CLANG, CLANG. CLANG, CLANG, CLANG.
Violet blinked and sat up in bed. It was the middle of the night. The house was dark and quiet. What had awakened her?
“Jessie?” she whispered, rubbing her arms to warm them.
Jessie didn’t answer. She was sleeping soundly.
Violet slid out of bed and padded across the room. She looked through the window down on the moonlit garden. Everything was still. The only sound was of crickets singing.
“Violet?” Jessie began to stir. “Is something wrong?”
“I … I thought I heard something,” Violet said.
“Like what?” Jessie asked drowsily.
“A clanging sound,” Violet whispered, “like a bell ringing.”
Jessie yawned. “It was probably just a dream.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right,” Violet said as she climbed back into bed. But there was a part of her that wasn’t sure at all.
The next morning, after a big breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausages, fresh fruit, and cinnamon toast, the Aldens set off with Fran for a walking tour of Cedarburg. Violet brought her camera along to take snapshots of the old mills that stood on the banks of Cedar Creek. As they walked through town, they stopped here and there to browse in several of the interesting little shops.
“This must be Cora’s store,” Henry said, tilting his head back to see the sign above one of the shops. The bright blue letters spelled ROBACK’S ANTIQUE SHOP.
“It sure is,” Fran said. “And it’s a great place to go treasure hunting.”
“Treasure hunting?” Benny looked surprised.
“Treasures from the past, Benny,” Fran explained. “Come and see.”
As the Aldens stepped inside, their gaze took in all the old-fashioned picture frames, coal-oil lamps, braided rugs, stiff-backed chairs, and dusty old books that filled the shop. Every nook and cranny was overflowing with antiques.
“These old treasures have seen better days,” Fran told them. “Every little scratch and scuff mark is a clue about the past.”
“Fran!” Cora walked toward them, looking surprised. “I’m glad you stopped by.”
Fran smiled a little. “Did you think I’d stay away?” she asked.
“I thought you might still be upset,” Cora said. She bit her lip nervously. “I sure hope there are no hard feelings about that article. I wouldn’t want it to come between us.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve forgotten all about it,” Fran replied — a bit stiffly, Jessie thought.
Cora let out a long breath. “That’s a load off my mind.” She noticed someone waiting by the counter and hurried away.
Fran went over to check out a basket of wooden clothes pins. Henry and Jessie walked over to the stamp collections. Benny dug deep into a bin of old cookie cutters. And Violet looked at some antique box cameras.
A short while later, Benny held up a cookie cutter shaped like a cow. “Look!” He tugged on Violet’s arm. “Do we have enough money to get this for Mrs. McGregor?” Mrs. McGregor was the Aldens’ housekeeper, and an excellent cook.
Violet counted her change. “Good idea, Benny. Looks like we have enough.”
As they waited in line, Benny said, “Now Mrs. McGregor can make ghost cookies — the kind that disappear just like that!” He snapped his fingers.
Violet laughed. “Oh, Benny! Mrs. McGregor’s cookies always disappear when you’re around.”
As they stepped up to the counter, Cora gave them a big smile. “Found something, did you?”
Benny nodded. “A ghost cookie cutter.”
“Well, now, that is quite a find.” Cora chuckled as she took the money that Violet handed her.
“It’s a present for Mrs. McGregor,” Benny added. “She makes the best cookies in the world! Right, Violet?”
But Violet didn’t answer. Something had caught her attention.
Benny followed his sister’s gaze to a dented old bell hanging on the side of the counter. “Hey, that’s just like Buttercup’s bell!” he said. “Except, Buttercup’s had the number one on it.”
“That old cowbell’s quite beaten up,” Cora said, as she slipped the cookie cutter into a bag. “But it still rings. Go ahead and give it a try.”
Violet picked up the bell. She was surprised at how heavy it was.
Clang, clang. Clang, clang, clang.
