Authors: Melody Carlson
“Cool,” said Carlie. “Then we can all sleep better at night.”
“Hello,” called a voice from across the street. Suddenly the crowd of people sitting around Grandma’s yard got quiet as Mr. Greeley slowly walked toward them. “Don’t want to bust up your party,” he said in a gruff voice. “But there are some girls I need to have a word with.” He scowled at the group. “I think they know who they are.”
“If you’re talking about our hardworking young ladies,” began Mr. Ramsay, quickly getting to his feet. “You may need to—”
“Don’t worry,” barked Mr. Greeley. “I’m not going to hurt them.”
“But what do you—”
“I just want a word with them!” Mr. Greeley folded his arms across his chest. “If you don’t mind.”
“It’s okay,” said Morgan, quickly going over to where the old man was standing. “You want to talk to us, sir?”
“That’s right. All four of you. March yourselves over to my place, right now.”
The other three girls looked terrified, as if they expected Mr. Greeley to eat them for dinner or something. “It’s okay,” Morgan assured them. Then, under her breath, “There are
four
of us and only one of him.”
The crowd watched quietly as the four girls followed Mr. Greeley across the street to his mobile home. Morgan hesitated, looked at her friends, and then followed Mr. Greeley up the porch steps and into his house. To her relief, her friends came too. Still, her knees were shaking as she stood there in his living room that doubled as the office for Harbor View. What could he possibly want with them anyway? Surely, he didn’t think they were responsible for last night’s vandalism. Why would they destroy their own work?
“I know what you girls did,” Mr. Greeley spoke in a serious voice. “Although I’m not quite sure why you did it.” He slowly shook his head. “And, to be honest, I didn’t think you had it in you. But you did.” Now he actually smiled at them. “And I just wanted to say thank you.”
Morgan sighed with relief. “You’re very welcome, Mr. Greeley.”
“Now, will you all tell me your names?” he asked.
So, one by one, they introduced themselves to him and he shook each of their hands, personally thanking each of them.
“Pleasure to meet you, ladies.” He reached into his pocket now. “And I have something that I want to give you. As a token of my gratitude.” He pulled out a key. “It might not be anything you want or can use … or maybe it will.” His brow creased. “But I have a feeling that girls like you will know what to do with it.”
He looked at Morgan. “You seem to be the leader of the pack, Morgan. Here.” He put the key in her hand.
“But what’s it go to?” she asked.
He peered out at the sky that was just starting to get dusky. “Well, it’s getting late tonight. Maybe I’d best show you girls tomorrow. That all right by you?”
“Sure,” she said. “Of course.”
“You come over here around nine, and I’ll show you what the key goes to.”
She thanked him, as did the others, although none of them had a clue as to why.
“And I wanted you to know that I was real disappointed when I came out this morning and saw what the vandals done to the place. I would’ve liked to have wrung some necks.” He sighed loudly. “But then when I seen the residents here all coming out to help put things back to order … well, it was enough to give an old man like me some hope. Thank you, ladies.”
They thanked him again and promised to be back at nine in the morning, and then they left.
“That was so weird,” said Amy as they were crossing the street.
“But sweet,” said Morgan as they paused near the area where the adults were earnestly discussing neighborhood security. “Mr. Greeley is really a sweet old guy.”
“But kinda scary,” said Carlie. “I mean, I saw this movie once, and the old guy acted really nice, but in the end he killed everyone.”
“Your parents let you watch that?” asked Morgan.
“It was at my cousins’ house.”
“Well, I agree with Morgan,” said Emily. “I think Mr. Greeley is a nice old guy. Just lonely.”
“You know what else,” said Morgan.
“What?” they all asked.
“I think Mr. Greeley bought the pizzas.”
“Why didn’t he tell anyone?” asked Amy.
“Maybe he wants to be a mystery man,” said Emily.
“Well, he’s definitely mysterious,” admitted Carlie.
“I wonder what the key is for,” said Morgan as she fingered the key that was safely tucked into her pocket.
