Finders Keepers (18 page)

Then everything turned upside down.

Grumpa died in the middle of the night.

When I went to bed, he was alive. When I woke up, he was dead.

Just like that.

 

LOUD WORDS AND PICKLES

Amelia and I were getting dressed for the funeral when we heard our parents talking in the kitchen. Amelia zipped up my dress, which Mom had had to buy in town. We didn't have funeral clothes at the cabin.

Suddenly my parents' words got loud.

“I'm not prepared to make a decision, Todd!”

“We've made our decision. This doesn't change anything.”

“There's money under our cabin. Isn't that a game changer?”

My dad's answer was soft, and then I couldn't hear them at all.

Shawn Weller's buyers had made an offer on our cabin, and they wanted an answer in forty-eight hours. My parents didn't know what to do. Amelia didn't know what to do. But I knew what to do. I knew because Grumpa had told me to
let it rest
.

I didn't tell my parents about Grumpa's words. I couldn't tell them because whenever I thought about Grumpa in the library—even for a second—I felt dizzy and sweaty. The air left my lungs and couldn't get back in. I figured my parents would decide to
let it rest,
that they'd sell the cabin without my saying a word. And that was okay with me. Without Grumpa, the cabin was just a bunch of old boards and rusty nails.

Amelia handed me her hairbrush, which I nearly dropped because Dad started yelling, “Ed Clark isn't even in the ground, and you want to talk about money? Unbelievable!”

“No, I don't. I want to go to a funeral and cry, like a normal human being, but the clock is ticking.”

Amelia flopped on her bunk and groaned, “I can't believe this is happening.”

Maybe I was wrong about my parents. Apparently Mom believed in finders keepers. Who knew? I opened the bedroom door with a bang, and they immediately turned on their smiles. Mom hugged and kissed me and then wrapped her arms around Amelia. We'd been hugged and kissed so much in the past few days I felt squished.

Mom picked up her purse and walked past my dad without looking at him. “Let's go, girls.”

Grumpa's funeral overflowed with people. The cooks and servers from Clarks Pizza were there. Mr. Walt Miller and Matt sat with their family. Nan was there. So was the guy who ran the ice cream shop and the man who took tickets at the National Fresh Water Fishing Hall of Fame. Even the fudge lady was there.

From our pew, I could see Alex walk with his parents from the church office to the front pew. Neil's face was wet from crying. I couldn't stand to look at Neil, not when he seemed so sad, so I studied Alex. His face was actually clean, and his hair was slicked back. He wore a black suit that seemed to swallow him. His mom had gone shopping, too.

Everything about the funeral was wrong. The Clarks should have dressed Grumpa in his fishing hat instead of a brown suit, and the pastor should've said “Hell's bells” instead of reading from the Bible. Even the smells were wrong. I nearly coughed from all the old lady perfume. It mixed with Amelia's body spray and made me gag. Grumpa would have wanted the church to smell like dough or fish or even fish guts.

Just thinking about what Grumpa would've wanted at his funeral led my mind to the last thing he'd wanted.
Let it rest
.

The very words made my chest ache. I couldn't look at my parents because they were crying, and I couldn't look at the pastor because he stood next to the casket that held Grumpa. It seemed the weight of it all would crush me. The air was leaving my lungs, and I felt like I might fall out of the pew.

I couldn't take it a second longer. I wondered what Chase Truegood would do at Grandfather Punch's funeral, but the funeral was too awful for play thinking. Still, I needed to get away from those thoughts. When I was at school, and math made me feel like I might explode, I moved around until the feeling went away.

So I started swinging my legs fast and hard. Dad nudged me, so instead of leg swinging I picked up the songbook and tried to balance it on the very tip of my knee. The book held steady for a few seconds, then dropped with a thud. Dad snatched it off the floor.

My lungs filled up, and the pain behind my eyes faded. It was working.

Mom had given me tissues in case I got the eye sweats, so I took one and tore it into strips. I tied strips from the tissue around my fingers, like little rings, until Mom grabbed the whole wad and shoved it in her purse.

