Jackpot

  “Or a Giga-Millions ticket!” Victor finished breathlessly.

  “We’ve got to get back there!” Griffin exclaimed. “Mike — we need a ride to —”

  Melissa already had the address up on her smartphone. “Sixty-eight Van Buren.”

  Abandoning the bikes on the frat house lawn, the entire group piled into the Volkswagen bus. It was a tight squeeze to get eight middle schoolers, a very tall hippie, a giant Doberman, a cat, and a ferret into the vehicle, but soon Mike was burning rubber away from Swandon. Griffin kept a hand over the SweetPick’s power switch. Even without the Safe-chete blade, an accidental deployment could do a lot of damage with so many people and animals in such close quarters. Savannah reached out a tentative hand and stroked her beloved Doberman’s short fur. He allowed this, if only because there was no other place to put his great head.

  As they crossed into Green Hollow, Ben peered out the van’s flyspecked window. “Hey, Griffin, isn’t that your dad’s car? What’s he doing here?”

  Griffin’s head shrunk into his collar. “Looking for me. I ran out on a field test for the SweetPick.”

  Melissa offered her phone. “Call him.”

  “I can’t — not in the middle of a plan. He’d come after me and slow us down. We’ve only got forty minutes left.”

  “If we find the ticket but run out of time and lose the money, I’ll never forgive myself,” Darren vowed.

  “You’ll have company,” Pitch assured him. “We’ll never forgive you, either.”

  Everyone held on as the bus wheeled around the corner onto Van Buren Street and screeched to a halt in front of the debris-strewn lawn. Like the occupants of a clown car at the circus, team members poured out of the VW from every opening and raced to the front door.

  Griffin rang the bell several times. “Mr. Fielder!” he called, hearing movement inside the house. “Let us in!”

  “It’s an emergency!” cried Victor. “You won the lottery!”

  “Again!” added Darren. “You’re so lucky —” His voice broke. “You got all the luck! You didn’t leave any for the rest of us —”

  Pitch clapped her hand over his mouth just as the door swung wide and Tobias Fielder’s macramé cap appeared out of the jungle of hanging plants. “What are you talking about? I won years ago.”

  “You won again!” Griffin babbled, feeling the time pressure. “But the ticket expires at six! Let us in so we can find it for you!”

  “Well, okay. But not the dog. Or the cat.” He took in Ferret Face poking out of Ben’s shirt. “Or whatever that is.”

  “He’s a medical necessity,” Ben insisted, pushing inside with the others.

  Luthor and Penelope were left alone on the porch. They kept their distance, regarding each other with suspicion.

  Inside the cluttered house, the search of the books began in earnest. There were hundreds of them, piled on tables, chairs, countertops, and the floor. A few even swung in macramé planters. It seemed an insurmountable task, but Griffin and Victor had briefed the team on efficient hunting techniques and division of responsibility. Only books were examined, and only for bookmarks. They found mail and receipts dating back to the 1980s, papers yellowed with age, unpaid bills, candy wrappers, all jammed in, marking the reader’s page. There were Post-its, Kleenex, and squares of toilet paper. Business cards, playing cards, baseball cards, even a tarot card. But no lottery ticket.

  “Are you sure that’s everything?” Griffin cried, watching the time. The house was a maze of flotsam and jetsam, but it was not overly large. In fourteen minutes, the team had gone through every book and magazine.

  Mike was curious. “How come you have so many overdue books?”

  Mr. Fielder looked surprised. “I don’t have overdue books.”

  “Oh, come on!” Darren exploded, the pressure getting to him with every tick of the clock. “What do you call these?”

  The homeowner stuck out his jaw, insulted. “I’m very organized. I just took a batch back to the library yesterday.”

  The team surveyed the disorder of the house. Was Mr. Fielder really so weird that he honestly didn’t see the chaos all around him? That he didn’t notice the forest for the trees — the books for the other stuff? In that case, it would be easy to see how he might overlook a thirty-million-dollar ticket.

  “Wait a minute.” Victor spoke up. “You returned some books yesterday?”

