Trash Course

by Penny Drake

  “I’m definitely talking about the treasure,” I said. “Let’s go in.”

  “Watch your step, Ms. Harris,” said Ms. Hawk.

  When we got to the bottom of the stairs, Belinda put the mask on. It was the sort of mask that painters and other people who work with toxic fumes use to cover their mouths and noses. Two cannister filters jutted out from either side. It made Belinda look like an alien, but it would allow her to enter her uncles’ house without choking to death. We led her carefully upstairs to Uncle Lawrence’s bedroom. She looked around with a sort of sorrowful interest. Slava put hands on hips.

  “My mother always tell me,” she said, “‘Your room will be messy if you do not clean.’”

  “Actually, Slava,” I said, “it was your mother who helped me figure out where the treasure is.”

  “Explain this,” Slava said, surprised.

  “Uncle Lawrence told his cousin Quentin that Howard had hidden the papers someplace obvious,” I said. “Lawrence may have been lying, but I got to thinking—this room is the most obvious place in the house. All the important papers are here, and the treasure is made of paper. All these books deal with the Constitution, and I think the treasure does, too.”

  “You think it’s hidden among these books?” Belinda said.

  “In one particular book,” I said, taking down the lone, enormous volume of the World Book Encyclopedia. “This is what Slava helped me figure out. She told me to look for something out of place, for something not logical. So. Why would someone who was so anal about organization separate this book from the others in the set?”

  “Volume C,” Zack breathed.

  “For Constitution,” Slava added. “Let’s look!”

  Everyone gathered around as I opened the thick, heavy book. Someone had cut away the interior pages, creating a hollow space. Inside lay a second, smaller book bound in brown leather and sealed inside a plastic bag. The diary of Roger Peale, just like Zack had said on our little picnic. A second plastic bag contained a pile of yellowed papers. I carefully lifted both out of the book, set the book down, and started to open the second bag. Zack grabbed my wrist.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Why not?”

  “They’re old and fragile and they’re stained with mud.”

  “Ah ha! You do know what they are. You lied to me in the Arboretum when you said you didn’t.”

  “I never said I didn’t know,” Zack said impishly. “You said it. I was going to tell you, but you decided to eat espresso beans instead of kiss me.”

  “Why, you little—”

  “Perhaps you could finish that portion of your conversation later,” Ms. Hawk interrupted. “And Mr. Archer could explain about the mud stains.”

  “I know I’d like to hear it,” Belinda said.

  “My pleasure.” Zack sat on Uncle Lawrence’s bed. “I told Terry that Roger Peale was a printer’s apprentice who had a passion for history and recognized that important events were taking place around him. My dad said Roger wrote about most of them in his diary, including the event that involves the papers.”

  “And that event would be?” I prompted.

  Zack crossed an ankle over his knee. “Some background first. The Bill of Rights was drawn up in 1789, two years after the Constitution was ratified. George Washington ordered fourteen copies of the rights printed up so the colonies could discuss them. Washington signed each copy, kept one for himself, and sent the others by horseback to the colonies.”

  “That was in one of the books,” I said. “The one with the underlining.”

  Zack nodded. “What the history books don’t know is that when Washington’s secretary left the building, he fumbled the papers and dropped them in a puddle. He couldn’t send them off all muddy, so he ran down to the shop that had printed them up in the first place.”

  “The shop where Roger Peale was an apprentice,” Ms. Hawk said.

  “Yep. They hadn’t broken down the template yet, which meant they could print up another set on the spot. The secretary took the new copies back to Washington. He signed them again, and this time they reached the colonies, no problem. The original copies, with Washington’s original signatures, were tossed on the shop’s kindling pile.”

  “But Roger saved them,” Belinda breathed.

  “He did. They’ve been passed down to the youngest Peale son ever since. But then a set of twins were born not long before the Civil War, and both brothers claimed the papers were theirs. That started the feud between the Chicago and the Detroit Peales. You know the rest.”

  “Oh my,” Ms. Hawk said. “The original thirteen states keep their signed copies of the Bill of Rights on display, as I recall. They’re priceless.”

  “And they’re nothing but seconds,” Zack said. “Terry is holding the originals. Roger’s diary will help authenticate them. Their existence will send a few shockwaves through the government and historical circles.”

  The plastic bag suddenly felt very heavy. I held it up to the light and made out the words “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion” in slightly smudged type.

  “But who do they belong to?” Belinda asked. “The government might try to claim them.”

  “Won’t stick,” Zack said. “A government official threw them away, so they’re found property. They belong to the Peale family. Quentin isn’t in any position to put in a claim, and the uncles were in possession when they died, so the papers will go to their estate.”

  “But they left everything to each other,” Ms. Hawk mused. “This could get complicated.”

  “Not so much.” Zack unzipped his backpack and pulled out two more pieces of paper. “I’ve been keeping back some information, Terry. I’m sorry.”

  My stomach clenched. “What do you mean?”

  “The wills I found in that shoebox weren’t the latest ones.” He held up the papers. “I found these on top and hid them. They’re the uncles’ newest wills.”

  Belinda gasped. I dashed across the room and snatched them from him. My temper cranked up the rheostat. “Why did you keep quiet about this?”

  Zack didn’t resist me. “You didn’t know I was a Peale yet. The wills would have revealed who I was.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this down in the Arboretum?” I demanded, trying to read and talk at the same time.

  “I didn’t have a chance. Everything happened so fast.”

