Kristy and the Missing Fortune

by Ann M. Martin

“What are you doing here?” asked Stacey.

  Cokie folded her arms over her chest. “I could ask you the same thing,” she responded. “And I think I have more of a right to be here than you do, if you want to know.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked. “You just followed us here because you’re nosy and always getting into everybody’s business.”

  “You’re wrong,” said Cokie calmly. “I followed you here because I heard you talking about the hidden fortune, and if you want to call that nosy, I guess it is. But here’s what you don’t know. If you find that fortune, it belongs to me. Or, at least, some of it does. I know all about Christina’s letter. My grandmother showed it to me.”

  “Your grandmother?” I asked, stunned.

  “Granny Mildred,” said Cokie, with a smug look on her face. “Mrs. Abbott, to you. She’s my grandmother on my mother’s side. That’s how I knew about the rosebushes. After I heard you talking about that letter, I asked Granny to show it to me, and I saw the red roses on it.”

  I couldn’t believe it. How could someone as nice as Mrs. Abbott be related to Cokie?

  “So it was you who dug those other holes?” asked Jessi. She sounded as if she were in shock. I think we all were.

  But I was still working out the connections, and thinking about what Cokie had said. “You think you know it all,” I said, “but you don’t. For one thing, those roses are brown, not red.”

  “Brown?” asked Dawn. “I didn’t know that. On the photocopy, they just looked black.” She paused. “Brown roses,” she mused. Then she gasped. “Brown roses! Like the ones carved into the porch railing. It’s a clue. She made those roses brown on purpose. I’m sure of it!” Dawn turned on her flashlight and began to run toward the house, heading for the porch. All of us, including Cokie, took off after her.

  “Okay,” said Dawn when we’d arrived at the porch, “everybody aim your flashlights at this wood trim.” We did as she’d told us. “See all the flowers and vines?” Dawn asked. “All we have to do is find the roses.” We ran the beams of our flashlights over the railings, searching for roses that looked like the ones on Christina’s letter.

  “Look!” yelled Cokie, suddenly. “Here they are!” She was pointing her flashlight onto one of the posts that held up the part of the porch roof that extended over the stairs.

  I glared at her. After all the time we’d spent on this mystery, I hated to see Cokie be the one who found the final clue.

  But as it turned out, it wasn’t the final clue. We clustered around to look at the carved roses Cokie had found, but after we’d examined them closely, and touched them, we couldn’t find a thing that told us any more about where the fortune was hidden. “I wonder if we’re supposed to dig at the base of this post,” said Jessi.

  “I sure hope not,” I said, pointing my flashlight beam downward. The post stood on a foundation of rock. There was a brief silence as we stared at the roses again.

  “What about the moon?” asked Mary Anne. “Wasn’t the full moon supposed to have something to do with the secret?”

  At that moment, we turned around to see if the moon had risen. It had. It was coming up over the horizon, all fat and golden. And between it and us there was a tree, perfectly outlined against the moon.

  And at that moment we just knew where the treasure had to be.

  “I’ll find some shovels,” Jessi said, running off with Mal behind her. The rest of us moved slowly, as if we were sleepwalking, toward the tree. Jessi and Mal were back in no time, carrying two shovels each. Four of us began to dig at the base of the tree, as the others held flashlights. (The rising moon was giving off lots of light, but we were digging in the shadow of the tree.) I felt as if I were in a dream. Somehow it wasn’t at all surprising when I heard a clank almost as soon as I’d started to shovel. I bent to see what my shovel had hit, and after brushing aside some dirt I lifted out a metal box about the size of my social studies textbook.

  Everyone was silent as I sat on the ground to open the box, which was sealed with wax to keep moisture out. My friends and Cokie moved closer and shined their flashlights onto the box. Nobody had spoken since Jessi had said she’d find the shovels. It was as if we were afraid to break some spell.

  Here’s what we found in the box:

  — A locket, which held a picture of a girl who looked so much like me it was spooky.

  — A letter to Henry, in which Christina told him that if she had failed in her mission to find him, she hoped he would take solace in the contents of the box. The letter also said that she was carrying all her gold with her, in hopes that they might start a new life. (Cokie let out a disappointed wail when she saw that part of the letter.)

  — Last, but certainly not least: the original lease to Squirelot’s land, with a note on it that said it was to be inherited by Henry. The note went on to say, “And, in the case of Henry’s death, be it known that I, Christina Thomas, bequeath this land to the village of Stoneybrooke, which will always be my heart’s true home.”

  As soon as I saw that note, I knew our work had been worthwhile. We might not have found the fortune, but we had done something almost as wonderful: We had saved the arboretum.

