Finders Keepers (15 page)

I took the sponge from his hand and dropped it into the soapy bucket. “We're getting that journal.”

We quietly went inside the house and tiptoed into the kitchen. The cell phone was on the kitchen table. We listened for signs that Grumpa was moving around the house.

“I don't hear anything,” Alex whispered.

“I'll stand watch. You go get the journal.”

“You go get it. I'm really good at watch-standing. Better than you.”

“You're the one who found the journal. I don't know where it is. It's got to be you. If Grumpa comes into the kitchen, I'll cough. So just go.”

Alex frowned.

“Fine.” I pushed him away from the door. “I'll do it.”

He pulled on my arm. He inhaled deep and long and said, “No. She's my great-grandmother. It's my basement. I'll go.” Then he opened the door and disappeared into the basement.

I could hear the steps creaking as he made his way down. I worried Grumpa might come into the kitchen for a drink, but the house was quiet. I couldn't hear any movement in the basement, either. A few minutes later, the steps creaked until Alex stepped through the door.

“It's not there!” His eyes were huge. “Someone took it.”

“Serious?”

“I wouldn't joke about this stuff.”

“Did Mr. Walt Miller work in the basement?”

Alex smacked his forehead. “Yes! He came over last night while Grandpa was helping my mom with the accounting at the restaurant.”

“You sure you looked in the right box?”

“Looking for this?” Grumpa had come from the living room, holding the old notebook above his head.

I'm not sure what was bigger—Alex's eyes or my fear that we were in trouble. Grumpa sat down at the kitchen table. He placed the notebook next to him, running his finger across it. “Take a seat.”

Without a word we sat across from Grumpa. I stared at the table because I was afraid of his steel blue eyes. He was quiet for a minute.

“Ever since I retired, I can't stop thinking about it. My mother and Capone's money. All day. All night. I can't sleep. My head's about burning up.” Grumpa lifted his fishing hat and rubbed his head. “I read it after her funeral and put it in a box so I'd forget. And I didn't think about it for years. I worked and I had a family. When I lost my wife, I had to work even harder to keep everything out of my head. There was too much swirling around. Capone, my father, my mother, my wife.”

Grumpa opened the notebook and paged through it. “She sure liked writing about the weather.” He slid the notebook across the table to Alex. “Go ahead. Read this page.”

Alex opened the notebook and blinked. “I don't read cursive very well.”

“For the love of Gertrude, you don't know how to read?”

“I can read! But we didn't study frilly handwriting in my old school.”

Grumpa was winding up for a big grump, I could tell. So I said, “My mom writes in cursive all the time.”

“All right, Minnow, you read it.”

I began:

My dearest Edmund,

I prayed and prayed for guidance after your father brought calamity to our home. I asked whether I should I spend this fortune on my son. I want a better life for you; however, I received no answer. I asked if I should donate it to people in need or if I should destroy it entirely. Still, I received no answers. Edmund, it pains me to confess my deception. I said I burned the money so you would not be consumed with the questions that have plagued me. Instead, I moved the fortune from one hiding place to another, until this morning.

Last night, I received an answer. I had a dream so real it was as though I lived it. In the dream, a voice told me to bury the money. When the building is lost, and the earth is moved again, the curse will lift.

In case someone finds this journal before my death, or before you read it, I will not disclose the location of the money. I left a note revealing the location in a place only you will know, my dear Edmund, a place from which it can escape.

When that day comes, Capone's fortune will rest in your hands. I pray you will find wisdom and strength to do what I could not.

Always your loving mother,

Hillary Clark

Grumpa's body looked heavy. I wondered what it felt like to hear a secret so old, a secret so heavy even a mother couldn't carry it.

Finally he spoke. “You probably won't understand, but the older you get, the more the past grabs you and shakes you and won't let go. I guess it's time to finish this once and for all.”

I couldn't believe he put the notebook out of his mind for years and years. At what age did people decide there were things worth forgetting? I wanted to remember everything. “You read the journal, Grumpa, but you never looked for the other note?”

“That's right.”

