Blissfully unaware of Sloane’s dilemma, it fell to Amelia to hunt down Mr. Neikirk after school. She and Sloane realized they’d been so thrown by his revelation that two babies had lost parents as a result of Thomas’s theft that they’d forgotten to ask him any real questions. Unfortunately, Sloane had softball practice, so Amelia had agreed to go ask him their list of questions.
First, though, she had to go home and change. The high heels she’d worn to school were killing her ankles. No wonder they called them “stilettos.” That was a kind of knife, which was exactly what it felt like someone was jabbing into her feet and legs.
There was a package on the front step, and to Amelia’s surprise, it was addressed to her. She didn’t think she’d ever received a package before. Sometimes Grandma Suzy still sent her cards on holidays, but there weren’t any holidays coming up. Plus, Grandma Suzy always hand-wrote the addresses on her cards, and this one had been printed out.
It was a box, had Amelia only known it, that would take her one step closer to being attacked by a slingshot-carrying would-be thief. If she’d never opened it, she probably wouldn’t have ended up getting a concussion from an unlucky acorn aimed right at her head.
Of course, if Amelia had known any of that, she’d probably have opened it anyhow.
(She would, however, have worn a helmet to the cemetery later that week.)
Amelia set the box aside, though she was insanely curious about what was in it. Maybe one of her forty-two new YouTube followers had sent her fan mail! Unfortunately, she was running on a really tight schedule as tonight was Miller-Poe Tennis Night. Before that nightmare took place, Amelia needed to track down Mr. Neikirk and shake as much information as she could out of him for as little as possible. At school, he’d actually auctioned off his knowledge to the highest bidder every time Mr. Roth’s back was turned.
Amelia reluctantly set the package aside for later and focused on finding Mr. Neikirk. Not only did she want to find out what he had to say, she didn’t want to let Sloane down. The few days they’d been working together had been the best of Amelia’s life. In fact, she was so happy, that Amelia sort of hoped that she and Sloane wouldn’t have the Mystery of the Vanished Hoäl Fortune solved by the time their project for Mr. Roth was due. That way, they’d be able to keep on hanging out together. Which they would, because Amelia knew that there was just no way someone as competitive as Slayer Sloane was going to give up. Not after they’d already uncovered so much more than anyone else had in over a hundred years.
Or… better still, they’d solve the Quandary of the Lost Jewels (Amelia still hadn’t settled on a name) before they turned in the project. Then she and Sloane would keep on hanging out because they were friends.
Just the thought of it filled Amelia with a glow of happiness. Or better to say that it made that glow burn all the brighter. Because ever since they’d declared a truce after breaking into the Fulton County Historical Museum, Amelia had finally discovered what it felt like to be liked. To have just one single person be on her side.
It felt wonderful.
Gloriously, amazingly wonderful.
As Amelia dug through her closet for the proper outfit to wear to interview Mr. Neikirk, her imagination spun out a lovely future for her. Even after they solved the Puzzle of the Purloined Pearls (no one had mentioned any pearls, but Amelia bet there were some in there somewhere), she and Sloane would continue to investigate mysteries together. In a town as old as Wauseon, there had to be all sorts of secrets and riddles people had never solved. It could be like an after-school job.
Osburn and Poe Detective Agency!
Amelia could film all of their investigations, and turn them into an award-winning documentary series for Netflix!
Suddenly, Amelia realized she was so dazzled by the thought of it that she’d stopped sorting through her clothes from Goodwill at the back of her closet. A glance at her phone told her she’d been doing little more than clutching a jacket and smiling dreamily at the wall for almost ten minutes now.
Yikes. Amelia didn’t want to get so caught up in the future that she let her new friend down right now.
Hurrying up, she dug out a suit that she’d found at the thrift store that she felt made her look exactly like Eva Marie Saint in North by Northwest. That one wasn’t a silent movie, but Grandma Suzy loved it just the same. However, unlike Eva Marie Saint, Amelia paired it with Converse Chucks. She’d had enough of this high-heeled nonsense.
