The Mapmaker and the Ghost(31)

“I don’t have her number.”

“But Mom …”

“Oh, Birch,” Goldenrod sighed. “I wish you were a little braver.”

Birch dropped his head but didn’t say anything.

“Let’s just make sure she’s not here, and then we’ll go, okay?”

“Fine,” Birch said.

Goldenrod turned the knob and opened the door.

It was as if she had stepped into an entirely different house. The room was large and airy. There was a beautiful snow-white carpet on the ground and a large mahogany four-poster in the middle. On the nightstand, there was a cell phone plugged into the wall.

On one side of the room was a large and handsome dresser. On the opposite wall stood a matching vanity table, which was neatly set with a wide variety of glass perfume bottles. Next to this was a sleek, shiny, and seemingly brand-new computer.

Goldenrod couldn’t help but gape. This modern, immaculately spotless bedroom seemed to have nothing in common with the rest of the house. For a moment, she even forgot what she was supposed to be doing there. She walked over to the dresser, peeked into the top drawer, and found what must have been the most neatly folded sock drawer in the history of mankind.

“She’s not here,” Birch said hopefully.

But just then, Goldenrod noticed that she was standing underneath a large square tile on the ceiling. The tile had caught her eye because hanging from it was a big and ornate brass handle.

There was no way she’d be able to reach the handle on her own, so she looked around for something to stand on. The computer chair would work just fine. She pushed it over, stood on it, and pulled on the handle. The tile swung open and down came a metal ladder with it.

What sort of explorer would see a ladder and not want to climb up it? Goldenrod’s mind very logically asked. Not this sort, she thought with just a hint of glee as she put her foot on the first rung. Besides, how was she supposed to get to the bottom of the mystery of the old lady if she didn’t gather every clue that she could find?





23

THE ATTIC


Birch looked on, horrified.

“It’s an attic.” Goldenrod sounded delighted as she started to climb up the ladder.

She had just poked her head past the ceiling when Birch immediately heard her give a sharp intake of breath. “Whoa!” she said.

“What?” Birch asked, afraid of the answer.

“You have to come see this,” she said as she stepped all the way up the ladder and disappeared into the ceiling door.

Birch really didn’t want to go up the ladder. But, at that moment, he decided to try very hard to grant his older sister’s wish that he be braver. After all, he couldn’t expect her to include him in her activities if he couldn’t even act courageous in the face of an attic. With a sigh, he cautiously made his way over to the middle of the room, stepped onto the chair, and then onto the first rung. He had never been on a ladder before, and it wasn’t such a pleasant experience. Still, slowly, he made his way up.

He didn’t stop looking at the rungs until he had his feet on solid ground again. Only then was he able to take in where he was and give the same sharp intake of breath he had heard from Goldenrod.

The room was absolutely crammed with stuff—some of it protected by plastic bags, some things large, some things smaller, but almost all of it shiny. There were very few things in the room that didn’t look like they were made out of gold or silver: trophies, goblets, large scrolled mirrors, sets of silverware.

Birch walked over to Goldenrod, who was examining a silver mirror closely. At first, he thought she was frowning at the green and brown makeup that was still on her face and now streaked with little rivulets of sweat. But then he realized that it was actually the back of the mirror that she was staring at. “What is all this?” he asked her.

Goldenrod looked up at Birch, seeming troubled. “I don’t know,” she said. “But look at this.”

She showed him an engraved design on the back of the mirror. It looked like a shield and had two crossed telescopes and some sort of bird on it. A banner across the bird’s tail spelled out the word “Lewis.”

“What is that?” Birch asked.

“It’s Randy Lewis-O’Malley’s family crest. I’ve seen it before on his backpack. And it seems to be on a lot of things around here …” She looked at all the shiny engraved items surrounding them.

“Who’s Randy Lewis-O’Malley?” Birch asked.

“Toe Jam,” Goldenrod said slowly. “So what is she doing with all of his family’s stuff?”

But just then, Goldenrod’s eyes widened in shock. Birch watched as she walked, almost as if in a trance, toward what was probably the dullest thing in the room: a small, framed and dusty illustration of a bird, labeled in someone’s old-fashioned handwriting. Goldenrod picked it up, stared at it, and muttered, “I don’t believe it …”

“What?” Birch asked, going over to see the drawing closer.

It looked like the same bird that appeared on Toe Jam’s family crest, but he couldn’t see what was so special about it.

“This is his woodpecker. Meriwether Lewis’s. Look!” Goldenrod pointed to the crammed handwriting, which did, indeed, say “Lewis’s Woodpecker (Melanerpes lewis), Discovered 1804 by M.L. & W.C.”