Karen's Treasure

  “Let me see,” I cried.

  “Shhh!” The man at the table next to us turned around and shushed me. I grabbed the book from Kristy. There it was, in black and white. “Deer Stream,” it said. Back then, that must have been the name people used for McConnell’s Brook. I pictured deer drinking from the stream. Now, there are not many deer in Stoneybrook.

  I snapped the book shut. “Mission accomplished,” I said.

  “Mission accomplished,” echoed Andrew.

  We had solved the second clue. Tomorrow we would take care of “Barrows’ back door.” Tomorrow we would go to Town Hall.

  Stoneybrook Town Hall

  Before Kristy arrived on Thursday afternoon, Andrew and I were waiting at the front door.

  Andrew pressed his nose against the screen. “I want to play until she comes,” he whined.

  “No,” I said firmly.

  “Why not?”

  “We have a job to do,” I told him. “And deputies do not play during work time.”

  Charlie’s Junk Bucket pulled up in front of the house. Kristy hopped out.

  “Hey, guys!” she said, waving.

  I pulled Andrew out the door. “Let’s go!” I cried. I did not want to waste any time. “To Town Hall!”

  Stoneybrook Town Hall is a short walk from our house. It is a big gray building. Inside, the air smells musty. Kristy pulled open the heavy front door.

  “Wow,” said Andrew. “This place is spooky. Do ghosts live here?”

  In the front hall was an information desk. I marched right up to it.

  “Hello,” I said. “My name is Karen Brewer and I need some information.”

  The woman behind the desk smiled. She nodded to the sign in front of her desk. “Then you have come to the right place,” she said.

  “We need to know if a family named Barrow ever lived in a house on Forest Drive,” I said.

  “That would be in County Records,” said the woman. “Go right up those stairs and into the third door on the left.”

  Kristy, Andrew, and I climbed the long flight of wooden stairs. The sound of our footsteps echoed through the building.

  The third door on the left was closed. I knocked on it. A man opened the door. He looked pale (probably from being cooped up in such a dark, dusty room all day). The man told us his name was Stuart. He asked if he could help us.

  “I certainly hope you can,” I said. “Because we are trying to solve our clues. We are looking for a family named Barrow. We think they might have lived on Forest Drive in nineteen thirty-five.”

  “Barrow?” Stuart repeated. “On Forest Drive? Let me see.”

  Kristy winked at me. I could tell she thought I was doing a good job.

  Stuart opened a file drawer. He riffled through some records. He searched a long time, and then he pulled out a piece of paper. It was old and yellowed.

  “Here you are,” he said. “Barrow. They did indeed live on Forest Drive in nineteen thirty-five. They held the title to the house another ten years after that.”

  “Which house?” I asked quickly. “What was their address?”

  Kristy shot me a Look.

  “What was their address, please,” I added.

  “Number fourteen,” said the man.

  Number 14. That was Nancy’s house!

  “Does this mean we will find the treasure?” asked Andrew.

  “Treasure?” repeated Stuart.

  “Yes,” I said importantly. “I am a detective and these are my deputies. We are searching for treasure that was buried in our backyard. Now we are solving the clues.”

  “I see,” said Stuart. “Well, I am glad I could be of help.”

  “You have been very helpful,” I said.

  I shook Stuart’s hand. Then Kristy, Andrew, and I trooped back down the long wooden stairway.

  “Thank you!” I waved to the woman at the information desk.

  At last we had all the information we would need. Tomorrow we would dig for buried treasure.

  Digging for Treasure

  On Friday I was very excited. At school I could not keep my mind on my work. I kept thinking of the treasure and all the things I would do with it once we had dug it up.

  First I would give a big chunk of money to the scholarship fund for Andrew’s school. (Mommy and Seth would be proud of me.) Then I would buy every one of my friends and everyone in both my families a big, big present. And finally I would buy a whole bunch of things for myself. Things I really, really needed. I would start at the bookstore.

