by Dan Poblocki
“She’s coming home today? What about her visit?”
“She left her sister’s house early. That’s how important this is to her.” Mrs. Cho sighed, frustrated, and launched herself into folding shirt after shirt after shirt.
“Where’d you get all this money?” Viola gasped. It was later in the afternoon. The group had decided to meet in Rosie’s dining room. Sylvester wore a freshly washed, bug-free sweatshirt and pair of corduroys. With a dramatic flourish, he’d tossed several twenty-dollar bills onto the table.
“I haven’t told anyone about this,” said Sylvester, “because Hal-muh-ni asked me not to. But recently, a few times, I’ve found her in my bedroom. And whenever I do, she hands me a wad of cash. She’s told me that it’s a gift, that she wanted to leave it under my pillow. But with all the drama going on now, I have a different idea about what she’s been doing with that money.”
“She’s not a con artist, is she?” said Woodrow. Sylvester rolled his eyes and shook his head. Woodrow continued, “Then what is Hal-muh-ni’s deal? What has she really been doing down in the basement with that money?”
“Making withdrawals,” said Sylvester.
“You mean, like, bank withdrawals?” Viola asked. Sylvester nodded. “She was keeping money in the old yellow couch?”
“That’s what I assume,” said Sylvester. “It must be her savings.”
“Oh no!” said Rosie. “That’s awful. What was she thinking, keeping all that cash in your house?”
“I’m not sure,” said Sylvester. “She doesn’t trust banks or something. I just figured it out this afternoon, and I finally told my mom all about it. Of course, now I’m going to have to give the money back. Whatever. I shouldn’t have accepted it anyway. But losing this money is nothing compared to what Hal-muh-ni might lose if my dad doesn’t track down that couch. I asked if I could go with him to the town dump to help look for it, but my parents didn’t want me digging around in the dirt … so here I am.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Viola asked.
“Keep your fingers crossed for her. For all of us, I guess.” Woodrow, Rosie, and Viola did just that, all night. In fact, they woke up with sore knuckles.
The next morning at school, Sylvester pulled the other three aside before classes started, so he could explain what had happened the night before.
“So, just as the sun was setting, my dad ended up at the dump in the hills past Deerhof Park,” Sylvester started. “He talked to the manager, an old man named Ned, about where the latest large furniture drop-offs might be located. Ned looked at my dad like he had two heads, but pointed him in the right direction. Near the rear lot. When my dad drove all the way back there, he realized that someone already had his eye on the couch. In fact, my dad said this person had already loaded the couch onto the bed of a small busted-up pickup truck. He immediately recognized this person. And he told me that I would recognize him too, given the chance.”
“Was it Bill?” asked Woodrow, with a determined look. “I knew he was up to something!”
“No,” said Sylvester, rolling his eyes. “So, if it wasn’t your mom’s boyfriend, who was trying to take my grandmother’s couch away from the dump?”
Rosie and Viola thought for a while. Then, Viola’s eyes lit up. “Yesterday afternoon, Sylvester said his parents didn’t want him digging around in the dirt at the dump,” she said. “And who have we seen recently who looked like he’s spent some time digging around?”
“Phineas Galby?” said Rosie, shocked.
Sylvester raised his eyebrows. “Yup.”
“The guy from the diner?” said Woodrow. “That can’t be a coincidence. He must have known what was inside the couch.”
Sylvester shrugged. “Thankfully, my father had the guts to confront Phineas. They argued about the couch, then my dad managed to wiggle past him and hop up on the bed of the truck. He patted down the cushions and realized that one felt different than the others. When he unzipped it, he found a small canvas sack, filled with rolls of cash. My grandmother’s savings. Mr. Galby was paralyzed with shock, so my dad managed to get back to his car and drive off, leaving Galby behind with the yellow couch … and the bedbugs.”
Woodrow suddenly looked like someone had struck him on the back of the head.
“What’s wrong?” Viola asked.
