Free The Secret Cipher by Whitaker Ringwald

She lay on the bed, metal handlebars perched on both sides. I guess they were meant to protect her so she wouldn’t fall out. It reminded me of a crib.
    She wore a plain light-blue cotton nightgown. Her white hair was unbraided and fanned across the pillow. Her eyes were closed. Jax let go of Mr. Hofstedder’s handlebars, then leaned over the bed. “Great-Aunt Juniper?” she said quietly.
    Juniper’s eyes popped open. “Jax!” She reached out a trembling, pale hand. “Thank the gods you’re here.” As Jax squeezed our great-aunt’s hand, I wondered about Mr. Hofstedder. What if he had real visitors and they started looking for him?
    â€œShouldn’t we put our uncle back in the hall?” I asked.
    Herman Hofstedder snorted. “Yes. Put me in the hall. Leave me in peace.”
    â€œDon’t put him in the hall,” Jax whispered to us. “He might tell someone we’re in here.” Then she pattedthe old man’s shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Mr. Hofstedder. We’ll take you back in a few minutes.”
    Juniper turned her head and looked at me, her eyes watery and red. “Who are you?” she asked.
    â€œUh . . . I’m Ethan.”
    â€œOf course.” She nodded slowly. “Ethan and Tyler. Hello.”
    â€œHow do you feel?” Jax asked her.
    â€œThey tell me I had a stroke.” She spoke out of the right corner of her mouth. The left side didn’t move.
    â€œWhat?” Jax said, unclasping Juniper’s hand. “You did? Really?”
    I watched Juniper’s face for a few moments. Then I noticed that her left arm lay limp. “Your left side is paralyzed, isn’t it? That’s a common symptom after a stroke. Just like my neighbor Mrs. Purcell.” I’d been correct about the stroke. But being right didn’t make me happy. She looked really terrible.
    â€œMakes it hard to talk,” Juniper said. Then she yawned with half her mouth. “How come I’m so tired?”
    â€œThe nurse gave you a pill to make you sleep,” Jax told her. “I can’t believe you really had a stroke. Do you remember what happened?”
    Juniper brushed a few strands of hair from hereye. “Certain things are fuzzy .”
    â€œWhy were you at the Museum of Fine Arts?” Tyler asked. He sat on the windowsill. “The police think you were trying to steal something.”
    Her left eyelid was droopier than the right. “I can’t remember that part. I try and try. The police asked me what I was doing there. But I don’t know. It’s so foggy.”
    This was serious. Along with the paralysis, she had an impaired memory. Jax looked at me, her brow furrowed with worry.
    â€œWe’d better tell her about the robbery,” Tyler said.
    â€œWhat about Mr. Hofstedder?” I asked. “Should we talk about this in front of him?”
    We all looked at the old man. His head had fallen to the side and he was snoring. Jax nodded at me. So I started talking. It was easy for me to remember all the details, like time of day, number of people who’d been attacked, and the amount of money stolen.
    â€œThe robber used the urn,” Jax said. “Do you know who he is? Do you remember how he got it?” Juniper half-yawned again. The sleeping pill was starting to kick in. “Great-Aunt Juniper? How did that man steal the urn from you?”
    â€œHe didn’t steal it from me.”
    â€œWhat?” Tyler slid off the windowsill. “Are you saying you gave it to him?”
    â€œNo.” She sighed. “It’s a different urn.”
    I felt prickly all over. My heart skipped a couple of beats. Had I heard her correctly?
    â€œWait a minute.” Tyler held up a hand. “Are you saying the bank robber has one of the other urns?”
    â€œYes.” She blinked, slow and heavy. “He has the urn of Faith.”
    â€œFaith?” we all