by Delia Ray
Flam had taken the bait. Now we’d have to see if the sisters would too.
NINETEEN
FLAM WAS HISSING MAD by the time Colette finally opened the door to the old music room. “Oh, Flam,” she gushed. “Mind your manners. Is that any way to thank Hugh for bringing you home?” Like before when I had stood at the sisters’ threshold, a gust of flowery smells swept into the hallway as Colette cracked the door wider and reached for her pet. “Here I’ll take him—”
But Hugh kept squeezing Flam’s grumpy face into the crook of his neck. He stood on his tiptoes, trying to see past Colette. “Are you making soap today?” he asked. “Can Ren and I come in and watch? Ren’s always wanted to know how to make soap, haven’t you, Ren?”
I nodded my head up and down, pasting on a hopeful smile. Colette looked startled. She hadn’t seen me since the night Mom had stormed the school. “Well, I—I don’t know,” she faltered. “I—” She glanced in dismay at her struggling cat and then at me again.
Clarissa’s voice suddenly erupted from around the corner. “Good grief, Colette! Let those kids in and shut the door before Flim gets loose too.” Colette gave a prim nod and motioned us inside. As soon as we crossed the threshold, Flam shot out of Hugh’s grasp and dashed toward a tall round contraption that stood next to the cat’s climbing structure near the piano.
“Cool!” Hugh exclaimed when Flam sprang up on the wheel and started running. “Is that a hamster wheel for cats?”
As if the scene wasn’t already odd enough, Clarissa appeared at our side, brandishing a metal spoon and wearing safety goggles and rubber gloves. “We prefer to call it an exercise wheel,” she corrected loudly with a thrust of her spoon in the air. “Bengal cats love to keep busy.”
I watched, transfixed, as Flim bounded over to join his brother. They sprinted inside the ring together for a while, so fast that the spokes blurred. Then, like performers in a feline circus act, they took turns leaping off and back on again, somehow managing to keep the wheel smoothly spinning the whole time.
“Aren’t they something?” Colette murmured proudly.
“Come on, Col,” Clarissa interrupted before I could answer. She bustled over to a stove and a metal-topped table tucked in the far corner of the room. “We don’t want this batch to turn crumbly on us.”
After Colette had scurried off, I flicked my hand at Hugh, shooing him toward the cats. He needed to pretend to keep watching them. Then once the sisters were distracted, he could drift away and snoop around. I quickly scanned the room, searching for things that might not have changed since Mr. Bonnycastle’s day. There were some window seats lining the sunny alcove where the piano stood, but they didn’t look like the kind with storage space underneath. I edged in the opposite direction of the stove, trying to get a glimpse past the cat wheel and the bamboo screens that divided the other end of the room.
Then I noticed Hugh in the alcove hopping up and down like he had to go to the bathroom.
“What?” I mouthed.
He pointed to the old upright piano and mimed lifting the lid on top and peering down inside. It was a good idea—except for one thing. I remembered Hildy mentioning she had let the sisters hire someone to come and tune the piano after they had moved in. If a box of pearls had been hidden inside the piano, the tuner would have been the first one to find it.
I shook my head at Hugh and motioned toward the bamboo screens. He scowled back at me, but there wasn’t time for more hand signals. Clarissa was waiting. “Well, young lady,” she shouted. “Do you want to learn how to do this or not?”
The sisters were making lavender-sage soap, and they were already deep into the process by the time I joined them at the stove. They hunched over their pots like witches, taking turns with explaining the basics—about lye powder and the sort of lard and oils and herbs they liked to use. I kept sneaking looks over my shoulder as Clarissa added a little honey for “better lather” and Colette demonstrated how much you had to stir to get the proper consistency. The cats must have had their fill of exercising. Now they were sprawled on the platforms of their climbing structure. Meanwhile Hugh had disappeared. A few minutes later I caught sight of him sliding around the corner of the screens. He gave me a helpless shrug.
