Deep Talk

"She threatened me," Mugler continued. "She was cruel. And I couldn't get her out of my mind. I still can't. She's been in my dreams ever since, telling me she's going to find out I lied to her."

"Lied to her?" Dad repeated.

"Yes, sir. I told her I'd never met anybody as chubby as the man, and I hid the letters under the counter before she could see them. I flat out lied to her, and she told me bad things would happen if she ever found I'd a-done it. And I did it."

 "So. . . ." Tom started, "You quit your job because you were scared of her?"

Mugler looked down at his feet as if ashamed of himself. "You got me all figured out, boy. Poor Mugler Georges hasn't been the same since the day I met that dark sorceress. I quit my job, went on welfare, and borrowed money. I have been hiding inside this house ever since. The only reason I met the small bot who gave me the letters is because I heard a noise out in the backyard."

"I thought you said it came out of a graveyard," Dad said.

"It did. Like I said, back behind my house is an old, old cemetery. Got too old, I reckon, so they built another one closer to downtown." 

"Silver Head," Tom said quietly.

"Huh?" Mugler replied.

"His name is Silver Head. The bot who gave you this letter." Tom slipped it from his diary and held it in his hand.

Mugler looked perplexed. "Well, what in the Sears-and-Roebuck kind of name is that?"

"I guess that's what they answer in their real—I mean wherever they come from."

Mugler did nothing but blink.

"Never mind." Tom turned to his dad. "Why in the world would he have given him the sixth clue?"

His dad furrowed his brow for a moment, deep in thought. "Well, maybe it's like I said—I think they wanted us to be proactive and seek out information, not just wait around to find it. Maybe they went back to all the towns they mailed the letters from and gave copies of the clues to the postal workers who would cooperate. They knew if we did some investigating, going to the source would be the most logical step."

Tom thought for a second. "Dad, I think you nailed it."

"I'm brilliant, my son. Brilliant." He winked.

Mugler cleared his throat. "Excuse me for interrupting, folks, but what in the name of Kermit the Frog are you guys talking about? You came here asking me questions, but it sounds like you know a lot more than I do." 

Dad leaned over and patted Tom on the shoulder. "My boy here, the one who's receiving these letters, is trying to figure out the big mystery behind them. We think it was a test of sorts to see if we'd seek you out, which is why you were given the sixth clue to give us." 

Mugler nodded. "Ah, I see." He rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders.

"Look," Tom said. "Do you know anything else about this chubby man, Mistress Christine, Silver Head?"

Mugler shook his head in response.

"Well, then," Tom said. "I think we've got what we came for. Maybe we should get going. I can read the clues while you drive." Tom tried his best to hint that he didn't feel very comfortable in Mugler's house.

  "Just a minute," His dad looked at their host. "Mr. Georges, you've done a great service for us and we'd like to return the favor. Is there, uh, anything we can do to help you, uh, get your nerve back and go back to work?"

Mugler didn't reply for a long time. Then, "I don't know. It's awfully kind of you to offer. I guess I'm just too scared that the woman is going to come back for me and string me up like a fresh catch of salmon." 

"Well, let me tell you what I think," Dad said, holding up a finger. "I agree with you one hundred percent. I think this Mistress Christine must be evil, because we wholeheartedly believe M.S. (the chubby man) is doing must be a noble cause because he wants my son's help. And we've committed to that cause heart and soul, as you can tell." 

  "I reckon I can see that. What's your point?" 

  "Well, if this. . . . black-dressed, long-haired, nasty woman made you quit your job, shun society, and hole up in a house all by yourself, then I think she's won a mighty victory over the world. She's beaten the great Mugler Georges once and for all, and will move on to her next prey."

Tom liked seeing his dad try and help this poor man who decided to do his part. "Yeah, Mugler, you're doing exactly what she wanted you to do—give up and be miserable. Go back to work, show her you're the boss of your own life."

Mugler looked back and forth between Tom and his dad, his face a mask of uncertainty. "And if she does come back? What then?"

"Then by golly," Dad said. "Stand up to her. Show her who's in charge."

"And call us," Tom chimed in. "By then, maybe we'll have figured everything out and know how to help you."

Mugler scratched his head. "Well, I don't know. I'm going to have to think about this."

Dad smiled. "Listen, we'll exchange phone numbers and keep in touch, okay? How's that sound?"

  Mugler didn't answer for a very long time, and Tom wondered if something was wrong. But then he saw moisture rimming on the bottom of the man's eye and realized the guy was all choked up.

Finally, their new friend spoke up. "I can't tell you how much it means to me that you folks care enough to give me your phone number. I just wish you lived up here in Alsace. I could use a friend."

"Well, hey," Dad said. "In this world, with the internet and all that, we can keep in touch just fine."

And with that, their new friendship was sealed, and Tom felt mighty proud of himself.

                                      ~

Davy watched as Tom and his dad stepped out of the house, then shook hands and embraced their new little buddy. They said a few more sappy words, just like they had inside, and headed for their vehicle.

"What is this, a soap opera? I might need a tissue for my weepy eyes." 

He snickered at his own joke. He had already pulled out his spy bugs, then pulled the car into drive, ready to follow, the bright light of midday having long faded into the dim of late afternoon.

Davy pulled out his half of the special device and fingered the big button in the middle of its shiny gray surface.

"In just a few minutes," he thought. "Just a few minutes and the show begins."