Mary Anne and the Music

by Ann M. Martin

  When she’d set the last box on the table and left, Mal and Jessi and Stacey looked at each other and burst into giggles. Ms. Stepkowski poked her head in the door and glared at them. They stifled their laughter, then settled down to work.

  It wasn’t fun, especially with Ms. Stepkowski stopping in every fifteen minutes to check on them, but they were able to accomplish what they’d come for. By the end of the afternoon, Jessi and Stacey had an accurate list of the owners of the house. Three families had lived there before the Baileys moved in, and one single woman had lived there for a time between the Baileys and Granny and Pop-Pop. The next step would be to do some detective work on each of those families.

  None of the previous owners had the initials L. S., but Mal was able to search out a dozen other Stoneybrookites who did. H. I. W. posed a tougher problem. There were only three leads for that name.

  Finally, Stacey told Ms. Stepkowski they were done and offered to help her take the boxes back to the record room. She refused her help and shooed my friends out the door.

  Out on the front steps of Town Hall, Mal began to laugh.

  “What is it?” asked Stacey.

  Mal couldn’t speak for a second. Then, finally, she told them what was so funny. As they were leaving, she’d caught a glimpse of Ms. Stepkowski’s name tag. “Her first name is Laura!” Mal said. “Can you imagine? Our mysterious L. S. might have been staring us right in the face the whole time!”

  Kristy was off in another direction, checking through microfilmed copies of the Stoneybrook News at the library. She was trying to learn whether the money Mr. Bailey had embezzled had ever turned up, and what she found convinced her that it hadn’t. Here’s what she found: Nothing. Zip. Zero. (That’s how she put it anyway.) To her, that was conclusive evidence that the money was still out there. And she and Abby agreed on the best way to find it.

  Abby had volunteered to help Sharon at Granny and Pop-Pop’s on Wednesday. She worked hard, according to Sharon, but judging from her notes in the mystery notebook, she spied hard, too. And what she saw — Eddie and Jim snooping around, Hank and Esther stopping by to meddle again — convinced her that there was no time to lose. “We have to take action,” she said at our meeting that night. “Kristy and I have talked, and we’ve come up with what we think is a good plan. Want to hear it?”

  By that time, I think we were all feeling as if our investigation needed a boost, so we nodded and leaned forward eagerly.

  Abby began to fill us in.

  “Ready, everyone? Let’s do it!”

  Kristy was whispering into the huddle we’d made on the sunporch of Granny and Pop-Pop’s house. It was Thursday morning, and everyone in the BSC was on hand. I’d explained to Sharon that we had planned a work marathon. With everyone pitching in for one day, we could accomplish a lot. That was true, but we had another motive as well. We were finally going to find out what was so fascinating about that backyard.

  Was there really buried treasure? Was it the funds Lydia’s father had embezzled? Where was the treasure? Who knew about it, and how did they know? Were our suspicions completely off base?

  “Hold on a second,” Abby whispered back. “Let me make sure Hank and Esther have arrived.” She disappeared into the house for a few seconds. Then she popped back out onto the porch. “They’re here,” she hissed. “Having doughnuts in the kitchen. And Jim is in there, too. Sharon’s not around. I think she’s downstairs.”

  Our plan couldn’t miss. We’d scripted and rehearsed our parts. The audience was on hand. Our drama was ready.

  “Lights, camera, action!” murmured Kristy. Then, in a louder voice, meant to carry through the screen door all the way into the kitchen, she said, “Wow! You mean you found a box buried in the backyard? How cool!”

  “Isn’t it?” I asked, trying to make my voice as loud and enthusiastic as possible. “I was just planting some flowers for Granny. And then my shovel hit something metal.”

  “So what was inside?” asked Jessi.

  “Anything interesting?” asked Mal.

  “I haven’t looked yet,” I answered. “I left it where it was. I thought I should show it to Sharon first. After all, this isn’t my yard.” Did I sound convincing? I hoped so. Kristy was nodding at me encouragingly.

