Ronnie sat down at the library table with a to-go cup of hot chocolate, opening a new notebook alongside her old one. Ernest Williams, the recordkeeper, was the oldest person that Ronnie had questioned. He’d lived through the renaming of the town but either didn’t know what was going on or was really committed to the character of the confused old man. The files he’d let Ronnie access were helpful, too, which would be an odd thing to do if he were part of a coverup.
The only other person who seemed to know what was going on was Michelle McKinney. According to the computer, Missus mcKinney had been an alderwoman for the better part of a decade now and was very loud about protecting the town’s history. She helped to stop Main Street from being torn down by a development company that wanted the land. Adam Monroe had paid for the upgrades the town needed to stay “up to code” out of pocket as part of the deal with the state government; that was interesting. Maybe he was part of the conspiracy after all, or maybe he didn’t like the idea of another company on his territory.
But if the alderwoman liked the town’s history so much, why not admit the gold was real?
It wasn’t adding up. Ronnie would need to watch Missus McKinney closely while she was still startled from the confrontation and most likely to make a mistake (a technique Ronnie had learned from Amaranth Jones and the Spider’s Jewels). As an adult, she’d be at work even during the summer, but Ronnie had all the time in the world to stake out and follow her.
Stakeouts turned out to be the most boring thing to have ever been invented. Ronnie couldn’t get inside Town Hall, so she had to sit with her bike on a bench outside and facing the building to wait for Missus McKinney to step outside. She spent hours doing nothing but staring at the parking lot door just in case her target decided to take an early lunch break.
Nothing happened.
Maybe this was a dead end. Maybe Michelle McKinney could just call anyone she needed to about the gold from her office. Maybe Ronnie was giving up Nolan’s entire reading vacation for a wild goose chase.
But the woman knew something.
One day around noon, the alderwoman left her office to have lunch at a local brewery with some people Ronnie had never seen before. One of them was wearing a button-down shirt with the insignia of some company she didn’t recognize. Ronnie wasn’t allowed inside, so she stood beneath a tree and stared through the window, making sure that the woman couldn’t slip away unnoticed.
It wasn’t long before she started banging her head back against the tree in boredom.
“Hi!”
Ronnie jumped. A girl from school–Cindy Moss–had walked up to her. A bunch of other girls from their year were standing nearby. After a quick glance back through the window to make sure Missus McKinney hadn’t escaped in the distraction, Ronnie asked, “Huh?”
“Uh, hi? We saw you standing around. Are you waiting for someone?” Before Ronnie could think up a lie, Cindy continued, “I’m Cindy, by the way. You’re not from around here, right? None of us remember seeing you in school.”
“Y-Yeah, I’m only here for the summer, visiting my cousin.”
“Oh, who’s your cousin?”
“Nolan White?”
Another girl approached–Naomi Turlington–who asked, “The quiet kid? I didn’t know he had a cousin.”
“...He’s just shy, that’s all.”
“Alright. Well, hey, do you want to hang out with us?”
Hang out with them? Girls? That was ludicrous! Sure, Nolan had been friends with some of the local girls before middle school started and stuff got weird, but he didn’t want to hang out with a bunch of girly-girls talking about boys and fashion and boy bands and stuff! Ronnie wasn’t that type of girl!
“N-No, I’m fine, really.”
Cindy shrugged. “Suit yourself. See you around.”
As they walked away, Ronnie said, “Wait! Uh, my name’s Ronnie, by the way.”
“Cool. Later, Ronnie.”
The alderwoman didn’t do anything interesting for the rest of the day. Or the next day, for that matter. Ronnie was tempted to bring a book with her on her stake out just to have anything to do, but she knew that vigilance made a good detective. That vigilance paid off on Friday.
Missus McKinney left Town Hall around noon but didn’t head to her car. She was also scanning around, scrutinizing anyone who got near to her. Ronnie grabbed her bike and knelt behind the bench until her target had safely passed by before slowly following.
The route took them down several back streets to an older, poorer part of town with fewer people. Ronnie had to hide her bike behind a dumpster and follow on foot not to stand out. It was a good ten minutes before Missus McKinney unlocked a metal gate in a brick fence and entered a back lot. Glancing through the mesh, Ronnie saw her unlock and enter an old wood shed, then slipped inside herself.
Someone had let this garden rot away. Weeds covered the pavement that ran between old planters of dry, cracked soil. Ronnie hid behind the shed and waited for the door to open. She heard a padlock being set again followed by receding footsteps. Taking a chance, Ronnie peeked around the corner to see Michelle McKinney heading toward the gate with an old leather book in her hand before hiding again until she heard the metal gate clang shut.