  “Zack,” Belinda said quietly behind her mask, “did my uncles name you the beneficiary?”

  “A beneficiary,” Zack said. “I guess Uncle Lawrence was pretty impressed with the way Dad thumbed his nose at the entire family and decided I was worth leaving something to. Plus he did like me.” He cleared his throat. “They left you the house and property, Belinda, but they left me the Peale family papers. I’m a youngest son.”

  “An only son,” Slava corrected. “Unless you have siblings you fail to mention.”

  “Nope. Just me.”

  “I see,” Belinda said. The mask prevented me from reading her expression.

  “Jesus, Zack,” I blurted out. “Those papers are worth millions and millions.”

  “Yeah.” He gently took the plastic bags from my unresisting fingers. “Kinda weird, thinking about it. Um…I hope you aren’t upset, Belinda.”

  Ms. Hawk and I both turned to look at her. I found I was holding my breath.

  “Upset?” Belinda said. “Honey, I’m relieved. Whoever owns those papers is going to end up in the middle of a media circus, you understand. I’ll sell this place and head back home to watch everything from a safe distance.”

  “What about the money?” I asked. “We’re talking a fortune here.”

  Belinda laughed. “Oh lord—my husband has more money than I could spend in three lifetimes. I’m just glad everything got settled.” Her tone grew misty. “Though it’s strange. In a way, I lost Uncle Lawrence twice.”

  “I wish he hadn’t died,” I said, my throat
thick.

  Slava shrugged. “He helped you escape so you could rescue the children,” she said. “Is not bad way to go. Almost heroic. And might help make up for evil he did.”

  “Evil?” Belinda looked shocked.

  “Slava!” I said.

  “Perhaps ‘evil’ is too strong a word,” Slava agreed with another shrug. “But mafia sell many children into slavery because Lawrence fails to come forward sooner. Perhaps FBI will find them, perhaps not. But Lawrence is partly at fault. My mother always say, ‘Some people good, some people evil, but most are little bit of both.’”

  The thought silenced all of us. After a long moment, Ms. Hawk patted Belinda’s hand. “Well, we’ve no need to stand around in here. Let’s go outside for some fresh air.”

  We did. The air outside was fresh as summer air can be. I looked up at the tired old house, perfectly happy that I’d never have to go inside again. Maybe it was my imagination, but the place actually looked a little brighter, a little happier now that it didn’t have to hold so many secrets.

  Ms. Hawk, Slava, and Belinda headed for Ms. Hawk’s car while Zack and I headed for my Jeep. Zack carried the wills and the papers in his backpack. It was strange to think that he was carrying millions in it.

  “Have you decided what to do with the papers?” I asked as we climbed into my Jeep. “I’m guessing eBay.”

  He laughed, and his green eyes sparkled. “Not.” Then his face grew serious. “Actually, I have decided.”

  “Well?” I slammed the door. The inside of the Jeep was hot. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Sunshine.”

  “I’m going to donate them. To an historical museum.”

  I stared at him, amazed right down to my boots. “No shit.”

  “What happened to words like ‘patootie’?”

  “Fuck ’em. You’re really going to do it?”

  “Yeah.” He gave a smaller laugh. “It’s…it’s kind of a gesture, you know? After everything I’ve stolen. Maybe it can make up for some of that.”

  Sunlight broken by the overhead leaves dappled his golden hair. Jesus, he was growing more beautiful by the second. Beautiful, reliable Zack. “You’ll more than make up for it, unless you stole the Hope Diamond.”

  “Besides,” he added, “the photos that go along with the story will make Time and Newsweek and all the major news services. Plenty of money there.”

  “I knew it!” I howled.

  He gave that irresistible impish grin. “No one’s perfect. What did Slava’s mother say about good and evil people again?”

  I sighed and reached for the keys. Zack abruptly grabbed my wrist. Startled, I looked into his eyes. They looked teary. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you,” he said. “I’m glad you’re okay. When your GPS signal disappeared, I almost died. I never want to go through that again.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Really. It’s all right.”

  “And you keep saving my life,” he said. “Three times now, I think. What other woman would do that?”

  I kissed him. His eyes widened, then slipped shut. I became aware that his arms were around me and my back was twisted uncomfortably, but I didn’t care. His tongue found mine and I pressed against him, feeling our bodies mold together despite the cramped conditions of the Jeep. We parted, then met again, our lips warm together, his scent washing over me. He ran his hands through my hair. My hands wandered over his face, his cheeks just a little scratchy. I couldn’t get enough of him. A longing I had felt since I had first laid eyes on him swelled and burst, leaving me satisfied but wanting more.

  My cell rang. Reluctantly I pulled away and answered. It was Ms. Hawk. She was almost back to the office with Belinda.

  “I will tidy up the loose ends with her,” Ms. Hawk said. “Why don’t you and Mr. Archer take the afternoon to celebrate?”

  Zack, who had overheard, gave me a knowing grin.

  “Thanks, Ms. Hawk,” I said. “I think we will.”

  About the Author

  Penny Drake is a retired nurse in Michigan. She’s taking advantage of her spare time to travel, so far to Italy, Rome, England, Ukraine, the Caribbean and a number of places within the United States. Penny writes with the encouragement of her son, novelist Steven Harper, and is hard at work on her next book.

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  ISBN: 978-1-4268-9066-6

  Copyright © 2010 by Steven Pizikis

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