SHAKESPEARE’ SECRET by Elise Broach Page A

dad.”
    He shifted in his chair to look at the secretary. Hero wanted to ask him more, but she was afraid he would unravel his entire shirt. The red-haired woman was facing the window, talking on the phone. She held it against her shoulder, using both hands to sort through the papers on the desk.
    â€œShe looks busy now,” Danny said. “Let’s find the Murphy file.”

CHAPTER
13
    Danny knelt by the file cabinet and with another glance at the secretary slid the drawer open. Hero could see that it was filled with files, packed with them. The manila folders bulged, wedged so tightly against one another that the tiny plastic labels along the top were impossible to read.
    â€œOh!” she exclaimed hopelessly. “How are we ever going to find it?”
    Danny seemed at a loss. “I know it’s here. But geez, if all these are unsolved cases, the police aren’t doing such a good job.”
    â€œHave you ever seen your dad take it out? I mean, did he reach toward the back of the drawer, or the front, or where?”
    â€œI don’t remember. I think it was kind of in the middle.” Danny sat back on his heels and startedpainstakingly pinching the labels apart, squinting at the names.
    â€œDo you see something that says Murphy?” “Uh, no. They’re just labeled with numbers.” “Numbers? Numbers?” Hero crouched down next to him. “Are you kidding?”
    Danny frowned. “What did you expect, Netherfield? Did you think it was going to say Murphy Diamond Mystery on it?”
    â€œNo,” Hero snapped. “But maybe you should have thought of this before we came all the way down here. These are case numbers or something. There’s no way we’re going to figure out which—”
    At that moment, they heard the doorknob turn. Hero scrambled backward in a panic, and Danny pushed the file drawer shut with such force it rattled the cabinet. But not before his father swung the door open.
    â€œDanny? What do you think you’re doing?” Hero looked up miserably. Danny’s father didn’t resemble Danny at all: there was nothing friendly about him. Maybe it was the uniform, which was dark and frighteningly official. His hair was brown, and his face had none of Danny’s lazy, easy openness. In fact, he looked almost mean. Or at least stern. Like a policeman.
    Danny scrambled up from the floor. “Hey, Dad. Hey. We . . . we were waiting for you. Cheryl said we could wait in here, so we were just, you know, waiting.”
    Mr. Cordova looked at Hero. She tried to smile, but she couldn’t stop staring at his gun.
    â€œHello,” he said, not smiling. “Who are you?”
    â€œHero Netherfield.” Her voice sounded like something between a squeak and a whisper.
    â€œCarrie?”
    Hero cleared her throat. Her heart was pounding. “No, Hero.”
    Mr. Cordova snorted, closing the door to the office. “What were you doing looking at those files?” he said sharply, this time to Danny.
    Danny swallowed. “Well, see . . . we came down here . . . because, you know, Hero’s doing that Civics project for sixth grade.” Danny seemed to relax. He glanced at Hero, then flashed a quick smile at his father. “Remember? And she has to interview somebody who works for the town.”
    Mr. Cordova sat down behind his desk, studying them both. “I thought that project was in the spring.”
    Hero nodded. “It is,” she heard herself say, and was amazed that her voice sounded steady and clear, no trace of a quaver. “But I wanted to start early. Wejust moved to town, so I don’t know anybody, and Danny said you’re a policeman—”
    â€œChief of police,’ Mr. Cordova said.
    â€œRight, chief of police,” Hero corrected herself. “And so I thought everybody must want to write about you.” She could see Danny’s smile getting wider. She took a deep