knew about the key. But my father said he was the only
one, except for Mrs. Shaw, and she's in Kansas City. They even called Kansas City long distance, and talked to Mrs. Shaw, and she said that nobody else knew about the key."
I kicked a stone across the muddy ruts of the playground. "Your father knew that you knew about it, Kenny," I pointed out.
"Yeah," Kenny acknowledged. "Because sometimes he takes me with him when he checks the house. But he didn't tell the police that. He said it wasn't important. He told me that he would have noticed if I'd come home with five thousand dollars worth of silver." He laughed morosely. "You better not tell, either," he added, "because then I'd tell on you."
Marcus and I shook our heads solemnly as a promise, and the three of us climbed the cement steps back into the school. "It wasn't my father's fault," Kenny said again in the empty hall as he and Marcus headed toward the fifth-grade room.
"Oh, shut up," I muttered, as I turned the corner to the door of the sixth grade. "Who cares?"
Usually I walked home from school with my friend Nancy Brinkerhoff, who lived a few houses away from mine. Marcus always dashed down the street with his friends, throwing their caps back and forth, calling insults to each other, making plans for ball games in the vacant lot.
But today Marcus and I walked home together.
At first we were silent. Then, suddenly, we both began talking almost at once.
"I don't care if Claude
did
know where the key was," I announced. "What does that prove? Probably
lots
of people knew where that key was. Kenny might have told other people."
"And Mrs. Shaw probably told her stupid daughter in Kansas City," Marcus said, "and her stupid daughter could have told
anybody.
"
"And Claude doesn't need silverware, for heaven's sake," I said righteously. "He's a traveling man. A traveling man doesn't need silverware."
"Anyway," Marcus scoffed, "where would he have put it? All he had was that one dumb suitcase."
"And the box. You couldn't put five thousand dollars worth of silverware in that little bitty box." I shifted my schoolbooks to the other arm and tossed my head knowingly.
"Yeah," Marcus agreed. "Even if he
wanted
to steal all that stuff, where was he going to put it? In a pillowcase? He's going to walk to the train station carrying a pillowcase full of clanking silverware?"
We hooted with laugher at such a preposterous picture.
"
Ya tebya lyublyu
," I pronounced defiantly.
"
YA TEBYA LYUBLYU
!" Marcus shouted in response, with a grin.
We raced each other the rest of the way, reaching our front steps together and out of breath.
"Do you think maybe we ought to tell Mother?" I asked suddenly.
Marcus whirled around and stared at me. "That's a great idea, Louise," he said sarcastically. "Claude's her brother. What's she going to do? Call the police and tell them that her brother knew where the key was? Would you do that to
meâ
even if you thought I was the thief, and we know Claude wasn't?"
"I never tell on you, Marcus. You know that."
"Yeah. So just shut up about it. I wish we knew where Claude went, so we could call him up and tell him what happened. Boy, would he laugh."
"He's probably a hundred miles away by now," I said.
"Probably a thousand."
"A
million.
"
"Three million," Marcus decided. "He may be back in Russia by now, for all we know."
I walked backwards into the front yard, looking up, watching our house grow as I backed into a new perspective. The third storyâthe atticâseemed immensely high, and countless blank windows looked back at me. We had spent all of the previous afternoon in that attic, foraging in trunks and cubbyholes.
"Somewhere in there, Marcus." I sighed. "I know they're somewhere in that house, or in the shed. But it may take us
forever
to find them."
Marcus dropped his books on the porch and came to stand beside me. "You know something, Louise?
A house looks different, once it has a treasure inside. Even if
one, except for Mrs. Shaw, and she's in Kansas City. They even called Kansas City long distance, and talked to Mrs. Shaw, and she said that nobody else knew about the key."
I kicked a stone across the muddy ruts of the playground. "Your father knew that you knew about it, Kenny," I pointed out.
"Yeah," Kenny acknowledged. "Because sometimes he takes me with him when he checks the house. But he didn't tell the police that. He said it wasn't important. He told me that he would have noticed if I'd come home with five thousand dollars worth of silver." He laughed morosely. "You better not tell, either," he added, "because then I'd tell on you."
Marcus and I shook our heads solemnly as a promise, and the three of us climbed the cement steps back into the school. "It wasn't my father's fault," Kenny said again in the empty hall as he and Marcus headed toward the fifth-grade room.
"Oh, shut up," I muttered, as I turned the corner to the door of the sixth grade. "Who cares?"
Usually I walked home from school with my friend Nancy Brinkerhoff, who lived a few houses away from mine. Marcus always dashed down the street with his friends, throwing their caps back and forth, calling insults to each other, making plans for ball games in the vacant lot.
But today Marcus and I walked home together.
At first we were silent. Then, suddenly, we both began talking almost at once.
"I don't care if Claude
did
know where the key was," I announced. "What does that prove? Probably
lots
of people knew where that key was. Kenny might have told other people."
"And Mrs. Shaw probably told her stupid daughter in Kansas City," Marcus said, "and her stupid daughter could have told
anybody.
"
"And Claude doesn't need silverware, for heaven's sake," I said righteously. "He's a traveling man. A traveling man doesn't need silverware."
"Anyway," Marcus scoffed, "where would he have put it? All he had was that one dumb suitcase."
"And the box. You couldn't put five thousand dollars worth of silverware in that little bitty box." I shifted my schoolbooks to the other arm and tossed my head knowingly.
"Yeah," Marcus agreed. "Even if he
wanted
to steal all that stuff, where was he going to put it? In a pillowcase? He's going to walk to the train station carrying a pillowcase full of clanking silverware?"
We hooted with laugher at such a preposterous picture.
"
Ya tebya lyublyu
," I pronounced defiantly.
"
YA TEBYA LYUBLYU
!" Marcus shouted in response, with a grin.
We raced each other the rest of the way, reaching our front steps together and out of breath.
"Do you think maybe we ought to tell Mother?" I asked suddenly.
Marcus whirled around and stared at me. "That's a great idea, Louise," he said sarcastically. "Claude's her brother. What's she going to do? Call the police and tell them that her brother knew where the key was? Would you do that to
meâ
even if you thought I was the thief, and we know Claude wasn't?"
"I never tell on you, Marcus. You know that."
"Yeah. So just shut up about it. I wish we knew where Claude went, so we could call him up and tell him what happened. Boy, would he laugh."
"He's probably a hundred miles away by now," I said.
"Probably a thousand."
"A
million.
"
"Three million," Marcus decided. "He may be back in Russia by now, for all we know."
I walked backwards into the front yard, looking up, watching our house grow as I backed into a new perspective. The third storyâthe atticâseemed immensely high, and countless blank windows looked back at me. We had spent all of the previous afternoon in that attic, foraging in trunks and cubbyholes.
"Somewhere in there, Marcus." I sighed. "I know they're somewhere in that house, or in the shed. But it may take us
forever
to find them."
Marcus dropped his books on the porch and came to stand beside me. "You know something, Louise?
A house looks different, once it has a treasure inside. Even if
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