Hunter Moran Digs Deep (3 page)

I'll be so glad to get Lester's treasure. We'll pay Mrs. Wu the rest of it. She'll be babbling with gratitude.

We tiptoe away from her desk, mouths closed. That's another thing. Mrs. Wu doesn't want to hear us talking. She's in love with silence.

“Do we want a book on school?” I whisper.

Zack shakes his head. “How about a book on Lester?”

I give him a high five. What a brain he has!

The history section is all the way in back. Even Mrs. Wu with her X-ray eyes won't be able to see us. After all, we don't want the whole world muscling in on our treasure.

We get ourselves over there and nearly fall over Steadman, who has a book the size of an encyclopedia in his hand.

“Why don't you find a picture book?” Zack asks. “There are some great ones . . .”

Steadman sighs and holds up his hand. “Fred is great at pictures. He needs words.”

And here comes Linny.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Mrs. Wu asks.

Linny pats her book. “All about skiing lessons.”

Zack and I look at each other. As if we had more than an inch of snow every winter.

“Time to go, Steadman,” Linny says as Mrs. Wu scans her book. She sees us and frowns. “You're supposed to be raking leaves.”

We ignore her, and as soon as she and Steadman head for the front—Steadman lugging his book in both hands—we sink down under the
NEWFIELD
sign.

I rear back. The shelf is empty. Completely bare and a little dusty.

Someone's been here before us.

“I don't know what we'll do if we don't get that treasure,” Zack says.

“We'll have to run away before Pop sees all those leaves.”

Zack shakes his head. “Leaves! What about the birdhouse falling apart in his man cave?”

I swallow. But then I see something that might save our lives. I lean forward.

“What's that girl's name?” I ask, snapping my fingers. “The one who shelves books for Mrs. Wu?”

“Emma.” And then he sees what I see. Emma's not too good at putting books away. Stuck on the shelf marked
MEDIEVAL HISTORY
is a thin book called
Lester and Mabel Tinwitty
.

There's a great feeling in my chest. We're on our way to riches.

“The first thing to do with the money is to buy an
iPhone,” I tell Zack. “We'll have to notify the school that we won't be back.”

Zack grins. “Sister Appolonia will have a heart attack on the spot.”

“But we'll be gone. On our way to Tahiti. We'll take the whole family with us,” I say, feeling generous.

“I'll send Sister one of those things you put around your neck,” Zack says.

“A lei,” I say. “But that's Hawaii.”

“After we settle Pop's birdhouse, we'll go there, too. In our own helicopter.”

“The main thing,” I tell Zack, “is to do something great for Mom.”

“Motorcycle lessons, something like that,” Zack agrees. “She needs to relax.”

We slip the book off the shelf and lean back. Out the window we can see the leaves falling. So what!

I open the book as Zack leans over my shoulder, and we begin to read.

First is the story of Lester's childhood. By the time we get to Lester on his wagon at the town round, yelling “Soup for the hungry!” we're yawning.

But here comes pay dirt, as Pop would say.
Chapter six
: “Lester's Treasure.”

But no, not yet. This is about Soup Bone, Lester's dog, who ran off with the pirates. It's about Lester crying, as Mabel, his wife, pats his back.

Zack reads aloud:

“We won't live forever, Mabel,” Lester said. “If Soup Bone comes back, will he remember how much we cared for him?”

Sheesh.

Mabel tapped her fingers on her forehead. “Josephina.”

“Our granddaughter with the huge ears?”

Mabel smiled. “Just like Soup Bone's. She loves that dog. We'll leave her clues. If Soup Bone comes back, they can enjoy the treasure together.”

Lester nodded. “If not, she can keep it for herself.”

Zack puts on a sad face. “Too bad Soup Bone never came back. And Josephina with the ears must be dead for sixty years.”

I grin. “Right.”

And here's something else. In pencil, scribbled in the margin, is a note: Read
The Fascinating History of Newfield
, for the poem.

Zack and I stare at each other. Poem?

We have to find that book.

Right away.

We head for the front desk. “We're looking for a book,” Zack tells Mrs. Wu.

She takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes. “That's a surprise.”

Zack barrels on. “It's called
The Fascinating History of Newfield
.”

Mrs. Wu blinks. “Really?”

But then she stops to think. “Wait. Maybe it's coming to me.”

We cross our fingers. Let it come, I think.

She shakes her head. “Sarah Yulefski, dear Sarah, was in and out a dozen times this weekend, reading books on Newfield.”

Dear Sarah. Sheesh.

“But wait,” Mrs. Wu goes on. “The book Sarah wanted . . . the book you want . . . was checked out.” She frowns. “Who was it? The other day? Someone on the way to Dr. Diglio's office. Or maybe it was Dr. Diglio himself.”

Dr. Diglio. With the ton of money he's gotten for the town's teeth. Now he's holding up our search for the big bucks!

Mrs. Wu taps her pencil on the desk. “Sarah left ten minutes ago,” she says, chewing on the stem of her eyeglasses. “She's on her way to Dr. Diglio's office right now.”

“On a Sunday?” Zack asks.

“Sarah told me he's opening just for her. Everyone loves Sarah.”

Sure.

We pick up our feet and rush over there.

Two minutes later, we're under the creaking tooth at Diglio's dental chamber of horrors.

We stop for a quick look in Dr. Diglio's window. It's closed and locked, probably so his patients won't change their minds and jump out.

There he is, four or five hairs pasted over his baldy head.

He's whistling a song from the eighteen hundreds in his too-tight white coat. He's never listened to the word
diet
in his life. It's a wonder he has any teeth.

Yulefski sits in his seat of torture, but even now she doesn't stop talking.

We sidle down to the next window, Dr. Diglio's waiting room. That window isn't locked; the rickety screen will come out with the push of a finger.

We could actually do Mrs. Wu a favor. Take a quick look around under Diglio's couch and behind his antique
black-and-white TV. And what about that closet with his knives, his buzzing drills, his skinny pickers?

Zack reads my mind. His fingers begin working into a couple of holes in the screen. He wiggles it back and forth like a loose tooth that's on its way out.

I stand guard, dashing from window to window, watching Yulefski getting fitted for rainbow braces.

Can you just see that smile? I ask myself. It'll match the crunched-up Life Savers she's not supposed to chew.

I hear a minor crash.

Diglio jumps.

So does Yulefski.

I look over my shoulder at the screen on the ground, and freeze. I see Zack's two legs as he begins to wiggle into Diglio's waiting room.

After a moment, Diglio begins to whistle again, Sarah goes on with whatever story she's telling, and Zack slithers all the way into the waiting room.

I take a running jump, grab the windowsill, and slide in myself.

Zack's on the floor, like a crab, scrabbling around under the couch, and then under a couple of chairs.

He comes out with a head filled with dust balls. Diglio is too busy with the town's teeth to bother cleaning his own office.

I creak the closet door open. One thing you have to say about Diglio is that he's in love with his tools. They're
stacked a mile high, box after box. Zack leans in and moves them around a little, trying to see if Diglio's hidden the book behind something.

The door to Dr. Diglio's operating room opens, and the doctor peers out.

In a split second, Zack folds himself inside the closet.

It's too late for me. I stand there, a drill behind my back, which Zack reaches out and takes from me without a sound.

“Zack Moran,” Dr. Diglio says.

“Hunter.”

He shrugs a little. “About time you showed up. I've been worried about that back molar of yours for months.”

Sure.

He sighs. “No one leaves me alone even on a weekend. That kid Bradley was here for an hour yesterday. He doesn't even know what a toothbrush is.”

Bradley?

Yulefski passes us. Yes, there's that rainbow smile. She yells, “Thanks, Dr. Diglio, you're the best.”

She waves over her shoulder at me, then marches down the hall and out the door.

“Into my chair,” Diglio tells me, smiling with huge false teeth.

There's no help for it. I'm toast. Or at least my back molar is.

But Zack is safe. While Diglio stares into my mouth,
whistling all the while, Zack will be able to take a quick look at the rest of the closet . . .

