The Buried Bones Mystery

  THE BURIED BONES MYSTERY

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.simonandschuster.com

  First Aladdin hardcover edition July 2011

  Text copyright © 1994, 2006 by Sharon M. Draper

  Illustrations copyright © 2006 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Originally published as the series title Ziggy and the Black Dinosaurs.

  This book, in a slightly different format, was originally published by Just Us Books.

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Also available in an Aladdin paperback edition.

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  a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Designed by Karina Granda

  The text of this book was set in Minion.

  Manufactured in the United States of America 0611 FFG

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  Library of Congress Control Number 2005924765

  ISBN 978-1-4424-2710-5 (hc)

  ISBN 978-1-4424-3152-2 (eBook)

  THE BURIED BONES MYSTERY

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  SCHOOL WAS OVER AND THE SUMMER MORNING stretched ahead like a soft, sweet piece of bubble gum. It was still early for a boy who had just finished fifth grade and promised himself he would sleep until noon every day of summer vacation. But the day was warm, and no matter how he tried to ignore it, the sunshine had called him early to get up. Rico Johnson grabbed his basketball and headed down the street to Ziggy’s house.

  Rico liked to go to Ziggy’s house because it was so different from his own. Rico lived with his mom, who drove a dull brown car and worked in an office building downtown, where she wore sensible, flat shoes and wrote careful letters to people in other offices. She went bowling with her friends every Friday night and took Rico to piano lessons every Saturday afternoon. She was the kind of mom who didn’t think dinner was complete unless a green vegetable was served. Basically boring, thought Rico.

  But Ziggy’s house—now that was another story. It was huge, brightly painted, and cheerful. Ziggy’s mom sometimes planted flowers and sometimes vegetables in the front yard, so there was an odd assortment of tomato plants, roses, corn, and lilies growing together. The grass was cut whenever someone thought about it. One summer it had even been kept short by Ziggy’s uncle Raphael’s pet goat. Trimmed or not, it always looked soft and inviting, and was the perfect place to stop and rest on a hot day.

  Ziggy’s doorbell didn’t work, so Rico knocked on the screen door. Raphael came to the door looking sleepy and confused. His hair, long and braided, hung down over his eyes.

  “So, little mon, you come see Ziggy?” Rico grinned and nodded. “Him still sleep—go get his lazy bones up, mon.”

  Raphael let Rico in and headed back to bed to finish his morning nap. Three more uncles and a cousin were staying with Ziggy’s family, but the house still felt large and roomy. Ziggy’s mom came from a family of fourteen in Jamaica, so she kept her door open to any relative who needed a place to stay.

  Rico had spent the night at Ziggy’s many times, so he knew exactly where he was headed. He ran up the stairs, turned left, and opened the bathroom door. There, in the bathtub, wrapped in an army sleeping bag, lay Ziggy. He was wide awake.

  “I been waiting for you, mon,” said Ziggy with a grin. “What’s up?”

  “Not you, man. Why you still sleepin’ in the tub? You got a perfectly good bed right across the hall.”

  “Ah, Rico-mon, a soft bed is for sissies! I’m practicing for when I become a spy for the FB of I. Spies gotta be tough, you know. Besides, when I gotta get up and go to the bathroom at night, I’m already there!”

  Rico laughed and helped Ziggy out of the tub. Ziggy got dressed, brushed his teeth, grabbed his basketball, put on a large black, yellow, and green hat his mother had knitted, and tucked his braids inside. Then he and Rico headed downstairs. Ziggy’s mom, who was already in the kitchen cutting onions for dinner, smiled at them and said, “It be a fine morning for young doodles like you two. Make sure you eat something before you leave.”

  Ziggy grabbed two onions, took a big bite of one, and said with his mouth full, “We’ll be playin’ basketball, Mum. Be back soon.”

  Rico, who usually had cereal and juice and toast in the morning, just like the picture on the front of the cereal box, was always surprised at what Ziggy ate for breakfast. Yesterday Ziggy had eaten a cold ear of corn covered with peanut butter. “Don’t be afraid to try new ideas,” Ziggy had said. “When we’re spies for the FB of I, we may have to eat bugs!” Rico hoped not, but he didn’t tell Ziggy.

  They were both laughing as they left Ziggy’s house and headed for the basketball court down the street. They practiced bouncing their basketballs on the sidewalk at exactly the same time, so that only one thunk could be heard instead of two.

  Laughing and concentrating, they didn’t even hear Jerome sneak up behind them. He knocked both balls out of their hands, yelling, “And Washington’s famous come-from-behind sneak attack takes the ball from the two rookies once again!”

  “You think you so slick, Jerome-mon,” said Ziggy. “But I knew you were there all along. I just wanted you to think I didn’t see you.”

  “Yeah, I forgot, Ziggy, that you were in training—”

  “To be a spy for the FB of I,” Rico and Jerome shouted in unison.