  It was a great party; everyone said so. In fact, it was even written up in the paper the next day! The article mentioned the local celebrities, the delicious catered food, and the beauty of the decorations. But for me, the best part of the evening was a long, quiet talk I had with Mildred Abbott.

  I’m getting ahead of myself, though. I’d better go back and explain exactly what happened after we found the box that night.

  After the first shock, we all became very, very excited. We took the box to the porch, sat down with it, and looked everything over carefully. In the glow of four flashlight beams, I read through the lease and the letter again and again, as if to reassure myself that the arboretum really was saved.

  “Mrs. Goldsmith will be so excited,” Jessi said. She made a face. “I hope she’s excited enough to forgive us for messing up so badly with Mrs. VanderBellen.”

  “She’ll forgive us. I’m sure of it,” said Mary Anne. “I mean, we might have done a few things wrong, but the bottom line is that we found these papers. The arboretum won’t have to close, and that’s what’s most important to Mrs. Goldsmith.”

  “She’s going to have to have a lawyer look over those papers, you know,” Cokie-the-wet-blanket put in. “There’s no guarantee that they’re legal.”

  I threw Cokie a Look, which she probably couldn’t see because all the flashlights were trained on the papers. Why did she have to try to take the excitement out of the moment? I knew she was disappointed about not finding the fortune. So was I, for that matter. But couldn’t she see that just finding Christina’s box was a big thrill? Finding that lease had to mean that the arboretum was saved — lawyer or not.

  The only thing I was worried about was that, even with the lease to the land, the arboretum was still going to need more money in order to stay open. But somehow I had a feeling everything would work out. And I knew that my friends and I would do everything we could to help.

  The first thing we did the next morning was give the box we’d found, with its contents, to Mrs. Goldsmith. She was incredibly excited, and she wasted no time in getting a lawyer to look over the lease and letter. Within days, we had our answer: The papers were legal. The arboretum — the house and the land — belonged to Stoneybrook, forever. Mrs. Goldsmith knew it would still be hard to keep the place running on the tiny budget she had, but she said it made all the difference to know that the land couldn’t disappear out from under her.

  She immediately started to plan a huge open-house party to celebrate the news. And my friends and I began to work harder than ever on fixing up the arboretum, to get it ready for the public. We organized groups of kids from our school and from the elementary school. There must have been a dozen workers at the arboretum every day for two weeks.

  We raked and shoveled and pruned in the garden.
We scraped and painted the gazebo and the porch and the sheds. We cleaned and polished every single window in the house, including the huge panes in the greenhouse. This time, there was no sabotage. Everybody pitched in. Even Cokie, although she wasn’t much help. We figured out that there probably hadn’t been any real sabotage, anyway. The developers had come around (that’s why I’d found their card), and they had surveyed the place, but they’d had permission from the town of Stoneybrook to do that. We also found out, much later, that DT Developers stood for Danny and Ted, and that Devon Thomas IV lived all the way out in California. All the other stuff — the tipped-over flowerpots and such — was just coincidence, most likely.

  By the time we were done working on it, the arboretum looked fantastic. Mrs. Goldsmith said she had never seen it looking better! On the day of the party, my friends and I came over to help with the final decorating.

  Jessi and Mal strung tiny white lights all over the greenhouse, while Stacey and Claudia arranged flowers, including some bright yellow forsythia that Mrs. Goldsmith had picked from the gardens and forced into bloom. Dawn hummed as she polished the woodwork one last time with some lemony oil, and Mary Anne helped Mrs. Goldsmith in the kitchen, setting things up for the caterers. Me? I did a little of everything. I was excited about the party, and too restless to stay in one place for long.

  Before I left the house that afternoon, I stood quietly in the empty living room for a moment. I was thinking of Christina, and of what her life at Squirelot must have been like. I could almost imagine lavish, formal dinners, and servants to clean, cook, and draw baths. Then I pictured Christina leaving that life, and all for love. I hadn’t let myself think about Christina much since we’d found the box. It was sad knowing that she’d never found Henry. For my own peace of mind, I’d decided that she had probably taken the gold and made herself a new life, away from her horrible brother and his greedy schemes.

  We decked ourselves out for the party that night. I actually wore a dress. And you know what? I think I looked pretty decent. Nannie helped me pile my hair up on top of my head, and zipped me into the best dress I have: a black velvet one, in a high-necked old-fashioned style. (My mom bought it for me a while ago, “just in case.”) When I looked in the mirror before I left, I noticed that I looked more like Christina than ever.

  Watson and my mom had been invited to the party, since Watson is what they call “an influential citizen,” so they drove me there, picking up Dawn and Mary Anne on the way. Dawn was wearing a floaty, silky green dress and looking elegant, and Mary Anne had on a lace-collared, flowered dress.

