The Secret of Willow Lane (5 page)

At the curb, they turned around and walked back toward the porch. Jessie stopped short at the corner of the lawn, where the sidewalk met the front walk leading to her house. “Look!”

Over the years, people coming to the Hanson house had cut a corner across the lawn and had killed the grass. In this bare spot of mud was a clear footprint.

“Do you think the ‘carpet guy’ is watching us?” asked Tina. “I’m getting a creepy feeling.”

The girls looked up and down the street. They studied the Johnson house. Everything seemed normal in the early afternoon sun. The only sound was the voice of Phillip jabbering to Mrs. Winter in the back yard.

“Naw,” said Jessie. “He’s nowhere around. Let’s do the footprint.”

“Okay.” I’ll read and you cast the print.”

“Right,” said Jessie. “Start reading.

“First, spray the print with the paint in that spray can,” instructed Tina. “That makes it hard so it won’t crumble when you pour in the dental stone mixture. Now let the paint dry while you mix the dental stone. We need a pint jar of water.”

“Just a second. There’s a jar in the garage.” In a minute, Jessie returned with a pint jar and filled it with water from the garden hose by the house.

“Mix some dental stone into the water until it’s thick as pancake batter,” continued Tina. “You have to hurry because it hardens fast.”

“What’s the little oil can for?” asked Jessie.

“Oh, I forgot,” said Tina. “That’s lubricant. You need to spray it on the print now that the paint is dry.”

Jessie applied the oil. “Why do you need the oil?”

“It says it makes it easier to get out the cast of the print when you’re done.”

“Okay,” said Jessie. “It’s all oiled.”

“Now pour the mixture into the print until it’s about half an inch deep,” said Tina. “Right. Then lay down some of that wire mesh and cover the mesh with the rest of the mixture.” She paused. “Good. Now it has to set for a half-hour.”

Jessie glanced at her watch. “Then we can take it out at three o’clock.”

Tina leaped up. “You mean it’s two thirty now? I have an appointment at the dentist at three! My mother’s going to kill me!” She ran to the porch and grabbed the book with the negative hidden in its pages, put the book in her bike basket, jumped on and rode off. “I’ll call you when I get back,” she shouted as she disappeared down the street.

Jessie waved and turned back to the cast drying in the sun. She was so intent on the footprint, she failed to notice a car engine starting up in the distance.

At three o’clock, as Jessie touched the mixture to see if it was dry, she heard the phone ring in the house. In a moment, Mrs. Winter appeared on the porch carrying Phillip.

“Jessie,” called the sitter. “Mrs. Adams is on the phone. Tina had a three o’clock appointment and she isn’t home yet.”

Jessie looked up from putting the detective items back in the case. “She left at two thirty. It only takes her five minutes to get home. What’s the deal?” She took the case to the garage and returned to the footprint mold.

“That’s what Mrs. Adams wants to know,” said Mrs. Winter.

Jessie began removing the hard dental stone mixture in the print. It’s perfect, she thought. “Tell her I’ll head toward her house on my bike and meet her halfway. Maybe Tina got a flat tire or something.” She picked up the cast. As she passed the porch, she hid the footprint mold behind one of the geranium pots on the steps.

“Now, Jessie, I don’t think you should go. What about that strange man who’s hanging around?”

Jessie ran to her bike and jumped on. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Winter. He’s long gone. I can’t leave Tina stranded!” She rode off down Willow Lane. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She rode slowly, looking from side to side for Tina. The neighborhood was quiet. Shades were drawn against the afternoon heat. No cars passed her. Where could she
be
? She started to get worried. Three blocks from her house, she found Tina lying under an oak tree. Nearby, lay her bike. One wheel was bent.

Jessie jumped from her bicycle and ran to Tina. She took her friend’s hand. “Tina, what happened?”

Tina roused, opened her eyes then closed them again. “Oh, my head,” she moaned.

“Lie totally still,” Jessie ordered. “Your mom’s on the way.”

While she sat quietly by her friend, Jessie spotted the book she had lent her lying on the grass by Tina’s bike. Beside it lay the yellow photo pocket.

She reached across Tina and picked up the bright envelope. Her hand trembled as she peeked inside.

It was empty.