  Griffin was already high-stepping through the bric-a-brac for the door. “Mike, where’s the library around here?”

  “Way ahead of you, man.” The tall hippie winced as his head whacked a low-hanging planter.

  They collected the dog and cat on the porch and piled back into the VW, which started in a cloud of burning oil. Mr. Fielder followed in the van with the macramé in the windows.

  The time was 5:38. Only twenty-two minutes remained before the deadline.

  Ten humans and three animals barreled full bore into the Green Hollow Public Library. It was a major invasion, yet the librarian at the desk had eyes only for the man in the handmade cap.

  “You!” she seethed, drawing herself up to her full height of five feet. “You are not welcome in this building!”

  Tobias Fielder spread his arms in a gesture of innocence. “What did I do?”

  “There are many reasons patrons don’t return materials on time,” she stormed, wagging a bony finger. “They misplace them, or forget due dates — all honest mistakes. You have elevated overdue books to crime-of-the-century level!”

  “I was just at the book drop yester —”

  “It will cost this branch a fortune to replace what you’ve walked away with,” she accused. “Your overdue fines alone are more than two thousand dollars!”

  Griffin spoke up. “He can afford it! At least, he’ll be able to! Just take us to yesterday’s book-drop books!”

  “I’m sorry,” she told him. “Materials returned yesterday have already been reshelved.”

  “It’s no use, Griffin,” said Ben. “We’ll never have time to search the whole library. We’ve only got eighteen minutes.”

  Darren was in agony. “You don’t give up on thirty million dollars!”

  “You’re better off without it,” Mike told him. “Look how uptight you are. Your chakras are completely out of alignment.”

  “Yeah?” Darren retorted. “Don’t forget your Woodstock monument circling the bowl!”

  The tall hippie shrugged. “As Bob Dylan said, ‘When you’ve got nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose.’ ”

  But Griffin was unwilling to admit defeat. He had been through too much on account of this phantom lottery ticket. He had been labeled a bully and forced to pick up garbage in every back alley in Cedarville. He had run off on Dad with an unpatented prototype still strapped to his midsection, leaving a vital component abandoned in a field. He had even teamed up with the likes of Darren Vader. Worst of all, this caper had nearly cost him his friends, and nothing was worth that.

  The whole world had been turned upside down, and there was only one way to make things right again. He had to do what The Man With The Plan always did — see an operation through to the end.

  He turned to Mr. Fielder. “What books did you return yesterday? If they’ve been reshelved, we can find them.”

  “I’m completely organized,” said Mr. Fielder for the umpteenth time. He frowned as his completely organized mind shut down completely.

  Griffin stared at him and faced an unhappy fact. There was nothing under that macramé cap but air.

  And then he realized he was staring right at it. He wheeled on the librarian. “The books returned yesterday — were any of them about macramé?”

  She consulted the computer at the reception desk. “One,” she reported. “Why Knot: The Art of Macramé. Dewey decimal number 746.4.” By the time she looked up, she was talking to herself.

  Griffin led the stampede to the seven hundreds. When they found the right shelf, they jammed into the aisle, scanning spines and rea
ding numbers.

  “It isn’t there!” wailed Darren.

  A chorus of “Shhhh!” came from all around them.

  “But it’s supposed to be here!” Griffin heaved in consternation.

  “Maybe it got shelved in the wrong place,” Melissa suggested.

  This prompted a wild inspection of the nearby stacks, which had books flying in all directions and strewn about the carpet.

  Another librarian appeared, this one furious. “What’s going on here?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Darren rasped. “You owe me thirty million dollars!”

  The angry woman ignored him. “What is that dog doing here? And the cat? No pets in the library!”

  “We’ll take them right out,” Griffin promised. “But we need a book first. It’s called Why Knot: The Art of Macramé. It’s supposed to be here, but it isn’t.”

  “Well, either someone checked it out —” Multiple gasps of horror seemed to come from a single agonized throat. “Or,” she continued, “it might be on the bookmobile.”

