The Law of Finders Keepers

by Sheila Turnage

  “Not really. He’s pushy,” she said, walking to her mantel and plucking an old book. “But I often do business with people I don’t like. Here’s a book you Desperados might enjoy. I did, at your age. It’s called Pirates: Their Blood-Curdling Symbols and Very Short Lives. Chapter three is particularly chilling.”

  “Thank you, but I feel like I just read one,” I said. Dale backed away like she was holding a spitting, coiling serpent, but Harm took the old book.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I like to read when I can’t sleep.”

  “I’m sorry you can’t sleep, dear,” she said, and hesitated. “I’ve offered to lend Red money to repair your home and his truck, but . . . .” She shrugged delicately. “You’re always welcome here. Both of you.” She headed for the door. “Let’s go to breakfast.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Grandmother Miss Lacy, if you sign Gabriel’s contract, he’ll keep us out of the hunt. Harm and Mr. Red need that money. And Dale and me could use a treasure too.”

  She slipped her clear plastic bonnet over her blued hair and tied it under her chin.

  “You may not be treasure hunting with Gabriel Archer if I sign,” she said, very easy. “But trust me: You’ll be in the hunt with another client by day’s end, or my name’s not Lacy Thornton.”

  Dale looked at her, his face thoughtful. “But your name is Lacy Thornton.”

  “Bingo,” she replied, and led the way to her car.

  Chapter Five

  A Narrow Escape

  I briefed Grandmother Miss Lacy on my new Upstream Mother clues as we inched to the café in her Buick. After she parked, I leaned forward to show her my pendant.

  “It’s lovely,” she murmured, cupping it in her hand. “J makes such a beautiful sound. Jasmine, Jennifer, Joslyn . . .”

  “They kept the sign I rode into town too. We’re clue-checking it after breakfast. And I got her sweater. I want to wear it but so far, I ain’t.”

  Her old eyes went soft. “It looks like we have two treasure hunts on our hands. One of the world and one of the heart.” She scanned the packed parking lot. “I’d say Elvis has shaken up the town,” she said, smiling.

  She was right. Elvis in the Steeple was the Topic du Jour as we swaggered in.

  Attila Celeste Simpson stood by the jukebox, red-faced. She stomped her foot. “For the last time, my family did not choose ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ for the Sunrise Serenade,” she shrieked. “Father is a dentist, for heaven’s sake. We’ve been sabotaged.” She pointed at us. “Confess.”

  “I’m not allowed to confess,” Dale said, heading over to give Lavender a hug.

  A blast of cold swept across the room as Mayor Little stalked in. “Lawlessness in the spire,” he fumed. “Dale, if your father weren’t a long-term guest of the state, I’d suspect him.”

  “Yes,” Dale said, very serene. “Hard time is an excellent alibi.”

  “I’m sad Anna Celeste has come to this,” I said. “I had such hope for her.”

  “Manners, sugar,” Miss Lana whispered, swishing by. Thanks to Miss Lana, I got professional-level manners. Thanks to my yellow belt in karate and the Colonel, I also possess wolverine-level fighting skills.

  Yin and yang.

  The mayor plopped onto a stool. “Welcome,” I said, scanning the Specials Board. “Today we got the Colonel’s Rock-and-Roll Casserole—a popular upbeat of eggs, cheese, and sausage, served with Hunka Hunka Steaming Grits. For vegans, we got Tofu Tender, Tofu True.”

  “Two Rock-and-Roll Casseroles. One for here, one to go—for Mother,” he said as Detective Joe Starr stomped in.

  Crud. I went innocent as snow.

  “Greetings, Detective Starr. Are you off-duty?” I asked. “I hope so, because we have a blue-light special, free to off-duty cops only. All you can eat for two ninety-nine.”

  “Break-in at the Episcopal church,” he said, tossing his hat on a table. “Thoughts?”

  “I’m blank,” I said.

  Dale went inscrutable as long division. “I’m blank too. So is Queen Elizabeth. Harm hasn’t known anything since he moved to town.”

  “So true,” Attila murmured.

  “Really? I’m surprised since I followed your tracks across the churchyard.” He flipped open his notepad. “A pair of girls’ sneakers, a pair of snow boots, a pair of slick-soled loafers.”

