•••
I dozed off around midnight. Something abruptly awakened me—I thought it was a voice, then decided I must have been dreaming. The alarm clock on the nightstand said ten minutes after three a.m.Thunder rumbled in the distance. I rolled over, figuring that I’d confused thunder for a voice, then worried that I might have heard Gran.
I’d better check, I decided. I crept downstairs without turning on any lights and followed the sound of snoring down the hall. By the glow of a nightlight, I saw Gran sound asleep in her bed—the night nurse snoring on the cot beside her.
Thunder cracked again. I started back toward the stairs, then froze. Another sound—one that sounded like the clink of metal on metal—clanked in the backyard. I veered toward the dark kitchen and headed to the window. Oh, dear—lights were moving around in the back of the garden!
My heart galloped. My hand shook as I reached for the phone. My first thought was to call the police, but then lightning lit the sky—sheet lightning, the kind that doesn’t streak, but just illuminates the clouds like an overhead flashbulb—and in that instance, I saw the distinct outline of three men, digging.
A stream of cold ran straight to my core. It didn’t make sense, but I was sure this was somehow related to Matt’s and my efforts to find the suitcase. If I called the police, I’d have to explain it all to them, and Gran’s secret could come spilling out, and...
Without thinking further, my fingers punched in the speed-dial number for Matt.
He answered on the first ring, his voice thick with sleep.
“Some men are digging in the backyard,” I whispered.
I heard the rustle of fabric, and imagined him climbing out of bed and going to his own window. He muttered a low oath. “How many?”
“I think I saw three. I started to call the police,” I whispered, “but...”
“I’ll be right over.”
“I’ll meet you outside.”
“No. Stay indoors.” The words were an order. “They might be armed.”
I ran back upstairs, pulled off my pj’s, and scrambled into aT-shirt and shorts, not bothering with undergarments. No way was I going to cower indoors if Matt was going out there. I headed back downstairs and, on impulse, grabbed a poker from the fireplace tool set in the parlor. I watched the hedge—Sophie’s secret gate—and when another flash of lightning lit the sky, I saw Matt emerge from the shrubbery.
I stepped out the kitchen door, closing it quietly behind me. Clutching the poker, I ran to the large oak and hid behind it, watching Matt advance on the men.
“We’re gonna get electrocuted out here,” I heard one of them say.
“Nah. That storm’s still a long ways off,” said another.
“Freeze or I’ll shoot!” yelled Matt.
All of a sudden, a bright light illuminated the men. Only they weren’t men at all; they were teenagers, probably fifteen or sixteen years old. I realized that Matt was holding some kind of large spotlight, the kind you might find at a roadside construction site.
They all threw their hands up in the air and squinted toward him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Matt demanded.
“N-nothing,” said one of them.
“You can tell me, or you can tell your parents down at the police station.” Matt’s voice was hard. “Your choice.”
“We—we heard there was treasure,” said a tall, gangly boy with buzz-cut hair.
“Where the hell did you hear that?” Matt demanded.
“Mike’s girlfriend works at the snow cone stand, and...”
“Don’t use names!” blurted a shorter boy with dark, Johnny Depp–style hair—apparently named Mike.
“Sorry. Anyway, she overheard two little kids talkin’ about how they were helping their neighbor lady find some treasure in her backyard, and we, uh, thought we’d help out.”
“That’s what you’re doing, huh? Helping out?” Sarcasm dripped from Matt’s words.
