âMr. Neely said people only
thought
Walter murdered him. It wasnât proven. Itâs not a big deal.â
âThanks, Franklin.â
âBut just in case, you donât have any weapons at your house, do you?â
âHa, ha!â I rolled my eyes.
âCan we get back to whatâs really important?â Benzer said. âThe lost gold?â
Franklin laughed. âIt is a very exciting development. I think we should make plans on where to go from here.â
âIsnât it pretty obvious?â Benzer asked. âI say we find it!â
âWell, I guess that would show Sally Martin!â I said. âYou went on a cruise? Big whoop, we spent the summer figuring out a Civil War mystery and finding gold!â
Benzer punched me playfully on the shoulder. âSee? I knew that Bible was the real deal.â
âI wish weâd had more time to talk to Mr. Neely,â Franklin said. âBetween him and Mrs. Hall, weâd probably learn a lot about what to do next.â
We crossed the street, jumped the ditch, and stood in front of my house.
âSo whatâs first, Franklin?â Benzer asked. âThe house or the yard?â
âI vote for the house,â I said. âIf itâs buried in the junkyard, weâll never find it.â
âNot without bulldozing the whole thing,â Benzer said.
âWhich the county is planning to do anyway,â I added.
Franklin stared at us. âThat brings up an interesting possibility.â
âWhat?â I asked.
âThere are other vacant lots within the city limits. What if Peter Winningham believes the rumors? That could be why he picked your land!â
âSeriously?â Benzer asked. âThat seems like a lot of trouble for a rumor.â
âTheyâd get the land either way. I bet Franklinâs right. We have to find it first.â
âYeah,â Benzer said. âLetâs start with the house. Maybe Walter stuck it in the attic or something.â
âI guess.â I wasnât too hopeful. A lot of construction had been done to the house through the years. âBut youâd think someone would have found it by now, and Iâm pretty sure Iâve been in every hiding place in the house.â
âBut you werenât searching for anything before, and now we will be,â Franklin said.
I looked over at the library. âLetâs start tomorrow. First we should get some of the history books Mrs. Hall was talking about. Maybe thereâs a picture of what my house looked like before all of the additions. Thereâs no use searching a part of the house that wasnât built yet.â
Mama and Bertie spent the afternoon painting the babyâs room a bright yellow. It had been a guest room before, and a perfectly acceptable shade of green. âYour father got that green paint from the nursing home,â Mama said. âBabies need stimulating colors.â
I offered to help, but Mama just laughed. âWe still have paint on the ceiling from when you helped us paint the dining room.â I acted insulted, but truthfully, I was glad to get out of the chore. I found a cola from Bertieâs secret stash and went out to the junkyard, where Daddyâs workshop stood. I wasnât getting a whole new room like the baby, but the box Iâd 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