  When we arrived at the arboretum, we found Jessi and Mal (both in black skirts and white shirts, since they’d volunteered to help the caterers pass hors d’oeuvres) waiting to greet us. Claudia and Stacey arrived two seconds later, and naturally, they beat out everyone else in the fashion department. Claudia was wearing a tuxedo, with a huge pink rose in her lapel. Stacey was wearing a simple black dress that made her look at least eighteen.

  For a while, we just stood in the main hall, gaping at the people who were arriving. Ms. Keane, the mayor, was there, and so were the police chief and the fire chief. In fact, all the local celebrities were on hand. I even saw the guy who announces the weather on Channel Five. Mrs. VanderBellen swept in, pulling off a pair of black gloves that went way up her arms and air-kissing about forty people as she waltzed past them.

  I was feeling a little overwhelmed until I saw Mildred Abbott arrive in a plain, but classy, navy-blue dress. She looked so familiar, and so friendly, that I ran to her to say hello. I even smiled at Cokie, who had trailed in behind her. Cokie tossed her head. She was still peeved about the missing gold. But Mildred Abbott took my hand in hers and gave me a warm hello. “I’d like to sit down with you later,” she said as she headed into the party. “We haven’t spoken since you found Christina’s box.”

  Soon, my friends and I began to relax and enjoy the party. We ate some of the snacks Jessi and Mal were passing, drank sparkling water (pretending it was champagne), and listened politely to the musicians (a pianist and a flutist) who were playing in one corner of the huge living room. Mostly we just hung out together, talking about Christina’s mystery and how much fun we’d had solving it. We also watched Cokie, who was mingling with the other guests. (She was actually following the weatherman around, in hopes of getting his autograph. She’s so pathetic.)

  After a while, Mildred Abbott came to find me. We headed into the greenhouse, which was quieter and more private, and sat down on a bench to talk. She told me it had meant a lot to her that I was interested in Christina. She also told me she agreed with my theory about what had become of Christina and her gold. And then she gave me something. “I want you to have this,” she said, pressing Christina’s locket into my hand. “Mrs. Goldsmith turned it over to me, and I want to pass it on to you.”

  “But —” I began. Mrs. Abbott shushed me.

  “I know I should probably give it to Cokie. But you seem to have such a wonderful connection to Christina, not to mention that you resemble her. I want you to have it, and that’s final.”

  I started to thank her, but somehow “thank you” didn’t seem like enough. Instead, I gave her a hug. I think it surprised her at first, but then she hugged me back.

  “We’d better head back to the party,” she said. “The musicians have stopped, and it sounds as if someone’s making an announcement.”

  Sure enough, someone was. It was Mrs. Goldsmith, who stood near the arched doorway with Mrs. VanderBellen beside her. She was announcing to the guests that Mrs. VanderBellen had made a generous endowment to the arboretum, one which would guarantee that it could stay open forever.

  * * *

  At our next BSC meeting, two days later, we talked about how great it was to have most — if not all — of the mystery’s loose ends tied up. (Including the mystery of what had gone wrong with Mrs. Dodson’s plants. That turned out to be a simple case of overwatering, and after a few days of care by Mrs. Goldsmith, they looked better than ever.)

  “I even kind of like it that we don’t know exactly what became of Christina,” I said.

  “So do I,” said Dawn. “She could have gone anywhere, and done anything. She sounded like she had a lot of spirit.”

  “Just like Kristy,” said Mary Anne. “I bet the two of you really are related.”

  “I’d like to think so,” I said.

  “You would?” asked Stacey.

  “Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

  “Because if you are, that would also mean you’re related to Cokie!”

  There was a short silence in the room, followed by screeches, giggles, and retching noises.

  I groaned. “In that case,” I said, “I think I’ll give up my claim to the missing fortune. I guess I’ll have to make my millions by baby-sitting instead!”

  The author gratefully acknowledges

  Ellen Miles

  for her help in

  preparing this manuscript.

  About the Author

  ANN MATTHEWS MARTIN was born on August 12, 1955. She grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, with her parents and her younger sister, Jane.

  There are currently over 176 million copies of The Baby-sitters Club in print. (If you stacked all of these books up, the pile would be 21,245 miles high.) In addition to The Baby-sitters Club, Ann is the author of two other series, Main Street and Family Tree. Her novels include Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), Here Today, A Dog’s Life, On Christmas Eve, Everything for a Dog, Ten Rules for Living with My Sister, and Ten Good and Bad Things About My Life (So Far). She is also the coauthor, with Laura Godwin, of the Doll People series.

  Ann lives in upstate New York with her dog and her cats.

  Copyright © 1995 by Ann M. Martin

  Cover art by Hodges Soileau

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC, THE BABY-SITTERS CLUB, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks
of Scholastic Inc.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First edition, February 1995

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-79197-7