Grabbing a notebook and pen, Amelia found Mr. Neikirk by calling his office: Neikirk Auctioneering, Estate Sales, and Real Estate. It turned out he was pricing stuff for an estate sale at a house near where Sloane lived.
Since Ashley had just gotten home from her job interning at the courthouse, Amelia asked her big sister for a ride.
“What’s an estate sale?” Ashley asked as she drove Amelia there.
It took Amelia a long moment to realize her sister was asking her. In fact, Amelia first turned around to confirm that one of her sister’s friends wasn’t sitting in the back seat. Or a ghost, though what a ghost would be doing haunting the back seat of their car, Amelia didn’t know.
It just seemed like a more reasonable explanation than anyone in her family actually asking her anything.
“An estate sale is when someone dies and you sell all their stuff,” Amelia said finally.
“Like a dead person garage sale?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
Ashley nodded thoughtfully at that. Amelia waited for her sister to tell her all about dead people and how you got them to give you the best deals on their stuff, but Ashley just kept driving.
Unable to help herself, Amelia said, “Did you just ask me a question? About estate sales?”
“Well, yeah.” Her sister looked at Amelia in confusion.
“Because you’ve never once in my entire life asked me to explain something to you. Not once.”
“Oh, that can’t be right. I mean, I’m sure I’ve asked you something like ‘Where’s the peanut butter?’ ”
“No.” Amelia crossed her arms. “The other day, you actually told me that the peanut butter was in my hand because you weren’t sure that I knew that it was there.”
“Oh.” Ashley blinked rapidly as she pulled to a halt in front of a two-story yellow Victorian with a cupola. “I guess it’s just that you seem like you know what you’re doing with this project. I was pretty impressed that you and Sloane figured out there was a secret compartment in the old Hoäl mansion.”
No one in her family had ever been impressed by anything Amelia had done. Not once. Ever.
However, Amelia felt she could get used to them doing it again. Frequently.
Preening, she got out of the car and snapped open her selfie stick.
“Have I really never asked you a question before?” Ashley called through the open car window as Amelia marched along the garden’s stone walkway.
“No, but that makes twice now!” Wow. A real friend and respect from her family! Amelia couldn’t believe how much better her life had gotten since she’d started hanging out with Sloane.
“Huh.” For a moment, Ashley appeared so unsure of herself that she looked completely unlike Amelia’s sister. Then she snapped back to her old, confident self and said, “I’ll be back in half an hour to pick you up for tennis!” and peeled off down Oak Street, back toward home.
Amelia’s elation at finally being taken seriously lasted about five minutes in the company of Mr. Neikirk. Even at ninety years of age, he was still clearly calling the shots in his auction, real estate, and estate sale business. When Amelia walked through the door, he was bossing around half a dozen harried workers. All of them scurried about with Sharpie markers and tape dots.
“MEREDITH, DON’T PUT A PRICE ON THAT! IT’S GOING TO THE AUCTION HOUSE!” he bellowed, jabbing his cane at a woman carrying a large porcelain figurine of a dog. To a man struggling along with an overstuffed chair, he boomed, “NO, NO, NO! TY, THAT STAYS HERE FOR THE ESTATE SALE!”
Ty made a small sound of distress and then swung the chair back around, almost knocking over Meredith and her porcelain dog.
“Granddad, you’re using your auctioneer’s voice again.” Meredith ducked under the chair.
“WHAT? Oh, sorry. Heh-heh-heh.” Spotting Amelia, the tiny auctioneer with the enormous voice hopped up from behind the card table he’d been using as a makeshift desk. He hobbled over to see her and cried, “Why, it’s the smart missy from school!”
“Nope, it’s still Amelia,” Amelia corrected. She already had to deal with people calling her “Yeti.” She wasn’t going to add “missy” to the list of things she wasn’t.
“Meredith! Ty! This is one of the little girls who found out more about the missing Hoäl jewels in one weekend than anyone else has discovered in over a hundred years!” Mr. Neikirk pointed proudly at Amelia. Though it was doubtful that Ty could actually see her around that enormous chair. All she could see of him was a pair of buckling knees.
“I’m not actually a little girl,” Amelia corrected again. “But thank you for the compliment just the same.”