  That day, after school, I ran home from the bus stop and waited for Kristy. As soon as she arrived, we took the map outside.

  “Deputies,” I announced. “This is the moment we have all been waiting for.” I read the first clue aloud so we could follow the directions.

  “ ‘Number one,’ ” I said. “ ‘Twenty-two paces from Barrows’ back door.’ ”

  With that, I walked straight to Barrows’ back door. (Actually, I walked to Nancy’s back door, but you know what I mean.)

  “Okay,” I said. I faced our house. “Now we have to walk twenty-two paces.”

  I started to take a step. Then I stopped. “Giant steps or baby steps?” I asked.

  “Hmm,” said Kristy. “Medium, I think.”

  “One, two, three,” I counted. “Four, five, six, seven, eight.” Andrew called out the numbers along with me. (He got a little mixed up after we passed the number fifteen.) When I had walked twenty-two paces, Kristy read the second clue.

  “ ‘Turn and face Deer Stream,’ ” she said.

  I spun on my heel and turned to face Deer Stream (also known as McConnell’s Brook). This was fun. My heart began to beat faster. I could almost feel those gold doubloons spilling through my fingers.

  “Now,” said Kristy, reading the rest of the direction. “ ‘Walk to the nearest Quercus coccinea.’ ”

  That was a snap. I marched to the nearest oak tree. It was not the one we had built our tree house in. It was the one by the birdbath. It certainly was easy to follow the map now that we had figured out the clues. All of our hard work was about to pay off.

  “Okay,” said Kristy. She brought the map to me. “The X is halfway between the tree and the hedge. So that is where we will dig.”

  And dig we did. Before long we had a hole a foot deep and four feet wide. But guess what. We did not find any treasure. None at all. We did find some old tree roots and some wriggly worms, but that is all. My shirt was dirty and sweaty. I plopped myself down at the edge of the big muddy hole. I was beginning to feel very discouraged.

  “Hi, everybody!” called Mommy. She poked her head out the back door. Then she saw the hole.

  “What in the world happened to the yard?” she asked. She did not look pleased.

  Kristy looked at me. “Karen,” she asked, “you mean you did not ask if it was okay for us to dig this hole?”

  I shrugged. “I did not think of it,” I said. “I dug a hole once before. I figured there would be no problem if we did it again.”

  Mommy looked across the yard and shook her head.

  “Well, it certainly is not okay,” she said crossly. “The yard looks like a war zone. Karen Brewer,” she said firmly, “there is to be no more digging in the backyard. And that is that.”

  I hung my head. “Yes, Mommy,” I said.

  No more digging in the backyard? Well, that was okay with me. I was sick of digging for treasure. After all our hard work, there was no treasure after all. Henry Carmody had tricked us before. And now he had tricked us again. I guessed the treasure map was his idea of a joke. A big, fat joke.

  Well, I did not think Henry’s joke was very funny.

  Photos in the Attic

  On Saturday I called Nancy. She was busy again, rehearsing for her you-know-what. I did not care, though. Andrew and I could continue with our detective work.

  “Come on, Andrew,” I said. “We have not finished investigating the house.”

  “What about the treasure ma
p?” he asked.

  “Forget about that,” I told him. “We will look for something different now.”

  Andrew rubbed his hand as if it were still sore. “Do I have to knock on walls again?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “Today we will investigate the attic.”

  “Cool!” said Andrew.

  Once again I put on my floppy detective hat. I let Andrew carry the magnifying glass. Then I got a flashlight, and Andrew and I climbed the stairs to the attic.

  In the attic were a lot of old things. At the top of the stairs was a couch. I ran my finger across the cushions. They were covered with dust.

  “Yuck,” said Andrew. He pounded the cushions. Dust billowed up and tickled our noses.

  “Ah-choo!” Andrew sneezed.

  I turned on my flashlight and looked around the room.

  “Karen,” said Andrew. “We do not need the flashlight. We can just turn on the lights.”

  “No,” I said. “It is important to investigate with a flashlight.”

