Miss Lana’s voice came to me from nowhere. “Slow and steady, sugar, think it through.”
I opened my eyes. Pitch-dark. Swim up.
Which way is up?
I cupped my hands inches from my face and opened my eyes wide. Slowly I exhaled maybe my last breath, feeling the bubbles cross my chin and the insides of my wrists, my neck . . .
Bubbles always rise. I’m upside down!
My lungs screamed. I kicked against a timber and turned a desperate flip. I felt for the bubbles and kicked for my life. Up, up, past Tinks’s frantic hands, up.
The water went lighter, and I looked up into a kaleidoscope of daylight.
I broke the surface, gulping in air, and staring into Dale’s terrified face. “Mo!” he screamed, pushing the chain to me.
I grabbed and pulled myself up, hand over hand.
Dale, on a tiny jut of timber over the water, pulled me near and hoisted me upward, his arms shaking. Harm reached down and grabbed the back of my jacket, hauling me up.
I rolled into the grass and stared into the pit. Tinks sputtered to the surface. Dale leaned over the water, pushing the chain to him. Tinks clung to it with one arm, the other arm trapped beneath the water.
He looked up at me, his face demon-wild.
“Tinks! Climb!” I shouted.
“Can’t,” he said, fighting to keep his head above water.
I flew to the tractor and vaulted into the seat. I turned the key and the tractor roared.
“Now!” Harm yelled, arms waving. “Go, go, go!”
I closed my eyes, picturing Tinks on the tractor. His hand on the gearshift, his foot on the clutch . . . The clutch! I jammed the metal pedal to the floor. The tractor bumped into gear and lunged into the edge of the woods. The chain snapped tight behind me.
I ducked my head as I crunched into the forest. Briars grabbed my hair. The tractor bucked forward, bumping my face against the metal steering wheel. I looked back. One huge wheel gnawed its way up a tree stump, tipping me over, over . . .
“Jump,” Harm screamed, running toward me. “JUMP!”
I jumped as the tractor teetered, crashed, and choked off. We looked back. Tinks sat on the ground, crying. Dale sat beside him, his face white as death.
Suddenly the cold leaned through me, freezing me to my bones.
Harm grabbed my hand. “That was close, Mo. That was so close.” He swiped the tears off his face. “What made us think we could outsmart a pirate?”
* * *
“I quit,” Dale said an hour later as Harm stoked the inn’s big fireplace. We’d collapsed into the parlor’s heavy chairs. “Rich ain’t worth spit if you’re dead.”
“We can’t quit,” I said. “We’ve found it. We just have to be smarter.”
Dale draped a blanket over Tinks’s thin shoulders.
Tinks winced and pulled away. “Just wrenched it out of joint,” he said. “It’ll pop back in. Dale’s right. There’s nothing in that pit worth dying for.”
I caught my reflection in the window. A scared, shivering girl with a fat lip. I turned my head. Still, when I warmed up and got rid of the scared, the lip would look tough-kid good.
Dale drew a shaky breath. “I don’t believe in curses, but look at us. Surge of blood,” he said, pointing to my lip. “Snap of bone,” he said, pointing to Tinks’s shoulder. “Loss of mortal breath,” he said, his eyes filling with tears. “Give the treasure to Gabriel. He can have it—and the curse.”
Harm looked at me. “Dale’s right. It’s too dangerous, Mo. Let’s cut Gabriel in, and let him bring up the treasure.”
Tinks coughed. “I wouldn’t go back even if I could swim.”
“No. It’s ours,” I said. “We just got to find a way to get it home.”
* * *
Sadly, Detective Joe Starr thought different.
“I’m closing you people down,” he said late that afternoon, long after Tinks had left to fix the school’s heater. Starr kicked dirt into our flooded pit and watched it dissolve away.
“You can’t close us down,” I said. “We’re borderline professionals on a break-through case, and this is private property.”
“Watch me.” He tied his yellow crime scene tape to the nearest tree, and unwound it.
“Why are you using crime scene tape?” I demanded. “We didn’t do a crime.”
