The Hidden Treasure Mysteries

"Get your nose out of there, Jon. You’re slobbering all over the candy."

"I’m not slobbering." Jonathan straightened up to his full height -- a skinny four feet, three inches. "You said I’m supposed to practice being a detective. So I’m training my nose. I can tell if a piece has vanilla or raspberry filling, just by smelling. Then I dig a hole in the bottom and see if I’m right. Great, huh?" Jonathan hung his chunky front teeth over his lower lip and rolled his eyeballs back. It was his latest trick. Goof smile with zombie eyes. He snapped his face back to normal as he popped a chocolate into his mouth. "But I wish Pop would get some chocolate-covered grasshoppers. They’re even better, ’cause they’re nice and crunchy."

Elizabeth didn’t give Jonathan the pleasure of a grimace. He was the kind of eight-year-old brother who lived only to annoy. "You must be crazy, messing around with Pop’s candy," she said. "You know he’ll find out." Their grandfather, Pop, noticed everything. Way down deep, he was nice, but mostly he went through life at a low grumble. "And anyway, Jonathan, I don’t think you even care about being a detective."

"Yeah? Well, if you’re Miss Perfect Detective, how come you can’t find that letter Pop lost?"

Elizabeth felt herself stiffen. The missing letter. It was the best -- and worst -- thing that had happened in months. A week before Christmas, their grandfather had received a letter in his post office box. It wasn’t written to him, but instead was mysteriously addressed to Detectives Elizabeth and Jonathan Pollack. Pop put it in a safe place, so they would find it when they arrived for their visit. But by the time they came, Pop had forgotten where the safe place was. They searched everywhere, all the rooms, upstairs and down, and every piece of prim old furniture. Two days of hunting, and the letter was still missing.

"I just hope Pop didn’t throw it away by mistake," she said. "Things are always disappearing around here." Elizabeth had never met anyone more fiercely neat than her grandfather. Pop was beyond tidy. He was at war with clutter, and his stormy clean-ups usually meant trouble. Christmas money would disappear, crumpled up with used gift wrap. Rings would be flung into the garbage, mistaken for pop-up tops from soda cans.

"Well, I don’t think Pop threw it away," said Jonathan. "I bet that letter is right in this room." He peeked behind the wooden legs of a stiff, leather sofa, then shuffled through a pile of travel magazines on the coffee table.

"I don’t know. It seems like we’ve looked everywhere." Elizabeth stared out the picture window, but she found nothing to cheer her up. The world looked as if it had been washed with a dirty rag. At the bottom of the hill the lake lay flat and dull under a sulky gray sky. Even the snow had lost its sparkle. Christmas Day had been different -- full of sunshine and bright as a brass band. The house had been happy, too, almost like when Gran was alive. But then it was time for everyone to go home. Their aunt and cousins left first. Their father went back to Indiana to a teachers’ meeting. Elizabeth and Jonathan stayed behind with their mother to spend a few extra days with Pop. Elizabeth didn’t mind staying -- except for the quiet. It drifted in as soon as the others were gone, spreading stillness through the house like a fine layer of dust.

"Okay, let’s get going, Jon. Mom said we’re supposed to have this place cleaned up before they get back from the store."

"I am cleaning up." Jonathan grabbed a wadded-up ball of gift wrap and raced twice around the coffee table. "And he dodges. He fakes. Two seconds left!" Jonathan took a long shot, tossing the gift wrap into the recycling box. "The crowd is on their feet. They never . . . ooh!" Jonathan winced as a dark object hit the picture window with a thud. He peered through the glass and pointed to a tiny brown sparrow lying motionless in the snow. "Look! He hurt himself on the window. And . . . and now he’s going to get eaten." The neighbor’s striped gray cat appeared suddenly, slinking across the driveway. It hunched down, like a stain against the snow, with its hard green eyes fixed on the bird. Elizabeth didn’t know Jonathan was gone until she heard the back door slam. He raced to the front of the house, sloshing through the snow in Pop’s black galoshes. She ran into the kitchen and met him at the door. Jonathan held the bird cupped in his hands. Its tiny chest fluttered up and down in faint whispers of breath.

"Do you think it’s going to die?" asked Jonathan softly.

"Well, it’s breathing, anyway. We’ll keep it in the house to warm up. Hold on. We can use the basket Mom got for Christmas. Elizabeth set a roomy wicker basket on the kitchen table. She guided Jonathan’s hands as he gently set the bird inside. "He needs to rest awhile," she said. "When he wakes up we can let him go. And as long as we’re using Mom’s Christmas presents, we can cover up the basket with this." She picked up a square pink scarf from the sofa and draped it over the basket.

Jonathan peeked under the scarf. "I’m naming him Mugsy."

"Uh . . . right. Well, we’d better leave Mugsy alone. We’ll scare him if we get too close." She led Jonathan back into the living room.

Jonathan jumped up every few minutes to check on the bird. It hadn’t moved, but at least it was still breathing.