King of Murder by Betsy Byars Page B

came the sound of thunder. She glanced out the window. She could see nothing through the dense, chilling fog that circled the tower.
    A storm was coming. She must hurry.
    Still she hesitated before taking the next step. Only eight steps remained. She could see the heavy wooden door at the top now, a trapdoor.
    Only seven steps.
    Now she could hear it. The sound of breathing seemed to move from side to side behind the trapdoor. It was as if whoever, whatever was there, was trying to find a way out.
    â€œI’m coming,” she whispered.
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    The door to the bedroom opened behind Herculeah, and, startled, she spun around.
    â€œYour hour’s up, Herculeah,” the nurse said.
    â€œAlready? I just started. I’ve hardly read two pages. I got started talking about myself—I do that all the time. Plus I was getting to the good part. The girl in the book was hearing breathing. I’ve got to find out what’s doing that breathing.”
    â€œSorry. It’ll keep. Tomorrow the print will still be right there waiting for you.”
    â€œI know.” Herculeah sighed. “Actually I read a lot of books, and I’ve learned that authors save important things—things like what’s waiting up in the tower, doing that heavy breathing—until the very end. If I know authors, this one will start a flashback just when she gets to the trapdoor. Then, on the last page—finally, finally—we’ll find out what was in the tower.”
    â€œYou must do a lot of reading.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBut we don’t want to tire Mr. Hunt.”
    â€œNo. Did I tire you, Mr. Hunt?”
    Two blinks. No.
    â€œBut did I scare you?”
    No.
    She laughed. “Well, I scared myself.”
    Herculeah folded a ribbon into the book to hold her place. She closed the book and set it on the table.
    â€œI’ll be back tomorrow to pick up. Remember where we left off? It’s getting ready to storm. The girl heard thunder. It’ll be a dark and stormy night when anything can happen.” She gave her words a dramatic reading.
    He blinked a forceful yes.
    â€œDramatic things always happen during storms—though it’s dramatic enough with something waiting for her at the top of the tower.”
    Another forceful yes.
    â€œDo you know what’s up there?”
    Yes.
    â€œBecause you’ve read the book before?”
    â€œTime,” the nurse reminded her.
    â€œI have to go.” Herculeah smiled at the old man, his face pale against the pillows, his bright bird eyes trying to tell her something, something important.
    The nurse said, “Your friend is waiting for you outside.”
    â€œMeat?”
    â€œI think that’s his name. I tried to get him to come inside, but he wouldn’t.”
    â€œThat’s Meat.”
    Herculeah almost explained that Meat was afraid of this house, that he half believed the ghost stories that surrounded it, believed the stories that the portraits had holes in the eyes so that someone in a secret passage behind the wall could watch your every move.
    â€œMeat ... Herculeah ...” the nurse said. “What wonderful names!”
    â€œMeat got his because there’s a lot of him. I got mine because my mom was watching a Hercules movie when she was waiting for me to be born. Mom was kidding around about naming me Hercules if I was a boy. The nurse said, ‘What about if it’s a girl?’ Mom said, ‘She’ll be Herculeah.’ I guess I was lucky. The doctor got in the act and said, ‘How about Samson?’ He even sang it, ‘Oh, Samson-ya!’” She laughed. “Anyway, everyone who knows me says it suits.”
    â€œI only met you this afternoon,” the nurse said, “but I think it suits you, too.”
    As they moved into the hall, Herculeah said, “You know, I can’t stop wondering why he chose this book.” She smiled. “Although I’m always