Sloane stared incredulously at Amelia’s text about bribes. However, she had to admit that the other girl frequently had good ideas even if they seemed kinda strange at first. With a shrug, Sloane emptied out her piggy bank. It actually had quite a lot in it, thanks to her recent birthday.
Had she only known it, Sloane was about to pay money to get someone else closer to the missing Hoäl treasure too.
Someone who had watched Amelia’s YouTube video with interest. Someone who had just sent the girls a box of letters discovered in an old house at another estate sale three months before.
Someone who had excellent aim with a slingshot.
Had she known that, Sloane still would have paid the money.
(But Slayer Sloane would have brought along her own slingshot to the cemetery later in the week. Because it would have been game on.)
However, Sloane didn’t know any of this. Right now, she thought the idea that anyone might be using them was just paranoia. Right now, Sloane had a much bigger problem in the form of Mac Attack Snyder and her blabby mouth. Which, unfortunately, could not be fixed with a slingshot.
Sloane’s dad walked with her up to the farmers’ market on North Fulton Street. She was surprised by how easy it had been to convince him. Not only had he worked all day, he’d ordered pizza for supper so he could work on putting new tile in one of the bathrooms. And he’d hummed while doing it. Now, rather than being too tired, he’d said, “That sounds great! I think I’ll go too!” when Sloane mentioned where she was going.
When he said “great,” her dad sounded like he really meant it too.
Sloane didn’t know what to make of any of it.
However, she wasn’t nicknamed “Slayer” for nothing. As they crossed the railroad tracks that separated South Fulton Street from North Fulton Street, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Amelia was counting on her, and she was not about to let a friend down. Not a real friend like Amelia, just because she was having trouble with a fake friend like Mackenzie.
About a dozen canvas tents lined the sidewalk on either side of the street in front of the old brick storefronts. They were divided pretty much evenly between people selling food and people selling crafts. The food included things like vegetables, goat cheese, cookies, bread, and honey. The crafts were things like fleece hats and homemade soaps, the second of which her dad stopped to check out.
“Hey, you don’t know where Norma Cooke is, do you?” Sloane asked the beekeeper next to the soap stand.
“That lunatic?” This from a guy who regularly shoved his hand into hives housing thousands of bees so he could steal from them. “She’s over that way.”
Sloane followed his thumb toward a purple tent. It was the only tent that wasn’t either white or emblazoned with Ohio State or University of Michigan decals. While her dad chatted with the cute soap maker, Sloane went over to the purple tent.
The front had been decorated with leftover Christmas tinsel, along with a string of lights. A swirly sign said GLAMOROUS GOOSE GARMENTS. Within the tent, there were racks and racks of small outfits.
All of them intended to be worn by concrete goose garden ornaments.
One of Sloane’s neighbors, Mrs. Rice, had a concrete goose that she kept on her front porch. She dressed it in a yellow raincoat and hat for most of the year but changed it into a pumpkin costume at Halloween and a Santa costume at Christmas.
Sloane didn’t get it at all.
However, Mrs. Rice’s obsession with fashion for her garden decorations was nothing compared to Norma Cooke’s. Several concrete geese modeled her creations throughout the tent. One wore a feather boa and sparkly evening gown. Another was dressed like Queen Elizabeth the first, while another was very clearly an homage to Lady Gaga.
Amelia would probably totally get this.
Sloane’s mouth just hung open as she went, “Errrrrr…”
“Bonjour, my dear!” An elderly woman wearing a green satin turban on her head and a long purple dress swept forward to greet Sloane. “What has sparked your interest in unique lawn ornament fashions this fair, glorious twilight?”
Yup, Amelia would totally get her.
“Do you perhaps desire a bikini for your stone soul mate?” Norma held up a sequined swimsuit with matching sunglasses and floppy hat. “Or perhaps you wish to capture the joie de vivre of the 1920s with your very own flapper frock for your fake feathered friend?”
Sloane wasn’t sure how much of that she actually understood. However, she was still positive that the answer was no.
“Uh, no. Um, you’re Norma Cooke, right?” Sloane sort of hoped she wasn’t.
“In the flesh!” the woman twinkled, booping Sloane on the nose with a gloved finger. She wore long green satin gloves that matched the turban on her head. “The propriétaire d’entreprise of Glamorous Goose Garments! How might I make your lawn ornaments more stylish? Perhaps they wish to be Marilyn Monroe in The Seven Year Itch?”
“Um, no. What I’d actually like—”
“Cher at the 1986 Oscar awards?”
“Wow—that’s… sparkly. But—”
“Ah! I know! Now I have you pegged!” The woman had been swooshing various miniature outfits in front of Sloane’s nose. Now she brought out something sternly black with lots of white lace. “Queen Victoria!”
“Yes! Yes! I’ll take that!” Sloane grabbed the garment desperately and clung to it like it might give her the strength of an extremely stern-looking monarch. Then, all on its own, her mouth babbled, “Um, and the—er, Queen Elizabeth dress, too.”