“Ren!” Clarissa hollered. I jumped to attention. She was transferring her pots from the stove to the table. “Make yourself useful. Bring me those molds off the shelf over there.” I collected the soap molds and then held them steady, breathing in the sweet-sharp vapors as the sisters ladled their purplish concoction into the long narrow pans. Once they had given each mold a good rap to get rid of air bubbles, they let me sprinkle lavender buds and ground sage leaves on top.
Colette clasped her hands together, admiring my work. “Perfect,” she cooed. “Now we’ll let those set for a day or so. Once the soap comes out of the molds, we cut it, wrap it in pretty paper and ribbon, and voilà … C & C Beauty Bars.”
“C and C for Colette and Clarissa?” I asked, trying to keep my smile from turning into a laugh. With their plain-Jane faces and dowdy clothes, the sisters seemed like the least likely pair to spend their days making beauty products.
Clarissa was wiping her hands on her apron. “Now where’d that rascal Hugh get off to?” she asked.
“Uh—I’m not sure,” I said. I took a few steps toward the alcove and peered around the corner. My heart leaped to my throat. Somehow Hugh had managed to lift the lid of the piano by himself, and now he was standing on the bench with his body stretched dangerously over the keys. He was so absorbed in searching the innards of the piano he didn’t even hear me gasp.
Clarissa’s bellow, however—as loud as a foghorn—couldn’t be ignored. “What on earth!” she shouted when she saw what was happening, and Hugh jolted upright in surprise. I lurched toward him, but it was too late. The bench tipped and a jangle of sharp chords rang out as Hugh tumbled against the piano keys, sending Flim and Flam flying from their perches.
“Heavens, Hugh!” Colette cried, rushing forward. “Are you all right?”
He had landed on the floor with his spindly legs up in the air. “I think so,” he said shakily, after we had helped him to his feet and he had inspected a spot on his elbow and rubbed his knee. Clarissa seemed more concerned for the piano than Hugh. Grimly closing the lid, she plinked and plunked her way up and down the keys.
I bit my lip, listening for sour notes. “Is it okay?”
“Probably not,” Clarissa grumbled. She tested middle C a few more times. “What on earth were you up to, Hugh?”
When Hugh flicked his gaze toward me, I stared back with my mouth frozen halfway open. “I—I don’t know,” he said. “I guess, well … I was trying to see how pianos work. I’ve always wanted to play one.”
Clarissa’s eyes softened. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” For once, her voice sounded as gentle as her sister’s. Before long, Hugh was sitting on the bench next to Clarissa, playing scales—and the cats were at it again, running on their wheel.
“Would you like to help me get the next batch of soap started?” Colette asked me. She rubbed her hands together. “It’s my favorite. Lemon rosemary oatmeal.”
“Sure,” I answered with a dreary smile. The Fortune Hunters? Yeah, right. So far, Hugh and I were doing a lousy job of living up to our name.
TWENTY
AT SAG ON MONDAY we all had to give the class an update on how our service projects were coming. Ollie told about the two hours she had spent walking dogs at the animal shelter on Saturday. Raymond said he had played basketball with kids at the neighborhood center. Arnold seemed especially pleased with his project. He was designing something called the “Time’s-Up Zapper”—a remote-controlled device that would rid the world of people who hogged seats in public spaces like libraries. “One good jolt and they’re out of there,” he proudly explained.
“Hold on, Arnold,” Stretch said. “You’re supposed to be volunteering at the library. I don’t think giving electric shocks to library
patrons exactly qualifies as a community service.”
“But shelving books is so boring,” Arnold whined. Stretch ignored him and moved on, and of course Arnold decided to take his frustrations out on me a few minutes later. “Wait,” he scoffed once I had finished describing my first day of work in the museum. “You actually think people are going to pay money to go in some old gym and look at a bunch of buttons?”
“Sure,” I said, even though I could feel my face growing hot. “The way they made buttons a long time ago—it’s really interesting. I’ve learned all sorts of cool stuff. Like I didn’t know you could find pearls in shells from the river. The clammers used to find a bunch.” I paused. “Well, not a bunch. They found slugs mostly. That’s what they called the funny-shaped ones, but … anyway…” My voice dwindled as I glanced around the room. Everybody was staring at me like I was speaking a foreign language. If only I could tell them about Hildy’s hidden treasure.