  “Bookmobile?” Victor wheezed.

  “Our driver just loaded up a fresh shipment. If you hurry, you might be able to catch her in the parking lot.”

  If there had been an Olympic speed record for exiting a library, the team would have shattered it. Pitch hit the sidewalk first, Griffin hot on her heels, Luthor loping behind him. They started for the parking lot just as a white panel truck motored up the driveway and merged into traffic. On the side was the logo of the Green Hollow Public Library along with the message: BOOKS ON BOARD.

  “No-o-o-o-o!!!” Darren’s cry was barely human.

  Griffin, Ben, Victor, Pitch, Savannah, Logan, Melissa, Darren, Mike, and Mr. Fielder sprinted after the bookmobile, screaming at top volume. Ferret Face burrowed deep inside Ben’s sleeve and dug in his little claws, hanging on for dear life. Luthor’s long strides soon brought him to the front of the pack. Not to be outdone, Penelope leaped out of Savannah’s arms and hit the pavement running, matching the big dog’s pace.

  The truck was accelerating, opening up an insurmountable lead. Griffin’s eyes took in the clock on the bank tower ahead. Twelve minutes to go. If the bookmobile got away from them here, it would all be over.

  There was only one hope: the traffic light at the next intersection. It had to turn red. It just had to.

  The truck roared on. The light remained green.

  Come on — change!

  At the last second, the signal turned yellow. The rev of the engine swelled as the driver prepared to run the light. Then, at the last second, she thought better of it, and the bookmobile squealed to a stop.

  The pursuers stampeded down the block in a desperate bid to reach the panel truck before the light changed again. They almost made it. Dog and cat were at the corner when the green signal returned. Traffic resumed. There was a grinding noise as the bookmobile shifted back into drive.

  Luthor was streetwise, and pulled up, but Penelope ran right out in front of the library vehicle.

  “Penelope!” chorused Savannah and Victor in terror as the van burst forward.

  Luthor did not hesitate. In a single titanic bound, he leaped into the path of the truck and picked up the cat by her collar. In a spectacular display of canine agility, he hurled himself and his bitter enemy back onto the sidewalk just as the bookmobile roared into the space they’d occupied a split second before. Had he acted an instant later, both animals would have been struck.

  With a cry, the mobile librarian slammed on the brakes. The truck lurched to a halt.

  Darren was not going to wait for an engraved invitation. He threw open the sliding side door and jumped aboard.

  The driver, already badly shaken by her near miss with the animals, could only gasp. “What do you want?”

  “Why Knot: The Art of Macramé!” He attacked the built-in shelves, hunting frantically, chucking books in all directions.

  The others swarmed the vehicle, joining the search.

  Savannah’s arms were locked around Luthor’s strong neck. “Oh, sweetie, I’ve never been so proud of you! Risking your life to save Penelope after everything that’s happened — you’re a hero!”

  The cat walked back and forth, rubbing up against the Doberman’s flank in a gesture of gratitude and affection. Luthor looked supremely pleased with himself.

  The mobile librarian was in a terrible state. “You can’t be here! Those books are town property! This is against the rules!” Her gaze fell on Mr. Fielder. “I should have known! You haven’t got enough of our materials already — you have to hijack the bookmobile!”

  Mr. Fielder was mystified. “What’s everybody so mad at me for? I’m a very big reader!”

  Kindly, Mike helped the overwrought librarian slide over to the passenger seat and replaced her behind the wheel. “I’ll drive. You just relax. Do you know any meditation techniques?”

  “Take us to the lottery office!” Griffin called from the midst of the search. “We haven’t found the ticket yet, but when we do, we need to be right there.”

  “There’s only six minutes to go!” moaned Darren.

  Mike put the truck in gear. “Don’t worry, it’s not far.”

  Pitch slammed the sliding door shut and the bookmobile squealed around in a wide, illegal U-turn. The searchers were tossed every which way, but nothing could interrupt their concentration. There were more than four hundred books on the shelves — a big number, but not an impossible one. If they kept their cool, they’d find it.

