Free Fortune Cookie by Jean Ure Page B

“They’re precious!”
    â€œLet’s go and look up the marks!”
    We raced to the computer and clicked on to Google. I said, “What shall I put in? Silver, or hallmarks?”
    â€œBoth,” said Cupcake. “What sort of marks did your gran’s spoon have?”
    â€œCan’t remember… there are loads of them. All different. They tell you where things were made. Look, look!” I pointed jubilantly. “There it is!”
    An anchor, and a lion, just like on our ring. Wepeered closer at the screen.
    â€œMade in Birmingham,” said Cupcake. “Is that OK?”
    â€œCourse it is! Doesn’t matter where it’s made, just so long as it’s real silver. It could be worth a fortune!” I turned and scooped up Cookie, who was busy trying to dig a hole in the carpet. “He’s our little fortune cookie!”
    It was a solemn moment. “You honestly think we could get something for it?” said Cupcake.
    â€œWhy not? It’s silver .”
    â€œBut what if someone asks where it’s come from?”
    â€œIt came out of our dog. That’s why he’s our fortune cookie!”
    â€œYes, but… before that. Before he swallowed it.”
    â€œCould have come from anywhere. It’s not our problem, is it?”
    Cupcake said, “N-no… I s’ppose not.”
    â€œWell, it’s not! We can’t help what he did before we got him. He could have done all sorts of things! You can’t blame us.”

    â€œNo. In any case,” said Cupcake, sounding a bit bolder, “we don’t actually know . Not for certain.”
    I could guess what she was thinking, cos I was thinking it, too. We were both remembering the day we had seen Cookie in the old lady’s garden, tossing something bright and shiny into the air, and the old woman had come running out and shouted and taken it away from him. And then we’d seen him doing it again, a few days later; only this time the old woman hadn’t come out…
    â€œStill not our problem,” I said. “I’ll tell you what our problem is.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhere are we going to sell it?” It was a big problem. “If we go into a jeweller’s,” I said, “they’ll only cheat us.”
    â€œEither that, or ask questions.”
    I agreed that questions were the last thing we wanted. It is very difficult, sometimes, being eleven years old. Well, I’m twelve, now, and I can’t really sayit’s got any easier. There are just so many things you can’t do! Like selling a valuable ring that has been sicked up by your own puppy without a) being ripped off, just because you’re kids, or b) reported to the police.
    â€œCos that’s what they’d do,” said Cup. “They’d think we’d stolen it.”
    â€œWell, we haven’t,” I said fiercely. “It belongs to us and there’s got to be some way we can get the money for it!”
    â€œWe could try putting a card in a shop window,” said Cupcake. “Mum found Joey’s tricycle from a shop window.”
    â€œMm… ” I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that. “We’d have to give a telephone number. Anyone could just ring up! You could get nutters and all sorts.”
    My dad’s always going on eBay. He’s really into finding bargains! And selling things. But I knew they wouldn’t let me and Cupcake on there. Too young . Like you can’t act responsibly, just because you’re eleven years old.

    â€œThere’s got to be something!” said Cupcake.
    Neither of us suggested going to my mum and dad, or Cupcake’s mum. We both knew what they’d do.
    â€œ Go to the police .” We chanted it, together. “Of course – ” Cupcake said a bit uncertainly – “there might be a reward.”
    I said, “Yes, and there might not. We can’t afford to