Then I made a tent with my skirt. I slipped my shoes off and on and off and on. While everyone sang, I rolled my tongue, stuck it through my lips, and blew air, making the tiniest hint of a whistle. I wondered if there was a dog nearby who could hear it.

Suddenly the funeral was over and we were going into the basement for a funeral lunch.

It'd worked so well, I decided to keep making it work.

A long table near the kitchen was covered with food: ham sandwiches, baked beans, pickles, cheese slices, nuts, carrots, and Jell-O salad, which is the only salad I like. Alex was already sitting at a table with his parents and Mr. Walt Miller. He saw me and gave a small wave. I small-waved back.

I loaded up my plate with pickles—pickles and pickles and pickles until Dad grabbed my hand and said, “That's enough.” I stacked cheese slices about an inch high, but the line stopped. People waited while servers refilled the sandwich plate. All the waiting made me think about
let it rest
, and I didn't want to picture Grumpa on the library floor. I didn't want to stand there waiting and thinking.

Thankfully, the boy in front of me was Quincy. I poked his back. “Hi, Quincy.”

He frowned at me. Since his parents and little sister were right next to him, he couldn't say anything mean. He mumbled, “Hello.”

Quincy turned away, so I poked him again. “You're not even wearing a suit.”

“So?”

“So? It's a funeral. You shouldn't be wearing tan pants.”

Dad nudged me. Then he smiled at Quincy. “You look very nice.”

Quincy's little sister crammed between us. She stared up at me, smiled all big, and said, “Your dress is pretty.” Then she put her finger in her nose and started to pick.

“Gross!”

Quincy's mom grabbed her hand while Quincy rolled his eyes. “She does that all the time.” He told me, “She picked her nose when she was on Santa's lap.”

“That's nothing,” I said. “My sister ran over a cop.”

Dad grabbed my plate out of my hands, left it on the serving table, and pulled me by my arm into the tiny hall.

“Stop it immediately! You're acting like a toddler, and I'm absolutely ashamed!”

In a half second, my face was wet with tears, not eye sweats, but tears that gushed. It was the kind of crying where even noise can't escape. Dad took me to the corner of the hall, by the bathroom marked
Men.
He put his arms around me, and we stayed there until I was cried out.

 

MAYBE AND MAYBE NOT

My parents still had to make a decision about Shawn Weller's buyers, quickly.

For a few hours, it seemed like Dad had won. He said if money had been buried in a 1930s suitcase, or even a solid wood box, it would have rotted. That money would've been worm food shortly after it was buried. Mom seemed to agree, but then she'd start the whole debate again.

Amelia and I watched a movie while my parents cooked dinner and talked about Shawn Weller. Every few seconds Amelia turned down the volume—not so much that they'd notice but enough so we could hear their conversation.

Mom said, “I've been coming to northern Wisconsin since I was a little girl. I wanted to sell the cabin because we had to. It was the responsible choice. Now that I know there could be another way, I'm just not sure.”

Part of me wanted her to win this argument. Shawn Weller wasn't just selling the cabin. My best friend was part of the deal. Alex would no longer be my friend. But when I thought of digging up the money my ribs started squeezing the air right out of me. I heard Grumpa telling me to
let it rest
and it was like I was in the tunnel all over again.

“I have messages from Neil Clark to call him, and I can't.” Dad slammed the cupboard. “You know why? Because I'd be embarrassed for him to know we're talking about Capone and the money right after the funeral.”

“Todd, I have an idea. Just hear me out. We could hire a company to move the cabin. Then they could tear up the slab foundation and dig for the money. Then we rebuild the foundation and put the cabin back.” Mom sounded so proud.

“That's a dangerous gamble. Basically we'd spend thousands and thousands of dollars for this long shot. What happens if we don't find a dime? Or say we do find money, but it's only a couple thousand dollars. We'd be in worse shape than we are now.”

“I'm trying to think outside the box, Todd!”

“Here's another problem—the government! Capone went to jail for tax evasion. The government would probably confiscate the money for back taxes.”

There was silence, and maybe tears, but mostly silence. Good. My ribs eased their grip on my chest a little. Amelia had just picked up the remote when Dad started talking again, softly this time.

