Herculeah Jones Tarot Says Beware by Betsy Byars Page B

inside.”
    â€œI can’t, yet. I want to see them bring him out. I have to be sure they got him. I’m really afraid of him. I won’t sleep tonight unless I see him in custody.”
    They waited side by side under the streetlight.
    â€œWell, there he is,” Meat’s mother said. “Take a good look.”
    The puppeteer came out between two policemen. He was no longer wearing Madame Rosa’s cape, and he was in handcuffs. As the policeman put him in the back of the squad car, Herculeah caught a glimpse of his face. He no longer looked frightening. He looked frightened.
    â€œDoesn’t look as dangerous as I thought he would,” Meat’s mother said.
    â€œWhen he was holding that knife, he looked dangerous.”
    â€œLooks can fool you sometimes.”
    Herculeah nodded. “Voices, too. I actually believed he was Madame Rosa.” A sudden thought caused her to draw in her breath. “Oh, I’m going to have to go back for Tarot.”
    â€œThat awful bird. I went over to Madame Rosa’s one time—I needed to give her a piece of my mind about something—and the bird flew off its perch like it was trying to attack me. Maybe that wasn’t its intention, but one of its claws got caught in my necklace. Fortunately, I wasn’t wearing my pearls. I had on some cheerful plastic things I won at Bingo. If they hadn’t been pop-it beads, they would have been ruined.”
    Meat’s mother stuck her frying pan under her arm, since it obviously was not going to be needed. She sighed.
    That sigh told Herculeah they were getting ready to talk about something more serious than pop-it beads.
    â€œI wish I understood why this terrible murder happened,” Meat’s mother said.
    â€œIt happened, I think, because a boy tried to scare his mother,” Herculeah said.
    â€œScare his own mother?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWell, thank goodness my Albert doesn’t do that.”
    â€œNo, you have a wonderful son.” Herculeah broke off. “Oh, there’s my mom. She’ll help me now. Thank you very, very much.”
    â€œJust stay out of trouble. That will be thanks enough.”
    â€œI will.”
    â€œAnd keep my Albert out of trouble, too.”
    Herculeah waited for the squad car to pull away. Then she walked over to her mother’s car and stood there impatiently.
    â€œWhat was that police car doing here? There hasn’t been another murder, has there?”
    â€œNo,” Herculeah said, “but almost. The victim this time would have been me.” She put her arms around her mother. “I am so glad to see you.”
    â€œWhat happened?” Her mother drew back to take a better look at Herculeah.
    â€œWell, I got this telephone call and—”
    There was a whine from the backseat of the car. “What’s that noise?” Herculeah asked, bending down to peer into the rear window. She looked at her mother in amazement. “Mom, it’s a dog. You’ve got a dog. Why? You have never liked dogs.”
    â€œI like them even less now. Remember I told you about that couple who were divorcing and one of them kidnapped the dog? Well, nothing would do but I had to get the dog back—which I did. Now, would you believe it, nobody wants the dog. They never did. They were just using him to fight over. See if you can get him out of the car, Herculeah. His name is Trip.”
    Herculeah looked at the dog in the backseat. He was a large yellow ball of misery, curled up, trembling with the indignity of being kidnapped and abandoned.
    â€œCome on, Trip,” Herculeah said in a kind voice. As she bent down, her knees began to shake again. “Mom, my knees won’t stop shaking. Oh, I’ve got to tell you this one thing. It can’t wait. The puppeteer killed Madame Rosa!”
    â€œWho’s the puppeteer?”
    â€œOh, Mom.”
    â€œWell, get this dog out of the car, and