Finding Fortune (21 page)

Once Mine left, we stayed in the library until the shriek of the sirens had faded away. Then we went back to the landing to get the ladder. The color of the mural had darkened in the long gold shadows of the afternoon. I caught myself staring up at the boat named
Pearl
as we took the ladder down. Hugh followed my gaze.

“Should we go look?” he whispered. “Inside the
Little Miss
?”

“I don't know,” I wavered. I pictured Tucker sitting in a hard plastic chair in the emergency waiting room. “Don't you think we should wait for Tucker?”

“I bet he'd want us to go ahead and look,” Hugh reassured me. “Think how happy Hildy will be if we find the pearls. We could bring them to her at the hospital and she'd get better a lot faster.”

I couldn't argue with that. Together, we hoisted up the ladder and soon we were back in the gym, throwing our legs over the side of the
Little Miss
. Hugh started in the bow while I took the stern. “Check all the floorboards,” I told him. “And make sure to knock and listen for hollow sounds.”

Hugh squatted down. “Because there might be a secret compartment, right?”

“Right. But don't get your hopes up,” I warned. Out in the stairwell, the boat had seemed like a great idea for a hiding place. But now I wasn't so sure. With its flat bottom and splintery sides, the
Little Miss
was about as plain as you could get. I couldn't see a single nook or cranny where the box of pearls might be hiding. Still, Hugh and I got to work, crawling along on our knees and rapping our knuckles against the deck and the sides. It sounded like a flock of woodpeckers had invaded the gym. I paused to examine a few suspicious chinks in the wood, but my spirits were sinking by the time I bumped up against Hugh in the middle of the boat.

I pushed myself to my feet and trudged over to sit on the bench that stretched across the stern. When something squeaked, I froze for a second, and then bounced up and down a few more times. It wasn't a wood squeak. It was a rusty-hinge squeak. I leaped up and tugged at the top of the bench, and sure enough, the lid screeched open. Hugh thudded along the deck to join me and we both knelt down in front of the storage space, peering inside.

“Shik,” Hugh said. “It's empty.”

We spent another minute squinting into the dim corners and reaching over to thump on the water-stained floorboards. But like the basement and the music room and the tower, the bench didn't hold a single glimmer of pearls or any hope of ever finding them. I closed the lid, feeling guiltier than ever. The mural had been a wild goose chase. And now Hildy was in the hospital.

“I don't know, Hugh,” I said as I climbed out of the boat and dismally dropped to the floor. “I hate to be a quitter, but maybe we just need to face facts. Hildy's treasure is gone.”

Hugh was right behind me. “No, it's not gone,” he insisted. “It's hidden on a boat called
Pearl
. We just need to look all over Fortune until we find one!”

“We'll see,” I said. I couldn't even pretend to smile.

“So what do you want to do now?” Hugh asked once we had propped the ladder against the wall in the storage room. “You want to go see how the labyrinth's doing?”

“I don't think so.” I sighed. The memory of the labyrinth yawning up at me as I hung over the railing in the tower flashed through my head. All those spirals winding round and round … My brain was in enough of a muddle already. Visiting the labyrinth would only make things worse.

“We could go eat something,” Hugh said.

I shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” But just as I expected, the cabinets in the kitchen didn't offer too many choices. Hugh's face scrunched when I showed him the options—dried apricots, raw almonds, or canned lentil soup. “How about some scrambled eggs?” I asked after I had inspected the shelves of the refrigerator. “I'm pretty good at those.”

Hugh shook his head. Then his gaze wandered to the top of the fridge. “What about Lucky Charms?” he whispered.

“It's not your birthday,” I reminded him. “It's not even your half birthday.”

“Don't worry. Mine'll understand.” He was already sliding a chair over so he could reach. We each ate two bowls full. Hugh had clinked his spoon down with a satisfied sigh and was lost in studying the back of the cereal box when we heard a jingle of keys and a man's voice echo through the cafetorium. “Hello? Anyone home?”