  Jerome lived with his grandmother and two little sisters. Some days he couldn’t come out to play with the other guys because he had to babysit. Once, he took his sisters with him to the basketball court, and LaTonya had fallen and bumped her head on a rock. She had screamed like her head was split wide open, even though it was just a tiny bloody spot. She couldn’t wait to tell Granny, of course, and after Granny had given her a little plastic bag of ice to put on it, she got great pleasure in announcing to Jerome, “Granny said you can’t ever take us down there anymore. You gotta stay here with us until she gets back!”

  So Jerome felt good today. School was out, LaTonya and Temika had gone shopping with Granny, and he had the morning free to shoot a few hoops with his friends. Rashawn had called earlier, hoping he would be able to play today.

  Rashawn lived at the very end of the street with his mother and his dad, who was a police officer. He had a dog, a Siberian husky named Afrika with one blue eye and one brown eye and a large white stripe down his nose. Everybody said Afrika was crazy. That dog had once chewed a hole right through the wood of Rashawn’s garage—just because he didn’t feel like being locked up that day. Ziggy said Afrika was the best watchdog in the neighborhood because all he ever did was watch people. He never barked; he just s
tared at people who came to the house. No one ever knew if he was going to attack or go back to sleep.

  When Rico, Ziggy, and Jerome got to Rashawn’s house, they yelled, “Hey, Rashawn! Come on out.” Afrika just yawned. Rashawn, wearing army boots and dark sunglasses, came out of his house, not with a basketball, but with a large, black plastic dinosaur.

  “What’s up with the dinosaur?” asked Rico. “That’s awesome!”

  “A brontosaurus!” yelled Ziggy. “My favorite, mon!”

  “It’s an apatosaurus, not a brontosaurus,” Rashawn corrected him. “They were vegetarians, just like me.”

  “I still don’t believe you don’t eat hamburgers or hot dogs or pork chops, man,” Jerome chimed in. “I just couldn’t make it if I had to live on lettuce and bean sprouts, like you.”

  “If an apatosaurus could get this big and strong just eating vegetables, then I guess I’ll be okay,” Rashawn replied, smiling. “Let’s go shoot some hoops and I’ll show you who’s got the power!”

  Rashawn—tall and skinny; Jerome—short, strong and tough; Ziggy—who jumped and bounced and was never still; and Rico—the only one with his shirt neatly tucked inside his shorts, raced one another to the end of the street, where the city had put up two basketball nets for the neighborhood kids. The older, high school kids usually didn’t come out until later, so Rico and his friends had the courts to themselves this time of day. Rashawn, the fastest runner, got there first, even though he was holding the dinosaur. Then he just stopped and looked around in disbelief.

  “What’s up with this?” he exclaimed.

  “Why would anyone want to do something so awful?” moaned Ziggy softly.

  Rico and Jerome were speechless. Someone had taken a chain saw and cut the basketball poles into little pieces.

  “SO WHAT ARE WE S’POSED TO DO NOW?” JEROME asked angrily. The four friends were sitting on Jerome’s front porch, their basketballs tossed uselessly in a corner.

  “We could see if we could go to Morgan Park to play ball,” suggested Rico, but without much hope in his voice.

  “Fat chance, mon,” said Ziggy. “You know your mum won’t let you go to Morgan Park. It’s ten blocks away and on the other side of the freeway.”

  “Yeah, Rico,” Rashawn teased. “Your mama still pins notes on your shirt to take to the teacher!”

  “That’s not true!” Rico protested. “My mama’s just… careful, that’s all. Besides, at least I got a shirt, Rashawn!”

  “O-o-owee! He got you, boy!” yelled Jerome. Ziggy was laughing so hard he was about to fall off the porch.

  Rashawn, who was not about to be capped by Rico or Jerome, smiled and replied, “Yeah, but all your mamas wear army boots, and none of them are going to let us go to Morgan Park!”

  At that, all of them, even Ziggy, got quiet. They were stuck for the entire summer with nothing to do. The neighborhood swimming pool had been closed because kids kept jumping the fence at night and last summer a boy had drowned. The baseball field had been covered over to make a larger parking lot for the shopping center and there were no movie theaters or video arcades within walking distance. All they had was that small park with the basketball courts, and now it was useless.

  “How long do you think it will take them to fix it?” asked Jerome.

  “By the time you have a son in the fifth grade,” said Rico, sighing.

  Rashawn, who was still holding the huge plastic dinosaur, said, “Maybe when my dad gets back from his club meeting he can take us to the movies or something.”

  “Hey, that be sounding real good, mon,” said Ziggy. “What kind of club meeting does a grown man go to, anyhow?”

  “It’s called the Black Heritage Club and they sponsor African American activities and raise money for worthy causes.”

  “Worthy causes like basketball courts?” asked Rico.

  “No, worthy causes more like helping kids to go to African American colleges,” replied Rashawn. “But I know the cops will try to find out who trashed our court.”

  “Well, that’s cool too,” said Jerome. “But until then we’re still stuck right where we were before.”

  “Maybe not, mon,” said Ziggy with a grin. “Why don’t we start our own club? We could have secret meetings and code words and handshakes and plan spy trips, just like the FB of I!”

  “Hey, Ziggy! That’s an awesome idea!” said Jerome. “We could have meetings right here on my front porch. That way if I have to watch LaTonya and Temika—”

  “No way, man,” said Rashawn. “We don’t want any little sisters finding out our secret stuff.”

