Finding Fortune (8 page)

Hugh twirled his chair around to face me. “What does that one word mean?” he asked. “
Frittered
 … Whatever that thing Hildy's father was doing with the treasure.”

“I think it means he was wasting it,” I said. “Basically, Pop doesn't sound like he was very good with money.” Hugh twirled back to the desk and hunched over his index card again.

I folded Tom's letter along its worn crease and slid it back into the envelope. “Come on, Hugh. I'm serious. Let's go.”

The words had barely left my mouth when I heard the crunch of tires on gravel in the parking lot outside the window. “Somebody just pulled up!” I yelped as I darted away from the window. “Hurry! It's probably your mom back from the store.”

I lurched for the closet. My hands were shaking as I pushed the letter inside the safe, slammed the door closed, and turned the lever. I almost forgot to switch the light off, but then scrambled back to yank the string. When I burst out of the closet, Hugh was on his knees peering over the edge of the windowsill. “Dramn it,” I heard him say.

I froze halfway to the door. “What's going on?”

“The carnivores are here,” Hugh said. “And they don't look very happy.”

 

NINE

I DIDN'T GET A SINGLE GLIMPSE
of Hildy's relatives. By the time they rang the buzzer, I was already sprinting up to the second floor and Hugh was scurrying to the library to file his notes in the card catalog and wait for Mine to get back. I spent the afternoon in Room 26, nibbling on my smushed peanut butter sandwiches, thinking about the missing treasure, and trying to decide what to do next. Hopefully Hildy had forgotten all about me in the flurry of her company arriving. To keep from reminding her, I made up my mind to stay out of sight for as long as possible.

At least my window looked out on the old baseball field, and watching Garrett helped to distract me for a while. He had made a wall of shells around the diamond, and now he had a large coil of rope slung over his shoulder. He marched to the center of the open space and pounded a stake into the ground. After that, there was a lot of pacing back and forth, kicking up little clouds of dust with his giant boots and stopping to stroke his beard. I finally turned away from the window, shaking my head. It was hard to imagine how Garrett was going to turn the rest of those sloppy piles of shells into any sort of tourist attraction.

I had just stretched out on my cot to read another chapter of
Little Women
when Hugh came tearing into the room. “Hey, can you come help us with dinner?” he panted. He held up his pointer finger. It was wrapped in a bloody Band-Aid. “I cut myself trying to peel potatoes and Mine's acting like she might have one of those, you know, those nervous breakdown things.”

“Where's Hildy?” I asked. I pushed myself up from the cot. “Isn't she helping?”

“No. She's still showing her son around the museum. Mine wouldn't want Hildy's help anyway. They get kind of cranky when they cook together.”

I checked my watch for the tenth time that afternoon. It was three-thirty. If Hildy spotted me in the kitchen, I'd just have to say Mom was probably on her way and pray that Nora didn't have to work tonight in case I needed to make another fake phone call. I reached in my pocket to squeeze my new lucky charm and followed Hugh downstairs.

When we arrived in the kitchen, Mine had an oven rack pulled out and was staring down at a partly cooked slab of meat like it was a dead possum that had just landed in her pan. “Oh, hey, Ren,” she said. Her voice was tense and her cheeks were blazing. “Any idea how long you should cook a rump roast? Or what temperature I should be using?”

I winced. “Gosh, I'm not sure. Is roast anything like meat loaf? I think my mom cooks most stuff at 350.”

Mine swung her dreadlock ponytail over her shoulder and bent down to shove the pan back into the oven. “I'm going to turn this baby up to 425.” She twisted one of the knobs behind the burners on top. “Just to be sure it's done in time. I've never seen such a bloody piece of meat.”

I took over peeling potatoes while Hugh sat on the counter next to me banging his heels against the cabinets. Mine started to make a salad, then realized that some of the vegetables she had bought at the store were missing. “They probably forgot to put one of my bags in the cart,” she grumbled as she left to check in her car. “I hope everybody likes lettuce.”

She had only been gone a minute when Hugh and I heard Hildy arguing with somebody out in the cafetorium. Hugh stopped bumping his heels and I froze with my potato peeler in midair. “Of course people will pay five bucks to get in, Jack,” Hildy was saying. “Five dollars would be a bargain! Didn't I tell you those priss-pots at the historical society are banging my door down trying to get a look at my collection? If they can charge admission at their rinky-dink museum, why can't I?”