I stood up from the table and peeked through the serving window. My stomach lurched with dread.
It couldn't be
. Less than two hours had passed since Hildy's accident. Her son couldn't possibly have made it all the way from Des Moines that fast. But there he was. Mr. Baxter—walking toward me with his head bent to the side as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes. “Wait,” he said. “Aren't you that girl who—”

“I'm Ren,” I said before he could finish his sentence. “Ren Winningham.”

He blinked at me. “I don't mean to be rude, but what are you doing here? The last time we met your mother made it very clear that she didn't want you anywhere near this place.”

“Oh, that was all a big mix-up,” I told him. “My mom lets me come help in the museum every weekend now.” I nodded toward the end of the table where Hugh was trying to disappear behind the Lucky Charms box. “And Mine asked me to stay with Hugh until she gets back from the”—I hesitated. What if he didn't know yet? What if he had made the trip for some other reason?—“until she gets back,” I said weakly.

Mr. Baxter leaned through the window. “Hello, Hugh,” he said brusquely. Hugh finally poked his head out and gave a little wave. “Tucker told me your mother drove him to the hospital. That was kind of her.”

My chest fluttered with relief. At least I wouldn't have to be the one to deliver the bad news. Mr. Baxter reached up and loosened his tie. “I stopped by to get some of Mother's things before I head over there. It sounds like she'll be staying a few nights.”

A few nights?
I wanted to ask more about Hildy, but I kept silent. Questions would only keep him there longer, and for some reason, he was turning to look at me again with that same suspicious glint in his eye. “Were you here?” he asked. “When my mother fell?”

I nodded.

“Did you see how it happened?”

“No,” I answered softly. “We were … somewhere else.”

“We? Who's we?”

“Um.” I could feel beads of sweat gathering on my upper lip. “Hugh and me … and Tucker.” As soon as I said Tucker's name, Mr. Baxter's face darkened. He pressed his palms flat on the counter outside the window like a police detective searching for patience. “You say you were somewhere else? Where were you?”

I swallowed. “We were out in the foyer. On the stairs.”

“And what, may I ask, were you doing out there?”

I stole a glance at Hugh, who looked like he'd been caught in a game of freeze tag.

“What were you doing on the stairs?” Mr. Baxter demanded again.

“We were just … hanging out, I guess. Just messing around.”

“Hanging out? Messing around?”
Mr. Baxter exaggerated each syllable. “Do you know, Miss Winningham, why my son is here this summer?”

“To help Hildy in the museum?” I said in a thin voice.

“That's right,” Mr. Baxter snapped. “He's not here to socialize, especially when his grandmother is rattling around by herself in that godforsaken gym.”

“I know,” I said in a rush. “We weren't gone that long. We only went out to the stairway for a few minutes.”

“Well, that's not much comfort at this point,” Mr. Baxter interrupted. “My mother may have broken her hip. Who knows if she'll be able to bounce back from this?”

I was struggling with how to answer when Mine swept into the kitchen in a blur of dreadlocks and scarves and hospital smells. Hugh ran over to hug her, almost knocking her off balance. “Hey, mister,” she said as she steadied herself and stooped to hug him back. “What's going on?” She scanned the room in bewilderment. “Wow! Mr. Baxter. You're here already. How'd you make it so fast?”

Mr. Baxter scratched impatiently under his collar. “I was meeting with a client who lives about an hour west of here. I usually don't work on Sundays, but now I'm glad I did.”

Mine nodded. “Mayor Joy and Garrett are still at the hospital. They're keeping Hildy and Tucker company while they finish all the tests and stuff. So I came back to check on how the kids were doing.” Her gaze skimmed over the Lucky Charms box, then rested on me. I knew she could see it—me, fighting not to cry.

“Your timing's perfect,” Mr. Baxter was saying. He glanced irritably back at the stage. “I have no idea where Mother keeps anything around here. Her toothbrush. Medications. Maybe you can give me a little direction.”

“Sure,” said Mine. She cupped Hugh's chin in her hand and tipped his head back. “Don't go anywhere. I'll only be a few minutes.”

Once they had gone, Hugh folded his arms, scowling. “Tucker's got a mean dad.”

“He
was
mean,” I said with my voice wobbling. “But he's probably only acting that way because he's worried about Hildy.”

