Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1 - DEAD OAKS
Chapter 2 - A BOY NAMED MEAT
Chapter 3 - THE MAN IN BLACK
Chapter 4 - THE UNSPEAKABLE MONSTROID
Chapter 5 - M FOR MURDER
Chapter 6 - HUSH MONEY
Chapter 7 - BEHIND DEAD OAKS
Chapter 8 - SOMEONE AT THE GATE
Chapter 9 - FOOTSTEPS
Chapter 10 - THE MAN WHO WAS NOT A DREAM
Chapter 11 - HERCULEAH IN THE DARK
Chapter 12 - ABOUT DEAD OAKS
Chapter 13 - OLD MAN CREWELL
Chapter 14 - A FACE IN THE CROWD
Chapter 15 - TAPED
Chapter 16 - THE MISSING BODY
Chapter 11 - A TERRIBLE CURIOSITY
Chapter 18 - THE KEY TO DEAD OAKS
Chapter 19 - MEAT ON THE MOVE
Chapter 20 - BLACK WINGS AT THE WINDOW
Chapter 21 - SOMEBODY’S UPSTAIRS
Chapter 22 - THE DARK STAIRS
Chapter 23 - THE INVESTIGATION
Chapter 24 - HERCULEAH VS THE HYDRA
Teaser chapter
THE DARK STAIRS
The Moloch did not come back to where she crouched in fear. Instead, he moved over to the workbench. He stood there, and then, as if he were familiar with the table, he opened a drawer, and took something from it. Herculeah longed to stand up so she could see, but she remembered the burning look of the Moloch’s eyes in her living room, the fear she had felt at his terrible smile. She stayed where she was.
Her heart had started beating so loud, it pounded in her ears.
Apparently, the Moloch had found what he needed. Herculeah heard him move toward the door. She heard him take a step outside....
Then Herculeah froze.
For she heard something that turned her blood cold. She heard the sound of hammering.
The Moloch was nailing the door shut. And she was trapped inside.
“Readers will anxiously await the next adventure!”
—Booklist
BOOKS BY BETSY BYARS
The Herculeah Jones Mysteries:
The Dark Stairs
Tarot Says Beware
Dead Letter
Death’s Door
Disappearing Acts
King of Murder
The Bingo Brown books:
Bingo Brown, Gypsy Lover
Bingo Brown and the Language of Love
Bingo Brown’s Guide to Romance
The Burning Questions of Bingo Brown
Other titles:
After the Goat Man
The Cartoonist
The Computer Nut
Cracker Jackson
The Cybil War
The l8th Emergency
The Glory Girl
The House of Wings
McMummy
The Midnight Fox
The Summer of the Swans
Trouble River
The TV Kid
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario,
Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England
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Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England
First published in the United States of America by Viking,
a division of Penguin Books USA Inc., 1994
Published hy Puffin Books. 1997
This edition published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2006
Copyright © Betsy Byars, 1994
All rights reserved
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE VIKING EDITION AS FOLLOWS:
Byars, Betsy Cromer.
The dark stairs: a Herculeah Jones mystery I Betsy Byars. p. cm.
Summary: The intrepid Herculeah Jones helps her mother, a private investigator,
solve a puzzling and frightening case.
eISBN : 978-1-101-07796-2
[I . Mystery and detective stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.B9836Dar 1994 [Fic]-dc20 94-14012 CIP AC
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume
any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
http://us.penguingroup.com
1
DEAD OAKS
Friday the thirteenth came early that year, in January, making it even more unlucky. Later Herculeah would remember, that was the day it all started. If she had been a superstitious person she would have thought there was a connection between that and the terrible events that followed.
But on that Friday Herculeah was buying a pair of binoculars. “I’m going to take these to the window and try them out, all right?” she said to the clerk.
She crossed to the plate-glass window and lifted the binoculars to her face. Her dangle earrings brushed against her cheeks as she leaned forward and focused on a rundown house across the street.
“What’s my dad doing there?”
“Where?” said the clerk.
“He’s at that old house across the street. At Dead Oaks.”
“So?”
“So my father’s a police detective. There must be something wrong.”
She adjusted the binoculars again. As usual her father had on a rumpled jacket and a loose tie. He looked, not like a detective, but like a man who was lost.
“I wish they’d tear that old house down,” the clerk said, “it’s scary. I’d love to see a nice mini-mall over there.”
“I’ve got to check this out,” Herculeah handed the binoculars to the clerk. “Don’t sell these. I’ll be right back. And don’t sell those granny glasses either.”
