“Are you . . . Mr. Berkshire? J-John Berkshire?” she asked, swallowing her fear. Hopefully, he hadn’t brought that axe with him to chop them into firewood.

  He bent down until his beard brushed the dirty ground and narrowed his eyes. “I know you. You’re Emily Cross’s little girl. One of those twins she’s got pictures of all over.”

  Holly lowered the chunk of railing in surprise. “You know my mom?”

  “She’s the only vet in town.” He nodded to his dog. “She treated Rubio for an infected bite on his back leg a couple of days ago.”

  “Oh.” Holly glanced back at the dog. She would be in a bad mood, too, if something had chomped on her leg a few days ago. “Is he better?”

  “He’s getting there.” He turned his eyes to Jordan. “And you’re the sheriff’s son. You ought to know better than to go snooping around other people’s property without permission.”

  Jordan’s shoulders drooped.

  “We weren’t snooping!” Holly objected. She wasn’t going to let him make Jordan feel bad for something they weren’t even doing. “We called for you because we wanted to talk to you, but you didn’t come out. We were gonna see if you were around back. That’s not snooping, so don’t say it is when it isn’t.”

  Mr. Berkshire straightened, his forehead folding into half a dozen wrinkles. “My, my. Aren’t you a little spitfire.”

  Holly eyed him sideways as she held on to the chunk of railing. “I don’t spit fire. I’m not a dragon. And if I was, I would be purple. But I’m not.”

  Mr. Berkshire took the chunk of railing from her hands, and she stumbled forward, trying to hold on to it.

  “Hey!” she shouted. “That’s mine.”

  “Actually, it’s mine. These”—he picked up the bag of marshmallows—“puffed cavities are yours.” He handed them back to her. “What do you children want?”

  Jordan released Holly’s hand and hefted up the treasure box. “We found this in the woods yesterday, and it belongs to someone named John, but we don’t know which John.”

  “Hmm.” Mr. Berkshire studied the box without touching it. “It’s not mine. I’ve never had a box like that. It’s awful nice you two are trying to find out who it belongs to instead of keeping it.”

  “Daddy says we should always do the right thing, even if no one’s looking,” Holly said.

  “Your daddy’s a wise man. Must be all those books he reads.”

  “You know my daddy too?”

  “Young lady, there are less than fifteen hundred people in this town, and I’ve lived here my entire life. I know almost everyone. Except for some of the littler folks.”

  “Do you know any other Johns this box might belong to?” Jordan asked. “We made a list, but we could’ve missed someone.”

  “Let me see what you’ve got.”

  Holly passed him the crumpled paper.

  He scanned the names, his face drooping into a frown. He plucked the pencil from behind his ear and scratched out one of the names.

  “Hey!” Holly popped onto her toes, trying to see whose name he’d scribbled out. “You can’t cross them out. We haven’t visited them yet.”

  “And you won’t be visiting him.” Mr. Berkshire scribbled the name and address out of existence. They would have to look it up in the phone book again. “He’s not a good man, and it’s not a safe place to go.”

  “Did he do something illegal?” Jordan asked.

  “Yes, and don’t ask me what it was because I won’t tell you. But you keep away from his house, you hear?” He looked at Jordan. “Promise me you two won’t go knocking on his door. Together or alone.”

  Jordan nodded. “Yes, sir.” Then he leaned toward Holly and whispered, “I told you there were bad people in town.”

  “I don’t have anyone else to add to your list,” Mr. Berkshire said, handing it back. “Do your parents know what you’re up to and where you’re going?”

  Holly and Jordan shook their heads.

  Mr. Berkshire tucked the pencil back behind his ear. “At least I know now. Someone should always know where you are and who you’re with.” He squinted at the sky. “You two better get moving. There’s only about four hours of daylight left, and you’re a ways from the center of town.”

  “Thanks,” Holly said, letting Jordan tug her toward the front of the porch. She paused at the top of the steps. “Mr. Berkshire, why don’t you mow your grass or clean your house?”

  Mr. Berkshire frowned. “Don’t you think that’s a rude question to ask a person?”

  “No.”

