The Lost Treasure of Tuckernuck (8 page)

“So you think that's an option?” Bud was doing that scary-eyes thing again. It freaked Laurie out.

“What's an option?”

“Breaking in? Because I think I could do it. I've read about it, in books.”

“No!” Laurie looked around to see if anyone had heard. “Sheesh, Bud, are you insane? We'll come back tomorrow morning. It's got to be in there. We'll find it for sure.”

“Yeah, you're right.” Bud said. He didn't really want to start a life of crime anyway, even if he thought he probably could.

“Laurie?” A voiced echoed down the empty hallway.

Misti was hurrying toward them waving a silver sweater over her head.

“I found it! Can you believe it? I left it in Mrs. Hutchins's room. I barely got it before she left for the day.” Misti grinned at them. “Hey, do you need a ride? I called my mom to come get me in case I missed the late bus.”

“Yeah, great!” Bud yelled quickly. He hadn't even thought about what to do if the late bus left, and that was just the kind of lack of planning that made his dad crazy. Bud leaned over to Laurie. “Want to meet early tomorrow? We'll research tonight and find it in the morning. This'll be a piece of cake. And besides, we've got plenty of time.”

Laurie didn't even have time to argue before Bud had grabbed his backpack and started for Misti. It wasn't like they had a lot of choices, though.

“Thanks, Misti, you're the best!” Bud yelled, doing his plodding run up the hallway.

Laurie trudged silently after him.

Misti frowned. “Oh. Okay. Yeah.” She shot Laurie an evil glare. “Bud's coming too. Greeeat.”

Note from Horace Wallace Jr. to Horace Wallace Sr.

Hi Dad,

I need to work on a school project before class tomorrow, so I'm going to take the early bus in the morning. I left my spelling and math drills on the table, and I made burritos. Yours is in the fridge.

Bud

Note from Horace Wallace Sr. to Horace Wallace Jr.

Good job on the drills, Son.

Bud and Laurie sat in front of the auditorium watching the buses roll in. They'd done a search, but unless the treasure was hidden under the stage somewhere or in the catwalks (which seemed perfect to Laurie, but too dangerous for Maria Tutweiler to consider to Bud), it wasn't in the auditorium.

“Do you think we missed it somehow?” Bud said.

Laurie shook her head. “If it was in there, we would've spotted it. And it's not Mrs. Reynolds, remember? It's the cat. And there was nothing about cats in there. Except the catwalk,” she added under her breath.

“She wouldn't have wanted kids climbing fifty feet in the air, Laurie,” Bud said for what felt like the fiftieth time.

“Fine,” Laurie said. “So we're back to the cat, which doesn't seem to exist. We just need to find out if she really had one.” She did a mental scan of all the people she'd seen in the school so far. “We need to talk to someone. Someone old. Real old.”

“You think there's someone here old enough to remember whether Mrs. Reynolds had a cat? That's a stretch, don't you think?” Bud rubbed his nose, making it look like a snout again. Laurie tried to ignore it.

“Well, it's worth a shot, right? Who's the oldest person here? Mr. Murphy?”

Mr. Murphy was the band director. Word around school was that he liked to take his teeth out while he was leading the band. Bud shook his head. “I think he just looks old. We need somebody ancient.”

Bud snapped his fingers just as Laurie's eyes brightened. They smirked at each other. “Miss Lucille.”

Miss Lucille's Daily Old Person Checklist as imagined
by Laurie Madison, grade six

Bud and Laurie raced into the library, slamming into the front desk and gasping for air. Miss Lucille, in the process of stamping a book, clutched her chest like she was having palpitations.

“Miss Lucille! Hi! We want to ask you …” Laurie gasped, trying to look composed and together. Miss Lucille stared at her like she'd never seen her before in her life. Which she hadn't, as a student, but she'd met Laurie plenty of times at Clucker reunions, so it's not like Laurie was an alien creature.

“It's about the school. Questions. About the school.” Bud apparently was in even worse shape than Laurie. He was not used to all that running.

“About Mrs. Reynolds? We want to ask … Mrs. Reynolds?” Laurie looked pleadingly at Miss Lucille.

