Julia and Drew slid their lunch bags along the table and plunked themselves into the chairs I’d saved beside me. I chewed on a carrot stick, thinking so hard I barely noticed them.
“Okay, Iz,” Drew said. “What’s the deal?”
“This whole thing with our soccer field is really bugging me,” I said. “Now that we know Nicola was the one threatening Julia, we’ve got to prove that Richard Ausby is the person who’s vandalizing the park area.”
“Why?” Julia wanted to know. “Why don’t we just let the police handle it?”
“Oh, come on.” I snorted. “Do you really think the police are going to believe us instead of some rich business guy? Ausby’s going to end up getting away with it.”
“But how do you know Nicola didn’t vandalize the park?” asked Drew. “Just because she didn’t confess to it...”
“Give me a break. She could have sliced the soccer nets, maybe, but why would she? Nicola’s whole motive was to get Julia to play badly so she could show her up. Vandalizing the nets wouldn’t help with that at all. Neither would contaminating the soil—and that’s assuming she would even know how to do it,” I said.
“If we only knew whether the loot from that train robbery you guys told me about was really buried at that homestead, then we might have something,” said Julia.
Drew ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. “That’s got to be impossible. The train robbery was nearly ninety years ago. How are you going to find out anything now? The people who were involved with it are all dead!”
“Yeah,” I said slowly. “But stories like that get passed down in families. Maybe someone besides Richard from the Ausby family is still alive.”
“The plaque at the park didn’t say that Denise Ausby was the last one of the family,” Drew pointed out.
“Even if she was the last one of the family to live on that land,” I argued. “that doesn’t mean she didn’t have relatives somewhere.”
“Yeah, but how are you going to find them?” Drew countered.
I frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Uh...you could try looking up Ausby in the phone book,” Julia suggested.
Drew and I looked at each other. I started to laugh. “That’s so obvious. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“There’s a phone book at the office,” said Julia.
“Let’s go check.” Drew shoved his chair back, the remnants of his sandwich still in one hand.
We followed him out the cafeteria door and down the hall to the phone outside the school office. A phone book inside a vinyl binder was attached to a shelf under the phone. I grabbed it first and immediately began thumbing through the A section.
“Astor, Atkins, Atwell,” I muttered.
Julia peered over my shoulder. “Did you find it?”
“Ausby!” I pointed to the name. “There are only a few listed. Do you think we should phone now?”
“Why not?” Drew picked up the receiver. “But be careful what you say. They aren’t going to reveal family secrets about buried treasure to a stranger over the phone.”
I took a deep breath and dialed. The phone rang three times before an answering machine clicked in. I hung up without saying anything. “No one was home,” I said. I tried the next number.
“Hello?” The young woman’s voice sounded impatient. A baby was bawling in the background.
“Hi,” I said nervously. “This is Isabella MacAllister calling. I’m looking for someone who might have some information—”
“Not interested,” the woman interrupted.
“No, wait! Please don’t hang up! I’m not selling anything. It’s about Denise Ausby’s land!”
“Denise? She’s dead.”
“I know that!” I persisted. “But I need to find out about something that happened a long time ago on that farm.”
The woman paused. I could still hear the baby shrieking. “Just a minute.” I waited. The woman hollered, “Brent! Give that kid her bottle and c’mere. Some girl on the phone wants to know about your Great Aunt Denise.”
There was a clattering as the phone was laid down, followed by a sudden silence. I waited again, and within a few moments a man’s voice answered.
“Hello?” he said.
“Hi,” I said. I repeated my name and why I was calling.
“Aunt Denise left that land to the city about five years ago. None of us saw a penny.” The young man didn’t sound bitter, just matter-of-fact. “I don’t know much about it.”
“Is there anyone left in your family who might be able to talk to me?” I asked desperately.
“Nope. Not really. Just my grandma, but she’s in a nursing home. She’s not all there, you know. Goes nuts, sometimes.”
“Would it be okay if I talked to her anyway?” I held my breath.
“Sure. Won’t do you any good, but you can try. Her name’s Edith Ausby. She’s in the Broadview Nursing Home. You’ll have to ask for her at the front desk, and the nurse will take you in.”
“Thank you,” I said gratefully and hung up.