Mr. Neikirk spotted the selfie stick in Amelia’s hand. “Hey, what’s that, now? Is that one of them camera things? Are you FaceChatting me?”
“Something like that. I’ve got a YouTube channel,” Amelia said proudly. “If you don’t mind, I have a few more questions I’d like to ask you.”
A glint sprang into the auctioneer’s eye at that. “So… if you record me in here, the people watching your YouTalk will see what’s for sale?”
“I suppose so.”
“Excellent!” Mr. Niekerk clapped his hands together and dragged Amelia over in front of an absolutely enormous hall clock. “Scoot to the side there, young lady, and ask me your questions!”
As he nudged Amelia, she realized he’d positioned his head right next to a sticker that read $10,000.
Flabbergasted, Amelia couldn’t help but ask, “Does that clock actually cost ten thousand dollars?”
“Worth every penny! And it’s a steal, at that!” Mr. Neikirk snapped before tugging Amelia closer and hissing, “Look, you don’t tell me how to sell antiques and I won’t tell you how to film a movie!”
Straightening back up, he fixed his tie and waited for Amelia’s questions.
“Er, well. Um. You said earlier today that there were two babies. What can you tell me about both of them?”
“Ah, well, not much about Jacob’s boy, Charles, to be honest with you. I’m afraid that, unlike this clock, which has sat in this exact spot since it was shipped over from Switzerland one hundred and fifty years ago, he did not remain in Wauseon.” The auctioneer stepped back so that Amelia’s camera could capture more of the clock.
“Uh, Mr. Neikirk,” she began, only to be cut off.
“No, Charles’s life was much closer to this authentic Tiffany glass lamp over here.” Before Amelia could stop him, Mr. Niekerk hurried into the front parlor. “Just as Charles was born into a life of luxury only to be uprooted from his first home and sent on to another before finally returning to Fulton County in his later years, this lamp has traveled too! And much like how the Hoäls’ jewels were stolen, this lamp is a steal at a mere five thousand dollars.”
“Uh, Mr. Niekerk…” Amelia pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. “Maybe you could give me more details about Charles and less about the antiques.…”
“Oh, certainly, certainly!” The auctioneer bobbed his head—and then inched toward a marble table. “My grandfather—who took care of the Hoäl estate—said that Charles was sent to live with Lucretia’s parents, the Forrests, over in Toledo. Wealthy people but not very much fun, Grandpa said. Considering that he wasn’t exactly a whole lot of fun, I can only imagine how strict and stern they must have been. Still, I’m sure they loved him as best as they knew how. Just like whoever ends up with this Roseville vase will love the fact that they snatched up this rare pattern for a mere eight hundred dollars!”
Desperate to get the auctioneer to focus on her questions, Amelia said, “Mr. Niekerk, you know that my film won’t be ready for another week, right?”
That caught him off guard. “What’s that, now?”
“Our class project isn’t due until next Monday,” Amelia confessed. She didn’t add that her channel only had about fifty followers anyhow.
“Oh. Well, then. Nothing personal, Miss Amelia, but I’ve got a business to run.” Turning around, Mr. Neikirk returned to slapping labels on things.
Amelia felt like everything was falling apart and she didn’t understand why. He’d barely answered any of her questions and Ashley would be picking her up soon. Worse still, she couldn’t shake the desperate feeling that she was letting her new friend down. Sloane would be much better at handling Mr. Neikirk than she was. No doubt, Slayer Sloane would stare him down with that cool look of hers, freezing him in place. Instead, the Yeti had been chasing him all over the ground floor of the house without getting much out of him.
Well, she wasn’t some weird yeti and she wasn’t ready to give up yet. Amelia shoved herself between the auctioneer and a picture he was about to tag. The sticker ended up on her forehead instead.
Peeling it off, Amelia discovered she was worth a mere ten dollars.
While she stood there, temporarily frozen in outrage, the auctioneer escaped into the kitchen through a swinging door, like an evil leprechaun.
That was it. She wasn’t letting Sloane down for anything. Amelia was getting something useful out of Mr. Neikirk if she had to threaten to shove her selfie stick up his nostril.