“The hole at the Four Corners,” Woodrow answered slowly. “Phineas was the one who dug it. We figured he might be looking for something. Was it Hal-muh-ni’s money that he wanted all along?”
“Could be,” said Viola. “But then, what was with the stuff he told us at the diner — about the Timekeepers and how we supposedly don’t know much about them?”
“And how did he know about your grandmother’s money in the first place?” asked Woodrow. “Unless he was watching through the basement windows….”
Sylvester grimaced. “I don’t want to think about that.”
“Either way,” said Viola, “I’m still willing to bet that whatever Phineas was seeking originally was not an old woman’s savings account.”
“So, then what was he really looking for?” Sylvester asked. “And now that my dad stole back Phineas’s consolation prize, what if Phineas returns to try and find whatever he wanted in the first place?”
20
THE SLIPPERY SLOPES OF DEERHOF PARK
Snow arrived in Moon Hollow a few nights later for the first time that winter. The Question Marks awoke the morning after the storm to the joyful news that school had been canceled. The snow itself wasn’t the problem—the town always plowed and salted the roads—but a light, dangerous layer of ice glossed the trees branches, the rooftops, the swing sets, and the sidewalks, turning the world to glass as the sun finally broke through the clouds sometime after breakfast.
The group brought sleds up the hill to Deerhof Park, which, according to Woodrow, was the best place within walking distance to catch swift speed and, if they were lucky, a few inches of flight.
In between races, Sylvester filled his friends in on the details of Hal-muh-ni’s story. She was mortified to learn that the couch was infested. She had no idea where the bugs had come from. Rosie shrugged at that news. “Nature is the biggest mystery, isn’t it?” she asked.
Sylvester’s mom was currently trying to convince her to set up a bank account, to keep her savings safe. In the meantime, Hal-muh-ni had decided to make two big investments. She paid for the Chos’ exterminator. And she bought Sylvester a brand-new bed, so he wouldn’t have to worry about bug bites anymore.
After a couple hours of sledding, the four were winded and feeling frozen, so they started home, hoping that grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup awaited them. They dragged their sleds behind them, laughing and slipping along the now worn grooves in the snow. Ahead, past the great white gazebo, a truck was parked along the side of the road. At first, they thought it looked like a stalled-out snowplow. But as the group came closer, they noticed its front fender wasn’t rigged to clear streets. In fact, the truck was so beat-up, it looked like it shouldn’t even be on the road. The engine’s rattle was muffled by the white coating on the grass. Exhaust plumed from the tail pipe, gray smoke that disappeared within seconds in the cold air. Someone was sitting behind the wheel. He appeared to be watching them.
Even if they hadn’t just been rolling around in the snow, they all would have felt the chill that now stopped them in their tracks.
“Maybe we should cut across the backyards between here and our street,” Rosie suggested. The others agreed. Rather than proceeding toward the road, they made a sharp turn toward the trees. Instantly the driver’s door on the truck popped open, and a large man stepped out. As he trudged toward them, his face became clear. It was Phineas Galby.
“Hold on,” he called, raising a black mittened hand above his head.
The four were about to run, but Viola suddenly had a vision of them alone in the secluded woods. If they were going to confront this man, it would be best to do it
where they had a chance of being seen by passersby. Viola turned back to him and called out, “What do you want?” hoping that her tone would force him to keep his distance. It worked. The man paused, standing in knee-deep snow between them and the road. He must have sensed that coming any closer might send them scattering away.
“I want to talk,” he said. “Just to talk.”
“Fine,” said Viola. “Then maybe you’ll tell us why you’ve been following us.” It sounded like something someone would say in a mystery novel. She felt momentarily proud of herself. “It wasn’t for Sylvester’s grandmother’s money, was it?”
The man chuckled. “No. It wasn’t. Well … not at first. And not anymore.”
“Then what do you want to talk about?” said Sylvester, his voice shaking.
