The Hidden Treasure Mysteries

Elizabeth stayed in the doorway with Jonathan. Their grandfather snored softly, his face half buried in a pillow. Elizabeth could see one sandpaper cheek, grey and wrinkled, like the bark of a very old tree. And just above him -- something new. Pop’s collection of tribal masks had come out of the trunk. They hung scowling on the wall now. Fierce wooden faces with empty eyes and open mouths.

"Dad, we’re here." Mrs. Pollack placed a slender hand on her father’s shoulder. Pop sat up stiffly, smoothing back a few thin grey hairs. "Well?" His voice erupted in a low rumble. "What do you do when you see your grandfather?" After receiving brief pecks on the cheek, he squinted at Elizabeth. "What happened to your hair?"

Elizabeth straightened her glasses and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She could feel her long ponytail drooping like a wilted flower.

"Elizabeth looks just fine, Dad." Mrs. Pollack spoke a little sharply. "We’ve been in the car all day, and it’s very hot outside."

Elizabeth glanced at Jonathan. His hair looked like the day after a tornado. "Where’s your cat, Pop?" Jonathan dropped to the floor, out of Pop’s view. He stuck his head underneath the couch. "And what’s her name? I forgot."

"She doesn’t have a name. I just call her Cat." Pop lifted himself off the couch. "Don’t bother about the cat. She doesn’t like children. Anyway, I want to give you two a test. To see how observant you are."

A test? During summer vacation? Elizabeth and Jonathan shuffled into the living room behind Pop. The wide picture window showed two sailboats skimming across the lake. The silky blue water looked warm. Perfect for swimming.

"Pay attention!" Pop banged three times on a long marble coffee table. "I want you to tell me what’s missing. Right there." He pointed to the dark-paneled wall, just above a stiff black couch.

Elizabeth turned around and looked up. "Oh, no! The picture of the man with the beard is gone! Mom was just telling us about it."

"Not picture! It’s a painting -- a portrait of my great-grandfather, Joshua Bailey." Elizabeth and Jonathan exchanged glances.

"You didn’t sell it, did you?" asked Jonathan. "You aren’t supposed to!"

"Of course I didn’t sell it. The frame needed to be fixed. I sent the painting to a place in Walworth." Pop wagged a thin finger at Jonathan. "You have to take care of old family things. Keep them fixed up. Of course, no one cares about old things any more."

"Mom cares about old things," said Elizabeth. "She teaches history, and she . . . ."

"Computers!" Pop spit the word out like poison. "That’s all people care about. Or watching television. Idiot box. That’s what I call it." He was interrupted by the jangle of the telephone.

Pop answered with an irritated Hello. "I can’t hear you! I’m eighty-one years old. You have to speak up!" He paused, then thrust the telephone into Elizabeth’s hands. "It’s Mr. Lattimore. The man who’s repairing the frame. See what he wants. I can’t hear him."

"But, Pop, I . . . . Don’t you think Mom should talk?" It was no use. Mrs. Pollack was outside unpacking the car. Jonathan edged away, suddenly interested in Pop’s travel souvenirs. He picked up a long brass elephant prod from the coffee table.

When the conversation was over, Elizabeth still gripped the telephone receiver. "He said we can pick up the painting. As long as we get there before five o’clock." She looked up as her mother walked into the room. "But it’s kind of strange. Mr. Lattimore said he found something . . . mysterious when he took off the frame."

"What did he find?" Jonathan struck a heroic pose with the elephant prod.