My dad scooted next to me and put his arm around me. Dazed, I watched the men work, hardly registering the questions they asked. At one point Dad left and came back holding several prescription bottles.
I held my breath when the men strapped an oxygen mask over Mrs. Schuster’s mouth and nose. I clung to my dad when they slid the board under her. I wanted to cry when they covered her with blankets and strapped her in place. It couldn’t be Mrs. Schuster lying there.
Two more men came in and before I knew it, they were rolling her out.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t watch the ambulance doors close on her. I couldn’t.
Dad gave a sympathetic nod, then followed them out.
“I’m sorry.” Jason broke the silence.
I wouldn’t look at him. Instead, I jumped to my feet, suddenly afraid of the stillness. “We should clean up.” I scooped up the scattered papers intending to lay them on the table, but the signature at the bottom caught my eye. Marge Schuster. The writing was clear. “She never told us she was named after Black Marge.” It was good to concentrate on something other than what had just happened.
“Seriously?” Jason scooted closer and I held the papers so he could see.
That’s when I realized. These were the papers. THE papers. The ones that could solve the mystery.
I knew I shouldn’t read the letter, but my eyes were already skimming. It was dated almost five years ago.
Dear Mr. Philmore,
As per our conversation, I’ve included with this letter a copy of my daughter’s birth certificate. There you will also find my full name as well as that of the father, Leonard C. Hawkins …
Leonard? I frowned. Mrs. Schuster’s husband was named Ned, I was sure of it. And she only had a son — the picture evidence was on the wall before us. A glance at Jason told me he’d read it too. We stared at each other in confusion.
“Annie? Jason?”
I whipped around at my dad’s voice, hiding the letter behind me.
“Are you ready?” Dad rubbed his eyes, then straightened his glasses. His shoulders were hunched and he looked like he had just weeded the entire garden on his own.
With a sniff, I nodded. “Just let me wash these dishes. Mrs. Schuster wouldn’t leave a mess.” I slipped the papers under the plate, then stacked silverware and a cup on top.
In the kitchen, I set the dishes in the sink, then folded the letters as small as I could. I wrapped them in my fist, hoping Dad wouldn’t notice. Curses on pajamas with no pockets.
23
I waited at the curb while my dad walked Jason to the door. I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered in the night air. At least it was easier to hide the letter that way.
A minute passed before the porch light flipped on. Jason’s dad opened the door, and his mouth settled into a frown. I hoped there wouldn’t be a scene.
My dad spoke first and I watched his gestures, wishing I could hear the words. Jason stared at the ground. Mr. Parker crossed his arms like he was a drill sergeant or something. Finally, my dad handed over the duffle bag, and Mr. Parker stepped aside to let Jason in.
When the door clicked shut, my stomach flip-flopped. Was Jason in big trouble? Did Mr. Parker blame me? And most importantly, were we grounded from each other? I guessed “yes” on all three.
My dad put his arm around me. “You did good tonight, sweet pea.”
And the next thing I knew, I was crying. I buried my face in his shirt, smelling sweat mingled with the fading spice of his aftershave. “Will they be okay?”
“The Parkers? I think so.”
“But I ruined their garden.” My lips trembled. I hated that, but it was my fault. “What are they going to eat?”
I was surprised when my dad laughed. “You have such a big heart. I love that about you.” He adjusted his glasses. “Do you really think we’d let them starve?”
The pit in my stomach eased a little. I let my dad’s warmth and steadiness wrap me up. It was nice having him around, I decided.
We turned the corner and there stood Mrs. Schuster’s now-dark house. I gripped the letter tighter in my hand. An image of Mrs. Schuster crumpled on the floor flashed through my mind. I heard the sirens, felt her papery hand in mine. The question I’d avoided couldn’t wait.
“Will Mrs. Schuster die?”
The smile on Dad’s face faded. He wouldn’t look at me. “I hope not, sweet pea. I hope not.”
