Hunter Moran Digs Deep (9 page)

“Keep my pizza warm, Mom,” Linny says, and bangs out the door.

“Mine, too,” Zack says.

Mom is shaking her head. “Not one moment of peace.”

Zack and I barrel into the garage and grab a shovel. Then we tear down the block, yelling, “Soup pot!”

“Wait for me!” Steadman shouts, Fred barking madly behind him.

We grab Steadman's hands and pull him along. “We
have to stop for Yulefski,” I say, through Fred's noise. “It's only fair.”

“A waste of time,” Zack says. “But you're right.”

And that's what we do: ring the bell, bang on the knocker. It seems to take forever. “We know where the treasure is,” we call in the window.

And there she is, at the door at last. She flies down the steps. “What are we waiting for?” she yells. “Let's go!”

We dash along the street, trying to catch our breath. “The clues were about soup,” I manage to tell Yulefski.

Zack says, “The arrow points toward the town round . . .”

“The
S
is for Lester's soup pot.” Steadman raises his arms in the air. “I'm the one who figured it all out.”

Moments later we reach the entrance to the town round. Ahead of us is the soup pot, up on two steps.

We stop dead, bumping into each other. We're not alone! Bradley the Bully is marching around Lester's soup pot, a shovel over his shoulder, while Linny and Becca look on.

Linny and Becca? They're Bradley's partners?

“We can't waste a minute,” Zack says, “otherwise we'll have to split the treasure six ways.”

“Seven ways,” Steadman says.

We dash up toward the soup pot. “Too late,” Bradley says. “We're starting to dig. The treasure's all ours.”

Linny leans over the soup pot. “Ski lessons for me.” The pot echoes back,
for meeee
. “A trip to Switzerland.”
Laand
. She grins. “Hear the sound?”

“I'm going with you,” Becca says.

I close my eyes. We'll get a carpenter for the birdhouse. And school is history. But then I think about drumming. I feel the
rat-tat-tat
deep in my chest. I'll pay Sister Ramona a thousand dollars a week for lessons.

Steadman speaks up. “I'll be getting a teacher for Fred. It's too hard for me to teach him how to read.”

But Fred isn't paying attention. He crawls under the soup pot, digging with his front paws, and growls fiercely when Bradley tries to muscle underneath with him.

“My dog's probably going to chew your arm off,” Steadman says.

Bradley doesn't wait to hear more. He backs out of there.

Steadman pokes his head under the steps. “Out-a bout-a!” he shouts, and Fred backs out, too.

“At least he understands English,” Steadman says.

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh.

We all stand there, staring at each other. Yulefski snaps her gum and sighs. “I guess we'll have to split it.”

Linny frowns, hands on her hips. “Lester was my relative.”

But Zack holds up his hand. “Mine, too, remember?”

I don't have to say anything. Even Bradley, tough as he is, nods.

Steadman holds Fred back, and Yulefski and I duck under the pot. There's no room for a shovel. Instead we scrabble around, digging with our fingers.

My hands are filthy. One of my nails breaks. But I feel the edge of something metal. I scrape away. “Something's here,” I say, and Zack dives underneath with us.

The edge is a little sharp. There goes another fingernail. It doesn't take long. There's the top. Yes, it's a metal box. I dig around it, and we see the outline.

“Not a very big box,” Zack says.

“Plenty of room for hundred-dollar bills,” I say.

Bradley bends down. His face covers what's left of the light. “Hundred-dollar bills?” He sounds as if he thinks it's too good to be true.

“At least,” Zack says.

I tug at the box. It doesn't move.

I scrape around a little deeper, pushing the dirt up behind me. I dust the top of the box and see a handle. I give it a tug.

Yulefski reaches out and puts her hand on the handle with me. “It's going to be a great diamond ring,” she says as we feel the box moving. Inch by inch it's coming up.

One last tug . . .

And it's out.

“Yee-ha!” Zack yells.

We crawl out from under the soup pot, dragging the box behind us.

“Hurry!” Linny yells. “I can't wait.”

I can't wait, either.

Bradley grabs the box. “Let me at it.” He shakes it, then yanks on the handle. “Not very heavy,” he mutters.

We lean over him, and at last the box creaks open.

And inside . . .

I can't believe it.

We all look at each other, openmouthed.

It's a painting of Soup Bone himself, wearing a pirate hat.

We leave the box where it is. We take the painting, though, and drag ourselves home.

“All this”—Yulefski waves her hand and peels off at her street—“for nothing,” she calls back.

“Too bad,” Linny says, and Bradley takes off without a word.

“You and Bradley the bully?” I ask.

“He's not so bad when you get to know him,” Linny says. She looks as if she's about to cry. “I was counting on that treasure.”

And then I remember: Pop's birdhouse!

