Buddy Lamp bowed at Eugenia, and then he bowed at Frank. He said, “I hope to see you both again soon.”
Frank thought it was unlikely that he would ever return to Buddy Lamp’s Used Goods. The store was entirely too disturbing.
Nonetheless, Frank bowed back at Buddy Lamp. He thanked him.
It wasn’t until Eugenia Lincoln turned the car onto Deckawoo Drive that Frank thought to look inside the envelope.
“Uh-oh,” said Frank.
“What now?” said Eugenia.
“There are three keys in here,” said Frank. “And there should be only two.”
The third key was not like the other two keys.
The pattern of its teeth was different. It shone in a muted, self-important way, as if it knew a secret.
“I’m sure that Buddy Lamp put the key in the envelope inadvertently,” said Eugenia Lincoln. “Tomorrow, you may go and return it to him.”
“But what does it mean?” said Frank.
“What does it mean?” said Eugenia. “It means that Buddy Lamp put the key in the envelope by mistake. As I said.”
Frank held the third key in his hand and stared down at it. He did not think the key was a mistake. He thought it was a message. He just didn’t know what the message was.
“I’ll have to go back,” he said.
“As I said,” said Eugenia, “you will return the key tomorrow.”
“But I’m afraid to go back there,” said Frank.
“We have already discussed this, Franklin Endicott. You have entirely too many fears. Tomorrow, you will return the key to Mr. Lamp. And that’s that.”
He had nightmares that night. Of course he did.
He dreamed that the third key was buried in a bowl of eyeballs. He dreamed of the snarl and snap of weasel teeth. He dreamed that the headless mannequin in the green suit could speak — in spite of the fact that it didn’t have a head.
“Give me back my key!” the headless mannequin shouted.
Frank woke with a start. He got up, turned on the light, and went downstairs. He got the worry notebook out of the hall closet. He made several entries: eyeballs (fake), bugs in amber (for all eternity), weasels (their teeth), headless men (talking), and keys (of unexplained origin).
And then he returned the notebook to the top shelf and went into the kitchen and heated up some milk. He looked out the window. The Lincoln sisters’ light was not on. Eugenia was not sitting at the kitchen table.
Frank was all alone in the world.
Eugenia Lincoln was right, of course. He was going to have to return to Buddy Lamp’s Used Goods.
He was going to have to face his fears.
He was going to have to step forward bravely.
The next day, Frank went to Buddy Lamp’s and stared in the window at the weasel and the weasel’s teeth and the headless man. And then he pulled open the door and the sleigh bells rang their merry ring, and Frank went inside.
It was, if possible, even gloomier in Buddy Lamp’s Used Goods than it had been the day before. The wax figure of Napoleon was gone, and in its place was a gigantic book on a wooden stand. The book was opened to a map. Frank stepped closer. He leaned in and studied the map. He did not recognize anything on it, and the words describing the unrecognizable place were in a different language. Even the letters looked strange. It was all very disconcerting.
Frank took a step back, away from the book.
“Hello?” he called out. “Mr. Lamp?”
“Mr. Endicott,” said Buddy Lamp.
“Eeep!” said Frank.
Buddy Lamp had, again, managed to appear out of nowhere.
“Sir!” said Frank. “When you made the key for Miss Lincoln, you put a third key in the envelope by mistake. I’m returning it.”
Frank held out the key. He was embarrassed to see that his hand was trembling.
Buddy Lamp bent over. He lowered his glasses. He stared at the key in Frank’s shaking hand. “Hmmm,” said Buddy Lamp. “Humdee dum dee.” He raised his glasses. He stood up straight. He said, “I’ve never seen that key before.”
“What?” said Frank. “That can’t be. This key was in the envelope. You must have put it there.”
“But I didn’t put it there,” said Buddy Lamp. He smiled his ghostly smile.
“How did it get in there then?” said Frank. He felt dizzy. “There has to be an explanation.”
“Does there?” said Buddy Lamp. “In my experience, things happen all the time that can’t be explained.”
“Can you please take this key back?”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Buddy Lamp.
“Why not?” said Frank.
“Because,” said Buddy Lamp. He smiled. “It’s not my key.”
“I don’t know what to do,” said Frank. “I’m confused and afraid.”
“Ah,” said Buddy Lamp. “I think have the solution for that.”
“You do?” said Frank.
“Yes,” said Buddy Lamp.
“What is it?”
“Hot chocolate,” said Buddy Lamp.
Buddy Lamp made hot chocolate by first heating milk on a little two-burner stove. Why, Frank wondered, did people believe so ardently in the heating up of milk? Why did they think it was a solution for anything?
Buddy Lamp’s stove was on a table behind the counter, and on either side of the table were pink chairs. Both chairs had stuffing poking out of them.
“Please,” said Buddy Lamp. “Have a seat.”
Frank sat down. He still had hold of the third key.
“Now,” said Buddy Lamp. “I will just heat this milk to the proper temperature and melt the chocolate into it and it will be sweet and good. Then we can drink it together and talk of things that matter.”
“Like where this key came from?” said Frank.
“Ha-ha-ha and humdee dum dee,” said Buddy Lamp. He dropped chunks of chocolate into the milk. “The key is a mystery. You have been given the gift of a mystery. Isn’t that wonderful? Who knows what doors it may unlock? It’s like a story from our friend O. Henry.”
As far as Frank knew, he didn’t have a friend named O. Henry.
Also, he didn’t think that mysteries were gifts at all.
Buddy