***
I lay awake wondering if I was cursed. First Jason, and now Mrs. Schuster. How could I lose two friends in one day? Had I broken an unspoken Society protocol when I’d tried to bury those sandwiches without Jason? Or maybe I shouldn’t have suggested a mass burial instead of thirteen separate ones. Or maybe it had nothing to do with the Society. Maybe Black Marge’s treasure really was cursed.
When I was sure Dad had fallen asleep, I flipped on the light. Thank heavens Kate was at a friend’s.
Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I unfolded the papers that I’d hidden under my pillow. I knew they were important, but now they seemed dire. Mrs. Schuster had been reading them when she fell.
They were well worn and if I hadn’t noticed them before, I could have guessed she looked at them a lot. Mrs. Schuster clearly had a secret, and I was going to figure it out. Maybe it would even help her get better.
I re-read the first page.
Dear Mr. Philmore,
As per our conversation, I have included with this letter a copy of my daughter’s birth certificate. There you will also find my full name as well as that of the father, Leonard C. Hawkins. I left the abusive lout before she was born, and I gave her up for adoption at birth because I had no means to care for her. I was eighteen at the time. As I stated before, I do not wish to intrude on my daughter. I just want a chance to explain. To tell her how much I loved her, and still love her … even if it isn’t returned.
I stared at the page in shock. Mrs. Schuster did have a secret past. A tragic past! Suddenly my cheeks felt hot. Guilt struck like a flyswatter. I shouldn’t be reading these papers. Solving a mystery was one thing, but prying into someone’s personal life was something else. Besides, I didn’t see how this could explain Mrs. Schuster’s sudden interest in me and Jason.
I was dying to know how the story ended. I wanted to keep reading. Like, a lot. But it wasn’t worth the guilt. I started to fold the letters back up when the letterhead caught my eye: Edward & Margaret Schuster.
Something clicked in my brain.
Edward. The name of Black Marge’s husband. I scanned down to the name of the ex-husband. Leonard. Lenny the lout.
Mrs. Schuster’s voice echoed in my mind: Lenny really wasn’t a lout in the beginning, you know … I mean, according to Black Marge.
I hadn’t questioned it at the time, but now I saw it for what it was. Mrs. Schuster had been telling her own story. She’d corrected herself to sell it as Black Marge’s.
And hadn’t she used the last name “Smith”? Edward Smith. Only the most common last name ever. Then there was the journal I could never see. And protein paste? Right. How convenient to have a story about peanut butter when she was fixing my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The clues had been there all along.
Anger built up in my chest as I thought of all the lies Mrs. Schuster had told us. She’d not only let two kids hunt for a non-existent treasure, but she’d strung us along on a wild goose chase.
In my mind, I saw Mrs. Schuster being rolled out of the room on a gurney. My anger fizzled. I couldn’t be mad at her when she was lying in a hospital on the brink of death. But I wanted answers. I wanted to know why Mrs. Schuster had lied. It just didn’t make sense.
With only a little hesitation, I turned the page. It was a short note from the Philmore guy.
… Nothing to report at this time… .
I flipped the page.
&n
bsp; … Nothing to report… .
Again.
… Nothing at this time… .
The dates were spread out over years, and I could almost feel the frustration of the long process. I guessed Mrs. Schuster hadn’t found the daughter yet, or she wouldn’t still be reading these letters. I wished I could comfort her. Encourage her to keep going. Keep searching. Hopefully I’d get the chance.
The second-to-last letter was dated just last August, the most recent I’d seen.
Dear Mrs. Schuster,
I regret to inform you that your daughter, Mrs. Elizabeth Mason, has refused contact with you. Please see her enclosed letter for full details. As this report will close this account, I have also enclosed the final bill for my services. Should you have any questions, feel free to contact me …
I couldn’t move. My heart felt like lead. No! This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. After all that searching, how could the daughter just refuse to see her without giving her a chance? It was so unfair. Isn’t that what Mrs. Schuster had said? Life isn’t always fair. Just ask Marge.