  “Why?” asked Andrew.

  I sighed. “Andrew,” I said, “it is a good thing that I am chief detective and you are my deputy. I know much more about investigating than you do.”

  I shined the light in the corners of the room.

  “What are we looking for?” asked Andrew.

  “We do not know yet,” I said. “We will figure it out when we find it.”

  “Why?” asked Andrew.

  “Because,” I answered. I shot him a Look. I hoped he would be quiet.

  Behind the couch were a lot of boxes.

  “First we will investigate these,” I said.

  One of the boxes was filled with old baby things. Inside were blankets, clothes, and toys.

  “Look,” cried Andrew. He pulled out a rattle and a teething ring.

  “Those were yours,” I told him. “You used to play with them when you were little.”

  “Really?” asked Andrew. He shook the rattle and bit on the ring. “Goo goo ga ga,” he said. He fished deeper into the baby box. I climbed over the rest of the boxes and continued on.

  At the back of the attic were eaves. That looked like a good place to find something interesting. Maybe I would find a stack of old letters. Or a skeleton. I shined my flashlight across the wood beams. Something was there. A box. It looked as if someone had hidden it there, or at least tucked it away and forgotten it. The box was old. I opened the lid carefully. Inside were photographs. They were black-and-white.

  “Deputy,” I called. “Bring the magnifying glass!”

  Andrew scrambled over to me.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Old pictures,” I said. “Some are of people. I wonder who they are.”

  In one photo a young boy was playing in the yard. He was wearing funny clothes. His pants came just past his knees. They were held up by suspenders.

  “That is our yard,” said Andrew.

  “Maybe,” I said. “But that is not our hedge. And what tree is that? It is not in our yard now.”

  I turned over the photograph. On the back, something was written in ink. “H. at play,” it said. “Nineteen thirty-four.”

  “H.,” I said, thinking. H. might be Henry. Henry Carmody, the boy who had drawn the treasure map!

  I looked at the photo again. It was our yard. But what was that tree? And why was the hedge on the side of the yard, not the back?

  “Eureka!” I cried. “We have solved the puzzle. The hedge is in a different place now. And this big tree must have been cut down. That is the reason the treasure map did not work. The yard is different now.”

  I clutched the photo and ran down the stairs. “Mommy! Mommy!” I cried. Andrew ran behind me. We would have to call Kristy. There might be treasure after all.

  One Last Hole

  “Please, can we dig again?” I begged Mommy. “Please, please, please?”

  I showed her the photo of the yard.

  “Hmm,” she said. “This is interesting. But Seth and I have talked it over, and we cannot have any more holes in the yard.”

  “Not only does it look bad,” said Seth, “but you could damage something. The water pipes run under the yard. If you keep digging, you could puncture them. Then we would really have a mess on our hands.”

  “We will be careful,” I promised. “Very careful.”

  Mommy took the photo in her hand and looked at it closely.

  “Will you look at that,” she said. “The hedge was across the side of the yard.”

  “And the trees were different,” I added quickly. “Some of our trees were not even planted yet. And some of their trees have been cut down.”

  Mommy looked at Seth. Seth looked at Mommy. They both looked at me. I could not help it. I broke into a big, silly grin.

  “All right,” said Mommy. “We will let you dig one more time.”

  “Yippee!” I shouted.

  “But only one hole,” Seth added. “This is absolutely the last treasure-digging you will do in our yard.”

  I ran to the phone to call Kristy.

  “You have to come over this instant,” I said. I told her everything I had discovered. “Can you come?” I asked. “Can you, please? Right now?”

  Kristy hesitated. “I was just about to eat lunch,” she said.

  “Eat it over here,” I begged. “We will have a big lunch after we dig. A big celebration lunch!”

  “Okay,” said Kristy. “I will be there in twenty minutes.”

  Just before noon Charlie dropped off Kristy. She and I walked straight to the backyard. This time we took the map and the photo. I walked the twenty-two paces from Barrows’ back door. Then I turned to face Deer Stream.