  “I think we should look inside it,” said Abby. “Isn’t the rule ‘finders, keepers’?” Abby sounded convincing. That was exactly what she would say — if we really had found a box in the backyard.

  Which we hadn’t. We were faking it. We wanted to know how certain people would respond to the news that a box had been found. Which people? Well, to be specific, we had figured out that the three people who knew about the supposed buried treasure were Jim Prentice, Hank, and Esther. Hank and Jim had lived in that neighborhood when the Baileys owned the house, and we figured Hank must have told Esther whatever he knew. So we made sure to put on our play at a time when they were all on hand. Hank and Esther had begun to make a habit of stopping by during the mid-morning break, and I happened to know that Jim was scheduled to work that day, so our audience was guaranteed.

  “I agree with Abby,” Stacey said now, continuing with the script. “I think we should check it out.”

  “I vote with you two,” Claudia put in. “Except for one thing. I think we ought to grab some doughnuts first, to keep up our energy.” Claudia had thought of that line, and it was a good one. First of all, because it sounded exactly like something Claudia would say. And second, because it was the perfect way to explain our move into the kitchen, where we could see firsthand how our play was going over.

  Claudia’s line was our cue to start moving. Kristy began making shooing motions. We trooped into the kitchen, trying to act innocent. As I entered, I took a look around.

  The play had worked. There was no question about it.

  Jim’s eyes were bright with interest. So were Hank’s. Esther looked as if she were about to pop.

  “Hello, girls,” she said. “What’s new?”

  “Oh, nothing,” said Kristy casually.

  “Nothing?” asked Esther, arching her eyebrows.

  “Nothing,” said Kristy.

  “What Esther means,” Hank said, cutting right to the chase, “is that we just overheard you girls having a very interesting discussion. About something you found in the backyard?”

  “Where exactly is it?” asked Jim eagerly. I could tell that he was having a hard time sitting still. He wanted to be in the yard, checking out that box.

  “Well …” I began, trying to think of what to say next. Obviously, our plan had worked. There was no doubt that Hank and Esther and Jim were very, very interested in what we’d found. They’d want to see the box — and the fact was that there wasn’t one. I glanced at Kristy, wondering why I hadn’t noticed before that this plan wasn’t as completely thought out as it could have been. “Umm,” I began.

  Just then, I was interrupted by a loud, crashing noise coming from the front of the house.

  “What the dickens is that?” Hank said, jumping up from his chair.

  “It sounds like somebody drove a car into the house,” said Jim, following Hank to the front door.

  We all ran to see what had happened. Outside, in front of the house, we found three of the metal garbage cans we’d been using rolling around in the driveway. I was curious about who had knocked them over, but Jim and Hank didn’t seem to care.

  “As long as we’re outside, let’s go take a look at that box,” suggested Jim, leading the way around to the backyard before I could think of any new ways to stall.

  As we rounded the corner of the house, I noticed a stooped figure near the rosebushes. “Hey,” I said, nudging Kristy. “It’s that old man.”

  “What’s he doing here?” she asked. Then she narrowed her eyes and took a better look. “He’s digging, that’s what,” she said.

  As we came closer to the man, I heard Jim gasp.

  “Dad?” he said suddenly.

  “Dad?” Kristy whispered to
me, raising her eyebrows. So the old man was Jim Prentice’s father. Interesting.

  The man looked up. “Oops,” he said when he saw the crowd descending upon him.

  “Dad, what are you doing?” asked Jim.

  “Same thing all of you have been doing,” the man said shortly. “Looking for treasure.” He nodded at me. “You’re related to the people who live here now, aren’t you?”

  “Sort of,” I said.

  “That’s how you knew about the Bailey money, then,” he said. “I overheard you saying you thought there was a box down here. Well, where is it?” He sounded impatient. I realized that he was probably the one who’d knocked over the trash cans to create enough of a diversion so that he could look for the box himself.

  “Hold on, hold on,” said Hank. “You know about the Bailey money?” he asked.