  He sighed. “It may have escaped your notice, young lady, but I’m an old man. Old age comes with problems.”

  “Like your hips?”

  “Nothing wrong with my hips. It’s my heart. It’s old, and it’s tired. The doctor said if I do anything strenuous, anything that gets my blood pumping too much, my heart could stop altogether.” He looked around at his dirty house and overgrown grass with a hint of sadness. “I do what I can here and there.”

  “Can’t your family help?”

  “I’m all that’s left of my family. Never did have kids.”

  Jordan tugged on Holly’s arm. “Come on. We gotta go or it’s gonna get dark before we’re done.”

  “Go on now,” Mr. Berkshire said.

  “Bye! Thanks for not letting your dog eat us!” She waved and hopped down the steps beside Jordan.

  She took one last look at the messy property before they left. When Mom was sick and couldn’t clean, Daddy took care of her and the house. He said love involves taking care of people when they can’t take care of themselves. Holly wasn’t sure what, but there had to be something she could do for old Mr. Berkshire.

  Chapter Nine

  “John Lemon,” Holly said, looking from the house number to the address on her paper before she stuffed it back into one of her overall pockets.

  She frowned at the odd fence in front of them. It didn’t enclose the property at all. It was only the gate, and it only blocked the sidewalk. “Where’s the rest of the fence?”

  “Maybe it fell down?”

  “All of it?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged and pointed to the sign attached to the fence. “Beware of gnomes.”

  Holly’s face scrunched. “Usually it says dogs. Do you think they have attack gnomes?” She stood on tiptoe and squinted at the yard, searching. She gasped and pointed. “I see one.”

  Jordan followed her finger to the chubby gnome hiding in the grass, a shovel pointed at them like a spear. “Uh . . . that’s a weird-looking gnome.”

  “He doesn’t look happy we’re here.”

  “He’s made of clay, Holly. He doesn’t have feelings.”

  “You don’t know that. He might come to life at night and guard the yard. There could be a whole army of attack gnomes with feelings,” she teased.

  “That would be kind of cool, actually.”

  Holly quirked her lips to one side as she stared at the little gate. “Should we go through it or walk around it?”

  “I think we should go over it.” He passed the box to her and backed up, bending low. Holly watched him with wide eyes as he launched forward and sprang over the fence, landing in a crouch on the other side. He raised his hands in the air. “Who’s the champion?!”

  “My turn.” Holly set down the box and tried to figure out how to climb over the fence. She lifted a leg to see if she could step over, but she was too short. “I wonder if I can run and jump like you did.”

  “You’re not a good jumper.”

  “But I’m a good climber. Better than you.”

  Jordan crossed his arms. “Only ’cause you cheat.”

  “Do not.” She grabbed the top of the fence, stretched onto her toes, and then climbed over. She hopped down beside him with a grin. “Tada!”

  “You left the box over there.”

  “I needed my hands.” She stepped around the fence and scooped it off the ground, bringing it back to him.

  As they walked up the sidewalk toward the front porch, Holly watched the ground. There were creepy gnomes hiding all over in the grass. They weren’t the typical gnomes—cute guys with smiles and mushrooms. They looked grumpy and ready for a fight. Especially the ones lining the porch steps.

  “I don’t think I like gnomes,” Holly whispered, then threw him a scowl. “And not ’cause I’m a fraidy cat. They look mean, and I don’t like mean things.”

  “I didn’t say you were scared.”

  “Good. ’Cause I’m not.”

  Jordan shifted the box to one arm and knocked on the door. Heavy footsteps approached from the other side, and the door opened a moment later.

  The woman who appeared in the opening caught Jordan by surprise. She was toad-like and dressed in a black robe. Her dark hair, with a gray skunk streak, frizzed in every direction as if she’d been zapped by one of the lightning bolts last night.

  She wiped her hands on her robe before opening the screen door, and Jordan noticed the red streaks across the fabric. Red . . . like blood. What had she been doing before they knocked on the door?

  “My goodness.” The old woman leaned down to study them. “Aren’t you two the cutest and most unexpected little visitors?” She said in a high-pitched voice. She reached out and pinched Holly’s cheek. “I could just eat you up.”

