“We’ll be done cleaning in one minute!” I said.
“No,” Orville said with a grin. “We’ll be done in only thirty seconds!”
“Ten seconds!” I said. “Turn it on!”
I held onto the Super Swift Stuff Lifter handle and Orville reached down to the base and flipped on the switch.
The machine leaped forward like a hungry dragon.
The wire arm swung out to the side and swept everything off my mom’s desk, including a pot of 1,000 paper clips.
“Turn it off!” I yelled, grabbing for the handle.
Orville tried to reach the switch. The rake bulldozed over the trash can. A million pieces of paper fluttered out like moths.
“Turn it off!”
Orville lunged again. The Super Swift Stuff Lifter slammed against the wall, knocking over a lamp.
With a screech, it started to suck up the long lace curtains. Stinky smoke started coming out of the vacuum’s mouth.
Mom opened the door.
I wrestled with the machine, and Orville turned off the switch.
A very peaceful sound floated over the room. It was the sound of nothing.
“What on earth are you doing?” Mom was looking at the mess.
Orville looked at me. I looked at Orville.
“We’re saving time,” Orville said.
THREE
Messy
Closets Rule
Mom didn’t even offer to help clean up. She said she had work of her own and left us alone.
“Sorry,” Orville said to the Super Swift Stuff Lifter as we took it apart. “We know you tried.”
I threw away a gob of masking tape. “The reason it didn’t work is because this room is too messy. We should try it on a completely empty room.”
“Bingo bongo! Let’s do it!”
“We can’t. We have to find the treasure.”
“I was thinking,” Orville said. “What if there isn’t a treasure for us to find? Maybe we should pick a new mission. How about saving someone from doom? That would be exciting.”
“Riot Brother Rule Number Five: Don’t change your mission in the middle of the day! And besides, we still have to clean up in here.”
“Well, I can’t do any more cleaning,” Orville said. “I ran out of dust cloths.”
Mom’s voice came from the hallway: “There is a big white bag of clean rags in the closet.”
Riot Brother Rule #6:
Talk softly even if you think you’re alone,
because grown-ups have excellent hearing.
Orville stuck his head in the closet. “I don’t see them.”
“Use your hands!” she called out.
Orville stuck his hands in the closet and shook them around. “I still don’t see them!”
I got a flashlight and squeezed in with Orville. We stepped on a big white bag with something soft in it, and I flashed the light around.
Hanging up: old coats. On the floor: a box of dead batteries, a large painting, and lots of dust. In the corner: Dracula with blood dripping from his fangs.
Orville screamed and bumped against me. I dropped the flashlight and bumped against the wall. The painting fell over with a crash.
Dracula didn’t move one fang. That’s because Dracula was made out of plastic.
“It’s my old Halloween mask!” I said.
We both started cracking up.
Then I noticed something new. The flashlight was shining on a wooden box covered with dust. It had been hidden behind the painting.
My insides got all jumpy with excitement.
“Well, well, well.” I picked it up. “What do we have here?”
Orville shined the flashlight on the box.
It was about the size of a dictionary with vines carved in the top. On the side was a brass lock.
I looked at Orville. Orville looked at me.
“Mr. Hally’s hidden treasure!”
“There’s only one problem,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“No key!”
We searched everywhere. No luck.
“Should we ask Mom if she knows where the key is?” Orville asked.
“ARE YOU CRAZY? We have to keep this a secret.”
“Should we break it open?”
“ARE YOU CRAZY? The box is probably worth money.”
“Should we take it to the hardware store and see if they have a key for it?”
“ARE YOU CRAZY? Wait—that’s a pretty good idea!”
I wrapped the box in a newspaper and we started to leave the den.
Orville grabbed my arm. “What if the ghost of Mr. Hally wakes up and gets mad at us for stealing his treasure?”
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Mom asked. She appeared out of nowhere with a mop in her hand.
I concentrated on making my face blank so that she wouldn’t suspect anything. I was concentrating so hard that I couldn’t think of anything to say. “Uh—what’s so funny, Orville?”
Orville let out a great burp.
We laughed.
“You’re both very funny,” Mom said. “Turn around and get back to work.”
FOUR
Shoom . . .
Shoom . . .
Yikes!
After cleaning up, we asked permission to walk to Helpful Hardware. Helpful Hardware is extremely helpful because it’s only three blocks from our house.
“Yes. But only if you pick up a toilet plunger,” Mom said, handing us five dollars. “And bundle up. It’s freezing.”
The walk was treacherous: gusting winds, icy sidewalks. But we marched bravely on, our fingers freezing, our eyes stinging, our noses dripping. Of course, it was much harder for me because I was hugging the treasure box against my chest. No free hand to wipe away the snot.
“We’re lucky it’s winter,” I shouted over the wind to Orville.
“Why?”
“If it was summer, then I couldn’t hide the box under my winter coat!”
“Good point.”
Finally, we made it.
“Welcome to Helpful Hardware!” said a woman by the door. “May I help you?”
My lips were so cold, I couldn’t get them to work. “We’re looking for a key,” I said. But it came out: “Me mooky a me.”
