Now we just have to raise enough money to buy honey from the grocery store,” I say. We’re still walking through the forest.

“The store doesn’t have any honey now,” Goldie says. “It’s winter.”

“So?” Jonah asks.

“There’s never any honey in the winter in Bebec,” Goldie explains. “Because the bees make honey, but they’re hibernating now. In the spring, they’ll make more and sell it to the stores and at the farmers’ market. That’s why the Bear family got so excited when they saw my fake note.”

Great. So no honey, then. Back to square one.

“Well, what would be just as good as honey?” I ask.

Goldie rubs her lower back. “I don’t know. Can we rest for a bit?” she asks. “I’m zonked from climbing up and down those rocks. Let’s go sit and lean against that huge maple tree.” She points across the path.

“All right,” I say. We head over to the tree, Prince leading the way, and we all sit down and lean against its base. Ahh. This is pretty relaxing. Who knew maple trees were so nice to lean against?

Wait. A. Minute!

Maple tree …

Maple syrup!

“Jonah,” I say, turning to my brother. “Didn’t you just go on a field trip to the place where they make maple syrup?”

“Yup,” he responds. “It was awesome. We learned how they make the syrup and got to taste it, too. Sooo good.”

I nod excitedly. “Maple syrup is sweet like honey,” I say. “It could be a close substitute. And it’s so delicious!”

“Hey, you’re right!” Jonah says.

Goldie looks from me to Jonah. “What’s maple syrup?” she asks.

Jonah and I both stare at her.

“You’ve never had pancakes with maple syrup?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I’ve had pancakes, but plain.”

“Plain pancakes?” I say. “No syrup? No butter? No chocolate chips or blueberries?”

“No whipped cream?” Jonah asks, incredulous.

Goldie shakes her head. “Nope. Just plain.”

I’m in shock. Even Prince cocks his head at Goldie, like he doesn’t understand.

“Well, you’re going to love maple syrup,” I tell her.

“But how do we get maple syrup?” Goldie asks.

“From maple trees!” Jonah says.

Her eyes widen. “Really? You’re kidding.”

“Nope. It’s true!” I insist.

“There are lots of maple trees in Bebec,” Goldie says, patting the trunk behind us. “Like this one. I even have two maple trees in my backyard! Since my dad is a carpenter, he taught me a lot about different types of wood and trees.”

“That’s perfect,” I say. “We can get the syrup from the maple trees in your backyard.”

“But how?” Goldie asks again. “Do we have to chop the trees down? Because I can’t do that.”

“No …” Jonah says. “We stick something in the tree and then the sap comes out of the trunk. Then the sap turns into syrup. I think those are the steps.”

I frown. That sounds familiar — I read about making maple syrup in a book once. “But it might be hard to make if we don’t know all the steps,” I say. “It’s not easy, like brownies.”

“Yeah. It’s hard — like cupcakes,” Jonah says, grinning at me.

I sigh. “Hopefully we won’t mess it up as badly as I did the cupcakes.” I look around the forest. The sun is setting. One thing I do know is that making maple syrup takes time. We should start in the morning. We’ll need daylight to see what we’re doing. If we can even do it.

Goldie yawns. “It’s been a long day. I’m so tired.”

I yawn, too.

And so does Jonah.

Even Prince yawns.

Yawns are contagious.

“You guys can sleep over at my house,” Goldie says. “My dad wouldn’t mind.”

I glance at my watch. At least we have some time.

“Thanks,” I tell Goldie. “That sounds great.”

We head back through the forest and over the fence, and we cross into the town. There are so many lights on in the windows. Bebec looks beautiful.

We walk to Goldie’s little stone cottage. She shows us to her dad’s room. It’s small, but there’s a large bed with a scratchy-looking thin blanket. Prince curls up at the foot of it.

Goldie yawns again. “See you two in the morning.”

“Good night,” we say.

Jonah leaps onto the bed. I sit down on it. Not too hard, not too soft, but not exactly just right, either. But it’s only for one night.

“I’m glad we’re helping Goldie,” Jonah says softly, pulling the cover up to his chin. “I feel bad for her.”

“Because her dad’s in jail for no good reason?” I ask.

“More that she’s never had pancakes with maple syrup,” he says. “Can you imagine life without maple syrup? I mean, what is the point of French toast even?”

“We’ll figure out how to make it,” I say.

Everything is riding on the syrup. To get the straw. To get the gold.

We have to get this right!

Just right.