boy had built.
It was one of the greatest things he’d ever seen.
Truman spotted a pair of feet sticking out the flap that covered the entrance. Even though he was still in his PJs, he decided to climb up the ladder. When he reached the top, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Every detail was perfect. A section for playing marbles and jacks. A lookout for spying. A board for drawing clues and whatnot. Jars for collecting bugs, rocks, and other scientific discoveries, and an open skylight for stargazing. Even a fire pole for quick escapes. Best of all was the sign gracing the front of the treehouse: NO GROWNUPS ALLOWED!
He crawled in and found Nelle lying down on a mattress stuffed with hay, reading. He was speechless.
“What happened to the snakes?” he finally asked.
“Oh, Ah kilt them all,” she said, like it was no big deal. “I hate snakes.”
He noticed she was reading one of the Rover Boys mysteries and plopped down next to her. She closed the book on him.
“Read your own,” she said. Nelle reached under her pillow and produced a purple volume. “A.C. brung back it back from his trip to Selma.”
New books were hard to come by in Monroeville, though occasionally traveling gypsies brought some from their distant wanderings. So whenever a new title appeared, it was like finding a dollar coin in the street—it was a treat.
Truman glanced at the cover and saw the familiar profile with a pipe and deerstalker cap. “Sherlock Holmes!” He breathed in with delight.
“Not only that—look!” She reached for a box on the shelf and handed it to him.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Just a little something me and Big Boy whipped up.”
“A gift?” He tore into it, excited.
“More like . . . something you’ll be needin’, Tru.” She watched as he pulled out a green baseball cap with another bill sewn onto the back.
“A deerstalker cap. Just like Sherlock,” Nelle said proudly.
Truman stared at it for the longest time. It was too wonderful for words.
“Put it on,” she said.
He carefully placed it on his head. “How’s it look?”
“Just like the real thing,” she said. “You know what this means, right?”
Truman pretended to smoke a pipe. “What?”
“The game’s afoot!” she exclaimed.
Truman nodded. “We just need to find our own mystery is all.”
She picked up a magnifying glass from the shelf and started examining a dead bug. “I have a feeling a mystery will reveal itself soon,” she said. “All we have to do is wait.”