Brandishing her selfie stick, Amelia marched into the kitchen, demanding, “What about the other baby? Thomas’s baby? Do you know anything about him? And what about Charles? I know he came back here right before he died. Do you know anything about that?”
Surprised, Mr. Neikirk turned around with a clipboard in his hands. Before he could answer, however, Ty came up out of the basement carrying a very big and very dusty cardboard box. “What about these, boss? It’s a crazy-old projector and some home movies from the thirties, I think.”
The auctioneer looked pained as he yanked the box down and stood up on his tiptoes so he could peer inside. “ ‘Crazy old’ is a term we try not to use in the estate sale business. As for this, it’s a bunch of rubbish. Maybe donate it to the historical society, I suppose.”
Spotting an opportunity, Amelia pulled out her purse. “I’ll give you twenty dollars for the box.”
“Really?” Ty sneezed.
“Really?” Mr. Neikirk rubbed his hands together gleefully.
But when he reached for the money, Amelia refused to let it go. “Yes, but this money buys me some answers, too.”
Looking back on it, she probably should have just bribed him in the first place.
Mr. Neikirk scowled, but when she wouldn’t let the twenty go he said, “Don’t know why Charles came back, exactly. He tried turning the Hoäl mansion into apartments right before World War Two, but died soon after. Had the gall to have Whalen’s Auctioneers sell the place instead of Grandpa. As for Thomas, he didn’t have much of an estate, so Grandpa didn’t really know them. That’s about all he ever told me, except that the boy had a pretty rough time of it growing up. Back then, people thought if your parents were bad, you must be bad too. If you want to hear more about the Zimmerman baby, I’d talk to Norma Cooke. Beatrice was Norma’s great-aunt, and she moved in with the family after Thomas died.”
He tried to jerk the twenty-dollar bill away, but Amelia squeezed her fist tighter. “Any idea where Norma Cooke lives?”
“Haven’t a clue, but she has a stand at the farmers’ market over on Fulton Street on Monday nights. If you leave now, you should still be able to catch her.”
Oh, darn. It sounded like she’d have to miss tennis night with her family. What a shame!
Amelia let go of her money, and the auctioneer triumphantly tucked it into a cash box. Ty happily shoved the grubby box into her hands. Staggering beneath its weight, Amelia went out to the curb to find Ashley already waiting for her.
“Holy cow. What did you buy?” Ashley surveyed the dusty box with disgust.
“Cooperation,” Amelia said morosely as she dropped the box into Ashley’s big, sparkling trunk. “It was more expensive than I thought it was going to be. Hey, I need to skip out on tennis because I have to go to the farmers’ market to talk to someone else.”
Ashley, however, snagged Amelia by the collar as she attempted to walk off. “Nope. Uh-uh. Nothing doing. It’s Miller-Poe Tennis Night and that means all Miller-Poes!”
“But—but—but—schoolwork!” Amelia protested as her sister coerced her into the car. At least she got pushed into the front seat instead of the trunk.
“Schoolwork is important, but so is your health! A strong body leads to a strong mind and…” Ashley continued to lecture her, but Amelia tuned her out. She tried desperately to come up with an argument that would convince her parents to let her go shake down an old lady for information rather than cringe and try to figure out what she was supposed to do with her racket every time someone whacked a ball at her.
(Tennis always made Amelia feel as though she was being executed by a firing squad armed with tennis balls.)
Failing to come up with a convincing argument, she arrived home, only to be stuffed into a ridiculous pleated white skirt and handed a tennis racket.
So much for feeling respected by her family.
At least Sloane was still her friend.
As the Miller-Poe family SUV careened toward the tennis courts and a hideous evening of being forced to do something she both hated and was bad at, Amelia pulled out her phone and miserably texted Sloane:
Can you go to the farmers’ market and find Norma Cooke? Her great-aunt married Thomas Zimmerman. She might know something about his baby.
After a moment, Amelia added:
You might want to bring along some money for bribes.
Hopefully Slayer Sloane would have better luck than Amelia the Yeti.