She recognized that sound! It was the same clanging she’d heard in the middle of the night! Is it possible the runaway ghost has returned? Violet wondered. Then she had a thought. “Do stray cows ever wander into town?” she asked Cora.
“Never heard of it.” Cora shook her head.
Violet had little time to think about it. They were soon waving good-bye and filing out the door.
Fran looked at her wristwatch. “It’s almost lunch time,” she said. “There’s a restaurant just down the street. Why don’t you go on ahead and get a table for us? I want to pop in to see my son for a moment.” She nodded toward the Cedarburg Insurance office across the street. “We had a silly squabble recently, and I’d like to patch things up.” With a little wave, she hurried off.
The Aldens headed toward the restaurant. They’d passed a bookstore and a pottery shop when Jessie stopped. She peered through the big plate-glass window of a gallery. “Oh, look,” she said. “There’s Lottie. This must be the gallery where she works.”
They all looked through the window. Sure enough, Lottie was sitting at a small table in a corner of the gallery, talking to a man the Aldens didn’t recognize. While Lottie talked, the man tapped his chin thoughtfully. He had broad shoulders and a beard, and his dark hair was slicked back.
Benny was about to rap on the window to get Lottie’s attention, but Jessie stopped him. “Hold on, Benny,” she said. “I don’t think we should bother her while she’s working.” With that, they set off again.
After settling into a table on the restaurant’s patio, the Aldens watched the tourists coming and going along the sidewalk. Then they turned their attention to Fran’s mystery.
“I don’t get it,” said Benny, scratching his head.
“What don’t you get?” asked Jessie.
Benny looked around at them. “The riddle says, ‘The thing you hold/Is the thing you seek.’ ” A frown crossed his round face. “Why should we look for something if we’ve already got it?”
Jessie had a thought. “I bet we’re supposed to look for more shadow elephants.”
“Or maybe we’re supposed to look for another shadowbox,” Violet offered. “Like the one with the elephants in it.”
“I have a hunch we should figure out why their trunks are pointing up,” insisted Henry, thinking that was some kind of clue.
“You might be right, Henry,” Jessie told him. “But that’s a tough one to figure out.”
Henry couldn’t argue. “It’s a mystery, that’s for sure,” he said.
“I just hope Lottie’s wrong about the treasure,” Benny added as the waitress brought the menus. “She says it’s long gone.”
“What I can’t figure out,” said Jessie, “is how she can be so sure.”
“Maybe she just wants us to believe there isn’t a treasure,” suggested Benny.
“But … why?” asked Violet.
“So that she can find it herself.” Benny looked around at his brother and sisters. “She needs money for school, remember?”
Just then they noticed Fran coming down the street. She appeared to be having a heated talk with a tall, sandy-haired man in a business suit. The Aldens didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but they couldn’t help overhearing what they were saying as they drew closer.
“I’m quite capable of making my own decisions,” Fran told the man. “Why can’t you respect my choices?”
The man was shaking his head. “You never have two pennies to rub together as it is! How can you keep pouring money into that old house?” He sounded annoyed.
“That old house is my home,” Fran said crossly. “And that means more to me than all the money in the world!”
“I can see I’m wasting my breath, Mother!” The sandy-haired man threw up his hands and stormed away.
“Wow,” said Benny keeping his voice low. “That must be Fran’s son.”
“I guess they didn’t patch things up after all,” Violet said with a sigh.
“Just wait till we find the treasure,” added Benny. “Fran will have lots of pennies to rub together then!”
“I hope so, Benny,” said Henry. “I hope so.”
As Fran stepped onto the patio, she spotted the children immediately and walked over. She smiled as she pulled up a chair, but it wasn’t much of a smile. “Sure feels good to take a load off my feet,” she said with a sigh.
Henry could see that the argument with her son had upset Fran. He was trying to think of something cheery to say, when Jessie spoke up.
“Cedarburg is a beautiful town,” she remarked. “No wonder you love living here, Fran.”