CHAPTER NINE

Jessie opened her eyes. She listened to the rain beat on the roof, collect in the eaves of the house and pour into the metal downspouts. Wisps of fog drifted outside her window like great cobwebs. Spooky, she thought. Then she remembered Tina—lying hurt under the tree. Was it an accident?

Tina’s dad, Doctor Adams, had assured everyone that Tina was fine. Just a slight concussion from a bike accident. She’d be healed in a couple of days.

Jessie felt guilty. I got her into this. Now I have no one to help me figure out what’s going on across the street. On the other hand, Tina won’t be warning me about getting into trouble all the time. What an awful thought! She wanted to cover her head with her pillow and hide all day. Instead, she dragged herself out of bed and went downstairs to the kitchen.

“What a day!” said her mom. She was mixing up orange juice in a glass pitcher decorated with red flowers. “What do you want for breakfast?”

When Jessie didn’t answer, her mom turned from the counter and studied her. “You’re very quiet. Are you worrying about Tina?” She poured juice into a tall glass that matched the pitcher. “Her dad said she’d be okay.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jessie poured cereal into a heavy blue bowl. She couldn’t tell her mother what she and Tina had been up to. She was sure her mom would get angry and confine her to the house forever. The doorbell rang. Saved!

“I’ll get it.” Jessie ran to the front hall. Mrs. Winter was standing in the doorway shaking off her umbrella. Without a word to the babysitter, Jessie rushed back to the kitchen.

“Are you
leaving
?” she asked her mother. She could hear her own voice rising in alarm. Jessie was afraid to be here with only Mrs. Winter to protect her.

“I have to meet with the antique dealer at the Johnson house,” said her mom. “He’s going to put prices on the furniture. You know—for the auction.”

“Oh, please, Mom. May I come with you? I’m a little nervous about staying here.”

“Mrs. Winter will be here. She’s not going to let any more strangers into the house.”

“Please, please let me come,” Jessie begged. “I won’t bother you or the antique guy. I’ll just look around. I won’t touch anything. I
promise
!”

Her mother took Jessie’s chin in her hand and studied her daughter’s face. “You look worn out. Are you coming down with something? Okay, come with me today. I’d like that.”

Jessie hugged her mother with relief. Then she ran upstairs and got dressed. She could hear Mrs. Winter getting Phillip from his crib.

Ten minutes later, she and her mom ran down the porch steps. They heard Mrs. Winter lock the front door behind them.

The two sprinted across the street in the rain and ran toward the porch of the Johnson home. Jessie looked up at the house. It had three stories and looked old fashioned. Little balconies jutted out from some of the windows and French doors. Detailed carving decorated the edges of the sloping roof. The paint was pale yellow and the trim and awnings were a forest green. Flower gardens in a bright array of colors bordered the lawn. Mr. Simms, the yardman, still came twice a week to check the house and take care of the garden. Most people considered the Johnson place to be the prettiest in Fairfield.

A man stood on the wide porch that faced Willow Lane and waited for them to climb the steps. “Hello. I’m William Wexford from Antique Galleries. You must be Mrs. Hanson.” He extended his hand.

Jessie’s mom shook hands and introduced him to Jessie. Then she produced a ring of keys from the pocket of her slacks and sorted through them until she found one made of heavy brass. She inserted it into the lock and opened the front door. They all stepped into the main hallway.

The ceiling in the entryway extended up to the top of the house. Despite arched windows on each side of the door, the hall was dark from the gloomy day.

In the living room, sheets covered the furniture. Jessie thought the room looked ghostly and uninviting. Mr. Wexford and her mom began removing the dust covers.

“I’ll just look around. Okay, Mom?” Jessie asked.

“Sure,” said her mom. “But be careful. Some of these things are very valuable.”

Jessie walked back into the hallway and looked up the wide staircase. A polished wood banister curved with the steps all the way to the third floor. Thick oriental carpeting covered the stairs and paintings, framed in gold, lined the stairway walls leading to the upper rooms.

This place is gorgeous, thought Jessie. Alice Johnson sure had good taste! She climbed the stairs and glanced toward the living room. Her mom and Mr. Wexford were talking. They wouldn’t notice where she was going.

When she reached the first landing and was out of her mom’s sight, Jessie ran the rest of the way to the top floor. The carpet muffled her footsteps and she skipped stairs as she climbed.