  The café gaze went from my plaid sneakers, to Dale’s snow boots, to Harm’s loafers. Starr flipped the page. “And a set of dog tracks.” The café looked at Queen Elizabeth.

  “Footprints are circumstantial,” I said. “We maybe visited the church yard yesterday.”

  “And there’s this,” Starr said, pulling my Emergency Escape Plan from his pocket. “The intruder dropped a sixth-grade math paper in the steeple. Somebody made an A-plus.”

  “Automatic alibi for me,” Dale said, relaxing.

  “Mo makes A’s,” Attila said, smiling like a spider with a web to spin. “So does Harm.”

  Starr swaggered toward me. Harm looked out the window. Dale closed his eyes. Starr veered and dropped the paper on Attila’s table. “Yours, I believe, Anna Celeste.”

  Attila stared at the math paper I’d tossed as we ran down the steeple stairs. “I didn’t! I never!” she sputtered, going red. “I mean, that’s my old math paper, but somebody stole it from my desk weeks ago. Or . . .”

  “Arrest her!” I cried, and the café gasped.

  “Whoa,” Harm said, dark eyes twinkling. “I’d hate for Anna to have a criminal record, even if she is . . . well, Anna.”

  “Thank you,” Attila said, blinking back tears. “But I didn’t . . .”

  “Harm’s right, Detective,” Grandmother Miss Lacy said, buttering her toast. “Besides, Elvis is practically medicinal. He certainly invigorates me.” She smiled at Attila. “Thank you.”

  “But . . .” Attila said.

  “As for the Desperados,” Grandmother Miss Lacy continued, “I can vouch for them. They spent the morning with me.”

  Nothing says I love you like an alibi.

  The Colonel spun Lavender’s sandwich down the counter. I rushed over with the black pepper. “Thanks, Mo,” Lavender whispered.

  I love it when he whispers.

  “An arrest might be unpopular, Mr. Mayor,” Lavender said. “And this is an election year.”

  The mayor froze. He fears elections like Dale fears clowns.

  “What the hay,” he said. “All is forgiven, dear Anna Celeste. No charges, Detective Starr. Vote for Mayor Little, the mayor who cares.”

  Anna stomped her foot. “But I haven’t done anything.”

  A white van pulled up and the Azalea Women rolled in, Gabriel Archer bobbing among them like a happy cork.

  “Everyone, meet Gabriel Archer,” an Azalea Woman cried. “A treasure hunter.”

  Silverware clattered to plates. The big-haired twins stood up to get a better look.

  Gabriel swirled his cape over the back of a chair and winked at Miss Lana.

  “I do the cooking, wink at me,” the Colonel growled. The Colonel hates strangers. Also most of the people we know. “What’s your business here?”

  “Blackbeard’s treasure,” Gabriel replied, and smiled around the room.

  “Balderdash,” the mayor said. “Pirates never came this far inland,” he added as sixth grader Jake Exum—short, no-neck, jeans—swaggered to Gabriel like a pirate himself.

  “Need crew? My brother Jimmy and me have shovels.”

  Unlikely. I flipped open my pad and made a note: Lock Miss Lana’s toolshed.

  “Thanks,” Gabriel said, “but I have a crew. A friend, and my niece, Ruby. This is too dangerous for amateurs. This treasure’s cursed.” He made his voice swirl dark as his cape: “Surge of blood, Snap of bone, Loss of mortal breath. Seek my treasure, Scurvy Dog, and trade your life fo
r death.” He flipped back to his regular voice. “So, what’s good here?”

  “Everything,” I said, grabbing my order pad. Miss Lana says to know a person’s soul, see how he treats a waitress. “I’m Mo, a possible orphan, and I’ll be taking your order. For you, I recommend the Silver-Dollar Pancakes. This comes with unlimited water and air for sixteen ninety-five, not including tip—which I suggest thirty percent. Coffee and bacon run extra.”

  Gabriel looked at the mayor. “I thought you said pirates didn’t come this far inland.”

  “A treasure hunter. This is your doing,” the mayor said, glaring at Grandmother Miss Lacy. “I warn you, if you betrayed Mother . . .”

  A betrayal? In Tupelo Landing? Even the Colonel froze, his cloth in mid-swipe.

  The mayor dropped a twenty by his cup. A six-dollar tip! “Mo, wrap my special with Mother’s. Bring my change with our delivery,” he said. Crud. No tip, as usual.

