Caching In

by Kristin Butcher

It’s a good thing I’m not a huge guy, because once I’ve climbed the post as far as I can, I have to support my entire weight with my feet and one arm. I need the other arm to undo the pouch. And, of course, the drawstring is tied in a knot.

  “Hurry up,” Chris whispers.

  That startles me, and I almost lose my grip. “Is somebody coming?” Now I’m sweating, so I rub my hands on my jeans again. First one, then the other.

  “No,” Chris calls back, “but they probably will be soon. Snap it up.”

  “I’m going as fast as I can,” I growl.

  I peer around the square to make sure no one is around. If nothing else, I have a good view. I’m about to get working on the knot again when a movement in the shadows makes me stop. I peer harder into the darkness, but I don’t see anything. I give my head a shake and look again. Nothing. I must be seeing things.

  It’s hard to untie the knot with one hand. The pouch keeps twisting around the pole. This would be much easier if I had a knife.

  “Are you nearly done?” It’s Chris again.

  “A couple more secs,” I grunt as I grab the runaway bag for the fiftieth time. I have an idea. I hold the pouch still with my teeth. That makes it way easier to work on the knot. The drawstring is made of leather, so it’s not hard to get a grip. Right away, I feel the knot start to give. Once I get it going, it comes undone easily. In less than a minute I have the pouch unfastened.

  “Comin’ down,” I say. In one motion, I grab the bag and slide down the lamppost.

  “What’s in it?” Chris demands before my feet have even touched the ground.

  I dangle the pouch in front of him. “You think I’ve got X-ray vision?”

  He grabs the pouch and loosens the drawstring, and now suddenly I’m the one who’s impatient.

  “It’s a business card,” he says. “DeGroot, Jamieson & Associates, attorneys at law. Lawyers? I don’t want to get mixed up with freakin’ lawyers.”

  “Wait. Turn it over. There’s something written on the back.”

  Chris flips the card and squints at the writing.

  “What does it say?”

  “Congratulations! You have found the final cache. Bring this card to my office before 5 pm tomorrow to claim your reward. It’s signed by a Martin Jamieson.”

  Chris looks at me and I look at him. It takes a few seconds for the reality of what’s happening to sink in. Finally, Chris grabs both my arms—tightly—and starts shaking me.

  “This is it!” he says. “We’ve done it. We’ve found all the caches. All we have to do now is collect our prize. Woo-hoo! Tomorrow we’re gonna be rich.” He’s not whispering anymore.

  I’m excited, too, but I don’t want to risk blowing everything, so I shush him and start pulling him toward our bikes. I take the business card from him and look at it more closely.

  “This Jamieson guy’s office is on Douglas Street. We can catch a bus after school and be there by four o’clock.” I look at my watch. “But now we have to get home. If my parents find out I’ve been riding all over Victoria in the middle of the night, I won’t live to see tomorrow.”

  We hop on our bikes and head back the way we came. Chris is so high, I swear he could fly home. As we pass the parking lot, I look for the red convertible, but it’s gone. All that’s there now is a wire cart.

  Chapter Eleven

  It’s three thirty in the morning when I sneak back into the house. After being up for twenty hours and cycling to town and back, I should be dead tired. But I’m too pumped. Chris and I found all the caches—and they were not easy to find, so I’m totally stoked about that. But even better, now we get a prize. Someone is actually going to reward us for doing what we like to do. My heart is beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings, and so many thoughts are whirring around in my head, it’s impossible to think them all. How can I sleep?

  Suddenly, my stomach growls—really loud. It sounds like some kind of animal is trapped in there. All that riding has made me hungry. Luckily, I have half a candy bar in my backpack. I dig it out and wolf it down. So now I’m on a sugar high too.

  Needless to say, I don’t close my eyes all night, but it doesn’t matter. When morning arrives, I’m not the least bit tired. In fact, exhaustion doesn’t hit me until lunchtime, but boy, does it hit me! One minute I’m walking on air, the next it’s like I’ve been run over by a brigade of steamrollers. I can barely stand. Eating gets rid of the shakes, but it makes me even more tired. I sleep through my afternoon classes.