Herculeah rushed out the door. “Dad!” she called. Her father pulled the iron gate shut, chained and pad-locked it. He waited as she crossed the street.
“So what’s wrong?” Herculeah asked.
“You tell me.”
“I mean what are you doing here. What happened?”
“Nothing major.”
“But what? I’ve always been interested in this old house.”
“You’re interested in everything.”
“What do you expect with a cop and a private eye for parents?” She grinned.
Her father shook his head as if the combination was too much for him.
“So what is the minor thing that brought you here?” she persisted.
“Oh, some of the neighbors saw a prowler. I was just checking it out.”
“And?”
“And I found no signs of forced entry. I found nothing to suggest foul play. Satisfied?”
“Of course not.”
Herculeah made a ponytail of her long hair and held it back with one hand. She looked beyond her father to the house.
The house was dark and foreboding. It had been named Twin Oaks for the huge trees that grew on either side of the walkway. The trees
had been dead for years, and their stark black skeletons made people now call it Dead Oaks.
“Dad, you know how my hair always starts to frizzle when something’s getting ready to happen?”
Her father’s beeper sounded and he lifted his radio to listen. “Right,” he said.
“Because, Dad, my hair’s frizzling right now. Look!” She released her hair and, caught by a breeze, it floated around her.
“I’m on my way,” her father said.
“This thing with my hair is automatic. It’s like how animals fluff out their fur when they’re in danger, so they look bigger and more threatening.”
Her father looked at her. “If you get any more threatening, you’re going to fly away.”
“I’m serious.”
“I got to go.”
Herculeah watched her father get into the car. He said something to the driver and waved at Herculeah as they drove off.
Herculeah went back to the store.
“What’d you find out?”
“Nothing much. Some neighbors have reported seeing a prowler.”
“I could have reported that myself,” the clerk said. “I don’t know why anyone would go over there. They say there’s a dead body inside.” She straightened. “So, do you want the binoculars or the glasses?”
“The trouble is I want them both. I need the binocs because there are a lot of things in the distance that I need to see—like at stakeouts with my mom. But those glasses ... I tried them on, and the world disappeared in a kind of fog. It was great. I felt as if I were in a—I don’t know—a think cocoon. I felt I could write whole novels and paint masterpieces and puzzle out things that bother me.” She smiled. “Like what’s going on over at Dead Oaks.” Herculeah held out the glasses. “You want to try them?”
The clerk shook her head. “If glasses could make me think better, I’d make a beeline for LensCrafters. I’ll need two dollars to hold the glasses, and three for the binoculars.”
“There.” Herculeah brought out a crumpled five-dollar bill and ironed it flat on the counter. “I’ll probably have the rest of the money by tomorrow.”
“That’ll be fine.”
“I could even be back today before five if my mom gets home.”
Herculeah started for the door. The shop bell rang as she stepped outside. She paused for a moment, looking at the house across the street.
Built of sandstone, now darkened by moss and years, the house in a certain angle of sunlight still looked grand. But in the shadows of late afternoon, with the dead trees, it was forbidding. She remembered the clerk’s words: “They say there’s a dead body inside.”
She felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather, and wrapped her jacket around her.
2
A BOY NAMED MEAT
Herculeah turned the corner. She had lived on this street all her life, but now the street was beginning to go commercial. People were opening businesses in their homes.
Herculeah’s mother had been the first, with her private investigator business. The small tasteful sign had gone up one night:Mim R. Jones
Private Investigator
Within a week, another sign sprang up down the block. It was not as tasteful:Madame Rosa
Palmist
Walk-ins Welcome
After that, the signs sprang up nightly, like mushrooms. Bernie Holden: Accounting. Bessie Young-stern : Alterations. Cheri’s Cakes. One-Day Dentures. Divorces $35.00.
Herculeah liked it. She felt it gave the street a prosperous look that other residential streets didn’t have.
Now she walked quickly until she came to the steps of her house. She stopped abruptly beside her mother’s sign. Sitting on the steps, blocking her way, was Meat, a boy who lived across the street.
As soon as Meat saw Herculeah, he put out his arms and took hold of the metal banisters. “Don’t go inside,” he said.
“Well, I guess I can chat for a minute,” Herculeah said. She sat on the bottom step and turned toward him. “Guess what, Meat. You know that shop Hidden Treasures? Well, I went in there to try out some binoculars—which I need for helping Mom—and I was just checking them out when I saw my father over at Dead Oaks.”
“What was he doing there?”
“He wouldn’t tell me. ‘Nothing major’—that’s what he always says.”