Orville cracked up. His face looked like a tomato about to explode.
“Keys!” I finally said.
She smiled. “Aisle ten!”
We walked down the first aisle and turned the corner.
Orville’s grin dropped. “Did you see that?” he whispered.
“See what?”
“Someone is following us.”
We turned down an aisle. Orville glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t look now!” he whispered.
Of course, I looked. But of course I looked without looking as if I was looking.
An old man came around the corner wearing overalls and a flannel shirt. He had no hair. He had no teeth. His footsteps were slow muffled shuffles: shoom . . . shoom . . . shoom.
“It’s Mr. Hally’s ghost,” Orville whispered.
“It is not. It’s just an old guy shopping.”
“Why isn’t he wearing a coat? Ghosts are the only people who don’t wear coats in the winter.”
I tightened my grip on the box hidden under my coat.
Shoom . . . shoom . . . shoom. He was staring right at us.
“Orville, you may be onto something. Let’s keep watching him. But if he stops and picks up anything, then we’ll know he’s not a ghost.”
We pretended to look at door knockers. The old man shuffled right by the toilet plungers and the bird feeders. He wasn’t interested in hardware. He was interested in us!
We hurried around the corner into the next aisle.
“What do we do now?” Orville asked.
“Before we panic, we have to find out if he really is a ghost.”
“How?”
I had to think fast. “I know! Ghosts don’t show up in mirrors. We’ll lea
d him to the mirror aisle and see if we can see his reflection in one.”
The old man turned around the corner. Shoom . . . shoom . . . shoom.
We passed the mouse traps and kept walking. Shoom . . . shoom . . . shoom . . . he followed like a cat on the prowl.
Finally, we saw the mirrors. Halfway down the aisle, I pulled Orville over. We looked into a large mirror in a fancy golden frame. “Just keep looking into this mirror,” I said. “When he passes by, we’ll see if his reflection passes by!”
Out of the corner of our eyes we saw the old man turn the corner. Shoom . . . shoom . . . shoom.
Orville and I held our breath. I gripped the treasure box tightly to my chest.
Closer and closer he came. Shoom . . . shoom.
Orville’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out and bounce against the mirror like Ping-Pong balls. Shoom . . . shoom . . . shoom.
Just a few more steps and he’d pass behind us. Shoom.
He stopped.
I looked at Orville in the mirror. Orville looked at me in the mirror. We didn’t move.
Why had he stopped before reaching the mirror? There was only one reason. He knew we were giving him a ghost test. And he was a ghost.
He leaned forward and lifted a bony finger. “What’s that under your coat?” he hissed.
Orville screamed and knocked into me. We both fell down.
“Shoplifting is against the law!” he said. “What are you trying to hide under your coat?”
Orville and I both noticed the Helpful Hardware name tag on his flannel shirt.
“Do ghosts wear name tags?” Orville whispered.
“I don’t think so,” I replied.
“What was that?” Mr. Bob yelped. “What are you two whispering about? You think you’re going to get away with stealing? Not when I’m working! I’m calling the police. They’ll lock you right up. You think you’ll like being in jail?”
“We’re not shoplifters!” I said.
“In fact, we catch crooks,” Orville added. “We caught a bank robber just the other day.”
It was true. I wrote all about it in The Riot Brothers Capture a Crook.
Mr. Bob didn’t believe us. “What’s that under your coat, then?”
I didn’t want to show Mr. Bob the box. But I had to. “We brought this from home. We want to buy a key for it.”
Mr. Bob examined the box. “Humph!” he said.
“He’s disappointed that we’re not going to die in jail,” Orville whispered.
“We don’t have keys that fit old locks like this,” Mr. Bob grumbled. “What do you want a key for anyway?”
Old Bobby wasn’t too smart.
“See, it’s locked,” I explained. I talked slowly and loudly so he could understand. “To open it, we need a key.”
Mr. Bob pinched the sides of the brass lock together and the lock popped open.
Orville and I gasped.
FIVE
Plunging
into Doom
Mr. Bob’s bony hand began lifting the lid. He was going to see all the gold and jewels gleaming inside! And when he saw them, he’d call the police. The police wouldn’t believe our story. They’d put us in jail. We’d be ruined!
“Don’t open it!” I shouted.
Mr. Bob almost dropped the box on his bony toes. “Why? What’s inside?”
My mind went blank. I looked at Orville. “Tell him what’s inside, Orville.”
Orville looked up at Mr. Bob. When Orville wants to, he can make his face look like one of those angels painted on a cathedral ceiling. “It’s just a dead naked mole rat,” he said.
Mr. Bob handed over the box.
I grabbed it, and we flew out the door.
“Let’s see what’s inside!” Orville said.
“No!” The wind was trying to send us up the Helpful Hardware flagpole. Although I was dying to see what was inside, I knew we had to wait. “What if it’s full of hundred dollar bills, and the wind blows them away?”
“Okay, then let’s run!”
We took off. It is very hard to run on ice in the wind. Especially when you’re holding a hidden treasure.
I was in front of Orville when a truck pulled into a driveway ahead.