  I gave him my Professional Smile. “I’d love to deliver for free, but my bike doesn’t have snow chains, plus we don’t deliver. I hate to turn you down, but no,” I said as he scrawled a note: Come to my house. Mother will make you rich beyond your wildest dreams.

  “On the other hand, we’ll be there in five minutes,” I said as he stomped out the door.

  Attila’s mother’s Cadillac swerved around the mayor and tootled the horn. “You framed me, Mo,” Attila said. “You embarrassed me in front of my town.”

  “It’s my town too,” I said, my ears going red.

  Her eyes went narrow and mean. “You act like a hotshot detective, Mo, but you’re scared to solve the only mystery that matters in your life. Of course, I understand why.” She sighed, zipping her jacket. “Your Upstream Mother probably doesn’t want you any more than we do. So sad to be a throwaway girl like you.”

  The café gasped.

  “Wow, Anna, that was vicious—even for you,” Harm said.

  Dale looked at me. “Count to ten,” he said. “One, two . . . ”

  But my temper hit my mouth like Lavender’s car hits the racetrack—tires smoking. “I ain’t a throwaway girl, you grits-for-brains,” I shouted. “And she does too want me, and I ain’t afraid to look. For your information, the Desperados reopened her case last night. With new clues. We’ll find my mother. Soon.”

  Miss Lana gasped. She looked like Dale when a football knocks the air out of him. She breathed in sharp, and set her chin. “You can count on me, sugar. And the Colonel too.”

  I nodded. I been counting on Miss Lana and the Colonel all my life.

  Miss Lana strolled across the room like the café royalty she is, and opened the door. “Mo has never been thrown away, though she was most gratefully found,” she said, zeroing in on Attila. “Don’t come back without some manners.” She slammed the door behind her.

  My heart was still pounding as Attila’s beige Cadillac pulled away.

  I gave Miss Lana a hug, and Dale slipped up beside me. “I know your temper’s your life’s work and you just crashed and burned with that, but Mama says you don’t lose until you stop trying. Let’s go check your sign, Mo. We need your baby clues. All of them. We got to find your Upstream Mother or deal with Attila’s mouth the rest of our lives.”

  Lavender dropped a ten. “Good luck, Desperados. I’m going to Harm’s.”

  “Right. Our stupid truck,” Harm muttered. “Any idea what’s wrong with it?”

  “Probably the transmission,” he said.

  “That’s three hundred dollars easy,” Harm said, looking sick.

  “Don’t worry, Harm. Red and I’ll work it out,” Lavender said, and sauntered away.

  The Colonel says a good leader leads with her brains and her heart. I pulled the mayor’s note from my pocket: Rich beyond your wildest dreams.

  My sign’s been waiting for me all my life. But Harm needs a paying job now.

  I snagged the mayor’s delivery. “Mount up, Desperados,” I said. “Get ready to meet your wildest dreams.”

  Chapter Six

  Beyond Our Wildest Dreams

  Two shakes later, as we eased through Mrs. Little’s Thorny Plant Collection, the mayor’s door swung open. “Mother’s in the parlor. Leave your shoes by the door,” he said, snagging his takeout and fading down the hall. We kicked off our shoes.

  “Greetings,” I said as we filed into the parlor.

  Mrs. Little sat in a rocker facing the moth-bitten settee, her face sallow, her yellow-streaked gray hair swept up in a tight bun. “Sit,” she said.

  “As you may have seen on our website, our initial fifteen-minute consultation is free. Please begin,” I said, taking out my clue pad.

  Dale looked at me, his eyebrows sky-high. “We have a website?”

  “No,” I whispered. Then louder: “The mayor mentioned riches.”

  She nodded. “You’ll start today. We’ll pay you fifteen percent.”

  Dale looked at me. “What’s she talking about?” Dale kills me. How would I know what she’s talking about?

  “We understand completely,” I said, very smooth. “As borderline professionals, we need our standard fee of . . .” I hesitated. We have no standard fee.

  “Sixty percent,” Harm said, very smooth. “Plus nine hundred dollars in advance.”

  Is he mad? Who would pay us that much?

  “In cash,” I said.

  “Plus snacks,” Dale added.