“Because they don’t make stupid scene tape,” he snapped. “We’re lucky not to be planning two funerals right now. You’re lucky an adult called me about this.”
“Who?” I demanded, my heart going dark.
“Tinks Williams,” Starr said, looping his tape around the next tree. “Stay out of here. All of you. I mean it,” he said as Dale handed him his clue pad.
“Could you write our eviction notice? In cursive? And sign it?” Dale asked.
An eviction notice? Has he lost his mind? Dale doesn’t even read cursive.
Starr scribbled a note and signed it. “Go,” he said. “Now.”
We headed toward the inn, me seething, Harm brooding, Dale humming.
“Is Kat still coming to our Valentine’s Extravaganza?” Dale asked, and Harm nodded.
Apparently almost drowning in a booby-trapped pirate pit shoots honesty straight to your lips. “I really like you, Harm,” I said. “I hope you don’t go.”
He gave me a crooked smile. “I like you too, Mo. A lot,” he said, and glanced at Dale. “You too, but not the same way. I want to stay. But Miss Thornton’s attorney says I might have to go. If Kat wants me . . . I’m hers.”
“She only wants you because you sing,” I muttered.
Dale hopped on his bike, very serene. “Exactly,” he said. “Mo, Harm and me got to practice. Don’t interrupt us. And I need two good marriage proposals Tuesday morning.”
“Marriage proposals? On Valentine’s Day? Why?”
“I’m the big-picture man,” he said. “You handle details. Don’t let me down.”
* * *
That night, I tapped on Miss Lana’s door. “Mo?” she said, closing her Old Hollywood Magazine. “What is it?”
“Valentine’s question. If you were proposing to the Colonel, what would you say?”
“What a sweet question,” she said, and yawned. “I’d say, ‘Life’s a miracle, dear Colonel. There’s no one I’d rather share it with than you. Marry me.’”
“Thanks,” I said, and closed her door.
I found the Colonel in the café kitchen, mixing up his special slaw recipe for tomorrow’s lunch. “Hey,” I said, hopping up on a stool.
“Soldier.” He shoved the cabbage into a neat pile and grabbed his knife. The Colonel chops cabbage like a machine gun fires. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat.
I waited for him to reload.
“Colonel, if you proposed to Miss Lana, what would you say?”
He said the words like he’d thought them a thousand times before. “Marry me, Lana. I love you like the ocean loves the taste of salt.”
Dear Upstream Mother,
I should drape my entire life in stupid scene tape.
I can’t find you, Harm’s getting stolen, Starr closed down our treasure hunt, and Valentine’s Day’s hurtling toward me like a heat-seeking missile.
Book reports are due Monday. I got A General History of the Pyrates. It’s 733 pages. If I felt better about life, I’d retch.
Mo
My phone jangled and I scooped it up. “Desperado Detective Agency. Your tragedy is our bread and butter. How may we help?”
“Mo? It’s Effy Stevens, from the historic site. Remember me? Plump, cheery, able to spin wool into yarn? How are you, baby? Have you found your mom?”
I sat bolt upright. “No. Have you?”
“No, but I thought of something,” she said. “Actually, Matilda at circle meeting thought of it, but I’ll take the cr
edit since I’m picking up the phone. If you don’t act on an idea, what good is it? Like I said the other day—”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I hate to hurry you, but I got a book report on a book I haven’t read and it’s 733 pages long.”
“Just read the index, honey. That’s what I did and they graduated me. It’s about the fix-it wool in your sweater. I can’t promise, but it could have been from a Jacob sheep. Long, scratchy fibers—just like your fix-it wool.”
“Where do we find Jacobs?” I asked, my pulse leaping.
“A farm near Contectnea raised Jacobs until the hurricane. They taught folks to spin and dye wool too. I forgot all about them the other day.”
My heart surged like she’d hooked me up to jumper cables. “Where? Who?” I asked.
“Near Contectnea is all I know,” she said. “Listen. Tell that driver of yours—what’s his name? Oregano? Tarragon?”
“Lavender,” I said.