“Maybe it’s to a secret vault,” said Amy, “full of money.”
“Yeah, right.” Morgan rolled her eyes. “Like Mr. Greeley is rich.”
“He might’ve robbed a bank,” said Amy.
“Maybe it’s to a car,” said Carlie. “A brand-new Corvette.”
“Like, what would we do with a car?” asked Morgan. “We can’t even drive.”
“Maybe it’s to a house,” said Emily. “A nice little beach house that we can use this summer.”
“You wish,” said Amy. “Why would someone like Greeley have a nice beach house?”
“I can dream,” said Emily.
“Maybe …,” said Morgan dramatically, “it’s the key to his heart.”
Amy gave her a playful shove. “Man, you’re really getting goofy over the old geezer, aren’t you?”
“Well, I think he wants to be our friend,” she said defensively.
“And maybe we’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out what the key is for,” said Emily.
“Why don’t we meet at my house,” said Morgan. “Nine o’clock sharp.”
It was dark out now. Families had started to regroup, and people were heading for home. Morgan and her mom picked up a few stray pieces of trash and started back into the house.
“Do you think I should stay up and watch for vandals?” asked Morgan once they were on the porch.
“No,” said Mom. “Don’t worry about that. Mr. Ramsay has it all under control. You girls have done quite enough for the neighborhood. At least for the time being.” She put her arm around Morgan’s shoulders. “Hey, what did Mr. Greeley say to you girls?”
So Morgan told her about the key.
“A key?”
“Yeah. We don’t have the slightest idea why. But he’s going to show us in the morning.”
“Sounds exciting,” said Mom. “Just make sure that it’s something safe, Morgan. I wouldn’t like to hear about you four girls riding around on a motorcycle or anything
dangerous like that.” Mom’s eyes sparkled.
She laughed. “Don’t worry, Mom.”
Morgan got up with the sun the next morning. She knew it was crazy since it wasn’t even a school day. In fact, it was the first official day of summer vacation. But she was thinking about the key sitting on her dresser—and something else—Morgan hurried to the kitchen window. What if the vandals had struck again?
To her huge relief everything looked perfectly fine. In fact she even noticed Mr. Greeley outside dragging a hose behind him. It looked like he’d been watering their plants.
Finally, after what seemed like days, it was 8:45, and Morgan went out on the porch to wait for her friends to show up. At nine o’clock sharp all three of them arrived, and the four of them marched across the street like they were on a mission.
“What if this is just a trick?” said Amy as they paused in front of Mr. Greeley’s house.
“A trick?” Morgan frowned. “Why would he want to trick us?”
“Because he’s really a mean guy who’s just trying to act nice?” said Carlie.
“Because he’s really going to murder us?” said Amy.
“You guys!”
Morgan turned and glared at her friends. “If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. But I intend to find out what this key goes to.” She went onto the porch
and knocked on the door.
Mr. Greeley emerged wearing his dusty old ball cap and a serious expression. “You ready?”
“Yep,” said Morgan.
“Follow me.”
So, feeling like she’d just joined boot camp, Morgan followed Mr. Greeley with her three friends trailing behind her. She had no idea where they were going, but he seemed to be heading toward the trail that led down to the dunes and then to the beach. The girls hoped that Amy and Carlie’s foul-play suspicions were wrong.
Then, instead of continuing down the beach trail, he turned sharply to the right, where a newly cut path—one that she had never seen before—led into the tall beach grass that grew thick in the dunes. The area Grandma had warned her not to explore, since “you could get lost for days out there.”
“Uh, where are we going?” she asked in a nervous voice, glancing over her shoulder to be certain her friends were still behind her. They were there, but they looked as worried as she felt. What could possibly be back here anyway?
Then he turned another sharp corner to the left and suddenly, right in front of them was something Morgan had never seen before. It was a big bus! It looked like a school bus except that it had been painted in a wild array of
colors. And although the paint had faded some, probably from the coastal weather, it was still very bright. And kind of pretty too.
