from talking about it as I held his worn, callused hands. He’d been a carpenter all of his life. There was no way to know how many things those hands had built. Gramps told me once that when Mrs. Sweeney was alive, Old Man Sweeney had spent all of his free time building beautiful furniture for her. He’d stopped when she died.
I looked into his mind. It was like looking into a person’s attic where they stored the things that were important to them. I felt my usual reaction to being in someone else’s thoughts—shaking all over for a few seconds. That passed as I focused on locating the lost medallion.
After a moment, I saw it. It was resting on the floor, under a table near a goldfish bowl. Newspapers and some junk mail were lying on top of it. No wonder he couldn’t find it.
But when my mind touched it, I knew there was something unusual about the medallion. I’d seen it before, even held it. For a moment, I couldn’t make out what I recognized about it.
Then I knew—it was a gold award medallion that had belonged to a real estate broker named Amanda Sparks. She’d lost it on the road in Duck when she’d visited here in 1964.
My eyes flew open as I realized that the medallion now belonged to her son, Chuck Sparks. I’d returned it to him last year when he’d set up his business, Island Realty, LLC. “I know who this belongs to.”
Old Man Sweeney’s eyes popped open too as he jerked his hands away from mine. “There’s a reward. I suppose you saw that too. Don’t think I’m sharing just because you helped me find the medallion.”
“I don’t want the reward.” I tried to calm his fears. “I was just surprised at finding the medallion again.”
“What are you talking about? I found it.”
“It belongs to Chuck Sparks. I gave it to him last year after finding it on Duck Road.”
“I don’t think so.” Old Man Sweeney looked at me curiously, as if assessing my next move. He took a scrap of paper from his pocket and glanced at the writing on it. “He said his name is Derek. I have his phone number to call him when I find the medallion.”
I really wanted to go home and tell Gramps about what had happened at the Coffee House. I knew he’d say all the right things and I’d feel better. He was good at that.
But that wasn’t going to happen right away. Something about Old Man Sweeney’s finding that medallion seemed off, wrong. I knew it belonged to Chuck Sparks. Why would someone named Derek say it belonged to him and offer money for its return?
I sighed and wondered how I was going to convince my neighbor to let me help him give Derek the medallion so I could find out what was going on.
Chapter 2
O ld Man Sweeney’s house looked weatherworn but neat on the outside. I hadn’t been on the inside since I was about six and my mom made me apologize to him for writing on his sidewalk—while the concrete was still wet.
The inside had deteriorated a lot, from what I could remember. The living room looked like our house had before Gramps convinced me that I needed to open a thrift store to sell the things I’d found or collected down through the years. There had been very little room to walk and every flat surface was covered with something that had caught my attention. Some of it was valuable. Some, not so much.
In Old Man Sweeney’s house, assorted items were parked and piled in every corner—from an old bicycle to stacks of books and magazines as well as crates of dishes and bottles. He looked like he needed a thrift store too.
“I don’t know why you insist on being here when I turn the medallion over.” Old Man Sweeney had protested all the way from the coffee shop. He hadn’t let up now that we were at his house either.
“I told you, Mr. Sweeney.” I laid it on thick. “As mayor of Duck, it’s my monthly honor to commend one of our citizens for a good deed. I’d like that to be you at next month’s town council meeting. Don’t you want everyone to know what a
I looked into his mind. It was like looking into a person’s attic where they stored the things that were important to them. I felt my usual reaction to being in someone else’s thoughts—shaking all over for a few seconds. That passed as I focused on locating the lost medallion.
After a moment, I saw it. It was resting on the floor, under a table near a goldfish bowl. Newspapers and some junk mail were lying on top of it. No wonder he couldn’t find it.
But when my mind touched it, I knew there was something unusual about the medallion. I’d seen it before, even held it. For a moment, I couldn’t make out what I recognized about it.
Then I knew—it was a gold award medallion that had belonged to a real estate broker named Amanda Sparks. She’d lost it on the road in Duck when she’d visited here in 1964.
My eyes flew open as I realized that the medallion now belonged to her son, Chuck Sparks. I’d returned it to him last year when he’d set up his business, Island Realty, LLC. “I know who this belongs to.”
Old Man Sweeney’s eyes popped open too as he jerked his hands away from mine. “There’s a reward. I suppose you saw that too. Don’t think I’m sharing just because you helped me find the medallion.”
“I don’t want the reward.” I tried to calm his fears. “I was just surprised at finding the medallion again.”
“What are you talking about? I found it.”
“It belongs to Chuck Sparks. I gave it to him last year after finding it on Duck Road.”
“I don’t think so.” Old Man Sweeney looked at me curiously, as if assessing my next move. He took a scrap of paper from his pocket and glanced at the writing on it. “He said his name is Derek. I have his phone number to call him when I find the medallion.”
I really wanted to go home and tell Gramps about what had happened at the Coffee House. I knew he’d say all the right things and I’d feel better. He was good at that.
But that wasn’t going to happen right away. Something about Old Man Sweeney’s finding that medallion seemed off, wrong. I knew it belonged to Chuck Sparks. Why would someone named Derek say it belonged to him and offer money for its return?
I sighed and wondered how I was going to convince my neighbor to let me help him give Derek the medallion so I could find out what was going on.
Chapter 2
O ld Man Sweeney’s house looked weatherworn but neat on the outside. I hadn’t been on the inside since I was about six and my mom made me apologize to him for writing on his sidewalk—while the concrete was still wet.
The inside had deteriorated a lot, from what I could remember. The living room looked like our house had before Gramps convinced me that I needed to open a thrift store to sell the things I’d found or collected down through the years. There had been very little room to walk and every flat surface was covered with something that had caught my attention. Some of it was valuable. Some, not so much.
In Old Man Sweeney’s house, assorted items were parked and piled in every corner—from an old bicycle to stacks of books and magazines as well as crates of dishes and bottles. He looked like he needed a thrift store too.
“I don’t know why you insist on being here when I turn the medallion over.” Old Man Sweeney had protested all the way from the coffee shop. He hadn’t let up now that we were at his house either.
“I told you, Mr. Sweeney.” I laid it on thick. “As mayor of Duck, it’s my monthly honor to commend one of our citizens for a good deed. I’d like that to be you at next month’s town council meeting. Don’t you want everyone to know what a
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