“No, I could tell he was mean already. He's got pointy ears.”

I covered my face with my hands for a second, not knowing whether I was going to laugh or sob. “Listen, Hugh,” I said. I sucked in a big breath of air. “I've got to go. Mom's probably wondering why I'm not home yet.”

“Mine could give you a ride,” Hugh offered.

“No, that's okay.” I began edging toward the door. “I'd rather ride my bike. Will you tell Mine for me?” He nodded. “Bye, Hugh,” I called over my shoulder as I hurried down the hall. I knew he'd probably follow me all the way to the front steps, so I didn't let myself look back once as I rushed outside and climbed on my bike. And I didn't slow down until I was at the end of the school driveway.

There was one thing I had to do before I pedaled away. Climbing off my bike, I reached in my pocket. Then I reared back and threw, harder than I've ever thrown before. High in the air, my button blank caught the sunlight before it disappeared into the rows of corn.

 

TWENTY-SEVEN

WHENEVER THE PHONE RANG
on Monday evening, I was sure it was Mine or Garrett or maybe even Tucker calling to tell me Hildy was okay. My heart dropped each time it turned out to be a salesman on the line or one of Mom's friends. My only news about Hildy came from Rick, who had a friend who worked at the hospital. The details were spotty. All I knew was that Hildy “was recuperating,” but Rick's friend had no idea when she'd be coming home.

Mom offered to take me to the hospital to visit, but I was too worried I might run into Mr. Baxter there. So we sent flowers to her room instead, and Mom asked the florist to sign my name on the card. By Tuesday night, I was convinced. Mr. Baxter must have made it clear that I was banished from the school. And Tucker had probably gotten in so much trouble for “hanging out” instead of helping Hildy that he never wanted to see me again.

Strangely enough, I began to look forward to going to SAG that week. Anything was better than staying at home stewing and pedaling my bike aimlessly around the neighborhood, wondering if I'd ever be riding out to the school again. After thinking shadow boxes would be the biggest waste of time ever, now I couldn't wait for each afternoon when I got to work on my diorama and escape to the cozy world of the Marches' parlor.

The fireplace was taking forever, but I didn't care. On Stretch's supply cart there was special foam in different shades of red—perfect for brick-making—and for two peaceful hours on Wednesday afternoon, I didn't think about Hildy lying in her hospital bed or the museum gathering dust or Mr. Baxter's face twisting with anger. All I thought about was creating my tiny bricks, molding and pinching and then cementing each one into place on the hearth with superglue.

On Thursday I was working on the mantel, trying to make my raw stick of wood look like mahogany, when Stretch decided it was time for a talk. He grabbed a chair across the table, spun it around, and sat down with his arms laced over the back of the seat. “So, Ren,” he began. “Your stomach's feeling better, I take it.”

“A little bit better,” I said wanly. Earlier that day, when Stretch said it was time for our weekly service project updates, I had pretended to have a stomachache and hid in the bathroom until everyone went to lunch.

“Are you feeling up to giving us a report this afternoon?” Stretch asked.

“Do you think I could maybe do it tomorrow?”

“We're not here tomorrow, Ren.” Stretch's usual perkiness was dampening. “It's a holiday, remember? The Fourth of July?”

“Oh. Right.”

He gave me a skeptical look. “Okay, let's have it. What's going on?”

I stared down at the little pools of paint I had squeezed on my plastic tray—brown and black and white. If only the rest of my life could be so simple and straightforward. “I don't think I can go back to the museum,” I said.

Stretch's eyes widened in surprise. “Why not?”

I couldn't tell him the whole story. It had been hard enough trying to explain everything to Mom. So I gave him the short version. “There's probably not even going to be a museum,” I said. “The woman who owns it, Hildy, she fell last weekend and I think she might still be in the hospital.”

Stretch winced sympathetically. “That's terrible. You don't know when she'll be going home?”

I shook my head.

“Well, I bet your friend Hildy is going to need more help than ever once she gets out of the hospital. The museum might not work out, but you could lend her a hand with other things, right? Sure sounds like community service to me.”