  As a lottery vendor, Mike had been to the office countless times and knew all the shortcuts. Still, every stop sign and red light cost them precious seconds. The minutes ticked down from four, to three, to two.

  “Are we close?” wheezed Darren, near hysterics.

  “It doesn’t matter if we haven’t got the ticket,” Pitch snapped irritably.

  And then a small voice said, “Macramé.”

  It was Victor. “Why Knot: The Art of Macramé! This is it — and there’s a bookmark in it!”

  Carefully, as if he were handling a delicate butterfly specimen, he removed the slip of paper. As crowded as they were in the back of the bookmobile, the group squeezed even closer, staring, hoping.

  It was a Giga-Millions ticket from the drawing held October 6. Barely daring to breathe, Griffin examined the numbers.

  12 … 17 … 18 … 34 … 37 … 55 …

  “We’ve got it,” he said, more calmly than he would have believed possible.

  “One minute!” squeaked Ben.

  They had the ticket, but would they have the time?

  “We’re here!” called Mike, slowing before a small row of storefronts. “It’s right across the street!”

  Darren was overcome with emotion. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he told Victor. “Can I hold it?”

  “Don’t!” chorused Griffin, Ben, Pitch, Savannah, Logan, and Melissa.

  Mike glanced over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  Crash! The bookmobile rear-ended a station wagon that was cruising the block at slow speed. An angry man jumped out.

  “Griffin,” Ben exclaimed. “It’s your dad!”

  And then Darren Vader snatched the winning ticket from Victor’s hand, heaved the sliding door open, jumped out, and began to run for the lottery office across the street.

  “No!”

  Griffin blasted after him, the team following in furious agony. After everything that had happened, no way could they let this money-grubbing backstabber cash in the ticket himself.

  Mr. Bing looked up from the dented rear bumper of his car just in time to see his missing son flash by, wearing his missing prototype. “Griffin?”

  But Griffin could not slow down — could not even waste a syllable to acknowledge his father. Darren was already halfway across the street, the open doorway of the lottery office thirty feet away.

  Once again, big Darren’s football training made him difficult to catch up to. Griffi
n’s ragged breath came out in wild gasps. His lungs were on fire. Worse, he was slowed down by the SweetPick, which was a burden, even without the steel Safe-chete blade.

  It struck him like a cannon shot: There’s no Safe-chete blade!

  Propelled by a depth of determination he scarcely could have imagined, Griffin put on a burst of acceleration that drew him right on Darren’s heels. The lottery office beckoned just a few strides ahead. It was now or never.

  With a silent prayer, Griffin reached down and flicked the dangling switch on his father’s invention.

  With its telltale flack, the SweetPick did exactly what it was designed to do. There wasn’t a blade to slice the sugarcane at its base, but the U-Bundle mechanism flung out a length of twine and, lassoing Darren from behind, cinched tight, tying his arms to his sides.

  “Awesome!” whispered Mr. Bing, watching his invention in action.

  The shock of this assault threw off Darren’s balance. The big boy went down with a half-demented shriek. So great was his momentum that he tumbled and rolled clear past the lottery office door. He lost his grip on the ticket, and thirty million dollars was fluttering in the breeze over a sewer drain.

  With a cry of purpose, Pitch left her feet in an athletic dive, her arms straining to catch the ticket in midair. She hit the ground just as the slip dropped through the grating. At the last minute, she jammed her fingers into the opening and somehow managed to trap the precious paper against the underside of the iron grill.

  Griffin was devastated. “We lost it?”

  Very slowly and carefully, Pitch drew her hand out of the sewer, the multimillion-dollar ticket pinched between her middle and index fingers.

  Inside the storefront of the lottery office, the lights went out abruptly.

  Ben stared at his watch in horror. “Ten seconds!”

  Flaked out on the sidewalk, Pitch could only hold out the ticket. Victor snatched it from her and passed it to Griffin, who ran for the entrance.

  Through the glass of the lottery office, they could see the clerk closing the front door.