“You go first, Amelia Bedelia,” Holly said, peering up the attic stairs over Amelia Bedelia’s shoulder.

“Why me?” asked Amelia Bedelia.

“You’re president today,” said Holly.

“I am?” asked Amelia Bedelia.

“Sure,” Heather said nervously.

Amelia Bedelia sighed. If she was president of an explorers’ club, she really had no choice.

“Here, Timbuktu! Here, Minsk!” she called as she climbed up the creaky stairs.

At the top, she stepped out into a wide, dusty space. And she screamed.

Actually, it came out as a squeak. A huge face with dark, scary eyes and a long, skinny nose was laughing at her from the far wall.

Holly yelped—before all three girls realized that what they were looking at was a wooden mask.

“Oh, gosh,” said Holly. “My heart’s in my mouth!”

Amelia Bedelia’s heart was where it usually was . . . but it was thumping.

There were lots of old trunks in the attic, and piles of boxes. Cobwebs swung from the rafters overhead.

Amelia Bedelia followed the paw prints, trying not to think of ghosts or goblins or vampire bats. Or vampire cats!

Something brushed the top of Amelia Bedelia’s hair, like a ghostly hand. She squeaked again, and Heather grabbed her shoulder.

Amelia Bedelia looked up. A kite with a long, dangling tail hung from the ceiling. A fierce face with a scowling mouth was painted on it.

“Yikes!” whispered Holly.

But Amelia Bedelia was starting to feel braver. A kite and a mask and cobwebs and shadows were not enough to stop true explorers! She tiptoed past a bucket. She saw more pails and buckets in other spots around the attic. She looked up. There were holes in the roof.

The paw print trail led across the attic to a half-open window. There were more paw prints on the sill.

“I bet the cats went out the window!” Holly said.

“I’m sure they did,” said Amelia Bedelia.

“How can you be so sure?” asked Heather.

Amelia Bedelia pointed. “Because I see them over there,” she said.

The three girls crowded around the window and looked out.

Next to Mrs. West’s house was a smaller building. As they watched, the girls saw a fluffy gray shape leap across the gap between the house and the smaller building and land on the roof. A sleek black shape was already there, waiting.

The two cats walked across the roof of the other building and disappeared.

“The cat’s out of the bag!” said Holly, and giggled.

“I think both cats are out of the attic,” said Amelia Bedelia.

“I meant, now we know the secret of where the cats are,” said Holly. “Let’s tell Mrs. West!”

“The carriage house!” exclaimed Mrs. West when the girls told her what they had seen. “Oh, thank you, girls! I never would have thought to check there. Follow me!”

The girls followed Mrs. West outside and into the other building. Amelia Bedelia looked around, but to her surprise, she didn’t see any carriages. Just two very old-looking cars.

Soft meows came from a loft overhead. “That’s where those cats are!” said Mrs. West, shaking her head. “How will we ever get them to come down?”

There was a ladder leading up to the loft. “We could climb up,” said Holly.

“But could we climb down while we’re holding cats?” asked Heather.

“I have a better idea!” Amelia Bedelia said. “Do you have any lemons?” she asked Mrs. West.

Mrs. West did have lemons. Better than that, she had lemon marmalade and sugar cookies. Amelia Bedelia spread a little marmalade on a cookie and left it at the foot of the ladder. Then the three girls and Mrs. West waited.

“Wow,” said Heather. “Look at these cars. They look old!”

“Just like me,” Mrs. West agreed.

One of the cars was a convertible, silver and sleek and curvy. It looked almost as if it would float or fly as well as it could drive. The other car was square and boxy, with big spoked wheels and a steering wheel on a stick.

“My husband loved old cars,” said Mrs. West. “These were the last two in his collection. Nobody else in my family has room to keep them. I’ve been trying to sell them, but it takes such a long time to find the right buyer for cars like these. They’re white elephants, really.”

Amelia Bedelia looked hard at the cars, but she could not see any long dangling trunks or big floppy ears.

Just then there was a quiet meow from the top of the ladder, and a black, whiskered face poked out of the loft.

“That’s Minsk!” whispered Mrs. West.

Slowly, rung by rung, Minsk eased himself down the ladder until he could start licking the marmalade off the cookie.

The gray, fluffy cat appeared and meowed. “Timbuktu!” Mrs. West said.

Timbuktu scampered down the ladder and pushed Minsk aside so that she could also have a bite of lemon marmalade.

“Thank goodness!” said Mrs. West. She scooped up Minsk. Amelia Bedelia picked up Timbuktu. “Bring her inside, would you?” asked Mrs. West. “Then I can pour you some lemonade to thank you for your help!”

They carried the cats back into the house. Amelia Bedelia paused in the front hallway to look again at the pictures on the wall. One in particular caught her eye. In it, a woman was standing on the edge of an enormous canyon, waving. She had glasses and short hair and she looked a lot like . . .

“That’s you!” said Amelia Bedelia.

“Yes, it is!” Mrs. West smiled even more widely. “Good eye. My husband took those pictures. He was a wonderful photographer.”

“Have you really been to all these places?” Amelia Bedelia asked.

“Certainly,” said Mrs. West. “When I was a bit younger, of course. My husband and I loved to travel together.”

“Wow,” said Amelia Bedelia again. “You must have been around the world!”

Mrs. West laughed. “More than once!” she said. “But come into the kitchen, girls. I’ll feed these silly cats and pour you some lemonade, and you can tell me what you wanted to see me about.”