  Holly’s eyes widened, and she stepped away from the woman and closer to Jordan, whispering, “Wicked witch. I’ve read this story. We should go before she tries to fatten us up and eat us.”

  “You read too many books,” Jordan said.

  Holly scowled. “There’s no such thing.”

  “There’s no such thing as witches.”

  “Yes huh. The Bible says witchcraft is bad, so there are too witches. They’re as real as you and me. You can ask Daddy. He’ll tell you. And look, she even has a witchy broom by the door.”

  It was the same kind of broom Jordan had swept Oma’s porch with last night. There was nothing spooky about that.

  “Did you say something, dear?” The old woman cocked her head like a bird. “You’ll have to speak up. I don’t hear so well these days.”

  “Do you eat kids?” Holly asked.

  “Well, of course I do. Who doesn’t eat pigs?” Her eyes drifted to the side in thought. “Vegetarians, I suppose.”

  Holly and Jordan frowned at each other. Pigs?

  The woman opened the door wider. “It’s a warm day. Why don’t you two come in and I’ll fix you a snack and something to drink while we talk about why you’re here. Do you prefer cake or cookies? Or we could splurge and have a little of both.”

  Holly pinched her lips and shook her head at Jordan. He doubted the old woman was a witch, but that didn’t mean they should go in her house and eat her food.

  When Holly only stared at her distrustfully, Jordan said, “No thanks. We’re not hungry.”

  “What does being angry have to do with eating cake and cookies?” the woman asked, then tilted her head again. “Actually, I do eat a lot of chocolate cake when I’m upset. That makes . . . oh. Oh, you said you’re not hungry, didn’t you? I misheard.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, that’s all right then. Are you two selling something for church camp? Chocolate pastries perhaps?”

  “No, ma’am. We wanted to talk to Mr. Lemon.”

  “I’m Mrs. Lemon.”

  Jordan spoke louder. “Could we speak to Mr. Lemon?”

  “Oh, that old toad is gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “Moved on to a younger woman. No telling where they are now. He took most of our money and the car when he left. I said, ‘Why don’t you just take the fence, too, since you’re taking everything else?’ And . . . you can see how that worked out.” She waved a hand at the remaining gate. “He took everything except the part that’s cemented in the ground.”

  Jordan wasn’t sure what to say to that. He only wanted to ask Mr. Lemon about the box. “Can you call him?”

  The woman’s hand flew to her chest. “Can I kill him? Heavens no. That’s a crime. Which isn’t to say I haven’t considered . . . actually, it was more of a passing thought. I would never truly—”

  “What’s all over your robe?” Holly asked.

  Mrs. Lemon looked down at herself. “This is my painting smock. I’m a bit wild with my acrylic paints, and they go everywhere. I wear this to protect my clothes when I paint my gnomes.”

  “It’s not blood?”

  “Blood . . . gracious me. You do ask unusual questions, don’t you? What would make you think it’s blood?”

  “It’s really red, you said you could eat us up, and you look and dress like the witches from some of the books in Daddy’s bookstore,” Holly explained, eyeing the woman. “And you have a broom right by your door.”

  Mrs. Lemon didn’t react for a long while, and then she coughed and choked like an old car engine before she started to laugh. “You are an uncomfortably honest child.” She patted her chest as the laughter faded. “If that’s the image I’m portraying, it must be time to visit the salon. I know I haven’t taken much care with my looks since John left. I rarely leave the house except to get groceries and ship orders.”

  “Ship orders?” Holly asked.

  “You didn’t think all these gnomes were for me, did you? People order grumpy gnomes from my website, and I ship them all over the country.” She pointed to a sign in her yard that read Tulip’s Gnomes.

  “Oh. I thought maybe you were building a gnome army to scare people away.”

  Mrs. Lemon laughed again. “I suppose it does look like an army. I ran out of storage space in my shed, and this is the overflow.”

  Holly hooked her thumbs into her pockets and rocked onto her toes. “Sorry I thought you were a witch.”

  “That’s all right. Why did you want to speak with my ex-husband?