“Come on,” said the man, with a hint of frustration, “don’t tell me you kids don’t know.” The four glanced at one another. Know what? “Look, you can play dumb, but the innocence game is not going to work forever. You must have it, and if you don’t have it, then at the very least, you must know where it is.”
“What is it?” said Woodrow.
The man threw his hands in the air. One of his large mittens flew off and landed in the snow. He didn’t seem to notice or care. “The Timekeepers’ treasure … Tell me where I can find it.”
Timekeepers’ treasure? None of them knew what to say or do.
Finally Rosie spoke up. “We’ll never tell you anything.”
Woodrow, Sylvester, and Viola whipped their heads to look at her. “But we don’t know anything,” Sylvester whispered through his teeth.
“Shh,” she answered. Rosie folded her arms awkwardly across her puffy pink coat. Though it took an extreme amount of will, she didn’t budge, not even when the man stepped toward them.
Phineas reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Wearing a look of consternation, he quickly unfolded the ratty, crumbling white leaf. He held it up and shook it at them. “My grandfather was a member of the Timekeepers. This page is proof—his membership agreement. I found it with his things after he passed away.” The paper fluttered in the icy breeze. “When I was your age, he told me secret stories—tales he made me promise never to share with anyone. He explained that he and his friends had hidden away a priceless treasure. He said that when the last of the Timekeepers was gone, the treasure would belong to the town. But when the final member of the club died, something must have gone wrong. As far as I can tell, the town never learned of what it was meant to inherit. I’ve traveled here to Moon Hollow at least once a year since then, looking for clues about what my grandfather’s friends left behind. I was beginning to lose hope … until you four discovered the clues in the clocks. I’ve been following you ever since. I thought the cash in that old couch might have been the secret, that you kids had discovered the treasure and kept it for yourselves. But now I realize I was wrong.” He clenched his bare fist. “You must know where the real treasure is, and you still refuse to show it to the rightful heir.”
Even after this flood of information, Viola managed to speak up. “But you’re not the heir. You said it yourself: The Timekeepers meant for their treasure to go to the town. Not in your pocket.”
The man looked like he’d been caught stealing candy. “What’s the town going to do with it? Buy some more clocks?”
“Excuse me, sir,” said Woodrow, “but I don’t believe that’s really your decision.”
The man closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Tell you what. You show me where the treasure is, and I’ll split it with you. You can keep ten percent. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Woodrow, Sylvester, and Viola once again stared at Rosie in shock. She whispered so only they could hear. “He won’t leave us alone unless we agree.” She turned back to the man and called to him, “But not today.”
“Why not?” said the man.
“The treasure is … too difficult to get to,” Rosie said, her resolve beginning to crack. She hadn’t planned this part out.
Viola took over. “We’ll meet you at the library on Monday afternoon. Three o’clock. You’ll get everything that’s coming to you. We promise.”
By the time they reached Viola’s front yard, each of them was out of breath. They all collapsed into the snow near the porch steps. They were enthralled and frightened, surprised and shocked, enchanted and nauseated. They had escaped their villain. But now they had to answer to him. They had no idea what to do.
“Why did you tell him to come back?” Sylvester asked Viola, sitting on the steps.
“It didn’t matter what I told him.” Viola sat beside him. “Do you really think he’s just going to let us go about our business and not watch to see what we’re up to? He’s been keeping an eye on us for weeks, and we didn’t even notice until recently. He’ll show up at three o’clock on Monday, but that doesn’t mean he won’t show up before that.”
“So, what are we going to do?” asked Woodrow, perched nearby on his sled in the snow-covered lawn. He rubbed at his red ears. “We don’t know anything about this dude.”
“He seemed sort of nuts,” Sylvester said.
“You think?” said Rosie, brushing flakes from her coat. She froze, suddenly struck by an idea. “You guys?” The others looked at her, waiting for her to continue. “There is a treasure here in Moon Hollow!” Rosie said. “How cool is that?”
“And you think we should actually try and find it?” Sylvester replied, unsure.
