Free The Secret Box by Whitaker Ringwald Page A

pump, Tyler screwed on the gas cap, then went into the convenience store.
    â€œThat’s a very interesting feature.” The woman reached out to touch the screen but I hugged the box to my chest. She held her fingers aloft for a moment, her eyes widened, then she dropped her hand.
    The man cleared his throat. “Where did you get it?”
    â€œIt was a present,” I said, and suddenly I thought that maybe I was volunteering too much information. I mean, who were these people? Why did they care about my box?
    The man wobbled a bit. That’s when I noticed his cane. “It’s so unusual. No seams. No hinges. How does it open?”
    I looked at Ethan. He’d been very quiet but that was no surprise. A flash of understanding passed between us. Neither one of us wanted to talk to these two. We both rose from the bench. “Well, gotta go,” I said.
    â€œWait.” The woman’s voice was so desperate-sounding that it stopped Ethan and me in our tracks. She smoothed her hair. “Would you be interested in selling it?”
    Other than the fact that these people were a bit snoopy, I didn’t have any reason to be worried. But an uncomfortable feeling settled over me, as if I’d been cornered and needed to get away. Why did I feel like this? They were so old, surely they couldn’t hurt me. I hugged the box to my chest. “Why would you want to buy my box?”
    The man’s gaze drifted up to my eyes. Though he smiled, it was cold and forced. He leaned on his cane. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Hatmaker and this is my wife, Mrs. Hatmaker. We own a store called . . . Peculiarities. We specialize in unique pieces of folk art.” The woman continued to stare at the box. “We travel around and buy odd items. And that box is odd indeed.”
    â€œOh,” I said. I guess it made sense that they’d be interested in my box. But the way he was smiling made me shudder. The smile was frozen in place, as if he wanted me to inspect his teeth.
    Mrs. Hatmaker’s finger trembled as she pointed. “What about the little screen? Does it do something special?”
    â€œNot really,” I said. Their questions were boring. Besides, I wanted to get a candy bar before we hit the road again. “Well, nice talking to you.” I tugged on Ethan’s sleeve and was about to walk away when Mr. Hatmaker’s eyes widened.
    â€œWe’ll pay you two hundred dollars,” he said.
    My mouth fell open. “Huh?”
    â€œThree hundred dollars.” He took out his wallet. I was about to say no when Mrs. Hatmaker offered five hundred dollars.
    Ethan gasped.
    â€œWait a minute,” I said. “You’d pay five hundred dollars for this box?”
    â€œIt’s very . . . peculiar,” Mr. Hatmaker said. He pulled out five bills and offered them to me. Maybe they did this all the time. Maybe five hundred dollars was no big deal to the owners of a shop called Peculiarities. But it was a big deal to me. I’d never had that much money.
    But something felt wrong—very wrong. I hugged the box tighter. “This is a family box,” I said. “I can’t sell it. Thanks anyway.”
    As Ethan and I walked away, the Hatmakers started to argue with each other, their voices carrying across the parking lot.
    â€œWe can’t let it go,” Mrs. Hatmaker pleaded.
    â€œCalm down, Martha.”
    â€œHow can I calm down? I can feel it. I can sense its presence.”
    â€œControl yourself. Don’t make a scene.”
    I glanced over my shoulder as Mr. Hatmaker grabbed his wife’s arm and yanked her away. They got into a black car with tinted windows and drove off, taking their five hundred dollars with them. Mom could have used that money. Had I made the wrong decision not selling the box?
    No, I couldn’t second-guess myself. I’d come this far to find out what was inside. I was going to