A small ladder was among the other discarded tools littering the garden lot. It was heavy and threw Ronnie off-balance to pick up, but she was able to lean it against the shed and climb up to the small side window. It didn’t open, but the old epoxy holding it in place was weak and torn in places. With a grunt, Ronnie yanked the whole window frame from the shed and nearly fell from the ladder altogether. The window hit the ground with a bang that startled a bunch of birds off of a nearby roof.
Ronnie was just barely scrawny enough to force herself through the hole, falling onto a desk and scattering documents everywhere. The thin outside light exposed a hanging lightbulb, and with a small jump, Ronnie was able to yank the chain and turn it on. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but she’d been certain that this shed had something to do with the missing gold.
Instead, she saw folders and envelopes all over the floor as well as some wrapped-up paintings. She tore the paper off some of the paintings, but most were just old landscape paintings of the town from when it was a lot smaller. The others were small portraits of people Ronnie didn’t recognize. Confused, she picked up a folder from the table and opened it. There were faded, yellow, brittle handwritten letters inside.
Glancing through them, she was able to make out some of the names of the old families she’d researched as well as a reference to a “Keith Graham” who seemed to be the artist responsible for the paintings. The letters, sent by these old families to each other, talked about how much of a problem he was becoming for the town. No mention of Indian gold anywhere.
Why was all this here?
Squeezing back out the window was tough, but Ronnie was able to use the ladder to get out of the enclosed lot. She returned home, took a bath, and changed back into Nolan, taking the rest of the day to think about what he’d learned. He’d never heard of Keith Graham. Then again, he’d never heard about the gold before this summer. Because his parents had the weekends off, Ronnie wouldn’t be able to go back to the library to do more research until Monday.
It was an agonizing weekend. Nolan knew that every hour wasted was one that the conspirators could bury the truth forever. Something was going on, but he felt further from the truth than ever. The anxiety was enough to make him start biting his nails again. He couldn’t even force himself to sit down and read as a distraction.
On Monday, Ronnie made the long trek back up the hill and sat herself down in front of the library computer. The database (after several minutes of loading) found a few articles talking about Keith Graham and his studio on Main Street. During his time in Larson, he ran several small art festivals hosted and sponsored by Kristian Larson himself; in one interview, Mister Larson talked about their long friendship. The last article in the timeline said that Keith Graham was ready to move onto the national stage but first wanted to reveal a painting that would “set history straight.”
Ronnie entered the painter’s name into the library’s browser, looking for any books he’d written or that had been written about him. Nothing. Frustrated, she searched until she found an encyclopedia of American Painters of the 20th century, hoping that it might reveal something.
At the checkout counter, Ronnie remembered that she was looking for information about a local historical figure.
“Hey,” she said to the librarian, “do you know about a painter called Keith Graham? He lived here back when the town’s name was changed, but I can’t find a lot of information about him.”
The librarian, who couldn’t have been older than Ronnie’s own mother, scratched her chin for a moment before admitting, “I didn’t learn much about local history growing up, but I do remember people bringing up a painter once or twice. He was supposed to be really good but retired into obscurity when he couldn’t make it big.”
“Oh. Thank you, anyway.”
Ronnie left the library clutching the book tightly to her chest. There was no telling what Keith Graham had to do with Larson’s missing gold, but her gut told her that she was onto something. Nobody wanted to “set history straight” only to disappear from the history books with no trace.
At home, Nolan curled up on the couch and opened the book while the TV droned in the background. The encyclopedia was divided by decade, then region, so he had to check several different sections. After two thorough but futile scans of the book, he closed it and groaned, rubbing his eyes.
The book also talked about some of the big artistic movements of each decade. Amaranth Jones was always reading books about subjects that popped up in her investigations. Knowing something about painting might be super important for his story, too. Nolan opened the book again but found himself distracted by the TV.
A cartoon was playing: Griffon VS Eternity. Nolan liked the show, but this was the episode where Griffon had to dress up as a girl in order to infiltrate an evil all-girls school that had brainwashed his best friend. It was an episode he’d seen a million times, but it was hard to look away. Everyone kept laughing at Griffon and making jokes at his expense. His attempt to pass as a girl was so embarrassing that it was ridiculous the villains took it seriously.
Nolan closed the book and sat it down before retreating back into his room.
I watched far too many shows like that one at the end. The kind that made me feel bad about wanting to be girl with all my heart and the kind that did a ton damage, enforcing I would only ever be a joke. Got there in the end, but wow I could have really used some trans positive media at that age.
It watched the same shows as well.
very fun!
I do love breaking and entering to maybe find a long lost gold hoard that may or may not exist.