I wanted to smack Mrs. Elizabeth Mason. Tell her what she was missing out on. Tell her how awesome Mrs. Schuster would be as a mom.
The last page was the letter from the daughter.
Dear Mr. Philmore,
Please inform your client that I have no interest in meeting or receiving any letters from her. You may let her know that I have a ten-year-old daughter, but in exchange, I ask that she not try to contact us again.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Elizabeth Mason
My hands trembled. The age of Mrs. Mason’s daughter trumpeted from the page. The same age as me. Now it all made sense. It could be no coincidence that Mrs. Schuster had given me that treasure chest just weeks after receiving this letter. I wanted to resent it, but too many good memories got in the way.
I wasn’t sure how long I sat there before tucking the letters into a drawer and turning off the light. Even then, I couldn’t sleep. I stared into the darkness worrying about my friends. I felt helpless. Powerless to change anything.
Just look at how things had turned out with Jason. How could I have thought that I could save his house? The idea was laughable. I couldn’t even get him to accept sandwiches from me when facing starvation.
I rolled onto my side, trying to get comfortable. Why did this have to happen to the Parkers? Why were they losing their house when so many others had more than enough? I thought of Lila with her designer wardrobe, Prada bag, and iPhone. Life was so unfair.
Why couldn’t we have ruined the Pierces’ garden, instead? I wondered. They could afford it.
And then the idea struck, like a dollop of peanut butter on fresh bread. I grinned. I had a plan.
24
I woke up to the smell of grilled cheese. I breathed it in, enjoying the scent until I realized what it meant: lunch. My eyes flew open and I ripped the covers off. The sun streamed in through the windows and the alarm clock read 12:32.
“Aw man!” I smacked my forehead. If I wanted to pull off my plan, I didn’t have a second to waste. Not to mention that I’d missed soccer. I hurried and changed, then ran to the kitchen.
Dad, Kate, and Matt sat around the table.
“Morning, sleepyhead. I thought you earned a little extra sleep after last night.” Dad pointed to a plate of blackened sandwiches. “You’re just in time for lunch.”
“Hey, cheesebreath.” Matt spoke through bites of sandwich. “You owe us. We had to do all the chores.”
“Chew with your mouth closed!” Kate stuck her nose in the air. “But the cretin’s right. You owe us big time.”
I plopped into a chair next to Dad and stuck my tongue out at Matt and Kate.
“Let’s be nice.” Dad pointed a finger at each of us, but his eyes twinkled. “We can’t have your mother thinking I let you go wild.”
I dug through the pile to find the least-burned sandwich. Though I was hungry, I couldn’t eat till I’d explained my plan. It was urgent. “So I have this idea.”
Kate rolled her eyes.
“We’re not the only ones with a garden. What if all the neighbors gave food to the Parkers and left it on their doorstep in secret? That way they can’t refuse it!”
I waited for all their bad vibes — especially Kate’s — but no one said anything. All three of them stared with funny expressions on their faces.
“What?” I sat up straight. “I thought it was a good idea.”
Dad finally smiled. “It’s a brilliant idea, Annie. I only wish I’d thought of it myself.”
Kate sniffed. “I can talk to Emma’s parents. Her dad works for a bread company and gets day-old bread for free all the time.”
“I can get my friends to do sneaky drop-offs throughout the day.” Matt rubbed his hands together. “Ding-dong ditch is our specialty.”
“You guys will really help? On a Saturday?” I was stunned.
Kate shrugged. “For once you have a good idea. Just don’t let it go to your head.”
Matt grinned. “Are you kidding? The chance to ding-dong ditch without getting in trouble? Invaluable practice! … Uh, I mean to do future good deeds, of course.” He threw a wide-eyed look at Dad, who frowned.
With everyone’s approval, I thought I’d burst with excitement. Finally, I could really help. This felt better than searching for some non-existent treasure. It even felt better than solving a real-life mystery.