“A hippie bus?” said Amy, stepping next to Morgan.
Mr. Greeley cleared his throat. “I could be all wrong,” he told them, “but I got to thinking this might make for a good clubhouse. You know, for you girls to fix up and play in and stuff. But maybe I’m just all wet … I mean, what do I know about what girls like to do?”
“Can we look inside?” Morgan asked eagerly.
“Sure,” he said. “That’s what the key is for.”
So Morgan unlocked the door and they all went inside.
“This is cool,” said Morgan as she looked at the little wooden table and benches that were attached to the wall.
“It needs some cleaning and fixing up,” he admitted. “But then you girls seem pretty good at that sort of thing.”
“I think it’s absolutely wonderful,” said Morgan, grinning at him. “I think it’s a great clubhouse.”
“So do I,” said Emily. “Thank you so much, Mr. Greeley!”
“Was this your bus?” asked Morgan.
“Oh, in a way it was … but it’s yours now.”
“It’s like a playhouse,” said Carlie as she opened one of the built-in cupboards above the table.
“It is kind of cool,” admitted Amy as she examined an empty closet. “Someone must’ve put a lot of work into
making this.”
“Well, it’s all yours now,” he said, bowing slightly as he backed out the door. “And I’ll leave you ladies to it. Enjoy!”
They all thanked him and watched as he walked away.
“Wow,” said Morgan. “Our very own bus.”
“It needs a good cleaning,” said Carlie as she pulled down a spider’s web.
“And some new curtains,” said Morgan as she fingered the faded fabric. “But I can take care of that.”
“It could be our clubhouse,” said Emily. “If we wanted to have a club, that is.”
“Aren’t clubs for little kids?” said Amy with a frown. “Baby stuff?”
“That depends,” said Morgan. “Lots of grown-ups have clubs. And I, for one, would love having a place like this—fixed up, I mean—where I could hang out with my friends and listen to music and talk and do art and all kinds of stuff. Wouldn’t you guys?”
Of course, they all agreed. Why shouldn’t they agree? The place was loaded with potential—and it was all theirs!
“Let’s make a list,” said Amy as she found a pencil and an old spiral notebook with yellowed pages.
“What for?” asked Emily.
“For all the things we want to fix up.”
“Here we go again,” said Carlie, rolling her eyes. “Making lists … fixing things up …”
“Yeah,” said Morgan with a big grin. “Isn’t it great?”
Soon they each had a list of their own. Carlie was going to bring some cleaning things from her house. Amy had some dishes left over from the restaurant that she wanted to donate. “In case we decide to eat here some time.” Morgan and Emily were off to look for curtain fabric and some other items to make the bus more livable—and fun! But before they left, they all just stood outside and looked up at it in amazement.
“Can you believe this is
really
ours?” said Morgan. “To do with as we please?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” admitted Amy. “Our very own bus.”
“It looks like a rainbow,” observed Emily. “The colors, you know.”
“Like our own personal rainbow,” said Carlie.
“Just like a promise,” said Morgan.
“Huh?” asked Emily. “How’s that?”
“The rainbow,” said Morgan. “It’s God’s promise.”
“For what?” asked Carlie.
“For us,” said Morgan.
“But what’s the promise
for
?” demanded Amy.
Morgan smiled. “I think it’s a promise for friendship.”
So it was agreed, their new clubhouse would be called the Rainbow Bus. Of course, they would keep their personal rainbow top secret. Well, except for their parents.
They knew they would have to let them in on it. But other than that, this secret belonged to the four of them—their Rainbow Bus—a promise that their friendship would continue. At least until the end of summer, Morgan hoped. Because who knew what would happen when fall came and they all started seventh grade? But right now—with their very own bus, good friends, and the first day of vacation—it looked as if this might be the best summer ever!
“I’m not sure which is worse,” said Amy holding her nose. “That old musty smell before we started cleaning up in here or Carlie’s Lysol. Pee-euw!”