“Lavender. Take my phone number down for him, honey. And tell him Effy says hey.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
The Worst Mistake of My Life So Far
Skeeter called early Sunday morning, soft steeple music playing in the background. “Sorry Mo, there’s no Contectnea Sheep Ranch online. Gotta run.”
I tried Lavender, who was working the inn desk for Miss Lana.
“Hello?” he said. I love it when he says hello.
“Hey,” I said, “I got a lead on Upstream Mother and the Colonel’s gone in the Underbird and I know you love a road trip. I hear you’re not driving Dale and Sal to a movie date since there’s no middle grade movies out now, and Harm and Dale are practicing, so it’s just me. I can be ready in ten.”
“Sorry, Mo. I’m working. I’m free tomorrow, but you have school . . . Next weekend?”
Next weekend felt a lifetime away.
I took a deep breath and made the worst mistake of my life so far. “Miss Lana gave me one more day to hunt treasure, and Upstream Mother’s a treasure to me. I’ll meet you at your garage at eight tomorrow morning.”
“If you’re sure Lana says it’s okay,” he said, and hung up the phone.
* * *
Monday morning I pedaled past the school, to Lavender’s garage. “Miss Effy says a farm near Contectnea raised sheep with my kind of fix-it wool,” I told Lavender as I hopped in the truck. “It’s a long shot, but I got to try.”
All day, we crisscrossed little Contectnea and the surrounding countryside, showing Always Man’s photo in every crossroads store we could find. We stopped once to buy valentines and eat lunch. Beyond that, we fielded a day full of no’s.
My heart sank with the sun.
“One more try.” I pointed to a stooped man by a mailbox. “Hey,” I said, hopping out. “I’m the well-known detective Mo LoBeau of Tupelo Landing.”
He looked at my plaid sneakers. “I heard of you. I thought you’d be taller.”
“You’re very wise. I’m taller than I look,” I replied. “Was there a sheep farm around here twelve years ago?”
“Sure,” he said, like it was nothing. “Contectnea Wool. Had a herb garden, made their own dyes, spun wool. Bunch of weirdos. Hurricane closed them down twelve years ago.”
“Are they still around?” I asked, my heart thundering.
“Nope. Went to Asheville after the flood, maybe. Or Chapel Hill.”
“Do you know this man?” I asked, showing Always Man’s photo.
“Maybe, maybe not. Good luck, Mo,” he said, and slumped away.
I hurled myself into the truck. “Contectnea Wool! They made their own dye, and they might have moved to Asheville or Chapel Hill. And he might have seen Always Man.”
I grinned like the grille of a ’57 Chevy all the way home. But my smile crumpled the instant I walked through the café door. Tinks looked up from the cash register.
“I sniffed the air. No bread baking, no coffee brewing. “Where’s Miss Lana and the Colonel? Why are you in charge? Tinks, what’s wrong?”
He looked away from my eyes. “Lana’s at home. You better ask her yourself.”
Sometimes no answer’s the most terrifying answer of all. Fear slung me around the building and catapulted me through the door. “Miss Lana!”
“Mo!” she cried as I hurled myself into her arms. “Where have you been?”
“With Lavender. Where’s the Colonel? What’s wrong?”
She squeezed me tight and then held me away, her eyes going permafrost. “He’s out looking for you. Where were you? You didn’t go to school—Harm and Dale are worried sick, and so is Priscilla. I’ve called half the town. Miss Thornton is scared to death you went back to that treasure pit and drowned. And I am at my wits’ end, Moses LoBeau. Explain yourself. Now!”
I took a breath, giving her time to count to ten—which it didn’t look like she was counting. “I can explain,” I said, giving her more time. “Maybe I should have double-checked this, but I had one day left on my excused absence and an out-of-town clue to follow up on. Dale and Harm are rehearsing for the Extravaganza. And I didn’t want to disturb you and the Colonel.” So far so good. “I won’t say I’m selfless, but—”
“Selfless?” she said, her voice shredding the air like a cat shreds tissue. “You had a clue worth worrying us to death? Clues worth repeating sixth grade?”
