Finding Fortune (20 page)

“I'm not seeing any labels or captions here, Mrs. Baxter,” I heard her say when they stopped by the display cases. “Do you have documentation for these pieces?”

“Oh, I know where everything came from,” Hildy told her. “We just haven't gotten around to typing up the labels yet.”

Once the visitors had circled around the gym, inspecting the button company signs and the sorting and polishing machines, Hildy brought them over to see the
Little Miss
. I shrank back in my chair, searching for an escape route. I'd been sitting quietly behind the card tables pretending to sort more pictures, but now that Ms. Pekingese was clicking toward me, there was nowhere to hide.

While her partner lingered by the boat, peering down his nose at the hooks on the clamming rig, the woman seized a stack of photographs from the table and began thumbing through them. She flipped me a brief smile as she set the first stack down and snatched up another. “Fascinating,” she said. She spun on her heel. “Mr. Vanderveer, you should take a look at these.”

Hildy came over too and tried to introduce me, but the visitors weren't the least bit interested in why I was there. They huddled together like hens clucking over the photographs. Then, finally, Mr. Vanderveer straightened his narrow shoulders and fixed Hildy with a somber gaze. “Mrs. Baxter, you've amassed quite a collection here,” he began. “These photographs are particularly extraordinary. But I must tell you, we're very concerned about preservation.” I felt like I was watching a fun house mirror. His face stretched even longer. “Artifacts such as these require careful handling. Constant monitoring of climate and light exposure.” He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his suit coat and dabbed at his forehead as he drearily turned to survey the gym.

“Absolutely,” Ms. Pekingese yapped, staring pointedly at me. I slowly slid the photo I'd been holding back on the table.

“The fact is,” Mr. Vanderveer went on, “we strongly believe artifacts of this magnitude should be housed in the town museum where they can be properly cataloged and preserved.”

Hildy had her fists on her hips now. “So that's what the two of you have come here to tell me? That you want me to turn my entire collection over to that stuffy society of yours?”

Mr. Vanderveer drew himself up, exchanging an indignant look with Ms. Pekingese. “Of course you would be consulted every step of the way—”

“But if I turn my collection over to you,” Hildy said, “nobody would ever see it. You people run that place of yours like Fort Knox. Don't folks have to make an appointment to get in?”

“Appointments are required, yes.” Mr. Vanderveer nodded gravely. “But we open our doors to the public for a full week during Summerfest.”

Hildy had grown very still. Her dark eyes glimmered behind her glasses as she stared up at him, considering. “One week,” she repeated at last. “That's not enough for me, Mr. Vanderveer. Most of these treasures of mine are seeing the light of day for the first time in decades. The last thing I want to do is bury them all over again in that vault of yours in Bellefield.”

I hadn't realized I was clenching the sides of my chair until Hildy was done talking. And now I could barely keep from giving her a standing ovation. The visitors, on the other hand, looked like they had each taken a gulp of sour milk.

“No matter,” Hildy said briskly, as she began herding them toward the door. “If you all can't help me, I'll find somebody else who can.”

I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue when Ms. Pekingese took one last hungry glance back at the table full of pictures. As soon as Hildy had disappeared down the hall with the visitors, the rest of us gathered by the
Little Miss
.

The Mayor ran his palm over the top of his bald head. “Well, that sure didn't go like we had hoped, did it?”

“No, but I have to say Hildy was marvelous.” Garrett chuckled. “She certainly put those prigs in their places.”

Hugh began strutting along the side of the boat, doing a perfect impression of Mr. Vanderveer with his nose in the air and his hands clasped behind his back. Everybody laughed, but the mood in the gym turned solemn again once Hildy returned. She looked so exhausted that Tucker ran to get her a folding chair and Mine sent Hugh to the kitchen for a glass of water.

“Well, I suppose that's that.” Hildy sighed as she lowered herself into the chair. “I probably burned my last bridge with those two.”

“Are you sure?” Mine asked. “I thought you said the historical society had grant money to give away. Aren't there some forms I could help you fill out?”

Hildy snorted. “Did you see the looks on their faces when they walked out of this place?” She shook her head. “Filling out a bunch of forms isn't going to help. They want me to donate my collection to
them
. Not the other way around.”