Hugh stared back at me, his eyes round.

“It's ridiculous, Mother,” Hildy's son answered, his voice bristling with impatience. “You could have moved to a nice retirement center with what you made selling your antiques store in Bellefield and your old home in Fortune. But, instead, you're spending your last savings on this outlandish venture. And what about all that debris piled in the gym? It's a fire hazard. If the fire marshal ever finds his way out here, you'll be shut down. I knew you'd been collecting button memorabilia over the years, but good grief, I had no idea how much you had socked away at your shop and in that old barn behind the house. Forgive me, but how in the world do you think you can pull this off on your own?”

“I'm not on my own,” Hildy snapped. “I've got Garrett. And Mayor Joy's back. He says he's not going out on any more jobs this summer and he wants to help me.”

“That's another thing. Who are all these characters that you're taking under your wing? You're charging them peanuts. They're using you, Mother. You should at least be conducting some sort of screening process or background check before you roll out the welcome wagon for anyone who happens to wander through.”

Like me,
I thought uneasily. I set the potato peeler down on the counter.

“Listen, son,” Hildy was saying. “You're not going to talk me out of this. I'm an old, old woman and I think I've earned the right to do what I want. It's been a dream of mine for the last fifty years.”

There was a long pause, and when Hildy's son finally answered, his voice had quieted. Before I could stop him, Hugh slid down from the counter, darted to the side of the serving window, and peeked around the edge. I couldn't resist tiptoeing over to the opposite side so I could hear too. “I'm well acquainted with how stubborn you can be when you set your mind to something, Mother,” the man was saying. “I expected you'd react this way so I've already been thinking about how to help you get a handle on the situation. I need to head back to Des Moines tonight, right after dinner, but I've decided to leave Tucker here with you.”

“
What
?” Hildy squawked. “For how long?”

“The whole summer.”

I glanced over at Hugh. He was pressed up against the window frame, his face bright with anticipation. Maybe Tucker would be the friend he'd been waiting for.

Hildy, on the other hand, didn't sound so happy with the idea. “Jack!” she cried. “Have you lost your wits? No thirteen-year-old boy wants to spend the summer with his grandmother, stuck out in the country without any friends nearby. Tucker will be bored silly! You saw how disappointed he was a few minutes ago when I told him we don't have a hookup for that Internet business out here.”

“It's already decided, Mother. Tucker won't have a chance to be bored. He'll be working. There aren't many jobs available for someone his age so I'm going to pay him to work here in that … that museum of yours. He'll be earning real wages and I expect you to treat him like any other employee—”

We didn't get to hear the rest. Mine came banging through the swinging door. “Hey, what are you guys doing?” she asked, narrowing her eyes as she glanced back and forth between the two of us.

“Nothing,” Hugh said. “We thought we heard a funny noise out there.” But the cafetorium had fallen silent. Hildy and her son must have moved on as soon as they heard voices. And Mine was too preoccupied with the search for her missing vegetables—they weren't in her car either—to care what we'd been up to.

The next hour was a blur of trying to decide things like how long to boil the potatoes and which tablecloths we should use to cover the picnic tables and how many places we should set. At first Mine said eight. Then Hugh told her that the Mayor was back from his latest trucking run. “Oh, and what about you, Ren?” Mine asked. “Your mom was supposed to come and get you, right? Or did you decide to stay for dinner?”

When I fumbled for an answer Mine said, “Either way's fine. Why don't you set an extra place just in case?”

I scurried back and forth from the kitchen to the cafetorium, keeping my eye out for Hildy as I set the table with her hodgepodge collection of dishes and silverware. My palms were so sweaty that I almost dropped the slippery water glasses I was carrying. I wanted to run back upstairs to hide out in my room. But how was I supposed to escape now without making a scene?