Where on earth had that come from? Sheer terror, that was where. Sloane had no idea how to deal with this woman.
“Do you want the wig as well?” Norma clasped her hands together in delight and peered out at Sloane over bejeweled spectacles.
“Sure, why not?” Sloane agreed wearily, sincerely wishing that Amelia was here to speak this woman’s language. Her partner was counting on her, and Slayer Sloane had never—not once—let a teammate down.
Norma Cooke tucked the two goose-sized costumes into a purple-and-green bag while humming happily. Sticking her head outside the tent, Sloane saw that her dad was still chatting away with the soap lady. Whatever deal he was striking, Sloane hoped it was better than the one she was getting.
“Norma—Mrs. Cooke—may I call you Norma?” Sloane pulled out her wallet.
“You may call me a Beam of Moonlight Who Has Been Trapped on This Earth to Bedazzle It with Her Creativity,” Norma announced grandly, punching at an old-fashioned-looking adding machine.
“Yeah, okay. So, Mrs. Moonbeam—my name is Sloane Osburn and I need to ask you a few questions about your great-aunt Beatrice.” Sloane started to take her money out of her wallet and then thought better of handing it over. Trying to imagine herself as Amelia, she fanned her face with it. That seemed like the dramatic sort of thing the other girl would do.
Instead of perking up, Norma Moonbeam’s face crumpled. A moment before, she’d been full of cheer. She yanked the lever on her adding machine and said, “Oh, that woman. Mother always said Great-Auntie Beatrice was very strict and stern. She died before I was born, but she and Cousin Ozzie lived with Mama and Grandma for years while Ozzie grew up. She’d always snap at Mama and Ozzie that children should be seen and not heard. I know it sounds terrible, but Mama said that the day Great-Auntie died was one of the happiest of her life.”
Yikes. How strict and stern did your aunt have to be for a funeral to rank up there with Christmas? Sloane wondered as she handed over her money. “Can you tell me about her? And her kid?”
“Oh, well. Cousin Ozzie wasn’t so bad.” Norma perked up a bit, though that might have been from the money.
“Ozzie?”
“That’s what we called Oscar. Who names their child Oscar? Even in 1887 people didn’t do that.” Norma counted the bills Sloane had given her. “Say, you’re about five dollars short.”
Another five dollars? Sloane had given her fifty; most of her birthday money. How much could it cost to dress something that sat out in the yard and got rained on? Reluctantly, Sloane peeled off a five and handed it to Norma.
That kept her talking, at least. “Of course, Ozzie was a grown-up by the time I was born—and quite a successful businessman at that! Very, very rich.”
“What did he do?” Sloane asked. “I thought Beatrice didn’t have any money.”
“Oh… well…” That gave Norma pause. She set down the money she’d been counting and tapped her lip thoughtfully. “Do you know? I don’t think that I know what Ozzie did. He didn’t make his money until after Great-Auntie Beatrice passed away, from what Mama said. He’d always worked so hard, but things never seemed to go right for him until his mother died. Then all of a sudden, whatever his business was, it must have really taken off. Because he had enough money to share with the whole family!”
It sounded to Sloane very much like Cousin Ozzie hadn’t suddenly become successful. More like he’d suddenly discovered the location of a whole bunch of stolen gems worth a great deal of money.
“Did he keep on living here in Wauseon?” Sloane asked as Norma finished tucking the goose costumes into the purple-and-green bag.
“No, he moved down to the Old West End in Toledo with the rest of the millionaires.” Norma handed Sloane the bag by its handles. “Lovely doing business with you!”
“Did he ever get married and have kids? What was his address?” Sloane asked, tucking the bag under her arm so she could tap notes into her phone. Maybe Ozzie had taken after his dad and built hidden compartments too. And maybe some of the jewels were still there. “Did he ever talk about what had happened with—well, with… you know?”
Behind her bejeweled glasses, Norma blinked several times in confusion.
“The… robbery?” Sloane prompted.
“Oh, you must mean when Ozzie lost all of his money right before World War Two.” Suddenly, all of Norma’s fluttery, sparkly joy disappeared. “I don’t think I want to talk about that.”
So she didn’t, abruptly turning her back on Sloane. She hummed as she brushed away imaginary specks of dust from a concrete goose modeling a pink-and-gold feathered headdress.
Meanwhile, the wheels in Sloane’s brain spun out all sorts of ideas. Ozzie, Thomas’s son, had been mysteriously rich only to suddenly lose it all. Was it possible that he’d kept the money in that secret compartment all that time? If so, had that note been left for him? Had someone robbed the robber’s son?
Did that mean the baby they were looking for was Charles? He’d come back to Wauseon right before World War II as well!
“Um, Norma? I mean, Mrs. Moonbeam?” Sloane prodded, but the woman kept her back turned to Sloane and hummed louder. When Sloane tried to stand next to her, Norma immediately turned away to straighten the velvet hangers holding various little outfits.
Oh, for the love of… Sloane closed her eyes in exasperation. She’d already spent most of her birthday money; she might as well spend the last ten dollars, too.