Hugh arrived with the glass of water, and we all hovered around Hildy's chair trying to cheer her up until she finally swatted the air with her hand and told us to go about our business. “No need fussing over me anymore,” she said. “I'll get my second wind in a minute.”

My breath caught with excitement when Tucker wiggled his eyebrows at me and darted a glance toward Hugh and then the storage room. Now more than ever we needed to track down those pearls for Hildy. I slipped my hand in my pocket and gave my button blank a squeeze. I was glad I had remembered it when I got dressed that morning. With any luck, the key to Hildy's mystery was only a short climb away.

 

TWENTY-FIVE

THERE WAS NO QUESTION
about who would go up on the ladder. Inspecting the mural was my idea in the first place, right? And ever since I had spotted Mr. Bonnycastle's signature, I'd been itching to climb up and scour the painting for clues. From the landing, the school in the background appeared hazy, as if it was shimmering in the heat, but I was sure some hint would reveal itself once his brushstrokes—in the words of Hildy's brother—were right under my nose.

Tucker hardly had time to set the ladder into place before I gripped the metal sides and started climbing. But by the sixth rung, my palms were sweaty and the stairwell felt like it was heaving up and down underneath me.

“What's wrong?” Hugh asked. “Why'd you stop?”

“I don't know,” I moaned. “It's so stupid, but I'm already dizzy. I think that tower must have given me a phobia.” Somehow I had turned into a complete wimp overnight. I tried lifting my foot to take another step.

“Whoa,” Hugh said. “I can see your legs shaking.”

“You want to come down?” Tucker asked. “I can do it.”

“Okay,” I said with a resigned sigh, and slowly picked my way back to solid ground. “But you've got to be serious about this. We don't want to miss any clues.”

“Whatever you say, Sherlock,” he teased as he took my place on the ladder.

At least at the start of his inspection, Tucker seemed like he was trying to do a thorough job. He combed his gaze along each little window Bonnycastle had painted on the school and he leaned in close to inspect the tower on top. But after he had shifted the position of the ladder two or three more times, he jumped down to the landing with a shrug. “Sorry, Ren. There's nothing up there.” Even Hugh had lost interest. He sat on the steps writing his name in the dust in the corner of the stairwell.

“But we're not done yet! What about that side?” I pointed to the left half of the mural where the children were painted. Something on the small stretch of sand in the foreground had caught my eye—some sort of rectangular box.

Tucker's shoulders slumped. “Seriously? Come on, Ren. I told Hildy we'd be back in a few minutes.”

“Please, Tucker,” I begged with my palms pressed together. “Just one more minute. That box on the shore looks like it has writing on it.”

“What box?” Tucker glared up at the mural. “
That?
That's a picnic basket.”

“No, it's not,” I snapped. “It's too big and there's no handle.”

Hugh hopped to his feet to see what we were talking about. “Maybe it's a treasure chest,” he said. “Want me to look, Tucker? I love heights.”

“No, I'll do it,” Tucker growled. He dragged the ladder across the landing and had barely trudged up the rungs again before he announced flatly, “Like I said, it's a picnic basket.”

“Those aren't letters on the front?” I asked stubbornly.

“No, it's supposed to look like wicker or something. I don't know,” Tucker said impatiently. “Whatever those marks are, they're definitely not letters.”

Hugh gave the wall under the mural a glum little kick. “So much for that idea,” I muttered. I waited for Tucker to leap off the ladder and say “I told you so,” but for some reason he had frozen in place. “Aren't you coming down?” I asked. “What are you looking at?”

Tucker tapped his finger on one of the boats in the mural—the one closest to the children on the shore. “This boat. It's got a name painted on its side.”

“Really?” I waited. “Well, what is it?”

“I don't know. The writing's really tiny.” Tucker leaned closer, squinting. “Uhhh … it's got five letters and it says … it says…” Then he stood up straight on the ladder. “It says
Pearl
.”