  At three thirty, Chris is waiting for me outside the school.

  He frowns when he sees me. “You look like crap, man.”

  “I don’t function well without sleep,” I mumble.

  Chris grins. “I didn’t sleep last night either. Who cares? Shake it off. There’ll be plenty of time for sleep after we collect our money.” Then he shoves me toward the sidewalk. “So let’s go get it.”

  His enthusiasm is contagious, and I perk up on the bus ride downtown.

  “How can you be sure we’re going to get money?” I ask him. “How do you know it won’t be movie passes or gift certificates or something like that?”

  “Easy. We got fifty bucks for finding the first two caches, and they weren’t even challenging or dangerous. So the last two have to be worth more.” He shakes his head. “Think about it, Eric. Gift certificates for risking our lives? No way, man. It’s gotta be money.”

  The law firm is on the other side of the street, a block from the bus stop. As we wait for the light to change, I stare at the buildings across the street.

  “Which one is it?” I wonder out loud.

  Chris looks again at the address on the business card and then squints across the street and points. “Second entrance from the corner. The tall sandcolored building.”

  When the light turns red, we race across the intersection, but as soon as we reach the building, we stop. This is it, and, though it’s the moment we’ve been waiting for, something holds us back. The unknown, I guess. Finally Chris reaches for the door handle and breathes so deeply, I swear he sucks in half the air in Victoria. Then he opens the door, and we’re on the move again.

  DeGroot, Jamieson & Associates is on the ninth floor, so we take the elevator. Thankfully, it’s not one of those glass ones. If I could see how high we’re going, I’d probably pass out. The elevator is fast, and only a couple of seconds after the doors close, they open again. Giant lettering on the wall ahead informs us that we’ve reached the ninth floor. Too bad my stomach is still in the lobby.

  Chris scans the directory and then heads left. I follow him. He points to a set of carved wooden doors at the end of the hall, where it splits right and left. “That’s it,” he says.

  The words are no sooner out of his mouth than a woman appears around the corner and walks toward us. She’s young and pretty, and the yellow dress she’s wearing lights up the dark corridor like sunshine. But it’s her hair that I can’t stop staring at. It’s long and blond and shiny, and it ripples over her shoulders like she’s in a shampoo commercial.

  She’s looking straight at us, and as she gets closer, she smiles. That’s when I realize I know her. Well, not actually know her, but I’ve seen her before. I just don’t know where.

  She stops in front of us, so we stop too.

  “Hi there,” she says brightly. “Can I help you fellas?”

  Chris smiles at her. He’s a sucker for pretty girls. I’m still trying to figure out how I know her.

  He shows the woman the business card. “We’re looking for DeGroot, Jamieson & Associates,” he says, though the office is right in front of us.

  The woman lifts Chris’s hand so she can see the back of the card. That’s when she gasps and covers her mouth. She takes a step backward. Then she sort of staggers and starts laughing. “You’re our mystery treasure hunters!” She points to the business card. “And if you have Martin’s card, you’ve found all the caches. We didn’t think anyone would. That’s wonderful!”

&n
bsp; Before I realize what’s happening, she’s hugging us, and I can’t help noticing how good her hair smells.

  When she lets go, she’s still smiling. “I’m so glad I ran into you both, because it just so happens I have your reward.”

  “No kidding,” Chris grins.

  She nods. “Yes.” She fans herself with her hand. “Whew. All this excitement is making me hot.” She grabs her hair and lifts it off her neck.

  Bam! I remember how I know her.

  She opens her purse and pulls out a wad of bills.

  Chris’s eyes practically bulge out of his head.

  “Three hundred dollars,” she beams. “And it’s all yours.”

  Chris reaches for the money, but the woman pulls it away.

  “All you have to do is give me Martin Jamieson’s business card.”

  Chris holds out the card, and the woman holds out the money. Before they can make the exchange, I grab the business card.