“You want it clean, don’t you?” said Carlie, waving her spray bottle of disinfectant in Amy’s face.
“Clean, but not stinky.”
“Look, this is the way my mom does it in our house,” said Carlie, pushing a long, dark curl away from her face. “Are you saying our house is stinky?”
“I’m saying that—”
“Stop arguing!” yelled Morgan as she laced an orange and red striped curtain over a metal rod. “And instead of complaining about everything, Amy, why don’t you just open a window and let some fresh air in here?”
“Wow,” said Carlie, pausing from her scrubbing long enough to stare at the curtain in Morgan’s hands. “That’s really bright.”
“So, are you the one complaining now?” asked Morgan as she held the curtain up to the window to see how it looked.
“I think it’s pretty,” said Emily. The fabric reminded her of a sunset. That’s what she’d told Morgan when they picked it out of the big box of remnant fabrics. Morgan’s grandma said they could use whatever they liked for the bus. “I thought I might make a crazy quilt someday,” she’d told them. “But you girls could make that funny old bus into a crazy quilt too.”
The girls’ families had all been over to see the old bus on the first day that Mr. Greeley had presented it to them as a thank-you gift for cleaning up the trailer park. Mr. Greeley was the owner of the Harbor View Mobile-Home Court. At that time, the bus had been pretty messy with cobwebs and mouse droppings and dust and grime. The girls had been working hard since then, and the results were beginning to show.
“I wasn’t complaining about the fabric,” Carlie said defensively. “I just thought it was kinda bright is all. That a crime now or something?”
It was their third day of cleaning up the Rainbow Bus, and for some reason tempers seemed to be running a little warm this morning. Emily figured it could be due to the weather.
“Can you believe how hot it’s getting already?” she said, hoping to change the subject. “My mom said it’s supposed to get up to like ninety-six degrees this afternoon.”
“I’ve lived in Boscoe Bay my whole life,” said Amy. She pushed her straight, black bangs away from her forehead and flopped onto the narrow couch, “and I don’t remember it ever getting this hot in June before.”
“Another good reason to open some windows in here,” snapped Morgan as she slid one down with a loud bang.
“Maybe we should all go jump in the Harbor,” said Emily as she headed to the back of the bus where she’d been cutting fabric for Morgan. “To cool ourselves off that is.” She sat down on the bed and picked up the scissors and started cutting out what would become another curtain. Morgan was teaching her how to sew and had even promised to show her how to use the sewing machine this week—after she mastered cutting, which wasn’t as easy as Emily had expected.
“That’s a great idea,” Morgan called from the front of the bus where her sewing machine was set up on the small table. “We should go down to the beach today—get in this good weather while it’s here.”
“Yeah,” agreed Amy. “Don’t forget this is Oregon … it could be raining by next week.”
“We could take a picnic lunch down with us,” suggested Morgan.
“Yeah, but let’s get the rest of the junk cleared out of here first,” said Carlie. “That will make finishing up the cleaning a whole lot easier.”
“I thought we already cleared it all out,” said Amy.
Emily glanced down the bus to see that Amy still hadn’t budged from her comfy position on the couch. In fact that seemed to be her favorite spot. Emily shook her head and returned to measuring another eighteen-inch square—this one to be used for a pillow top. She didn’t want to say anything, but she was starting to suspect that Amy Ngo was a little bit spoiled, not to mention slightly lazy. But Emily still felt like the new kid around here. Better to watch her mouth than to step on any toes.
“Yeah,” said Carlie. “I thought so too, but then I looked under that bed and—”
“Under
the bed?” Emily leaned over from her perch on the bed and peered under the bed at what appeared to be a solid wooden platform. “How can there be anything under here?” She knocked on the wood as if to prove her point.
“My dad showed it to me last night,” explained Carlie, “while he was helping us to connect the electricity.” The girls had gotten permission from Mr. Greeley to run a long outdoor extension cord from Carlie’s house, which was only about thirty feet away. They couldn’t use too much juice at a time, but it would provide enough to keep the little refrigerator running along with a light or Morgan’s sewing machine.