  Kristy read off the last of the clues: “ ‘Walk to the nearest Quercus coccinea.’ ” I walked. But this time I did not go to either of our two oak trees. I walked to an old, weathered stump. According to the photo, it had once been a big, beautiful tree.

  “Okay,” said Kristy. “Now remember. The X is halfway between this tree stump and the hedge.”

  “And the hedge was over there.” I pointed.

  Kristy and I walked to the spot where the X would be. She handed me the shovel. I sucked in my breath. Just as I was about to push it into the ground, Andrew burst through the door.

  “Can I help?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I said.

  I crossed my fingers and made a wish. I wished for treasure, lots of it. Enough treasure to fill a giant chest.

  Treasure!

  I wiped my hands on my pants and rested my foot on the blade of the shovel. Oof! I shoved it into the ground.

  “Now I know why they call it a shov-el,” I said, giggling.

  The digging went slowly. I went first. Then Andrew (actually, Kristy and I helped him). Then Kristy took a turn. The hole got bigger. And deeper. Finally it was about a foot deep. Then it was my turn again. For a moment I wondered if all this digging was worth it. Maybe we were being silly. Maybe there was no treasure and never had been. Maybe all that we had done was fill our yard with holes.

  Clink! My shovel hit something. Oh, no. I remembered what Seth had said about the water pipes. What if I made a pipe spring a leak? Seth would really be mad at me then.

  Clink! The shovel hit something again.

  “It is probably a rock,” said Andrew.

  “Let me see,” said Kristy.

  Kristy got down on her hands and knees. She pushed aside the dirt. Something glinted in the sun. Something metal. As she cleared the dirt, we saw a box. Kristy picked up the shovel and pried it out. It was old and rusty. She handed it to me. I shook it. Rattle, rattle! Something was inside. It sounded like money. Maybe gold doubloons or pieces of eight. I thought of the speech I would give when I donated money to Andrew’s school. I thought of all the books I would buy, the presents I would give my family and friends.

  “Treasure!” I cried. I jumped up and down. “We found treasure!”

  The box was fastened with an old, bent l
atch. When I tugged at it, it popped open. Coins flew everywhere, scattering across the grass.

  “Yahoo!” I cried. Kristy, Andrew, and I scrambled around, gathering up the coins.

  Oh, no. Most of the coins were just pennies. Some were nickels and some were dimes. But there were no quarters, no half dollars, and no silver dollars. And there were certainly no gold doubloons or pieces of eight.

  “This is not a treasure,” I said. “This is just somebody’s old change.”

  Kristy looked disappointed, too. “Let’s add it up,” she said.

  We put the coins back in the box and counted them out. Andrew tried to help us. He counted each coin as one cent.

  “No, Andrew,” I said. “This is a nickel. It has to count as five, not one. And dimes count as ten.” Andrew looked confused. “You will learn all about it in first grade,” I told him. “Let Kristy and me do the counting.”

  It did not take us long to total up the coins. Two dollars and forty-seven cents. That was all.

  “The coins are not even shiny,” I said, pouting. “They are old and dull. This is stupid. All that digging for two dollars and forty-seven cents? I cannot buy a stack of new books with this. I cannot even buy one.”

  I thought of the photo I had found in the attic. I pictured the boy in his short pants and suspenders. “H. at play,” the photo had read. Henry Carmody was just a boy. A boy in 1935. He must have thought two dollars and forty-seven cents was a lot of money.

  Well, it was not a lot of money now. And if anybody thought it was, they had another think coming.

  The Coin Shop

  “Karen! Andrew! Kristy!” called Seth. “It is time for lunch.”

  We trooped into the house.

  “Hey,” Seth said when he saw the box. “It looks like you found treasure!”

  “We found something,” I said. “But it is not treasure. It is just some old pennies and nickels and dimes. They are not even new or shiny.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Seth.

  Seth had made us sandwiches and soup for lunch. I tossed the metal box with the coins at one end of the kitchen table.