“Sounds fascinating, Ren,” Stretch said before I could babble more. “Can’t wait to buy my ticket.” I sat down with a sigh, pretending not to notice Arnold’s smirk.
Soon Stretch was clapping his hands together and unveiling the next assignment he had in store for us. We were supposed to design a diorama based on a favorite scene from a book we had read. “Shadow boxes,” he kept calling them, dipping his voice dramatically low—as if shadow boxes were something fresh and original instead of those same tired shoe boxes we’d been making since third grade with weird Play-Doh people falling over and Barbie furniture that didn’t fit.
But after lunch, when Stretch wheeled in three carts full of art supplies, I was pleasantly surprised. The selection was a lot more creative than what I’d had to work with in elementary school. There were sturdy boxes in different sizes, real sculpture clay, roll-out sheets of fake grass and desert sand, and even bottles of something called Scenery Water. Everybody swarmed over, grabbing for what they needed.
Since I couldn’t think of a scene I knew any better, I decided to do chapter 22 from Little Women. I scooped up drawing paper, colored pencils, and scissors from the supply cart, since I’d also decided to make paper-doll characters instead of molding them out of clunky clay. But as soon as I settled down to get started my hands turned heavy. Last night Mom had been in her bedroom for a whole hour talking on the phone. When she finally came out, her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. “Who were you talking to?” I asked, steeling myself for the answer. “Aunt Ellen,” was all Mom said, and I was afraid to ask more. Aunt Ellen was Mom’s big sister who lived in Chicago—the one she called whenever she had a problem she couldn’t solve on her own.
I set my pen down. I couldn’t do it today—make myself draw Marmee and her daughters and their joyful smiles as the parlor door opens and they see Mr. March standing there, home from his long year away. I’d have to start with the wallpaper instead.
* * *
There was a spark of excitement in the air when I arrived at the school for my next Saturday of museum duty. Mayor Joy’s rig was backed up to the front doors and he and Tucker and Garrett were carefully unloading something long and heavy wrapped in moving blankets. Hildy hovered in the foyer supervising. “Go slow now,” she nagged. “Watch your step.”
“What’s going on?” I asked Hildy once the guys had headed toward the gym with their mysterious bundle.
“The Mayor hit the jackpot,” Hildy told me. “A jewelry store was going out of business over in Smithton and he managed to convince the owner to donate his glass display cases to the museum. They’re getting here in the nick of time. All week those fogies from the historical society have been calling, trying to make an appointment to see my collection. They wanted to come right away because they’ve got a board meeting on Monday and evidently I’m on the agenda.”
It was a relief to hear the feistiness in Hildy’s voice again and to see that she was back to her usual fashion habits. She had on hot-pink lipstick and a royal-blue tracksuit with silver trim. But from what I’d seen last week, the museum was nowhere near ready for its debut.
“So they’re coming today?” I asked anxiously.
“No, thank heavens. I managed to hold them off till tomorrow. I wanted to stall as long as possible.” She smiled mischievously. “Plus I knew asking them to come on a Sunday would be a good test. Those folks are so high and mighty. They wouldn’t be driving out here on a day of rest unless they were serious about wanting to help.”
I tried to catch Tucker’s eye when he and Garrett and the Mayor returned for the next load, but he brushed by without even glancing in my direction. Apparently he was still miffed by the way I had fussed at him for being mean to Hugh. What a grump. It had been a whole week. He should have gotten over it by now.
“Where’s Hugh?” I asked loudly, making sure Tucker could hear me out on the truck.
“Oh, he begged to stick around here and wait for you,” Hildy said. “But there’s a summer reading program at the public library in Bellefield this morning, and Mine said Hugh had to go so his brain doesn’t turn to mush. They’ll be back in a while.”
Then Hildy and I headed to the gym so she could assign me my chores for the day. Halfway down the hall, I touched her arm and dropped my voice to a whisper. “Hildy, before I get started, do you think we could talk about the pearls for a second?”
She turned to face me. “Oh, Ren, honey. Are you still thinking you’re going to track those down?”
