25
They made their way slowly through the fields behind their school. It was pitch-black and empty of people, the tall pines creaking from the wind that gusted across the tops of the surrounding forest. Little Bit stayed back, afraid that the spirits were roaming.
“Hear that?” asked Truman.
“What? I don’t hear nothing,” said Nelle.
“Exactly,” he whispered. “Where’s your secret meeting?”
They stood on the edge of the fields, letting their eyes adjust to the dark. “You sure about this?” Truman asked her. “They said they were coming here?”
She hemmed and hawed. “Well . . . maybe they had to go home to get ready. I mean, I heard what I heard, but maybe . . . I guess I coulda heard wrong.”
The wind kicked up, blowing through the tall grasses, emitting the whispers that Sook called the grass harp. But it wasn’t soothing to Truman this time.
“Spirits are definitely here tonight,” said Little Bit, catching up to them. “Cain’t tell if they’re good or evil.”
“Look!” said Nelle. “Glow bugs! They must be good spirits, Little Bit.”
It started off with one twinkle, then two or three little streaks of light blinking on and off.
“Might as well collect some while we’re here,” said Nelle. “Then we won’ta been fibbin’.”
Nelle handed a jar to Truman and made her way slowly through the waist-deep grass. The further she got, the more the grass lit up, and soon she was walking through a galaxy of wispy shooting stars.
“Come on, Truman!” she yelled. “You need to forgit the case and come have fun instead.”
She was right. Truman wasn’t sure where the case was going anyway. Maybe chasing fireflies would help him see the whole picture, the way Sherlock played violin to relax his brain. “You coming, Little Bit?”
“Nah, you two go ahead. I’ll just sit a spell by this here tree.” Little Bit felt her way through the darkness to the trunk of a tree, where she plopped herself down. She was not used to all this walking.
“Okay, Little Bit. Start counting,” said Truman. “Whoever gets the most, wins!”
They spent the next fifteen minutes running about, grabbing as many critters as they could. It was like trying to catch clouds—as soon as you were upon them, they vanished into darkness. But when one of them did catch one and got it into the jar, it was a victorious moment. After a few of those moments, Truman forgot about the case and was actually having fun.
By the time Little Bit called “Time’s up!” both their jars were glowing bright as lanterns.
“Looks like a tie,” Truman said.
“Nuh-uh. I got at least two more than you!” countered Nelle.
“Let’s ask Little Bit to settle it.” They ran over to where she was resting.
“Miss Bit, tell this shrimp who won!” said Nelle. They held up both jars to her face, and she studied them closely.
“Don’t count ’em. Just guess,” said Truman. “Mine’s brighter.”
“Nuh-uh, mine is—”
“Hush, children. Little Bit don’t guess, she knows.”
They stood there as she counted, and the light from the jars made the tree behind her look different. The tree had lost its bark, for some odd reason.
Truman’s eyes drifted upward, and he noticed all the branches had been cut off except for two big ones, which stretched out into the dark like arms. To Truman, it looked kind of like a cross. However, something else was even stranger. He squinted into the gloom of the night and when his eyes adjusted, he saw that the two branches were wrapped in white sheets.
He held his jar up high so he could see better. “Little Bit, why is that tree wrapped in sheets? And does anyone else here smell gasoline?”
Little Bit glanced up behind her and gazed into the blackness. A strange expression slowly came over her face. Suddenly, her eyes shot wide open.
“Children, it’s time to go home.” She threw the jars into the grass.
“Hey!” said Truman.
“But who won?” asked Nelle.
“Never mind that. It’s late, too late for childish things.” She grabbed their hands and started heading briskly back toward the light of town.