“Here, I’ll show you,” Carlie said as she came to the back of the bus. “Hop off for a minute.”
Emily slid off the bed and waited as Carlie bent over and hefted up the foot end of the bed. Once lifted, a spring mechanism attached beneath the plywood board caused the bed to fold into the wall. “See,” said Carlie.
“Wow!” said Emily, peering down into what looked like a giant storage box. It was full of old-looking stuff. “Who knew?”
“Apparently my dad did. He said his parents used to have a motor home with the same kind of thing.”
“It’s so great that your dad’s been helping us,” said Emily, trying not to feel jealous of the fact that Carlie had such a cool dad. Emily’s own father was an alcoholic who hit her mom—a lot. Emily, her brother, and their mom finally ran away with only the clothes on their backs to escape him. With a new last name, they hoped he wouldn’t find them and take them back. So far so good.
“Yeah,” said Carlie. He’s going to take a look at the water system this weekend. He thinks we might even be able to use the sink and toilet.”
“I want to see,” said Amy, pushing past Emily to look under the bed.
“Me too,” said Morgan.
Now all four girls crowded into the small bedroom area looking down into the random mix of boxes and things that were packed beneath it. So far the only things they’d removed from the bus had been rotten old curtains and
nasty old bedding—things that had smelled musty or been chewed on by rodents. And right now that junk was bagged into garbage sacks, piled outside of the bus, and ready for the dumpster. But so far they hadn’t seen anything like this. This stuff looked interesting.
“That looks like somebody’s
personal
things,” said Morgan.
Emily bent down and pulled out an old wooden apple crate filled with dusty vinyl record albums. “Jefferson Airplane?” she read the strange name on the cover and then flipped to another. “Bread? Who are these people anyway?”
“Weird,” said Amy. “Do you suppose all this junk belongs to Mr. Greeley?”
“Hey, this isn’t junk,” said Morgan with real interest. She picked an album out of the crate and studied the back of it. “My mom had some of these vinyl records too. She almost gave them away, but I begged them from her. I’ve actually started collecting LPs for myself, and I happen to think they are totally cool.”
“Want ‘em?” asked Emily, holding the crate out to Morgan.
“Not so fast,” said Amy. “What do you mean by ‘collecting’ them, Morgan? Are they valuable or something?”
Morgan shrugged. “Only to people who like them and collect them.”
“Well, my sister An watches
The Antiques Road Show
all the time,” said Amy. “And she keeps telling us that all kinds of junky looking things could be valuable.”
“The most I’ve seen any of my albums going for, like on eBay, is only about ten to twenty bucks.”
“Even so, maybe they should stay with the bus,” said Amy. “I mean, since the bus belongs to all of us.”
“I don’t have a problem with that,” said Morgan, slipping the album back into the crate. “But I don’t know how we’ll listen to them in here.”
“What about this thing?” said Carlie, bending over to pick up what looked like some old-fashioned kind of music box. She held up the box and blew dust from the black plastic top causing Amy to sneeze.
“Bless you!” said Emily, stifling a giggle.
“It’s a turntable!” exclaimed Morgan as she looked inside. “I wonder if it still works.”
“I wonder what else is in here?” Emily stooped to pull out a cardboard box of books, both paperback and some older looking ones in hardback. She thumbed through the titles, noticing that there was a mix of mysteries, classics, and even some poetry collections—all which she happened to love. “Hey, these look pretty good.” She glanced over to the built-in bookshelf over the back window. “Should I put them up there?”
“Take them outside and clean the dust off first,” commanded Amy.
“Want me to use
Lysol
?” Emily teased as she carried the box toward the door. She didn’t want to leave their unexpected treasure hunt, but it was getting stuffy and crowded in there. “Maybe we should take it all outside,” she called over her shoulder, “to clean it off and get a better look.”