“Of course,” I said. “Hugh and I already started looking.”
“Is that so?” Hildy jabbed her glasses higher on her nose. “When was that?”
“Last Sunday afternoon when you and Tucker were at the movies. We searched the whole basement.”
“You didn’t.” Hildy let out a surprised chuckle and stared at me for an extra second. “It takes a lot of gumption to go down there. Did you see anything interesting?”
I grimaced. “Oh, it was interesting, all right. We searched every single room, but all we found was the sisters’ cat. Then we decided to take Flam hostage so we could get inside the music room.”
Hildy threw her head back and hooted.
“Things didn’t really go like I had planned,” I said. “The sisters had us so busy doing other stuff that we barely had a chance to look around.”
“Oh, well.” Hildy shook her head in amusement. “I don’t think Tom would’ve hidden the pearls in the music room anyway, especially with so many kids coming in and out for classes. He would have picked somewhere more private.”
“Like where? Were there any other places besides the basement where Bonny used to go? More out-of-the-way spots?”
“Well, he had an office up on the third floor—the room where Garrett lives now.”
“Really?” I perked up.
“Yes, but that was one of the first places I looked, before Garrett ever moved in. I didn’t find a thing.”
“Anyplace else?”
Hildy pursed her bright pink lips, gazing at a spot over my shoulder and thinking hard. “He loved going up to the tower. I heard him chatting to Tom about it once. He said he could stay up there for hours watching the clouds go by.”
“The tower!” I clapped my hands together. “I bet that’s it. Did you ever try searching up there?”
Hildy winced. “I did. But to tell the truth, I barely made it off the stairs. I was afraid of giving myself a heart attack. Who knows if anyone would have ever found me.” She lifted one thin eyebrow. “Now that I think about it though, the tower might be worth another look, but”—she pointed a crooked finger at me—“I don’t want Hugh climbing up there. He’s too unpredictable, and for all I know, that floor could be rotted through. You probably shouldn’t be snooping around up there either for that matter.”
Before I could argue, the guys came lumbering down the hall with another display case. “Bless you, Elton,” Hildy said, patting the Mayor’s arm as he shuffled past us. “I’m going to have more showing-off space than I know what to do with.”
TWENTY-ONE
IN THE GYM Hildy pointed me to a plot of space she had staked out under the basketball hoop near the Little Miss. The wooden trunk I had seen on the balcony sat next to two card tables and folding chairs. Hildy motioned for me to take one seat while she took the other. Then she unlatched the lid of the chest and flipped it back. “This is what I need your help with today,” she announced. “Sorting photographs.”
It was hard not to make a face. The pictures, mainly black-and-white and grainy with age, were heaped in a hopeless jumble. Hildy said some were hers, but most had been passed down by Fortune’s old-timers and ended up on her doorstep somehow, just like the specimens in her shell collection.
“How do I start?” I asked.
“For now, let’s put them into categories,” Hildy told me. “Then we’ll pick out the best ones to feature in the display cases.” She plucked up a photo from the muddle in the trunk and turned it over. “For example, here’s one of a clamming camp down by the river. So this can be the clamming camp pile.” She slapped the picture down on the corner of the card table next to me, then reached back in the trunk for another photo and began making more stacks and giving more instructions.
I forgot to listen for a second as I studied the clamming picture near my elbow. The camera had focused on a weathered-looking man in overalls who was bent over a workbench under the trees. A heap of shells and some tents filled the background behind him. “Is this your dad?” I asked when Hildy paused for breath.
“No, but my father spent a lot of his days in camps just like that one.” Hildy pointed to something in the corner of the photo. “See that big metal tank? Once the clammers hauled in a load of mussels, they’d carry them up to a shady spot on the shore, dump them in a tank of water, and start a fire underneath. That’s how they steamed the shells open so they could get the meat out.”
“So is that how your father found all his pearls?”
Hildy nodded. “Pop was famous in Fortune for how fast he could work his way through a load of shells. His hands would fly, and he’d barely pause or bat an eye whenever he found a pearl. He’d just tuck it into his cheek like a wad of tobacco and keep going.”