  “He’s right,” Rico added. “We need to find a clubhouse or someplace where we can make our plans and hide our treasures.”

  “Treasures?” Ziggy’s eyes lit up. “Of course, we gotta have treasures! We’ll bring whatever we can find from home, and then, if that’s not enough, we’ll go on a mission to search for more!”

  “What are we gonna call our club?” asked Rico. “We need a name that’s really tight.”

  “How about Junior Spies of the FB of I?” suggested Ziggy.

  “No, man,” said Jerome patiently, “none of that FBI stuff. How about the Basketball Posse?”

  “That’s dumb,” said Rico. “Besides, we won’t be playing basketball. Let’s call it the Black Stallions. I saw a really good movie about a cool black horse.”

  “Yeah, like we all got black horses to ride,” said Rashawn, who was swinging the plastic dinosaur by its neck. “I know—why don’t we call our club the Black Dinosaurs?”

  “I like it, mon!”

  “Me too,” agreed Rico, “and Rashawn’s dinosaur can be our mascot.”

  “We can hang it from the door of our clubhouse!” said Jerome.

  “What clubhouse?” Rashawn looked around.

  “The one we’re gonna build!” Ziggy answered eagerly. He jumped from the top step of the porch. “Let’s go! I know the perfect place!”

  THE FOUR BOYS RAN UP THE STREET TO ZIGGY’S house, tossing the dinosaur between them as they went. They headed for the backyard, which was almost like a real jungle. The grass was never cut. It was a place where flowers, weeds, rabbits, and ten-year-old boys could grow wild. An old rope swing still hung from a tree, even though the tree had died years ago. A path, probably used by raccoons, ran back into the thick underbrush. At the very end of this path was what was left of an old wooden fence. Ziggy explained to his friends that the fence had once been a property divider, but now was just fallen lengths of wood. It must have been about six feet high and a hundred feet long when it was first built. Now it was sitting in the sun, waiting to be a clubhouse for the Black Dinosaurs.

  “So, what do you think?” asked Ziggy. “No one can see us from the house. It’s a perfect place to plan spy missions!”

  “It’s hot,” complained Jerome. “And I hate bugs and thorns!”

  “So, as soon as it’s built, we’ll put in air-conditioning, okay?” said Rashawn.

  Jerome grinned. “You make sure you do, and while you’re at it, put in a swimming pool too.”

  “Sure, Jerome,” said Rico, smiling, as he sat on one of the fence boards. Ziggy’s backyard always amazed him. Rico’s tiny little backyard, with its neat rows of pansies and petunias, was nothing like this wonderful jungle. It was a place to dream and to create—a perfect place for a secret clubhouse.

  Rico looked at his friends. “We’re gonna have to plan this out carefully. We need to borrow tools from home, and we have to remember to bring ice water or punch whenever we’re working. There’s plenty of wood here, and it won’t be hard to put these large sections together to make a clubhouse. It can even have a door and a window.”

  “I knew it!” shouted Ziggy. “The Black Dinosaurs are now in business!”

  They spent the next few days cutting the weeds and bushes to make a clearing big enough for the clubhouse. Jerome’s grandmother gave them rakes and garden shears, and Ziggy’s mom kept a jug of Jamaican iced te
a on the back steps. They finally talked Rashawn’s father into letting them use his tools, and after many reminders from Rico’s mom about being careful and avoiding snakes, the clubhouse began to take shape.

  For the back wall they used a part of the fence that was still standing and sturdy. Connecting the other parts to it was a little shaky at first, but somehow Rico seemed to know what would hold and what angle would work. They cut holes that looked a lot like windows in the two side walls, and for the door, they used a smaller section of the fence that fit perfectly into another hole that Rico cut. They closed it with a bent piece of wire coat hanger.

  Rashawn looked a little worried. “How are we gonna put a roof on it?”

  “Never fear. I have a plan!” Rico replied with a smile.

  Lifting the roof was the hardest part, because the piece of fence they used was very heavy, plus it had been covered with little brown bugs that scrambled everywhere when they lifted it up. Jerome had threatened to quit right then, but Rico ran home and got a can of bug spray, and they were able to get the roof on, with the help of two stepladders, a two-by-four balanced on a rock, and quite a bit of luck.

  The clubhouse was finished on Friday morning. Rico and Rashawn grinned at each other with satisfaction. Ziggy bounced with excitement, going in and out of the windows and opening and closing the front door over and over again. Jerome sat on the dirt floor, a cold glass of iced tea in one hand and a can of bug spray in the other, quietly nodding his head in approval.

  The clubhouse was about ten feet by twelve feet—not really big—but large enough for four boys to sit and talk.

  Ziggy, looking around with satisfaction, announced, “Let’s bring the chairs in.”

  “I found a lawn chair that my dad was gonna throw out,” offered Rashawn. “It’s a little bent, but it’ll do.”

  Rico dragged in a chair that had been left behind at a church picnic, and Jerome had found a three-legged kitchen chair. “We can use a rock to balance it,” he suggested.