  Jordan explained about the treasure box and opened it to show her the contents. “Do you think it might be his, since his name is John? There was a date on the wooden bear—1918.”

  Mrs. Lemon tipped her ear toward him. “What was that date?”

  “1918,” Jordan repeated.

  She shook her head. “John is only sixty eight. He wasn’t even born in 1918. And these look like things a child would’ve placed in the box.”

  Jordan sighed and closed the lid. Another swing and a miss. If they skipped the house Mr. Berkshire told them to skip, they only had one house left. If that one was wrong, too, what would they do then?

  “I’m glad you children stopped by. I don’t get many visitors these days, and I haven’t laughed in a long time,” Mrs. Lemon said. “Here, you take these for the road. Fuel for your quest.” She pulled two suckers from the pocket of her smock.

  “Ooh, cherry.” Holly reached for one.

  “Dad says we shouldn’t take food from strangers,” Jordan said.

  Holly paused with her fingers inches from the treat. “But it’s my favorite flavor.”

  Mrs. Lemon reached inside the house and grabbed fifty cents. “How about this instead? A quarter for each of you to buy yourselves some suckers at the store. That way, no one gets in trouble.”

  Holly turned her hand palm-up. “Wow, thanks!”

  Jordan thanked her too. He would rather have a gum ball than a sucker. A blue one. He pocketed his quarter. “Thanks for talking with us, Mrs. Lemon.”

  “Anytime. I appreciate the company.”

  Jordan squinted at the lowering sun and then at Holly. “We better head back to your house. If we’re late for dinner, we’ll be in trouble.”

  “Be careful on your way back to the street. Those gnomes can be feisty, and you never know when they might spring into action and come for your ankles,” Mrs. Lemon said. “And if you take the woods, be sure to get home before dark. Some of the trees will be waking up soon, if you know what I mean.”

  Holly gaped at Jordan, and he mumbled, “She’s only kidding.” At least he hoped she was kidding.

  They tiptoed their way down the sidewalk, past the creepy gnomes, and back out onto the street.

  . . . .

  Everyone sat around the fire in the backyard, roasting hot dogs over the flames. If Jordan arrived early enough next time, maybe he could help build the fire. It couldn’t be that hard.

  “Who wants to hear a campfire story?” Mr. Cris asked. Ms. Emily threw him a warning look, and he cleared his throat before adding, “Something cute about . . . Care Bears perhaps.”

  Gin threw up her hand. “I love Care Bears!”

  “Can we do a spooky story?” Holly asked, her hot dog dipping down into the flames when she looked away from it. Jordan nudged her stick back up with a finger before she could blacken her dinner.

  “Um . . .” Mr. Cris glanced at his wife’s expression and said, “No spooky stories tonight, Jelly Bean.”

  “I don’t wanna hear about Care Bears.”

  “I do!” Gin raised her hand higher, trying to make her vote count more. “Rainbow Sprinkle Bear and his adventures in . . . um . . .um . . . cotton candy land.”

  Jordan swallowed a groan. Baby stories. He would rather hear something cool about adventures or mythical creatures. He rotated his hot dog over a patch of coals. “Mr. Cris, are witches a real thing?”

  “That’s a good question,” Mr. Cris said. “They’re not green, they don’t wear black robes, and they don’t fly around on broomsticks like in the Wizard of Oz.” He smiled at Gin and Holly, who had been reading that book earlier today. “But yes, witchcraft is real. There are people who choose to worship spirits of darkness rather than God, and they mess around with rituals and spiritual elements they shouldn’t.”

  Ms. Emily cleared her throat. “The girls, Cris. No more spooky stuff, remember?”

  “Right. Why the sudden curiosity?”

  “Holly thought Mrs. Lemon might be one, and I might’ve wondered for a second, but . . . we were wrong,” Jordan explained.

  “I told her I was sorry,” Holly said.

  Mr. Cris smiled. “That’s my girl.”

  “Daddy.” Holly’s hot dog dove back into the flames. Jordan rolled his eyes and nudged her stick back up without a word. “I wanna help Mr. Berkshire.”

 

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