I read the line again. “‘I left a note revealing the location in a place only you will know, my dear Edmund, a place from which it can escape.' That doesn't make sense.
A place from which it can escape
. What does that mean?”

“I know exactly what it means,” Grumpa said. “Later tonight, after dark, I'm going to get that note.”

“We'll go with you,” Alex said.

“This is something I need to do by myself. I should've done it long ago. I want you kids to stay here. Amelia can keep an eye on you. I'll get you when I'm back.”

“Why later?” I asked. “Why not now?”

“Because the restaurant doesn't close until ten,” he said.

Alex and I passed time wading along the shore. The mosquitoes started their attack as soon as the sun dipped behind the trees. We went to the cabin for bug spray and found Amelia with company. Travis, Matt Sat-Flat, and another girl were sitting in our living room talking and laughing.

I wondered if the girl was with Matt and Travis when Sheriff Duncan chased them away from Capone's hideout. If I hadn't been loaded in the back of a police car, I would have asked Sheriff Duncan to describe the teenagers he'd almost caught.

Amelia said, “Christa, this is Lara.” I gave her a half smile while Amelia turned to her friends and announced, “Mr. Clark asked me to be in charge of the kids for a few hours. Think he's got a hot date?”

Over their laughter I said, “You're not supposed to have friends visit when Mom and Dad aren't here.”

“It's not a big deal. We're just hanging out and watching movies.”

“Still, you're not supposed to.”

“Guess what else is not supposed to happen?” Amelia let that question hang in the air before she pounced. “You're not supposed to be busted by a cop for riding an ATV out to Capone's hideout!”

My mouth dropped open. “Did Grumpa say something?”

“So old Ed Clark has kids doing his dirty work.” Travis smiled as though he'd solved a mystery.

Alex's eyes looked like bullets. “My grandpa told us to stop digging around. He said he's going to take care of it himself.”

“Is that why Amelia is babysitting?” Matt asked. “So he can run around Capone's woods in the dark?”

“He's not running around. He … he … he has to help with the accounting at the restaurant,” Alex said.

“Amelia, do Mom and Dad know about the ATV?” I asked.

Amelia let me wonder and worry. She smiled while my heart raced. Her friends laughed. Finally, she said, “Mom and Dad don't know. I know because Matt told me. Walt Miller is Matt's grandfather.”

Just then the puzzle came together. Alex's expression told me he got it, too. Mr. Walt Miller and Matt Ratty Rat-Rat were big mouths
and
relatives, and they were working together to steal the money. Matt probably didn't even like Amelia. He was using her to get closer to the Clarks!

“How about a deal, Christa? I'll won't tell Mom and Dad about the ATV if you don't say anything about my friends being here.”

Amelia didn't understand what was really happening, and this was no time to tell her. “Fine. We're going to Alex's since you'll be hogging the TV.”

“Just don't get arrested.” Amelia's little joke made her friends laugh and laugh.

 

FINDING AND KEEPING

Alex and I drank orange soda and ate leftover pizza while we waited for Grumpa. The Clarks' refrigerator held boxes of leftover pizza every single night. Alex was so lucky.

The phone rang, and we both jumped. It was the loudest ring I'd ever heard. Grumpa's phone was an artifact. It hung on the wall, and a corkscrew-shaped cord connected its parts. Alex answered, muttered a few words about Grumpa not being home, that he was helping with business stuff at the restaurant, and then hung up.

“Weird,” he said. “That was Walt Miller. He wanted to talk to Grandpa. He said he wanted to know if Grandpa was feeling better.”

I jumped up. “He's lying, Alex. I bet anything Matt called his grandfather right after we left the cabin. Mr. Walt Miller thinks Grumpa is going to get Capone's loot.”

“And now he's off to catch him,” Alex finished.

“Why'd you open your big mouth and say Grumpa was helping your parents with the accounting? Now Mr. Walt Miller knows he went to the restaurant!”

I expected an Alex shrug, but he marched to the door and put on his shoes. “We've got to get to Grandpa before he does. Hurry up.”

