Free Big Change for Stuart by Lissa Evans

the way up to his bedroom.
    He sat and ate them without much enjoyment, knowing that he’d been rotten. Downstairs, the phone rang. He heard his father answer it, and then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, followed by a gentle knock on his door.
    Stuart opened it.
    â€˜It’s for you,’ said his father, holding out the phone.

STUART TOOK THE receiver.
    â€˜Hello?’ he said.
    â€˜The kid?’
asked a crackly American voice, the voice of someone extremely old.
‘Are you the kid?’
    â€˜Which kid?’ asked Stuart. His father was already heading downstairs again, his shoulders drooping rather sadly.
    â€˜The kid who found the tricks?’
    â€˜Yes. My name’s Stuart.’
    â€˜Well, thank my stars I can understand you. The guy who answered the phone – was he speaking in code, or what? I never heard a bunch of words like that in my whole life.’
    â€˜That’s my father,’ said Stuart. ‘He’s very clever,’ he added loyally.
    â€˜
And how about you? Are you clever? Or are you smart – which is a whole heap better than being clever?
’
    â€˜Excuse me, but who
are
you?’ asked Stuart.
    â€˜
You can call me Miss Edie. Maxwell Lacey told me he thought you were a smart boy
.’
    â€˜Who’s Maxwell Lacey?’
    â€˜
He’s a lawyer. Works for me. He came to see your tricks in the museum – grey-haired fellow with a moustache
.’
    â€˜I remember. He kept asking me if I was related to Tony Horten, and whether the tricks had been found on council property. He went on and on about it.’
    â€˜
Lawyers aren’t paid to be interesting
.’
    â€˜But why did he want to know?’
    â€˜
Because I’d given him a job to do
.’
    â€˜What job?’
    â€˜
To buy the tricks. Buy them all. And if he’s going to buy them, he needs to find out who owns them
.’
    â€˜I do,’ said Stuart.
    â€˜
Can you prove that?
’
    There was a pause, and then Stuart shook his head, forgetting for a moment that he was on the phone. The voice on the other end of the line was so vivid and vital that he could almost picture the speaker: ancient and white-haired, but crackling with life.
    â€˜
Well?
’ she demanded, still waiting for her answer.
    â€˜No …’ he said hesitantly. ‘I can’t prove it.’
    â€˜
I thought so
.’ She gave a dry laugh that ended in a cough. ‘
And I spoke to Maxwell Lacey earlier today. He’s been poking about in the basement of that town library of yours and he’s found a local law that says everything found on council property belongs to the mayor, unless there’s legal proof otherwise. And where’s your mayor?
’
    â€˜She disappeared,’ said Stuart.
    â€˜
I know she did. So there’s a mess. You’ve got no proof, and the town’s got no mayor. Could take years to sort out. And I don’t have years – I might not even have months – and I want those tricks
.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜
I promised my gramma I’d get them
.’
    â€˜Your grandma? But she must be … I mean, the tricks are about fifty years old, and surely your grandma must have—’
    â€˜
My gramma died eighty-five years ago
.’
    â€˜But—’
    â€˜
And before she died she told me something I’ve never forgotten. Hidden in one of the tricks – it’s well hidden, she said – is Tony Horten’s will. And it leaves everything to the person who finds it
.’
    â€˜But—’
    â€˜
It’d be all the proof you’d need. Find that will and the tricks are yours to keep
.’
    â€˜But—’
    â€˜
Or yours to sell. I’d pay you a good price for them
.’
    â€˜Hang on,’ said Stuart. He felt as if he were being buffeted by a strong wind – strong enough to push him in a direction that he didn’t want to go. He tried to make his