“Honey? Do you really want to look for this money? I don't want you spending the rest of our lives wondering what might have happened. If it means that much to you, then let's just do it.”

I bounced off the couch and shouted, “Why can't you let it rest?” I went outside and slammed the door.

Alex was pretending to drive the ATV, which was perched on the driveway near the shed. Instead of a helmet, he had on Grumpa's fishing hat. He smiled and waved. I half-waved back and plopped down at our picnic table. Alex swung his leg off the ATV and walked slowly toward me.

“Christa, when do you think it'll be okay to play again?”

“You should ask that pastor. He seemed to know everything about dying.”

“I didn't like him. I hated the whole thing. They put Grandpa in an ugly suit. How dumb was that?”

“I know!”

Alex flicked an ant off the bench and sat down. “Dad said my grandpa's heart was bad.”

“It was not! He had a good heart.”

“He didn't mean a bad heart like a bad person. He meant it wasn't working right.”

“Oh.” I was glad to know Neil didn't think Grumpa's heart was bad.

“Anyway, my dad is coming over to talk to your parents. He's been calling them since yesterday. Maybe they'll say it's okay for us to do something.”

I sighed. “Maybe.”

“Your legs look worse than mine.” Alex stuck out his leg and we compared scratches.

“We look like road maps,” I said.

“No. Road maps are orderly. This looks like someone tried to glue a cat to our legs.”

The cabin door opened and Mom, Dad, and Amelia came outside. They said hello to Alex and asked him about his parents and talked about the weather. I figured they wanted to talk to me about the loot, but they didn't want to do it in front of Alex. An awkward moment, probably. But I didn't care. My chest was feeling tight, and I wanted to end it fast.

I interrupted all the weather talk. “Grumpa said the loot was cursed.”

Dad looked surprised. He wiped his glasses on the bottom of his t-shirt. “Well, honey, a curse is an entertaining idea, but it's not real. Curses aren't real.”

My head throbbed. Even though we were outside, there was not enough air to fill my lungs. I whispered, “Grumpa said we should let it rest! That's what he wanted.” I blinked away tears—real tears. Eye sweats were for babies.

“I don't remember that,” Alex said.

“It was in the library after you went upstairs. I don't want to talk about it again. Ever.”

Mom covered her mouth with her hand. She blinked away tears, too, and pulled me into a hug. “We don't believe in curses, but we do believe in letting it rest. It's time to move on.”

Neil spotted us from the Clarks' porch. He made his way over while Mom squeezed me. He said, “I'm sorry to just pop over like this, but it's important.”

“Sorry I haven't returned your calls.” Dad's face turned red. “It's been pretty crazy.”

“I need to know if you signed the sale papers yet.”

“The realtor is bringing them over,” Dad said. “Why?”

“I talked to the investigators. Duncan's going to jail for a long time. Turns out he's been breaking into Capone's for years and stealing antiques. That's why the security systems never seemed to work. A cop knows how to get around them. Duncan even got Capone's personal handgun, which he sold to an unsuspecting collector for a fortune.”

Dad shook his head. “That's terrible.”

“A while ago, the insurance company for the property put up a reward leading to the arrest of the thief. The reward is twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“Well, I'm glad they finally caught him. It's a shame it went on so long.”

Neil leaned forward. “I don't think you heard me. There's a twenty-five thousand dollar reward.”

Dad blinked a couple of times. “I don't get your point.”

“The investigators say the reward money belongs to Amelia.”

“Me?” Amelia's voice cracked.

Neil squeezed Alex's shoulders while he spoke. “You took Duncan down. You saved my son's life. I can't ever thank you enough, Amelia.”

Dad's face went white. “Talk about a roller coaster of emotions. I think my head might explode.”

“I know,” Neil said. “It's a lot to think about. This week has been … well, it's been a week, hasn't it?”

“Can you excuse us for a moment?” Dad and Mom huddled by the cabin door and whispered. I'd never been both happy and sad at the same time, and those feelings did not get along. Those feelings made me tired.