  Chris scowls at me. “What are you doin’, man?”

  I shake my head and start walking toward the doors at the end of the hall. “The instructions say to give the card to Martin Jamieson,” I remind him. “And that’s what we’re going to do.”

  I can hear Chris running to catch up. He grabs my arm. “We don’t have to. This lady has our money.”

  I jerk free of his grip and continue walking.

  The woman calls to us. “I’m authorized to increase the reward by two hundred dollars.” It could be my imagination, but she sounds anxious.

  Chris steps in front of me. “You hear that, Eric? She’s offering us five hundred dollars! Give her the freakin’ card.”

  I push him aside and start running, but just as I reach the office, he catches up and tackles me. I don’t fall, but we both slam into the doors. Chris tries to wrestle the card out of my hands.

  Now the woman has caught up, and she’s trying to get the card too.

  As I twist and turn, trying to fend them off, I say, “She’s trying to con us, Chris! She wants the card so she can collect the reward. Don’t you recognize her? She’s the woman from—”

  That’s when the office door bursts open, and the three of us tumble through the opening and land in a heap on the carpet.

  A middle-aged man with a mustache so skinny that it looks as if it’s been drawn on with a felt marker peers down at us in bewilderment. “Jane?” he says.

  Chris sits up and looks first at the man and then at the woman lying on the floor. “Did you say Jane?” he asks. I can tell he’s starting to figure things out. “You mean, as in Jane Carlisle?”

  The woman disentangles herself, stands up and smooths her dress and hair. “Actually, it’s Bartel now.”

  As Chris slowly nods, I can see a light go on in his brain. “Right,” he says. “We were at your wedding.”

  Chapter Twelve

  From behind his desk, Martin Jamieson stares at Chris and me over the top of his glasses. Standing beside him—with arms crossed—is Jane Bartel. She’s staring at us too. It’s like being in the principal’s office. I feel guilty, even though I can’t think what Chris and I could have done wrong. Well, unless you count crashing into Jamieson’s office and falling on the floor. But Jane did that, too, and she doesn’t seem to be in trouble.

  Part of me starts to worry that our wrestling match may have cost Chris and me our reward. If we go from five hundred dollars to nothing, it’ll be my fault—and Chris will kill me.

  I don’t know how long Jamieson makes us squirm, but it seems like forever before he clears his throat and pulls a folder out of a drawer.

  Let the games begin.

  “I wasn’t expecting there to be two of you,” he says. “And I certainly wasn’t expecting you to be so young.”

  “What difference does that make?” I can tell by Chris’s voice that his back is up.

  The lawyer frowns. “Perhaps a bit more paperwork, but otherwise, no difference at all. My client made no stipulation as to age or number of claimants.”

  “So what do we get?” Trust Chris to zip right to the point.

  Jamieson clears his throat again. “I’m getting to that. My client is the late Richard Carlisle. He was an independent businessman whose generosity is well-known. He was also an avid geocacher. He—”

  Chris practically jumps out of his chair. “That’s it! That’s how I know his name! I’ve seen it on geocache logs.”

  Once again Jamieson clears his throat. “Yes. It was one of his passions—one he shared with his daughter, Jane. In fact, hunting down caches became a competition between them. They often hid their own caches in an effort to outsmart one another.” He smiles up at Jane. “They were well-matched.”

  Then the lawyer turns back to Chris and me. “When he discovered he was dying, Mr. Carlisle decided to plant one last set of caches. These caches were intended to challenge not only Jane, but someone else too.” He adjusts his glasses. “The two of you, as it turns out. And the caches were to have an additional incentive.”

  I have no idea what he’s talking about. I look over at Chris to see if he’s keeping up, but his face tells me nothing.

  “These geocaches would tax the searcher mentally and physically. But because they contained an element of danger, he added a monetary incentive.”

  “You mean the fifty dollars?” I say. I may not understand lawyer talk, but I do know money.