“I’ll sneak into our room for the neighborhood phone list,” Dad said when we’d finished eating. “We can make the calls downstairs, where we won’t disturb your mother. I’m really proud of you, Annie.”
List in hand, I started with the Pierces since they’d given me the idea. I just hoped Lila didn’t answer. She hadn’t spoken to me since she apologized about Jessica and Jenny. If she answered, she’d probably just hang up.
“Hello?” Mrs. Pierce answered after the first ring.
“Hi. This is Annie Jenkins.”
“Annie! We missed you at the soccer game today.”
“Yeah, um …”
“We heard about what happened though. You are such a brave girl. That must have been really scary.”
“Yes, but …”
“And poor Mrs. Schuster. We’re all just praying she’s okay. But look at me, chattering on. I bet you called to talk to Lila. Let me go …”
“Wait, Mrs. Pierce!” My head was spinning. Now I knew where Lila got it from. “I called to talk to you.”
“Me?” She sounded surprised.
“Yes. The thing is …” I hesitated. Lila had probably already blabbed to her parents, but I still didn’t want to tell the Parkers’ secret to everyone. “The Parkers could use some help.” I left it at that and explained my plan about getting all the neighbors to help as simply as I could. “Matt and his friends can pick up your donation and secretly deliver it so the Parkers don’t know where it came from.”
“Oh honey. Aren’t you the sweetest thing? Of course we’d love to be involved. Who else have you called, and what are they bringing?”
“You’re the first,” I said. “But I was going to call as many people in the neighborhood as I could.”
“Have you planned for a base camp to collect the food? Your house is too obvious if you want to keep it secret.”
“Base camp?”
“I imagine a lot of people will want to help. You’ll need to organize the drop-offs. And your brother can’t possibly make it to everyone’s house and deliver the items. Tell you what. I’ll call the Garcias since they have that big new garage. Plus they live just around the corner from the Parkers. I’m sure Judy would be happy to help. You have everyone deliver their offerings there, and Judy and I can organize it for Matt and his friends to deliver.”
I was speechless. I hadn’t thought beyond getting people to
donate. But more than that, I was surprised. I’d always pictured the Pierces as show-offs. Trying to make the rest of us feel bad by reminding us of all the stuff we didn’t have. Like Lila always did. I never would have guessed in a million years Mrs. Pierce would offer to help like that. I decided to give her an out. Just in case.
“But … are you sure? It might take the whole day.”
“Oh Annie, this is much more exciting than my plans at the spa. Even adults like a little adventure now and again. Lila can wait for our little outing. In fact, I bet she’ll want to help, too.”
The rest of the afternoon raced by with phone calls. My dad and I went alphabetically through the directory and took turns explaining the plan to the neighbors.
The Aarons offered a box of fresh-picked apples. The Braddocks promised bags of vegetables. The Chois had packages of spaghetti from Mr. Choi’s work. The Drakes had several bottles of homemade salsa. Even Mrs. O’Reilly, who had very little herself (Dad insisted we call her so she didn’t feel left out), offered to stop by the Parkers later in the day with some handyman question so she could innocently offer to help preserve some of the produce.
That’s when I realized we’d better spread the donations over the coming weeks. Mrs. Garcia generously offered her husband’s garage as our base for as long as we needed, so Dad and I made a schedule and promised to give everyone reminder calls as their donation time got closer. The Parkers would have food for at least the next month — and a better variety than their garden would have given.
When Matt did the first drop-off, I had to resist the urge to stand at the corner and watch. Not that I had time — by four o’clock, we were only to the Ps.
When I hung up the phone with Mrs. Sanchez, who offered carrots and potatoes, the phone rang almost immediately. I let Dad answer.
“Yes, that was my daughter.” After a long pause and a series of “uh-huhs,” his face erupted in a grin. “Still, that’s wonderful news. And I’m sure Annie would be thrilled… . Uh-huh … yes … seven o’clock. We’ll see you there. I look forward to meeting you.”
The Last Great Adventure of the PB & J Society Page 16