  “That’s piracy, Desperados,” the mayor said, bustling in with Fig Newtons and milk. “We’ll give you twenty percent of Blackbeard’s treasure and not one doubloon more.”

  Blackbeard’s treasure?

  “Fifty percent,” Harm said. “Same as Gabriel Archer’s fee.”

  She adjusted her black shawl. “Gabriel Archer is an adult with a track record. He’s found treasures all over the world. You are nosy children with gall. Forty percent.”

  “We’re the best detectives in Tupelo Landing,” I said. “Fifty percent plus our advance. If we take your case. I hate to rush you, but we have another client.”

  “Fifty percent then,” Mrs. Little snapped. “That Mosquito person can draw up a contract. And we’ll sign it in blood,” she added, eyes glittering.

  Dale reached for his milk. “You mean Skeeter. No blood. Mama wouldn’t like it.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?” she demanded as Dale stuffed a cookie in his mouth.

  “Ooo ha far urd,” Dale said.

  “And our word is gold,” I added.

  “Fine. But if Gabriel Archer and that goody-two-shoes Lacy Thornton find the treasure first, the nine hundred dollars come home to me. Son, get the cash.”

  The mayor went to the mantel and thumped a panel. It swung open on a small safe. Inside sat a heap of oddly shaped coins. Also a jumble of diamond rings and a stack of cash. “Mother’s engagement rings,” he said, following my gaze.

  He counted nine hundred dollars out on the table. “I hope I have your attention,” he said.

  “You do,” we chorused.

  “Then here’s our story,” he said, his round face earnest. “And it cannot leave this room.”

  * * *

  He turned a carved chair to us and sat down. “The treasure begins with Mary Ormond—Blackbeard’s fourteenth wife.”

  Dale whistled. “Fourteen wives. That’s a lot of alimony. Mama says—”

  Mrs. Little stomped her foot. “He didn’t divorce his wives. He killed them, or left them to starve. Or worse. And he soon planned to kill Mary—who was pregnant with his child. Mary and her friend Peg-Leg caught wind of his murderous plan. They loaded a treasure into a skiff in the dead of night, rowed upriver, and built a house. This house.”

  Harm gasped. “Mary stole Blackbeard’s treasure?”

  The mayor frowned. “Stole is such a harsh word,” he said. “Let’s say she set it free
and it didn’t come home to him. Mary and Peg-Leg settled down, and she had her baby. Sadly, Blackbeard’s cut-throats came one day without warning, and Mary and her little family were forced to flee—leaving the treasure behind.”

  Harm whistled. “Then the treasure really is here, just like Gabriel Archer said.”

  “Yes,” the mayor said.

  Mrs. Little hunched forward. “Mary left one clue. I looked into it myself, years ago. Lacy Thornton and Red Baker helped me.” She tugged a scrap of paper from her pocket: “Here’s our oath: We—Myrt, Lacy, and Red—solemnly swear to find Blackbeard’s treasure, share and share alike.”

  “Incredible,” Harm said as she passed it to him. “This really is signed in blood.”

  “Take our case and you’ll have Mary Ormond’s clue, and access to her old home. This house,” the mayor said, padding to the bookcase and taking down a small box. He lifted a note from the box and read Mary’s clue:

  Look to my roof for clues to lost treasures:

  Death’s trail, upon reflection, leads to rich pleasures.

  “Death’s trail? That doesn’t sound good,” Dale said.

  Harm ignored him. “Mrs. Little, the clue says look to my roof. Did you search it?”

  She hacked into a black hankie. “Do I look stupid?”

  “Rhetorical,” I whispered, and Dale nodded.

  “Father had the wooden shingles removed so Lacy, Red, and I could examine them one by one. He would have helped, but a tree fell on a windless day, crushing him like a bug.”

  “Blackbeard’s curse,” Dale whispered, the blood leaving his face.

  “There is no curse, short boy!” Mrs. Little shrieked. “The shingles are stacked in the attic. Maybe you’ll see the clue we missed. Find my treasure and you’ll be rich. Fail and you get nothing.”

  “Excuse us while we vote,” I said, and we filed into the hallway.

  “Yes,” Harm said before I could ask. “My three hundred dollars will repair our truck.”

  “No,” Dale said. “The treasure’s cursed, and Upstream Mother’s more important. Two cases, plus school, plus Queen Elizabeth, plus chores—it’s too much.”