  He nods. “Initially, yes. Mr. Carlisle created all the caches and hid the second and third ones himself, before he became too sick. It was his wish that the search commence on Jane’s wedding day, hence the ceremony at the cemetery. I posted the coordinates on the geocache website beforehand and took them down again later that day. Mr. Carlisle wanted this to be a closed search—only Jane and one other searcher. Once it was underway, I hid the last cache on the lamppost.”

  Chris looks at Jane and frowns. “I don’t get it. The first cache was in your bouquet. How could you be searching for it if you’re the one who hid it?”

  “As Martin said, my father and I were very competitive. Since this was the last cache he was ever going to hide for me, he made it as difficult as he could. He knew I’d figure out the clues, so he handicapped me. I had instructions to leave the cache, and I wasn’t allowed to look at it for six hours. Though I hid it, I had no idea what was in it until after you fellas were on your way to the second cache. So not only was I chasing the caches—I had to chase you too.”

  “That was you I saw at the cemetery, in sweats,” I say.

  She nods. “I saw you, too, which was good, because then I knew who to look for on the Galloping Goose Trail.”

  “You were there too?” Chris says. “How did you know where to go?”

  Jane laughs. “Same as you. I figured out the clues. Thank goodness you left them in the caches. I actually should have beaten you to the Potholes. I knew exactly where to go. You got lucky on that one. Really lucky, when you consider you could have drowned.”

  Chris’s mouth drops open, and he points at Jane. “It was you! When I was dangling over the cliff, it was you who helped.”

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you in the hall,” I say. “When I realized she was the lady from the Potholes, I knew she had to be after the prize. Why else would she show up in both places? It was too much of a coincidence.”

  “I was afraid you might recognize me,” Jane says, “but I had to risk it. Keeping you from delivering that business card to Martin was my last hope of winning.”

  “Was that you in the red convertible outside our school too?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “How did you know what school we went to?”

  “You left a ticket to your school dance in the cemetery cache.”

  I slap my forehead. “Right. And you followed the bus into town?”

  She nods.

  “I told you she wasn’t anybody’s mom,” Chris says.

  “Pardon?” asks Jane.

  I wave Chris away. “It’s not important. You followe
d us to Bastion Square?”

  “I did. And when you left within minutes of arriving, I knew you must have spotted the cache. After you took off, I walked around that courtyard for hours and never found it. How did you?”

  I grin at her and pull out the little lantern. “This was part of the clue we found at the Potholes.”

  “I didn’t even think to look on the lampposts,” Jane says. “But I knew you’d come back once Bastion Square emptied out, so I stuck around.”

  “We saw your car in a parking lot,” Chris says. “Sweet ride.”

  “Thanks. I like it, though I probably should have chosen something more subtle to tail you with.” Then she smiles. “Something more like my Bastion Square disguise.”

  Chris and I exchange glances. “What disguise?” we say at the same time.

  “I was the bag lady sleeping on the bench.”

  Even Martin Jamieson laughs.

  “That was you?” Chris says, and suddenly I remember the cart in the parking lot where the red convertible had been.

  Then Jane sighs. “I did my best, but you guys beat me fair and square.”

  “So now that five hundred dollars is ours?” Chris says.

  “I’m afraid that offer is no longer on the table.” She looks over at me and shakes her head. “Thanks to your friend here.”

  My stomach drops into my shoes. I really did screw things up.

  “You should thank him.” Martin Jamieson is smiling big-time. “If you had taken Jane’s offer, you would have forfeited the money Richard Carlisle authorized me to give you.”

  I am relieved. It looks like we’re still getting a prize, and from the sound of it, it’s more than Jane was offering.

  As usual, Chris is a step ahead of me. “How much money are we talking about?”

  Martin Jamieson’s smile gets even bigger, if that’s possible. Jane is grinning from ear to ear too.

  “Ten thousand dollars.”

  “Ten thousand!” I repeat the number out loud and then over and over in my head, but it doesn’t help. It just doesn’t want to sink in.

  I look over at Chris. His smile is big enough to cover two people’s faces. This geocache search has turned out better than even he expected.