My temper exploded. “You gave me three days to hunt treasure and today makes three. And I was treasure hunting. Upstream Mother is a treasure to me. And I don’t care if I do fail sixth, I’m searching every clue I can get every day until I find her.”
“You certainly are not. You’re going to school. Every day. End of discussion.”
“That’s not fair,” I wailed. “I was excused. By you. And I was with Lavender. And you can’t tell me what to do.” My temper went off like fireworks. “You’re not my m—”
The silence glistened between us, cruel as hooks.
She quartered to the window and crossed her arms over her heart. I saw her lips move, and I knew she was counting.
“Miss Lana, I’m sorry,” I said, my voice wobbling like a bent wheel.
“Be quiet, Mo,” she said, her voice dead. “Just. Be. Quiet.”
Then she whirled like a tornado and hugged me so tight, her arms shook. “Miss Lana, I don’t know how those words got inside me or why they came out. It’s like a dam breaks . . .”
She gave me one last squeeze. “I know, sugar. This is hard for all of us. Go to bed. I’ll tell everybody you’re home.” She picked up the phone. “And Mo? We’ll talk later.”
In my room, I slipped into my karate pants and T-shirt, and turned out my light. I listened to her dial, and murmur. I heard the Colonel stomp in and I thought I heard her cry.
When the house went quiet, I grabbed my jacket and slipped to the side yard. I plunked down by the sawed-off stump and leaned against it, staring into a brushstroke of stars.
“Soldier?” the Colonel said, behind me. “Are you okay?”
“No sir,” I said. My feelings swirled like gritty smoke in my chest.
He settled beside me like a shamble of angle iron, and covered us with Miss Lana’s throw. It smelled like perfume and popcorn. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Treasure hunting’s making me greedy for things and people I don’t know, and making me hurt the people I know and love.” I looked at him. “Dale’s right. It’s not worth it.”
“Maybe not.” He leaned back to stare into the night. “Tell me what you see, Soldier.”
“Oceans of stars,” I said, going calmer. “And an ache where the moon ought to be.”
We sat together, breathing. “That’s starlight, some from stars that died millions of years ago,” he said. “I admire its courage. And yours. And Lana’s.”
“I’m not brave, I’m scared,” I said. “Scared I’ll n
ever find Upstream Mother, scared I will and she won’t want me, scared of hurting Miss Lana.”
“Lana’s scared too,” he said. “Scared of losing you.”
I sat up. “She can’t lose me, sir. She claimed me off the river. I’m hers.”
Just like Mr. Red claimed Harm, I thought.
I leaned against him, feeling his bony chest rise and fall and rise again. “Thank you for keeping that ugly sign for me, sir. And the rest.”
“Thank Lana for that,” he said. “I wanted to burn it for trash. She made me put the sign under the house. She packed the other things too, for the day you were ready.”
Miss Lana? Who’s afraid of losing me?
He pulled me to my feet. “You have school tomorrow. And apologies to make.”
I looked at our home, which slept in the crook of our river.
“Life’s full of surprises, Soldier. Tonight I’m molding a hundred heart-shaped meatloaves for tomorrow’s Valentine’s Extravaganza.” He smiled into my eyes. “Love takes many shapes and wears a thousand disguises. The trick is to welcome it with a cheerful heart—even when it puts you elbow deep in ground beef. Remember that.”
“Yes sir,” I said. I slipped my hand in his, and we headed home.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Valentine’s Day
Miss Lana tiptoed by my door just before dawn, her red stilettos dangling from her fingertips. “Miss Lana?” She turned, her crimson sequins glowing in the lamplight.
I handed her a red envelope, and handed the Colonel his as he slipped up behind her.
She slid out her card. “Will you be mine?” she read, and opened her arms. “Sugar, I’ve been yours since the moment I laid eyes on you, and I’ll be yours as long as I live. Longer, if I’m right about reincarnation.”
The Colonel read his card, his dark eyes dancing. “Me too, Soldier.”
I placed a paper on our coffee table. “I made us something.”
OFFICIAL PAPER
The Law of Finders Keepers Page 19