So it was decided that they would empty out all the strange contents from the secret storage space beneath the bed. They hauled it outside to carefully examine each item, deciding upon its fate in the fresh air and sunshine. A lot of the things, like musty old clothes and mildewed tennis shoes, went straight into the trash, but other things, like the records and books, really did appear to be worth salvaging.
“It looks like these things belonged to a guy,” said Amy as she gingerly dropped a dirty-looking baseball glove into the rapidly growing trash pile.
“Hey, don’t throw that away,” said Morgan, grabbing up the mitt as well as several other sports items that she suspected Amy had just tossed there. “These things might be collectable too. At least they look old.”
“I can’t imagine old sports junk will be worth anything,” said Amy with an upturned nose. “Besides, we can’t keep
all
this smelly stuff in the bus. We won’t have enough room.”
“Yeah, we will,” said Morgan. “Under the bed, remember?”
“Yes, but why waste the space?” argued Amy. “We can use that to store other things.”
“What other things?” asked Morgan.
“Hey, look at this,” said Emily as she pulled what appeared to be a high school yearbook from the book box. “Boscoe Bay Cougars, 1979.”
“Wow, that’s a long time ago,” said Morgan, peering over Emily’s shoulder to see the cover of the faded red book. “Do you think it belonged to Mr. Greeley?”
“No way,” said Amy, snatching the book from Emily. “Whoever owned this yearbook couldn’t be much older than forty-five by now. And Mr. Greeley looks like he’s about seventy. Maybe even older.”
“The mental math whiz-kid strikes again,” says Morgan, grabbing the yearbook from Amy and handing it back to Emily. “But I think she’s right.”
“Let’s look at it,” said Emily. She sat down on the sandy ground and flipped the cover open to expose a plain white page with several notes on it in various kinds of handwriting.
“Looks like this annual’s been signed,” said Amy.
“Maybe we can discover a clue as to whose this was.” Emily sat down on the sandy soil and began to study the pages. The others joined her and soon they were reading
the inscriptions out loud.
“‘To Dan the man,’” read Morgan, “‘Will miss you on the football field. Tight ends rule! Rick Byers.’”
“What’s that supposed mean?” said Amy. “Tight ends rule?”
“It’s a football position,” explained Morgan.
“‘Oh, Danny Boy …’” read Emily. “‘I wish I’d gotten to know you better … Hang in there. Love, April.’” Emily laughed. “April with three hearts beneath her name!”
“She had it bad for Dan the man,” laughed Amy.
“‘Dan, Glad you seniors are leaving so the rest of us can have a chance at stardom too. Ten-four, good buddy, Dave Cross.’” Morgan laughed.
“‘You should smile more—,’” read Carlie, “‘it increases your face value. Love and kisses, Kathy.’” They all laughed.
“Sounds like Dan the man was one hot guy,” said Emily.
“Speaking of hot,” said Morgan. “I’m cooking out here!”
“Me too,” said Amy. “I thought we were going to take a picnic to the beach and go swimming.”
“That’s right!” said Carlie. “Let’s hurry and get this stuff cleaned up and back on the bus.”
“I know,” said Morgan. “You guys finish putting this stuff back in the bus, and I’ll go see what Grandma and I
can throw together for a picnic lunch—that is unless anyone else has a better plan.”
“That sounds awesome,” said Emily as she returned the yearbook to the box of books.
“Then we can run home and get our swimsuits and stuff and meet back here,” said Amy.
“I’ll swing by your house, Morgan,” offered Emily. “To help carry the picnic stuff.”
They quickly put things back in the bus and took off to their own houses to change. But Emily couldn’t quit thinking about this Dan guy as she pulled on the blue swimsuit that Morgan had given her when she found out Emily had only one outfit. Who was he anyway? And why was his yearbook in Mr. Greeley’s bus? Not that these questions really bugged her. No, not at all. Because Emily loved a mystery. And it looked like the girls had not only inherited a bus but a mystery as well!