“I hate that house,” Meat said. “It gives me the creeps.”
“Me too.”
“My mom saw the old man that lived there one time.”
“Really?”
“My mom was selling Girl Scout cookies and she went up and knocked—she was a little girl then, she might even have been a Brownie—and he came to the door, and he had a walking cane, and he lifted it like he was going to hit her. My mom said his face was terrible, all shriveled and twisted with rage. She had nightmares about it for a long time.”
“If it had been me, I would have hit him over the head with a box of shortbreads.”
“That wouldn’t have been very Girl Scout-like.”
“I know. But, anyway, Meat, is my mom home? I want to go back and get the binocs and these glasses that make me think. I might also take another look at Dead Oaks.”
Herculeah got to her feet. She looked at Meat but he didn’t move. He shook his head. “Don’t go inside.”
Herculeah gave him a puzzled look, sensing that he knew something she didn’t.
“What’s wrong? Nothing major?” She grinned.
Meat did not smile back. “I really don’t think you ought to go inside.”
“Oh, Meat, get out of the way.”
“No.” His thick fingers tightened around the banisters.
Herculeah put her hands on her hips. “Meat,” she said, “I didn’t get the name Herculeah because I’m dainty and shy.”
“You don’t have to remind me of that.”
“I got the name because I’m big and strong and I live up to my name. Now, move.”
Herculeah had trained as a gymnast before she became too tall for the sport, and she still had agility, strength, and timing. She could have swung out over the railing and landed behind Meat and gone into the house. But something kept her from doing that.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“There’s a very suspicious-looking man in your house.”
“Oh, is that all! There are always suspicious-looking people in my house. My mom’s a private investigator.”
“This one is different.”
“How?”
“I can’t explain it.”
“Then get out of my way.”
“This man is different,” Meat said, choosing his words carefully, “because the minute I saw him I got a really bad feeling. He was like something that just—I don’t know—that just crawled out from under a rock. I saw him coming down the street and I thought, Where would a creep like that be going? Then he got to your house and he stopped.”
Meat stopped too, and squinted up at her. For a moment Herculeah was startled by the look of real concern in Meat’s eyes.
“Go on,” she said.
“Well, the man stopped, and then he looked up and down the street before he went up your steps, as if he didn’t want to be seen.”
“All my mom’s clients do that.”
“Not like this. I’ve seen your mom’s other clients. And when he got to the top of the steps, he turned and looked right at my house—like he knew I was watching.”
“He probably did. Meat, you stand right in the window.”
“I was behind the curtain this time.”
“The curtain’s sheer.”
“I was behind the drapes! Anyway I’m not going to tell you if you’re going to pick at every word I say. I’m trying to look out for you. You sure don’t know how to look out for yourself.”
“I do too.”
“At the mall that day—when you were on a stakeout for your mom?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I was there the whole time, watching out for you.�
�
“I saw you.”
“You did not.”
“You were in Wicks and Sticks.”
Meat’s face burned with the shame of being caught looking at candles. There was a pause, and then Herculeah said, “Get back to the man you saw.”
Meat continued slowly, “His eyes were burning, and I knew he could see me. It was as if his eyes could see through things like drapes. Then he knocked at your door. Your mom answered. She drew back at the sight of him. I don’t think she wanted to let him in, but she did.
“I wanted to go back in my room and check ...” He trailed off.
That morning Meat had noticed that he had a hair on his chest. At first he thought it had fallen from his head, and he tried to brush it off. But it was attached. One dark hair was growing out of his chest. Ever since, he had been checking at regular intervals to see if this hair had been joined by another.
“I was getting ready to check something but I decided to come over here and wait for you—to tell you not to go inside.”
“All right, you told me. Now, Meat, get out of the way!”
Meat stared straight ahead for a moment. He sighed. Even with a hair on his chest, he felt childish and defeated. His shoulders slumped.
“Well,” he said, “don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
3
THE MAN IN BLACK
Meat got up slowly. There was a lot of Meat, and he had to use the metal rail to pull himself to his feet.
“Thanks,” Herculeah said as she slipped around him.
Meat turned to watch as she ran up the steps. “You’ll be sorry,” he said under his breath.
Herculeah looked down at him for a moment, her gray eyes serious. Then she grinned, “You always say that.”
“And you always are.”
“Well, sometimes,” she admitted.
Herculeah paused at the front door. She looked down at Meat. His face was turned away from her. His hands were on his basketball-sized knees.
Then she opened the front door. “Mom!” she called. “Mom, guess what?”