Opening her eyes again, she looked around for something else to buy.
Hang on a moment—was that a Doctor Who costume? The Fourth Doctor, from the olden days? Sloane snatched up the brown overcoat, striped scarf, and brimmed hat. “I’d like to buy this too, please.”
Turning around, Norma brightened up once more. “Lovely!”
“But maybe you could tell me about Ozzie losing his money while I pay?” Sloane suggested.
Tears glistened in Norma’s eyes and her lips wobbled as she whispered theatrically, “It was a terribly difficult time. One day Ozzie had money, and the next it was just gone. I was at their house in the Old West End the day it happened. He’d been out here to Wauseon on business, and I was at home with his wife and son, Johnny. We couldn’t make sense of anything he was saying, and before we knew it, he’d rushed out of the house again. I don’t know what he planned on doing, but he was in such a state that he—that he—well, he stepped right in front of a streetcar. And that was the end of dear Ozzie.”
A tear trickled out of Norma’s eye and plopped onto the adding machine. Sloane wished she had a tissue to offer her. Since she didn’t, Norma took off one of her gloves and used it to wipe her eyes instead.
She continued, “It was then that we found out that there was no money in his bank account. Where he got his money from, none of us knew. Invested in the stock market, I assumed. But if he did, we couldn’t find any evidence of it. Ozzie always said that Beatrice told him a secret when she was dying that helped make him rich. Maybe so, but whatever it was, the secret died with him. His wife and son lost everything. And then the little boy went bad when he grew up—ended up in prison, I heard.”
“Did you say his name was Johnny Zimmerman?”
“Oh, no. It would be Johnny Kerr. Ozzie always went by Kerr, his mother’s last name. Something about his father being a disgrace to the family and people around town treating Great-Auntie Beatrice like she had the plague for marrying him.”
Having finished, Norma picked up a spare concrete goose and handed it to Sloane. Fortunately, Sloane had some good muscles from softball practice or she would have dropped it onto her foot. Even as it was, her arms sagged.
“Here, take one of my geese. That way yours can have a friend.” Norma patted Sloane on the cheek.
Sloane didn’t have the heart to tell her that she didn’t actually have a concrete goose. She supposed that at least now she had something to put all of the costumes on. While hiding it deep at the back of her closet where no one would ever, ever see it.
Staggering under the weight of her new garden ornament, Sloane went to find her dad. However, it was much easier than she thought it would be as he was still at the soap booth, talking to the soap lady.
Who was really quite pretty, Sloane realized.
And about the same age as her dad.
As Sloane watched, he reached forward and plucked a bit of cottonwood fluff from her shoulder. Like this wasn’t the first time they’d met.
Like he knew her well, in fact.
Uuuuuugggghhhhh. The concrete goose dragged Sloane slowly downward until she was sitting on the curb, her stomach all knotted up again.
Now he was laughing—laughing! Sloane hadn’t heard him do that since her mom died. Not really. Not real laughter.
Sloane thought she might puke into the gutter.
“How’s it going, Sloane-y?” Like a bad witch, Mackenzie seemed to materialize out of thin air. Somewhere in whatever demon dimension she’d come from, she’d found a doughnut to buy and munch on. “Got anything for me yet?”
Getting up slowly, Sloane narrowed her eyes and poked Mackenzie with the goose’s beak. “How about a concrete goose dropped on your foot?”
“I’m not scared of you,” Mackenzie sneered, and took another bite of her doughnut. “But I bet Amelia will be once she finds out you were the one who got everyone to call her ‘Yeti’ this past month.”
“That’s not how it happened. And besides, it’s your word against mine, Mac.”
“I thought you might say that.” Grinning, the other girl pulled out her phone and tapped up a video. It was awkwardly filmed, and for some reason, Mackenzie had done so while using a filter that gave Sloane Easter Bunny ears and a cute little nose.
Even so, it was very definitely Sloane standing in the library.
A hurt, angry digital Sloane said, “She’s like a yeti herself. A hairy, weird, dramatic yeti. Amelia the Yeti.”
Real-life Sloane flinched and ground her teeth together, feeling more than ever like she might throw up. Waves of shame, regret, grief, and anger hit her one after the other until she thought they might drag her away completely.
And maybe they did. Certainly, Sloane didn’t feel like herself as she stood there and whispered, “Thomas Zimmerman had a son, Oscar. I think he might have known what happened to the jewels.”
Mackenzie smiled evilly and slowly took another bite of her doughnut. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Did he tell anyone where they went?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, it’s not much. But it’ll do. For now.” The other girl tucked her phone back into her pocket and swaggered off.
The soap lady handed Sloane’s dad a bag. When their hands touched, they held them there and looked into each other’s eyes.
Sloane wished she had her mother here to hug.
Crazily, she wished she had Amelia here to talk to as well.
But she wasn’t lucky enough to have anyone to talk to or hug.
All she had was this bizarre stone goose, cold and heavy in her hands.