“I can’t imagine living anywhere else, Jessie.” Fran let out another sigh.
They were all quiet for a while as they studied the menus. When the waitress came back to the table, Fran ordered a cheese sandwich and an iced tea. Henry chose fish and chips, and orange juice. Jessie and Violet both ordered corned beef sandwiches, cole slaw, and milk. Benny decided on a hamburger, French fries, and chocolate milk.
“Tell us more about the artist who painted the runaway ghost,” Violet said, turning to Fran. “Did he ever become famous?”
Fran laughed. “Oh, no. I’m afraid that painting isn’t worth much to anyone but me. The artist was a friend of Selden and Anne’s. His name was Homer and that’s about all we know about him. I don’t even know what his last name was!”
“How do you know his first name?” Benny asked.
“Well, he signed it on the painting,” Fran replied, “and my great-great-grandfather mentioned him a lot in the diary he kept. They were very close. So many of the entries say ‘Homer and Anne and I did this and, Homer and Anne and I did that.’ They had great fun together!”
“Well, he was a wonderful artist,” Jessie said.
“You know, there’s an old photograph of Homer around somewhere,” Fran informed them. “He’s standing with Selden and Anne on the front lawn of Shadowbox. They’re all holding croquet mallets.”
“What’s a croquet mallet?” Benny wanted to know.
“It’s for croquet, an old-fashioned game, Benny,” explained Henry. “The mallets are used to hit wooden balls through little arches called wickets.”
Benny grinned. “Sounds like fun.”
Fran smiled at the youngest Alden. “As I recall, there’s an old croquet set up in the attic. If you don’t mind rummaging around for it, you’re welcome to give it a try.”
The Aldens didn’t mind at all. As soon as they got back to Shadowbox, they hurried up to the attic. “Whew!” said Benny. “It sure is hot up here.”
Henry nodded. “Like an oven,” he said as he glanced around at the clutter of dusty books, cardboard boxes, broken toys, and lumpy old chairs.
“Let’s split up,” Jessie suggested in her practical way. “Then it won’t take so long.”
Benny sat down to poke around in a box of comic books and jigsaw puzzles. Henry opened the drawers of a dusty old dresser. Jessie sorted through a hamper filled with odds and ends. And Violet searched in a trunk covered with faded stickers from faraway places.
It wasn’t long before Benny let out a cheer. “I found it!” he said, holding open the lid of a wooden box. “At least, I think I did.”
Henry went over to take a look. “Way to go, Benny!” he said, glancing down at the box filled with mallets and balls and wickets.
“Omigosh!” Violet was still standing over the old trunk, her eyes wide.
“Is anything wrong?” Jessie asked her sister.
Violet stammered, “It’s a … a trunk!”
Jessie, Henry, and Benny looked from Violet to the trunk and back again. They seemed puzzled.
“What’s strange about that, Violet?” Benny wanted to know. “Lots of attics have old trunks in them.”
“But … it’s a trunk and it’s up in the attic!” Violet sounded excited.
Henry suddenly understood. “The elephants’ trunks were pointing up!”
“Now that you mention it,” said Jessie, “a trunk can be an elephant’s long nose — ”
“Or it can be a big chest for storing things,” finished Violet.
“The thing you hold/Is the thing you seek!” cried Benny. “We were supposed to seek another trunk! That’s where the next clue must be.”
“Got to be,” agreed Henry.
Violet, Benny, Henry, and Jessie searched carefully through the trunk. It was filled with old-fashioned clothes that smelled of mothballs. But when they were finished, all they’d found was an envelope bulging with old photographs. Jessie tucked the envelope into her back pocket to show Fran.
“Looks like we struck out,” Violet was forced to admit.
“I don’t get it.” Jessie looked down at the trunk. “According to the clues, this should be the spot.”
“Then where’s the next riddle?” Benny wanted to know.
The Aldens looked at one another. How were they ever going to solve such a strange mystery? |