  “Sure,” said the old man. “I lived across the street when old man Bailey embezzled those funds. I’ll never forget it. Everyone assumed that he’d buried the money, since it was never found.”

  “Exactly,” said Hank. “I remember hearing the same rumors.”

  Jim nodded. “Everyone in the neighborhood knew about it.”

  “And now these girls have found the money,” said Esther. “Isn’t that something?”

  Hank and Jim didn’t look too happy about that. Neither did Jim’s dad.

  “Well,” I said, clearing my throat nervously, “actually, to tell the truth, we didn’t really find the money. We, um, didn’t even find a box. We were just sort of playing a game.” I knew my explanation sounded pretty lame, but it was the best I could come up with on short notice.

  “A game?” asked Jim. He shook his head sadly.

  Hank looked peeved.

  But Mr. Prentice didn’t seem fazed by the news. “Well, in that case,” he said, “I suggest we do some digging. I’ve been scouting this yard and doing a lot of thinking, and I have an idea that I know exactly where old Bailey buried the goods.” He led us to a spot at the foot of a crabapple tree. “This tree would have been planted right around that time,” he said. “I bet he did it to cover his tracks.”

  Jim grabbed a shovel that had been leaning against a fence and without any further discussion began to dig. He seemed to have complete faith in his father’s theory.

  The rest of us stood around and watched. I wanted to point out that the backyard — and anything in it — actually belonged to Granny and Pop-Pop, but I was too shy to speak up. Sharon had come up from the basement by that time (she hadn’t even heard the crashing noise from outside) and I filled her in on what was happening. It took her awhile to understand the truth — that she was apparently the only one who didn’t know that buried treasure might lie in her parents’ backyard.

  “Well, how about that,” she said. “I wonder if Granny and Pop-Pop know. It’ll be fun to find out if anything’s really there. I guess Jim was going to have to dig up the yard anyway.”

  I thought of Grace’s letter to June, about the mysterious sounds in the backyard one night. “I think Granny might have known a long time ago,” I said, “but maybe she’s forgotten.” I watched Jim dig for a while. I still couldn’t manage to feel excited about a box full of money. I was hoping that the “treasure” would turn out to be something from the past, some evidence that would prove once and for all that Johnny and Lydia were the L. S. and H. I. W.

  Jim was digging hard and fast, and working up a sweat. Hank stood over him, offering suggestions, while old Mr. Prentice supervised. I was beginning to doubt that Jim would find anything when suddenly we all heard it.

  Clunk.

  The shovel had hit something that wasn’t just dirt. Jim tried the same spot again. There was another clunk. He tossed the shovel aside and hunkered down, using his bare hands to claw dirt away, so that he could see what he’d hit. “It’s a box!” he crowed. “A gray metal box.” He scrabbled away some more, and soon he’d freed the box from its grave. He pulled it out — it was about the size of a typewriter case — and brought it to the porch steps.

  We all gathered around him: my friends and I, Hank and Esther, Sharon and old Mr. Prentice. I held my breath as Jim tried the latches. I didn’t hear anyone else breathing, either.

  The box wasn’t locked. The hinges gave a rusty squeal as Jim pried the lid open. We all leaned forward to peek inside.

  Jim sneezed as he rummaged around inside the box, and a cloud of mildew-smelling dust rose up. “Let’s see,” he said. “The first layer just looks like papers. Deeds and such.”

  Old Mr. Prentice looked as if he wanted to snatch the box out of his son’s hands. “What’s underneath?” he asked impatiently. “Where’s the money?”

  Jim rummaged some more. Then he looked up and smiled. “I hate to say it,” he said, “but there isn’t a cent in here. Just more papers. They must have meant something to old Bailey, but they’re worthless to us. I think the story of the buried treasure was just that. A story. There never was any money.”

  Old Mr. Prentice tightened his lips and made a harrumphing sound. Hank said something under his breath that I didn’t quite catch. Esther looked disappointed, and so did Kristy and the rest of my friends.