Hugh began to pace in a circle around me as I gaped up at Tucker with my thoughts reeling. “So all this time the pearls weren't in the basement or the tower or Room 26 or anywhere else in the school!” Hugh said, throwing his arms in the air. “All this time they've been on some boat named
Pearl!
”

I grabbed Hugh's elbow to make him be still. “Or maybe … maybe they're here after all. Maybe Tom hid them on his father's boat! The one that's sitting right down the hall in the gym.”

Tucker came down to the landing, looking baffled. “What? What do you mean? That boat in the gym belonged to my great-grandfather?”

I gawked at Tucker in surprise. “Yes. Didn't Hildy ever tell you that? It was Pop's. And if you think about it, everything makes sense! Hildy said her dad retired from clamming when she was in high school. And she talked about how sad it was when he pulled his boat out of the water for good. And all that happened before Tom went off to war.”

“Hey … now I remember.” Tucker's voice filled with wonder. “There used to be an old boat in the barn behind Hildy's house. I always wanted to play on it when I was little, but it was mostly covered up with junk back then—all of Hildy's button stuff. I never asked any questions about it because I wasn't ever supposed to go inside the barn. Dad thought I'd fall on something and get hurt.”

“But, you guys,” Hugh sputtered, “it's not the same boat. The boat in the gym is called
Little Miss
. Not
Pearl
. And it's green and white. That boat up there is—is—” He stepped up on the bottom rung of the ladder to double-check. “Gray!”

We were still debating, talking so loud that the Mayor almost had to shout Tucker's name before any of us noticed him standing at the bottom of the stairs.

The Mayor's face softened when we all fell silent. “I'm sorry, son,” he said gently. He gripped the newel post, trying to catch his breath. “You need to come to the gym. Your grandmother's had a bad fall.”

 

TWENTY-SIX

HUGH STUCK BY MY SIDE
once Tucker ran pounding down the hall. He was staying quiet like a small, stunned animal. “What should Hugh and I do?” I asked the Mayor.

“You two wait out front for the ambulance,” he told me. “Once the paramedics get here, you can show them how to get up to the balcony.”

“The balcony?” My voice came out quivery and I pressed my knuckles to my mouth. “What happened?”

“Hildy says she was up there trying to find her typewriter.” The Mayor shook his head in sad disapproval. “I guess she tripped or lost her footing somehow. It's a blessing that I came back to the storage room for another load of trash. That's when I heard her yelling for help.”

I barely felt my legs carrying me outside to the afternoon sunshine. It was all my fault. Hildy probably wanted that typewriter to make labels for the display cases. If we had stayed in the gym, one of us could have run to the balcony and found it for her.

“Hildy must be hurt bad,” Hugh said when we finally heard the siren screaming along Old Camp Road. He nudged closer. It was scary—those red lights flashing and the siren's wail cutting across the hush of the cornfield. The ambulance jerked to a stop at the end of the walkway and Rick bounded out of the front seat.
Of course
. My nerves were so jangled I'd completely forgotten that he might be on rescue squad duty that day.

“Ren,” he said as he hurried toward me. “Are you all right?”

I nodded. As much as I thought I despised him, my throat welled with relief at the sound of his calm, familiar voice. Behind him, the back doors of the ambulance sprang open and two more members of the rescue team emerged, sliding out the stretcher.

Garrett came running around the side of the school with the weed whacker banging against his legs. “What happened?” he asked as he hurried toward us in confusion.

“It's Hildy.” My voice had turned froggy. “She fell in the gym.”

Hugh trotted a little ahead of me as we showed Rick and the other paramedics where to go. But once we reached the steps that led to the gym balcony, I grabbed Hugh's hand and pulled him aside, motioning the way. I didn't want Hugh to see Hildy in pain, lying on the dusty floor. And I couldn't stand to see her either. Imagining the scene was bad enough. I was grateful when Mine came hurrying down the stairs to usher Hugh and me back to the library.

“I think she might have broken her hip,” Mine told us. “That happens a lot with old people. But don't worry.” She hugged Hugh to her side and reached out to squeeze my shoulder. “Hildy's a trooper. She'll be fine.” Then Mine asked if I would stay with Hugh while she drove Tucker to the hospital to be with his grandmother. “I won't be gone more than an hour or so,” she added. “I'll ask Mayor Joy or Garrett to tag team with me.”