Once the roast was done and Mine had given up trying to mash more lumps out of the potatoes, she sent Hugh to round everyone up for dinner. Hildy's son was the first to appear. Instead of coming to the table though, he stood near the entrance to the gym introducing himself and shaking hands with each of the tenants as they arrived. “Hello. How are you? Jack Baxter. Good to meet you,” he kept saying. He sounded like a politician running for office, and he looked sort of like one too, with his helmet of carefully combed hair and his starched khakis and button-down shirt.

“I'm Clarissa,” Sister Loud bellowed as she shook Mr. Baxter's hand. “And this is my sister, Colette.” Sister Soft said something polite, but I couldn't hear exactly what. Garrett had arrived in a fresh change of clothes. It was hard not to stare. He was even taller and burlier than he had appeared from my perch in Room 26. He reminded me of a Viking, like he should have been wearing boots to his knees and one of those hats with horns, instead of flip-flops and his bushy gold hair slicked down with water. Mr. Baxter looked like a dwarf beside him as they stood exchanging stiff hellos.

Hildy appeared from behind the curtains just as Mayor Joy walked in. He dashed over to escort her down the stairs of the stage. She had put on a fresh coat of lipstick in fire-engine red, but she seemed frazzled as she crossed the cafetorium leaning on the Mayor's arm. Her eyebrows shot up when she spotted me coming out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of mashed potatoes.

“Ren!” she cried, letting go of the Mayor's arm. “You're still here! Wasn't your mother supposed to pick you up this afternoon?”

I cringed apologetically. “I'm really sorry, Hildy. My mom's never on time, and Mine said I could stay for dinner. Would that be okay?”

“Oh, I suppose so,” she said with a helpless shrug. “But we'll have to be sure to listen for the buzzer.” I nodded and quickly delivered the potatoes to the table. Mr. Baxter and the others were starting to make their way over.

“Now where'd Tucker get off to?” Hildy asked as she seated herself at the head.

“He'll be along any minute, Mother,” Mr. Baxter told her. “He's getting the rest of his things out of the car.” He hesitated next to the table, frowning down at the wooden picnic benches that were pulled up on either side. Then, with a sigh, he squeezed himself into a spot on the end next to his mother.

When I slipped back into the kitchen, Mine was crouched over the roast with a fork and a carving knife. “This meat is as tough as shoe leather,” she moaned under her breath. “I can barely cut into it. I probably shouldn't even serve it.” Hugh stood quietly patting his mother's back as he peered down at the grayish-brown hunks on the platter.

I ran over and opened the refrigerator. “Look!” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “You've got ketchup. And A.1. Sauce! My dad loves this stuff.” I grabbed the bottles from the door of the fridge. “No one will care if their meat's a little dry.”

“Thank you, Ren,” she said as she set down the carving knife and wiped the back of her wrist across her shiny forehead. The diamond in her nose glinted. “What would we have done without you today?” I couldn't help feeling pleased with myself, especially when Hugh flashed me his own thankful smile.

“All right.” Mine squared her shoulders and reached up to tighten her bandanna around her frizzy bundle of dreads. “Might as well get this over with.”

 

TEN

EVERYONE WAS SEATED
and waiting when Mine and Hugh and I finally came out of the kitchen with the platter of meat and every bottle of sauce we could find in the refrigerator. I hung back for a second, trying to figure out where I should sit.

“Come down here, honey,” Hildy called, pointing to the small space between her son and Sister Loud, straight across from Tucker. He must have arrived while we were finishing up in the kitchen. I could feel him staring as I threaded myself into the open spot on the picnic bench, trying not to knock up against anyone with my knees or the bottles of ketchup and A.1. “Everybody, this is Ren Winningham,” Hildy announced. “Ren is”—there was an awkward pause—“visiting us from Bellefield.”

Thank goodness Mine jumped in with her own introductions. She welcomed Mr. Baxter and Tucker, then quickly started babbling out apologies for the plain salad and the tough roast.

Carefully, I lifted my gaze. Tucker had a swoop of long black bangs and blue eyes—or at least one of his eyes was blue. I couldn't see the other one hidden behind his hair. He wore a leather cord around his neck, strung with a silver bead, and he seemed edgier than the boys I was used to. Maybe he would have been cute if he hadn't looked so miserable. Judging from his dreary expression and slouched shoulders, it wasn't hard to guess how he felt about spending his summer at the school.