Us and Uncle Fraud by Lois Lowry

still at the card catalogue, muttering.
    "Mr. Mueller," I said politely, "I have to go." He looked up in dismay. "You do? But—"
    "I'll come back. And in the meantime, maybe you will have figured out where to find it. But I have to go now. I promised somebody."
    "You know what I'll do, Louise? I'll look through the big art books. I'm quite sure that I'll locate it in one of those. And come to think of it, I seem to remember that there was a magazine article once. I'll get out my
Readers' Guide to Periodical Literature
, and—"
    "Thanks, Mr. Mueller." I looked at the clock again. Marcus had been gone now for thirty-five minutes. He had a watch. He would know how much time had passed. I felt, suddenly, very frightened. "I really have to go now."
    I pulled the door open, let myself out, and adjusted my hat in the blinding rain. There was no sign of Marcus. Fighting the wind, I began to run in my heavy, wet boots toward the cemetery.

12
    I had only four blocks to go to reach the edge of the cemetery. But my feet were heavy, the wind was against me, trying to push me backward, and it was hard to see. The visor of my slicker helmet kept slipping down over my forehead and I pushed it up automatically as I ran. At the corner, the water was so deep across the street that I couldn't see the curb, and I slipped and fell. My boots filled with the ice-cold, muddy water, and I had to stop on the other side of the street and empty them as best I could.
    I ran on, past the deserted school; the playground was covered with brown water and the swings moved in the wind and clanked against their metal supports.
    There were no cars on the streets, no people, no dogs, nothing of the everyday life of our town. But suddenly I became aware of a new sound, a swishing through the water, and a presence nearby. I tilted my visor, looked up, and saw a bicycle with a drenched figure on it. Startled, I realized it was my brother, Tom.
    "Louise!" he yelled angrily. "What the
hell
are you doing? And where's Marcus? Mother sent me out to find you. They closed all the schools almost an hour ago!"
    I tried to sound casual, though I had a sharp pain in my side from running and was still gripped with a feeling of fear for Marcus. But I shrugged with pretended nonchalance, my shoulders lifting inside my slicker.
    "I went to the library. And stupid Marcus went down to the cemetery to see if any bones were floating out. I'm just going to meet him, and then we'll be right home. Tell Mother we'll be there in a few minutes, okay?"
    He didn't answer, but he looked furious, and I didn't blame him. I would have been furious, too. In fact, suddenly I was terribly angry at Marcus. If it weren't for him, I would have been home drinking hot chocolate at this very minute, instead of being dripping wet and freezing cold.
    Tom sprayed me with more cold water from the wheels of his bike when he rode off toward home without looking back. I realized that it was the first time I had ever heard him swear. Maybe, I thought with satisfaction, I would tell on him when I got home, and he would be in trouble along with Marcus and me.
    Where
was
Marcus? I was nearing the cemetery now, after struggling along for the remaining blocks, and there was still no sign of him. I hated the cemetery. Mother had tried to point out to me how pretty it was, planted with flowers and bushes everywhere; some people even had picnics there in summer. But to me it was just a place where dead people were. Our old neighbor, Mrs. Bostwick, was in there somewhere, and so was Mrs. Mallory's husband, the one who had died of the mysterious fever long ago. Kenny Stratton's mother was there in the cemetery, too. The place gave me the creeps, and I always crossed the street to the other side when I had to walk past its low stone wall.
    Now I had to enter it, and I would never
ever
forgive Marcus for that. The flowers and bushes, like Mother's forsythia, were battered and smashed by the rain. The gravestones,