. . . and disappear into the sunset. That's from
Saddle Up, Boys
, Friday night, eight o'clock. Pop's favorite. The boringest show you could imagine.

Mouth open wide, I stare in front of me. And there it is, hanging out under a pile of stuff on the windowsill:
The Fascinating History of Newfield
, by Mrs. Elsie Mulenberg. Of course. Bradley must have left it there. How bright was that?

It's in worse shape even than the ruined book from last summer: pages sticking out, and the back cover is almost ripped off, pen marks all over it. Bradley is going to be in big trouble with Mrs. Wu.

He's turning to get something, probably pliers, when I hear this tremendous noise.

I jump.

There's nothing wrong with Diglio's ears. He jumps, too, drops the pliers, and rushes into the waiting room, muttering something under his breath.

It's my chance. Hold on, molar, I tell myself.

I dart out of the chair, pick up the book, and race after Dr. Diglio.

I circle around him, looking over my shoulder, as he stands in front of the closet, boxes of this and that cascading onto the floor.

He holds Zack by the ear. “I'm calling the police!” he yells.

I dash out the door, into the hall, pages of
The Fascinating History of Newfield
floating behind me.

I'm free.

But what good is that? I'll only be able to see my poor brother Zack on visiting days at the local jail.

Yulefski stands outside, one leg bent, her foot against the brick wall like a stork. She runs her hands through her nest of hair. “Thought I'd wait for you,” she says.

I can't talk. I can hardly even think.

I stand there, looking up the street, waiting for the sound of sirens and flashing lights as the police car comes for Zack.

Yulefski steps forward, tapping the book that's still under my arm. “You've got it!” She reaches out.

I keep a firm grip on it. Tinwitty's treasure is my only hope to spring Zack from jail.

I picture my private jet circling the prisoners' exercise yard. No, wait, it's a helicopter with one of those long strings hanging out. I'll send Yulefski down on the string and she'll pluck Zack up into the air, with his white beard and cane.

I'll even give her a diamond ring for her trouble.

“A diamond ring,” Sarah breathes.

I jump. Did I say that aloud?

She gives me a rainbow smile. “I'm too young to get engaged,” she says. “Maybe next year.”

Sheesh!

I'm in such a state, she even manages to pull the book out of my arms, pages flying again.

Footsteps bang down the hall. Diglio's feet, probably size forty!

I slide in behind a bush—no sense in having us both incarcerated—as he pulls Zack along by the ear.

Ouch.

They stop at the front door of the dentist's office.

“Whatever you Moran kids are up to now,” Diglio snarls, “I'm on to you. Tell that to your sneaky brother.”

Sarah speaks up. “Hunter's not so bad, Dr. Diglio. We're almost engaged. He's going to buy me a diamond ring.”

Diglio looks at her as if she's lost her mind.

I do the same thing.

Diglio gives Zack's ear one final twist, swivels around, and marches inside, slamming the door behind him so hard the little glass window rattles.

Zack is free.

We begin to run, the three of us. We tear up Murdock Avenue, Zack and I yelling, “Yee-ha!” and Sarah screeching about treasure.

We stop dead.

Our treasure.

Sarah keeps going, with the book under her arm. She heads for the town round and slides onto a bench in front of Tinwitty's huge iron soup pot.

Next to me, Zack whispers, “There's no help for it, Hunter. We'll have to cut her in on the big bucks.” He shakes his head. “Too bad. A three-way split.”

Just as well, I think. Sarah is bent over the book, devouring it. She's probably the fastest reader in all of Newfield, even beating out Sister Appolonia. I hate to admit it. She might even be smarter than me.

Zack and me put together.

We slide onto the bench, one on each side of her, to look over her shoulder.

She reads aloud, telling us about Lester Tinwitty's last look at Soup Bone, as the dog trots east with the pirate crew. Lester is in such a state that he gives up soup and takes up painting.

Zack and I look at each other. That's where William got it from. But never mind that. “What about the poem?” I ask Yulefski.

She wrinkles her forehead. She stops reading and turns down the corner of the page.

Mrs. Wu would have a fit.