Free Last in a Long Line of Rebels by Lisa Lewis Tyre Page B

“Mr. Neely said people only
thought
Walter murdered him. It wasn’t proven. It’s not a big deal.”
    â€œThanks, Franklin.”
    â€œBut just in case, you don’t have any weapons at your house, do you?”
    â€œHa, ha!” I rolled my eyes.
    â€œCan we get back to what’s really important?” Benzer said. “The lost gold?”
    Franklin laughed. “It is a very exciting development. I think we should make plans on where to go from here.”
    â€œIsn’t it pretty obvious?” Benzer asked. “I say we find it!”
    â€œWell, I guess that would show Sally Martin!” I said. “You went on a cruise? Big whoop, we spent the summer figuring out a Civil War mystery and finding gold!”
    Benzer punched me playfully on the shoulder. “See? I knew that Bible was the real deal.”
    â€œI wish we’d had more time to talk to Mr. Neely,” Franklin said. “Between him and Mrs. Hall, we’d probably learn a lot about what to do next.”
    We crossed the street, jumped the ditch, and stood in front of my house.
    â€œSo what’s first, Franklin?” Benzer asked. “The house or the yard?”
    â€œI vote for the house,” I said. “If it’s buried in the junkyard, we’ll never find it.”
    â€œNot without bulldozing the whole thing,” Benzer said.
    â€œWhich the county is planning to do anyway,” I added.
    Franklin stared at us. “That brings up an interesting possibility.”
    â€œWhat?” I asked.
    â€œThere are other vacant lots within the city limits. What if Peter Winningham believes the rumors? That could be why he picked your land!”
    â€œSeriously?” Benzer asked. “That seems like a lot of trouble for a rumor.”
    â€œThey’d get the land either way. I bet Franklin’s right. We have to find it first.”
    â€œYeah,” Benzer said. “Let’s start with the house. Maybe Walter stuck it in the attic or something.”
    â€œI guess.” I wasn’t too hopeful. A lot of construction had been done to the house through the years. “But you’d think someone would have found it by now, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been in every hiding place in the house.”
    â€œBut you weren’t searching for anything before, and now we will be,” Franklin said.
    I looked over at the library. “Let’s start tomorrow. First we should get some of the history books Mrs. Hall was talking about. Maybe there’s a picture of what my house looked like before all of the additions. There’s no use searching a part of the house that wasn’t built yet.”

    Mama and Bertie spent the afternoon painting the baby’s room a bright yellow. It had been a guest room before, and a perfectly acceptable shade of green. “Your father got that green paint from the nursing home,” Mama said. “Babies need stimulating colors.”
    I offered to help, but Mama just laughed. “We still have paint on the ceiling from when you helped us paint the dining room.” I acted insulted, but truthfully, I was glad to get out of the chore. I found a cola from Bertie’s secret stash and went out to the junkyard, where Daddy’s workshop stood. I wasn’t getting a whole new room like the baby, but the box I’d found at the auction would look cool at the end of my bed.
    The familiar smell of oil and sawdust hit me as I opened the door. Rows of assorted machinery lined the floor. A long workbench ran the length of the back wall, covered with tools, old paint cans full of nails, and scraps of wood.
    The box was sitting on the counter next to a can of paint remover Daddy had left out. I smiled; he had already removed the hinges for me.
    I opened the window and put on a paper mask. I found a brush, dipped it in the remover, and began covering the box. Even through the mask I could smell the fumes, but the paint