We rumbled into town on the ATV. Alex parked in the alley behind the restaurant where the light was dim. He followed me through the entrance, which was unlocked. Grumpa obviously had no idea his buddy was a crook.

I'd never seen the restaurant dark and quiet. The napkin dispensers were placed in the middle of every table with a jar of Parmesan cheese on one side and red peppers on the other. The chairs were tucked perfectly under red-and-white tablecloths. Even without the ovens running, there were delicious smells in the air—dough and sausage and garlic bread.

Light shined from the crack between the floor and the basement door. Slowly I opened the door. Alex went first, and I followed. Grumpa stood by the big freezer, messing with its lock.

Grumpa's head didn't move. He said, “This lock is awful rusty. I don't want to force it and snap the key.” He adjusted his fishing hat and looked at us. “Took you longer to get here than I expected.”

“Are you mad?” Alex asked.

“Would it make a difference?”

“Sorry,” Alex said, “but we needed to get here before Walt Miller.”

Grumpa wiggled the key again. “Walt? I've known that guy my whole life, and I can tell you exactly where he is right now. Sleeping.”

“He's after the money,” I told him. “Sheriff Duncan almost caught his grandson Matt at Capone's hideout.”

Grumpa stopped and squinted. “Now how would you know that?”

“The sheriff told us,” I said.

“He said Matt Miller trespassed out at Capone's?”

“Not exactly,” Alex said. “He said he'd chased off some teenagers, and we figured it had to be Matt and his buddies. They've snooped down here, too. Matt told Christa's family he'd poked around the basement.”

“Half the people in town have poked around this basement,” Grumpa said. “Even Duncan's been down here. Before he was a sheriff, he was a pesky teen just like the others. I caught him myself years ago with one of the cooks.”

“You need better locks,” I said.

Grumpa let out an old-man chuckle-cough. “My mother outsmarted Capone's professional goons. I figure I can outsmart a bunch of kids.”

“Let me help,” Alex said.

“I got it.” He jiggled the lock. “You're a fine helper, Alex. You should've been helping me for the last eleven years. I should've fixed up things with Neil long ago. I was a stubborn fool.”

The door popped off, and a blast of stink hit us. The freezer didn't smell like rotting food, though, more like old sneakers and stale water. Grumpa turned on a flashlight and waved a beam of light inside. The freezer was about the size of two bathrooms. Boxes and junk leaned against its walls.

Alex stepped inside. “What's all the stuff?”

“My mother believed nothing should be wasted. Everything had a second or third use.” Grumpa inspected the contents with his flashlight. “Jugs and fry pans. Some kerosene lamps.” He peeked inside a box. “And look here. Leather-bound menus.”

I took a menu from the box and ran my fingers over the cracked leather. Gold letters formed the words “Clarks Fine Dining.” This menu could've been in the hands of Al Capone! Maybe Capone smudged steak grease on it. Maybe the menu sat next to his plate while he talked about hiding his fortune from the cops. This menu was part of Mrs. Hillary Clark and the pro-booze people and the anti-booze people and Capone and all his goons. It was a real part of a real story. I understood why my dad loved artifacts.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Alex asked.

“The first half of the clue was this freezer. So now we have to figure out where she put the note. It's got to be in here somewhere.”

Alex repeated the clue: “‘I left a note revealing the location in a place only you will know, my dear Edmund, a place from which it can escape.' I don't get it, Grandpa.”

“Just start looking.”

“Should we be looking for something that you'd have to escape from? Like locks or ropes or chains?” I asked.

“Look for another notebook. Or just a note. It's got to be in here.” Grumpa paused, closed his eyes, and rubbed his head.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He almost smiled—almost. “I am. I'm downright good, as a matter of fact, like I'm finally swatting a fly that's been pestering me since I was a kid.”

We looked through boxes with the flashlight. The boxes held loads of old kitchen supplies—cheese jars, coffee cups, mugs, fancy napkins. I wanted to examine everything I picked up, but there wasn't time. As Grumpa bent down to look through another box, I noticed a taxidermied bird high on a freezer shelf.