At the third floor, she stopped to catch her breath. A series of three closed doors lined the hallway on the Willow Lane side. I bet the one in the middle is the room where the man stood in the window. She tiptoed to the middle door, turned the big brass knob and pushed. Nothing happened. Locked? Why would it be locked?

All at once, she heard angry voices coming from the room. Jessie’s heart started to pound. Frantically, she looked for a hiding place. She darted to the door next to the locked room and turned the knob. It opened.

Jessie slid behind the door and left it ajar. Now I can watch the hall through the crack. She waited for her heart to stop racing.

With her ear to the wall, she could hear muffled voices but no distinct words. What had the detective manual said about listening through walls?

She tried to remember. Drinking glasses! Let’s see. What can I use? She scanned the room. There was an empty glass vase on a round table by the big brass bed. Taking giant tiptoe steps, Jessie moved toward the table. The floor creaked—loudly. She stopped, frozen in place, and held her breath. The muffled voices paused, and then continued louder than before. It sounded like a fierce argument.

At the table, Jessie grasped the vase in a tight grip. I’m so scared. If I drop this thing I’ll probably fall over dead with a heart attack. She scurried back to the place behind the door, careful to take a big step over the creaky floorboard.

With the bottom of the vase placed tight against the wall, Jessie turned her ear to the open end. Immediately, she could understand what they were saying in the next room.

The first voice sounded mean. “You’ll have to leave town. Those kids know what you look like. What a dumb move—letting those punks take your picture!”

The second voice was higher than the first. It sounded fearful and nervous. “Yeah, yeah. I know. But it didn’t help—your sending me a signal with a flashlight. Right in the Hanson kid’s face! You’re the one that made them suspicious!”

“This is pointless,” the mean voice said. “You have to go back to Wisconsin. I’ll finish the job. I know that Will is somewhere in this room. It shouldn’t take that long to find it and destroy it. Take Off!”

A key turned in the lock of the next room. Someone entered the hall. Jessie squinted through the crack in the door. She saw the man in the snapshot standing in the hallway. He was shorter than her dad, had a receding hairline and dark eyebrows. Something about him seemed familiar, more than just from the photo. She tried to think.

She heard the voices of her mother and Mr. Wexford drift up the stairwell. The snapshot guy heard them too. He stopped like a statue, listened, then whirled back to the doorway and whispered loudly. “Someone’s
here
!”

“Who?” asked the mean sounding man. “Okay, let’s get out of here! Down the back stairs.”

Through the crack, Jessie saw two figures race to a flight of stairs at the back of the house. One was tall and fast. The other one short and slower. As they passed her hiding place, she held her breath and stood motionless.

Jessie waited a minute and tried to stop shaking. When she felt steady, she crossed the room and set the vase back on the round table. Then, she walked to the doorway and looked into the hall. With a few quick steps, she was at the entrance of the room the two men had just left. She stepped inside and closed the door.

Shelves of books lined one wall of a large room. On another wall, marble statues stood in carved-out alcoves. A desk of gleaming wood rested on a thick blue rug in the middle of the room. The third wall was an enormous window facing Willow Lane and the Hanson house. Everything in the room was made of fine materials—leather, gold and polished wood.

On the fourth wall was a gigantic map of the world. It was actually part of the wall. Inlaid wood, painted blue, represented the oceans and seas. Bodies of land, from small islands to continents, were fashioned of gold leaf. Jessie couldn’t resist walking to the map and touching it. In mountainous areas, the map rose up in bumps. So beautiful, she thought. Like a museum.

The wall map made her think of the Atlas in her dad’s office. Where was the gold key bookmark placed in the Atlas?

Sweden, I think. That made sense. Mr. Johnson’s family was originally from Sweden. Most of the people in Fairfield had Scandinavian ancestors. Where was Sweden on the map? She tried to remember her geography. She looked at the map. Oh, there it is.

Jessie spied a small step stool by the bookshelves. She moved the stool to the map and climbed to the top. Reaching high, she ran her fingers over Sweden, checking for mountains. She looked closer. That’s when she saw the slit on the boundary between Sweden and Finland. Jessie ran her finger down the slit. She climbed off the stool and backed up. From a foot away, it was impossible to detect the tiny opening. I wonder if…