Chapter 2
Mom
rang the doorbell
again. No one came.
"This is strange,"
she said. "They knew we were coming. There's supposed to be a lady from
the Senior Care Center to stay with Grandma Charlotte until we arrived."
"Try the door," I
suggested. "Maybe it isn't locked." I reached for the knob, but
before I touched it, the door jerked open.
"What do you
want?" A strange bearded man stood in the doorway and scowled at us. He
was tall like a professional basketball player. Dust and cobwebs clung to his
hair and covered his clothes.
"I'm Mary Oliver. This
is my daughter, Jessica," Mom said and pushed passed the man. "I've
come to take care of my grandmother and my mother." She set her suitcase
on the scratched hardwood floor. "Who are you and where is my
grandmother?"
"I'm Hank Thomas."
The man stuck out his hand, but my mother didn't shake it so he slid it back
into his jeans pocket. "Your mother rented the third floor to me for the
summer. I'm here with my nephew."
"But where is my grandmother?" Mom asked used her
I-asked-you-a-question-and-I-expect-an-answer voice. I've heard it lots of
times. "I understood someone from Senior Care would be with her until I
arrived. What's happened? Is she okay?"
"She's fine," he
said. "She's resting in her room. My nephew is sitting with her."
"But I arranged for a
professional nurse to be with my grandmother. Where is she?"
The man coughed. His eyes
darted around the room. "There was a mix-up and no one was
available." Mr. Thomas sounded annoyed. "I volunteered to keep an eye
on her until you came."
He looked at us for a moment
longer and then added, "I have to warn you, she's a bit confused. This
morning she said she heard a prowler last night. I didn't hear or see anything
suspicious. Neither did my nephew." He looked at me with his cold blue
eyes. "She imagines things."
There was another
uncomfortable silence. He creeped me out. I slid the suitcases I'd carried next
to the one Mom had brought in. I couldn't wait to get out of there.
"Mom, can I have the
car keys? I'll get the rest of our stuff while you check on Grandma
Charlotte."
Mr. Thomas was gone when I
returned.
It took three trips to bring
everything in. I was panting by the time I was done. I went into the kitchen to
find something to drink. There probably weren't any sodas in the refrigerator,
but I looked anyway. To my surprise there were four six-packs of Coke. I
grabbed a can and popped it open.
It was cold and tasted
great, especially after the long trip and all my hard work.
"Who said you could
drink my Coke?" an angry voice demanded.
A boy about my age stood in
the doorway with his hands on his hips like he though he was cool or something.
He was shorter than me, but his face looked older. He wore baggy black jeans, a
white oversized T-shirt and a blue baseball cap pushed on backwards over short
brown hair. He had freckles and his dark brown eyes flashed with anger.
He reminded me of this jerk
we have in class who's always in trouble. Definitely not my kid of guy, even if
he were taller.
"You must be the
nephew," I said thinking they went to the same charm school. "My name
is Jessica and my grandmothers live here. I don't need permission to have a
soda."
"You do when it's mine.
You owe me fifty cents."
I had been going to
apologize. Instead I took another long drink, finishing the soda, and tossed
the empty can into a small plastic trashcan next to the stove.
"I don't owe you
anything."
"You better not drink
anymore of my Coke," he said as I brushed passed him.
I didn't answer. I was
angry. How could Gram rent part of her house to strangers? And to creeps like Mr. Thomas and his
nephew? Summer was becoming less and less fun.
I wandered around the ground
floor until I found Great-Grandma Charlotte's bedroom. The door was open. Mom
sat on the edge of the bed. I knocked just loud enough to get her attention and
she waved me into the room.
Great-Grandma Charlotte lay
on her back with a red, white and blue crocheted afghan draped over her legs.
She clutched an old cloth-covered scrapbook to her chest. Its corners were
frayed and the material faded.
Grandma Charlotte's lips moved like she was talking, but her
eyes were closed. I inched closer. I couldn't understand what she was saying.
Mom put her finger to her
lips and whispered, "Shh.
She's rambling about intruders and a secret treasure. Please stay with
her while I call for an ambulance."
Mom hurried from the room,
leaving me alone with Grandma Charlotte. I moved closer to the bed, but I
didn't want to get too close.
Grandma Charlotte's eyes
flew open and stared at me like a trapped, wild animal. She held out the black,
cloth-covered scrapbook to me. I took it. I don't know whose hands were shaking
the most, hers or mine.
She motioned for me to lean
close and whispered just loud enough for me to hear, "I've kept this all
these years, but I could never solve the riddle of the Liberty Lady."
She put her frail hand on
mine. There was a creepy burn scar between her thumb and forefinger. Her
fingers were cold. "Soon it will be too late. You have to find the
treasure. Promise me you will try? Please?"
"I will, Grandma
Charlotte," I said. I didn't know what else to say.
"Bless you," she
said and slumped back onto the mattress. Her eyes rolled up so all that showed
was the whites.
Be sure and come back next week to find out what happens in
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