“Phineas, or whatever his name is, has been looking for it for years with no luck,” said Woodrow.
Viola shrugged, a smirk spreading across her lips. “Yeah, but he’s not a member of the Question Marks Mystery Club, is he?”
21
THE HUNT FOR THE TIMEKEEPERS’
TREASURE (A ?????? MYSTERY)
“So, where do we start?” said Rosie.
“We’ve already been all over town,” said Sylvester.
“Where haven’t we looked yet?” Woodrow asked.
Viola thought about that. “Maybe that doesn’t matter.” When her friends looked at her funny, she continued, “We didn’t know there was a treasure until today. It’s possible we’ve missed a clue or two in a few of the places we’ve already explored.”
After a few seconds, all four said, “The library!”
Loading snacks from the Harts’ kitchen into Viola’s bag, the group tied their scarves tight and made their way into town. Despite the school closing, the library remained open, though it was nearly deserted. Rosie ran through the Clintock Gallery to tell her mom that the four of them were there. The others headed to the computer desks to come up with a plan. But when Rosie met them a few minutes later, she wore a look of surprise.
“What’s wrong?” asked Sylvester.
“You mean, What’s right?” said Rosie, smiling. “Follow me, you guys.” She led the other three back to the main lobby, to the wall behind the security desk. The golden relief-sculptures glimmered in the icy sunlight that streamed through the large windows at the library’s entrance. Rosie nodded at the brass marker bolted to the wall. Tarnished text indicated the title of the work: Thirteen Capsules of Endurance. It was dated 1936.
“On my way to say hi to my mom just now, the portraits in the Clintock Gallery caught my eye. Specifically, one name leaped out at me. I knew I’d read it somewhere else. Passing back through the lobby, I paused here, remembering why the name was familiar.” Rosie pointed at the marker again, this time to the name of the artist, a woman named Pauline Emmett.
“The artist of these sculptures was a member of the Timekeepers?” asked Woodrow.
“So it would appear,” said Rosie.
“Bingo!” said Sylvester.
Viola leaned close to the marker. Below Pauline’s name was a note about the work from the artist herself. “Guys, take a look at this.” The rest of them read silently along with Viola.
Thireen Capsules of Endurance is te culmination of nearly eight yars
of mapping, planning, and hoping for pledges rom friends. These imges repesent the struggles and triuphs that our citizns have experienced since the incorporation of Moon Hollow in the year of nineteen hundred two. I created this work to help us remember what is missing and what we need to find. May the capsules lead us foward to our future.
Sylvester scoffed. “Pauline really needed to use spell-check before sending her letters off to be printed.”
“Um … They didn’t have computers back then,” said Woodrow.
“That’s no excuse,” said Sylvester. “Or at least it wouldn’t be in Mr. Glenn’s English class.”
“True,” said Rosie. “The misspellings are so odd. How did they get engraved here?”
“They are odd.” Viola chuckled. “Just plain odd … and what does that usually mean?”
“You think this marker is a clue?” Sylvester said.
“Don’t you?” said Viola.
“It must be,” said Rosie. “Like the portraits in the gallery were a clue.”
“She made these sculptures to help us remember what is missing,” said Woodrow in a low voice. “Look, she says so right there. If this is another code, I think Pauline is telling us how to figure it out. So, what is missing from the message?”
“Letters,” said Rosie. “Obviously.”
“Exactly,” said Woodrow. “Which ones?” The group looked at the message on the marker again.
“Hold on,” said Viola, pulling her trusty notebook and pen from her bag. She wrote down the first sentence, circling the misspelled words.
“Thirteen. The. Years. From,” Viola said.
“Do you think it’s some kind of word scramble?” asked Rosie. “The years from thirteen? From the thirteen years?” she tried.
Viola shook her head. Then, she recited the missing letters. “T was missing from thirteen. H was missing from the. E from years. F from … well, from.”
“Oh,” said Rosie. “I see. T. H. E. F.”
“Thef?” said Sylvester. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