At home we go through the kitchen, shuddering at the cold anchovy pizza; then we go down the stairs, still holding the painting. We prop it up against the wall. It's the end of all our hopes, and Pop is going to have a meltdown when he sees his birdhouse.

We hear something inside the man cave. Is it Pop? Please don't let it be Pop.

We tiptoe to the door. It's not locked now and there's a crack of light. Someone is kneeling on the floor, and in front of him is the birdhouse. It's not Pop, I can see that right away.

And the birdhouse isn't in a million pieces. It's looking great. And someone is painting. . . .

Painting?

We push open the door.

William looks over his shoulder. “Not bad, right? I'm using a bright blue for the bird. I told Pop I'd finish it up for him. Good thing he didn't know how much finishing it needed.”

I can't talk. I can't even open my mouth.

Zack says it for me. “You saved our lives.”

“Again.” William frowns at me. “All I did this week was watch out for you.”

He adds yellow to the bird's beak as Steadman pops up from somewhere.

“You sent that scary note to Hunter.” Steadman smirks. “I knew because it smelled like paint.”

Paint! That was it.

“I had to try to keep them out of more danger,” William says. “No one's ever going to find that treasure.”

“Of course we found it. Want to see?”

Zack grins at me. “The painting's as bad as most of William's stuff.”

William follows us out of the man cave and walks
around, studying it. “A masterpiece,” he says at last. “Wait until Mrs. Wu at the library sees this!”

I can hardly get the words out. “Are we rich?”

William looks at me as if I'm crazy. “Not even halfway.”

“Fred loves it,” Steadman says. “Soup Bone might have been his great-great-grandfather.”

Yes. Soup Bone has the same mean look. His teeth are bared, ready to take a chunk out of someone.

Upstairs the phone is ringing. No one answers. No one ever answers.

“I'll get it,” Steadman says, but at last Mom picks it up.

A moment later, she calls us.

We leave the painting and head upstairs.

Mom stands next to the phone, bouncing K.G. over her shoulder. “I can't believe this. It's the best news.”

We could use some good news. I think of poor Mom. She'll never get motorcycle lessons; she'll never even get to Florida, never mind Hawaii or Fiji.

“Soup,” Mary says. Some first word!

Mom sinks down at the table. “I always wanted a child with talent.”

William again.

But no.

“That was Sister Ramona on the phone,” Mom tells us. “She wants us to know that she's never going to charge Hunter for drum lessons. Not even what he owes.”

Mom smiles at me. “Sister Ramona says you don't know
how good you are yet. But you will. You'll feel it inside, and you'll be on your way.”

And somewhere in my chest, I do feel it, the pounding of the drums, the crash of the cymbals. And maybe I'd rather have that than any treasure I could find.

In the morning, we watch Pop set the birdhouse up in the middle of the backyard. He stands back, rubbing the bald spot on his head, smiling.

“You should be proud of yourself,” Mom tells him.

“Well,” he says, patting the bluebird.

He doesn't even notice that only a few leaves still hang on to the branches over our heads. The rest are all underfoot.

Any minute, the wildlife committee will be here. They're walking through town looking at all the houses.

And there they are: Mrs. Wu, of course; Dr. Diglio, the dentist; and Sister Appolonia, dragging a package behind her. Alfred, the cemetery boss, peers over the fence.

“Lovely,” says Mrs. Wu when she sees the birdhouse. “Not bad at all,” says Dr. Diglio, and “Right,” says Sister Appolonia. Alfred grins.

Mom waves at them from the back porch. “There's something else you might want to see.”

They turn and follow Mom through the living room and up the stairs.

Zack raises his shoulders. I shake my head as Mom marches straight to William's bedroom and throws open the door.

On the walls are green mountains. A painted toucan flies toward the ceiling. A lion peers out from behind a tree, and a small deer drinks at a pond on the far wall.

“Gorgeous,” Sister Appolonia says. “The winner!”

“Right,” say the others.

“Wow,” I tell Zack.

They troop downstairs again, and just before they leave, I hand Mrs. Wu the painting of Soup Bone for the library.

William's right. She's thrilled. “What a family,” she says.

“Don't forget Sarah Yulefski,” I tell her. “She helped find the painting.”

“Forget Sarah?” Mrs. Wu says. “Never.”

Sister Appolonia unwraps the package under her arm. It's a medal on a pointed stick. She jams the point into the front lawn. “Here's to Wildlife!” she says.

They leave and we all stand there grinning at each other. “I guess it's time to pick up all the leaves,” I say.

Pop looks around. “They can wait. Right now we should celebrate.”

So that's what we do. We march inside and sit at the kitchen table while Mom cooks up a pile of cookies. They're a little burned around the edges, but not bad.

Not bad at all.