I stopped. Orville crashed into me.
Before we both fell, I noticed the sign on the truck: L. H. K. Plumbing.
“We forgot the plungerrrrr!” I said as we plunged.
We had to turn around and run back.
“Now what?” grumbled Mr. Bob.
“We need a plunger.”
“We’re all out.”
“You are not. We saw them.”
“Humph,” Mr. Bob said, and shuffled away.
We got a plunger and ran to the cashier.
Orville pulled the five dollars out of his pocket.
“$5.01,” she said with a smile.
Orville looked at me. I looked at him.
I checked my pockets. Not one quarter. Not one dime. Not one nickel. Not one penny.
“Don’t you have a jar with extra pennies?” I asked.
“Sorry!” she said.
“Will you sell it to us for five dollars?”
“Sorry!”
“You aren’t being very helpful,” I said.
“Open up the box,” Orville whispered. “Maybe there’s a penny inside.”
“No!”
I was just about to give up. Then I remembered something. “It’s a good thing we had to clean the den,” I exclaimed.
“What?”
“See a penny, pick it up, remember?”
Triumphantly, Orville pulled the lucky penny out of his pocket.
The cashier handed him the plunger and away we ran.
Halfway home, the wind picked up speed. It was at our heels. It was nipping. It was barking.
Wait! It wasn’t the wind! It was Doom, our neighbor’s huge brown dog with huge brown fangs. He was nipping at MY heels because Orville was in front.
“Help!” I started to slip. I knew that as soon as I hit the ground, Doom’s fangs would be all over my face. My life would be over.
Orville whirled around. With a mighty yell, he leapfrogged over me and thrust the plunger at Doom like a sword. “Back off!” he shouted.
Doom stood still and barked twice.
“Take that!” Orville thrust the plunger at him one more time. Doom sneered, turned around, and trotted home. “Ha!” Orville shouted after him. “Scaredy Dog!”
“Not too shabby,” I said.
Orville grinned and raised the plunger high in the air. “We should spray paint this gold—”
“And put it in our Riot Brothers’ Trophy Case,” I said.
We ran home.
SIX
Who Invented
Lips, Anyway?
In the privacy of our bedroom, Orville and I huddled. With a frozen and shaking hand, I opened the lock.
“I get to lift the lid,” Orville said.
“I want to,” I argued. “I’m the oldest.”
“So what?”
“Well, I’m the one who found it in the closet.”
“Well, I’m the one Mom told to go in the closet in the first place.”
He had something there. “Okay, we’ll both open it at the same time.”
We each took hold of the lid.
“Gold? Diamonds? Rubies?” I guessed as we lifted it open. Nestled inside were . . .
Two pairs of tiny blue socks. And two tiny blue hats. And two tiny wrist bands:
And a bunch of baby photos and papers.
“Baby stuff!” Orville said.
“Our baby stuff.”
“I can’t believe it.”
My heart sank like a dead rock.
Mom walked in. “I didn’t know you guys were looking through the baby box.” She pulled out the photos. “Oh, you were the cutest babies in the world.”
“We thought it was a treasure box,” I said sadly.
“It is!” She pulled out the
papers. “Look at all this stuff.”
I was about to fall into a serious depression when something caught my eye.
An important-looking envelope had my name on it. It said: $500.00 Savings Bond. There was another one with Orville’s name on it.
“What are these?” I asked.
“Your great grandpa bought those for you when you were born.”
“You mean we each have five hundred bucks?”
“Yes, they’re bonds. You have to wait until you’re eighteen to cash them.”
I looked at Orville. Orville looked at me. He grinned. “Not too shabby!”
We opened the envelopes. Inside were the bonds, which looked like money, and a handwritten note.
I pulled out mine. “Give this to Pooky Waddles,” I read. “Along with ten thousand smackeroonies from the kissing machine.”
Mom laughed. “You don’t remember your great grandpa. He called you Pooky Waddles.”
“Pooky Waddles!” Orville howled.
I pulled a note out of Orville’s envelope and read: “Give Onion-head twenty thousand smackeroonies. He has to catch up.”
“Onion-head?” Orville screamed.
It was my turn to laugh.
“What’s a smackerooni from the kissing machine?” I asked.
“A smackerooni is a kiss.” Mom grinned. “And I’m the kissing machine!” She made kissy lips and came after us.
We screamed and ran.
Halfway down the stairs, I felt a saying coming on. It was hardly the time or place for a saying, but I couldn’t help it. “Wait!” I said.
Mom and Orville stopped and listened politely.
I cleared my throat. “There is nothing quite as frightening as your mom chasing after you with kissy lips.”
“Good one!” Orville said.
Mom laughed and dove after us, but we were faster. We tore down the stairs, ran into the den, and hid in the closet.
In the darkness, we sat side by side on the floor holding our breath, listening for the sound of the approaching kissing machine, and staring at the closed door in front of our faces.
“Do you feel jingly inside?” Orville whispered.
“What do you mean?”
“When I’m hiding, I get this jingly feeling inside. It’s like jingly, jack-in-the-box music. I want the door to pop open. And I don’t want the door to pop open.”