Miss Lucille stopped clutching her chest, and the lightbulb seemed to go off over her head. Then her eyes teared up and she hurried over to Laurie, putting her arm around her and leading her gently to one of the reading tables.

“Oh, you poor dear,” she clucked. “You poor, poor dear.”

She sat Laurie down at the table and stared at her, patting her hand consolingly. “I'm so sorry to tell you this dear. But Mrs. Reynolds? I don't quite know how to say this. She's passed on.”

Laurie tried her best to keep her face blank and neutral and not shoot Bud the “holy cow” look that she was dying to give. Because, holy cow.

Laurie nodded sadly. “Yes. I heard. It's very sad.”

Miss Lucille stopped patting long enough to fish a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dab her eyes. “Oh, yes, it is. Lovely woman, she was. So sweet to me when I was your age. Don't make them like Lucinda Reynolds anymore. That's the truth.”

Laurie nodded solemnly. She didn't know how she was going to bring up a cat now. It felt sacrilegious almost.

Bud didn't seem to have any problems, though. He sidled up to the table, nodded sadly, and then sat down.

“So did she have a cat?”

“What?” Miss Lucille looked shocked.

“We heard she had a cat.”

Real slick, Bud. Laurie couldn't help but roll her eyes.

“We were hoping you could tell us about her cat.” Laurie gave Miss Lucille a significant look.

Miss Lucille stopped dabbing for a moment and then teared up even worse. Dropping the handkerchief, she grabbed Laurie's hand.

“Oh, you poor dear.” She said. “Oh, you poor, poor dear. I don't know how to say this.”

“Passed on?” Bud cut in. He wasn't going to go through the whole routine again.

“Yes, it was very sad. That Homer was quite a cat. Don't make them like her anymore, no they don't.”

“Homer?” Laurie's ears pricked up. “His name was Homer?”

“That's right.” Miss Laurie leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “But Homer was a she. Can you imagine? A boy's name for a girl cat.” Miss Lucille went at it with the handkerchief again. Laurie got the idea she hadn't enjoyed herself so much in years. “Beautiful little calico. Used to roam the halls. Lucinda Reynolds was the head of the English department, you know, so she named her after the poet.”

“When did Homer die? Is she buried anywhere around here?” Bud leaned forward, ignoring the daggers that Laurie was shooting at him. “Just checking all the angles, okay?” he muttered under his breath.

“We want to pay our respects,” Laurie explained. The last thing they needed was for Miss Lucille to think they were pervy grave robbers or something.

“Oh, I don't know, dear. She was a cat, you know. I'm not sure what happened to her.”

“Oh.” Laurie was itching to get away, but Miss Lucille had her hand in a vise grip. She had some muscles for an old lady.

Laurie gave Bud what she hoped was a significant look. He nodded his head slightly. He'd had a lightbulb moment too. That clue was all about Mrs. Reynolds's real life actual cat. And if it roamed the halls, everybody would've known it.

“Those were the days.” Miss Lucille sighed, waving her handkerchief like she was the belle of the ball. “They were so proud of that cat. And that bust they had made. Didn't look a thing like her, but Maria and Lucinda used to laugh and laugh over it.”

“Bust?” Laurie held her breath. “Of a cat? Did they move it? I haven't seen it anywhere.”

“Oh, yes, the bust of Homer. I'm sure you've seen it, hon, it's right where it always has been. Not a good likeness at all. Doesn't look anything like a cat.”

“The English hall. The bust of Homer in the English hall,” Bud breathed. Miss Lucille nodded and sighed. They weren't going to get more confirmation than that.

Laurie jumped to her feet, hand still attached to Miss Lucille. “Thanks, Miss Lucille! We'll, uh, pay our respects to the statue? Will that be okay? Right now, if you don't mind.”

“What she said,” Bud said, backing toward the door.

Miss Lucille looked confused, but she let go of Laurie's hand. “Whatever you say, dear. If you think that's best.”

“Oh, it's the best, all right,” Laurie said. “It's the best!”

PART THREE

 

“Is he really gone?” Laurie's leg was almost asleep by the time the bearded English teacher had locked his classroom and gone off whistling down the hall. But there was no way she was risking being spotted by that Keats fanatic again.