The Winner's Game(36)

“I don’t like this story.” Ann’s voice is numb. Looking a little whiter than normal, she sits down on the chair next to Grandma’s queen-size bed. “Did this really happen?”

Mom shrugs. “I don’t know…but I think so.”

“What did the engineer do?”

My mother is quiet for a second, then says, “He held on to the lever.” After another moment, she explains, “The story was told as a metaphor for God’s love. The engineer willingly gave his son so that others could live.” She pauses again, looking down at her lap. When she looks up, there are more tears running down her cheeks. “Ann, maybe this makes me a terrible person, but I don’t think I’d think twice about it. If it were you, Bree, or Cade out there on that bridge, I think I’d let go of the lever and send the train to the left.” She sniffles once, then stands up and picks up the box in front of her.

There’s a whole lot of quiet in the room after that. It’s all I can do to get the image of a little boy being struck by a train out of my head. What finally does the trick is Ann’s snicker and then goofy laugh and then, “I found the nude books!”

Almost instantly, Dad blurts out, “Close your eyes!”

Ann is all smiles and keeps her eyes wide open. She reaches into the box she’s been working on and pulls out a handful of small, spiral-bound notepads. As the family gathers around, she flips through several of them quickly. “I think I just figured out what Grandma Grace was trying to say.” She opens one of the pads to the first page and shows it to everyone.

In handwritten pen, at the very top, it reads, 1986—Round #1. Below that, the page is split into two columns. Grace’s name is at the top of the left column, while Alfred’s—Great-grandpa—is on the right. Below their names is a page full of small tally marks. Lastly, at the very bottom, is a sum of the tallies: Grace = 74. Al = 61.

“‘Don’t throw away the scorecards,’” Ann says slowly, translating Grandma’s earlier instructions. “‘I want the notebooks.’”

Down throat way the score chards. I want the nude books.

There is no doubt that we’ve found the notebooks, and they definitely look like scorecards. Now there’s only one question: What the heck are they for?





After a couple of hours of gutting Grandma’s room, Dad finally lets me head out back with the metal detector. The steady rain has slowed to a bearable drizzle, so I lug my device to the edge of the beach and power it up.

The red indicator lights up instantly…and fizzles out thirty seconds later.

I turn it on again to the same result.

Five tries later, I carry the thing back inside.

“Done so soon?” asks Mom.

“The battery is dead.”

“Probably from sitting in the attic so long. Did you see a power cord while you were up there?”

“No, but I’ll go look.” Sure enough, the cord is in the attic. I plug it in, and in an hour I’m ready to give it another try. Before heading outside, I stop to examine a picture of Great-grandpa hanging on the wall. I never met the man, but I’ve seen enough pictures of him that he’s familiar. In this photo, he’s holding up a salmon by the gills, and there’s a fire in his eyes that makes me think he really enjoyed life. Or at least enjoyed fishing. I bet he was an adventurer, like me, and that he and I would get along quite well. So well, in fact, that he’d be proud that I’m continuing the search for his buried treasure. “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “If your treasure is out there, Cap’n Cade will find it.”

I didn’t realize Bree was standing behind me, watching and listening. “You’re not going to find anything,” she says. “There’s no buried treasure out there. If there was, it would have been discovered years ago.”

“Aunt Bev says I will, if I try hard enough.”

“Well, you won’t, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“Will too.”

“I bet you fifty bucks you don’t find anything valuable.”

“Deal.”

Just then Mom comes walking by and sees me with the metal detector. “The rain is picking up again. You sure you want to go out in this weather?”

I smirk at Bree. “Yep. I have a bet to win.”

As I step from the kitchen to the back deck, I remember what Aunt Bev told me about hunting for the treasure: Your great-grandfather believed there was treasure buried out behind the house…he’d spend hours and hours out there…A good pirate doesn’t give up until his treasure is found…

“‘Behind the house,’” I tell myself, not really wanting to go too far away in the rain. “Maybe the treasure isn’t on the beach at all, but right here in the yard.”