  I was disappointed, too. But not about the money. I was disappointed because, even though we’d found a buried box, nothing in it had told us anything about the beautiful music box and its history.

  “Welcome, welcome, come on in!” Buddy was at the door, beaming as he greeted us. It was Friday, and my friends and I had headed straight from our BSC meeting to the Barrett-DeWitts’, where the addition-warming bash was already well under way. We’d been invited as guests, not as sitters. I’d been concerned about how the Barrett-DeWitt kids had handled their disappointment over the playhouse, but Buddy seemed to have forgotten about it.

  The house was decorated with balloons and streamers, and Buddy was dressed in his good clothes. Music was playing, and a long table in the dining room was covered with food the guests had brought. Kids were running around. I spotted Claire Pike and Suzi as they dashed through the living room, and I noticed Charlotte and Lindsey sitting together on a bench, munching on chips. Parents were gathered in little groups, holding paper plates as they ate and talked. I saw Mrs. Kuhn chatting with Dr. Johanssen. Eddie and Lori and the other crew members were there, too, checking out the food.

  “It’s a party,” declared Claud with satisfaction as she eyed the chips and dips. She started toward the table.

  “Don’t you want the tour?” asked Buddy. “We’re giving tours of the addition every ten minutes.” He made a show of checking his watch. “And, as a matter of fact, there’s one leaving right now!”

  How could we resist? “We’re ready when you are,” I said. “Lead the way.”

  Buddy took us upstairs. “The boys’ room is the coolest,” he said. “Do you want to see it first?”

  “Let’s save it,” said Abby, humoring Buddy. “I always like to save the best for last.”

  Buddy grinned. “Cool,” he said. “In that case, I’ll start with the bathrooms.” He led us toward the first door on the right. “Ta-da!” he said, showing us the inside. I saw a nice large bathtub plus a shower stall. Fluffy new blue towels hung on the racks. “This is for the whole family to use,” Buddy said. Then he led us down the hall. “And this one,” he said, showing us another, smaller bathroom, “is just for us kids.”

  From the beginning, the Barrett-DeWitt family had planned for their addition to include two bathrooms. (In fact, Kristy remembers Suzi suggesting that they have “a bazillion bathrooms.” You can’t have too many bathrooms when you have a big family.)

  “I like this bathroom,” said Jessi, looking around at the gleaming new fixtures, the green towels, and the jungle-animal wallpaper. “It feels like you’re in the rain forest.”

  “That was Lindsey’s idea,” said Buddy. “Isn’t it great?”

  What was great, I thought, was how well a bunch of kids from two different families had learned to get along. I reme
mbered how many squabbles the kids used to have when the families first blended. That all came to an end soon after they’d moved into this house, though. At first, the fact that the house was so tiny had led to even more squabbles. The kids would fight family against family or girls against the boys. It never seemed to end. But then the kids pulled together for a common goal: Small as it was, they loved their new house, and they wanted to make sure their parents wouldn’t decide to move because of the cramped quarters. They felt so strongly about it that once they actually staged a picket line with signs and all!

  That’s when Mr. and Mrs. DeWitt informed the kids that they had no intention of moving, and that they planned to build an addition instead. The plans they had drawn up showed a bunch of small bedrooms so that each of the children could have their own space. (Even little Marnie and Ryan needed their own rooms. Marnie is a restless sleeper, and when she and Ryan were in a room together she frequently woke him up, which in turn would keep their parents up.)

  But, at the groundbreaking party, the older kids made an announcement. They didn’t want a whole bunch of little rooms. They wanted two giant ones, one for the three older girls and one for the two older boys. That’s how close the new siblings had become.

  Now that the addition was finished, the older kids had their dorm-style rooms. And Marnie and Ryan each had a small room of their own. The idea was that by the time the toddlers were old enough to want to share rooms, the oldest kids might want to have rooms of their own and they could switch. Meanwhile, the tiny room that the girls had been sharing before the addition was built would become a place the kids could use for quiet time, and the room in the basement that the boys had been using would become a play area.