quickly checked the basement. The couch was gone. “Sylvester!” his mother called. “I’m in the laundry room.”
He came back upstairs, peeked in at her, and said, “Need help?” His mother was frantically folding clothes in the small room off the kitchen where the washer and dryer hummed.
She shook her head. “Yes, but not with this stuff. When your father called Hal-muh-ni this morning to tell her what happened, she went ballistic.”
“Ballistic? That sounds bad.”
“She insisted that your father retrieve the couch immediately. He told her that was impossible. Honestly, I can’t understand her attachment to this piece of furniture.” Mrs. Cho shrugged. “But it’s undeniable. I’d like you to be here this evening when she gets home so you can help us try to calm her down.”
“She’s coming home today? What about her visit?”
“She left her sister’s house early. That’s how important this is to her.” Mrs. Cho sighed, frustrated, and launched herself into folding shirt after shirt after shirt.
“Where’d you get all this money?” Viola gasped. It was later in the afternoon. The group had decided to meet in Rosie’s dining room. Sylvester wore a freshly washed, bug-free sweatshirt and pair of corduroys. With a dramatic flourish, he’d tossed several twenty-dollar bills onto the table.
“I haven’t told anyone about this,” said Sylvester, “because Hal-muh-ni asked me not to. But recently, a few times, I’ve found her in my bedroom. And whenever I do, she hands me a wad of cash. She’s told me that it’s a gift, that she wanted to leave it under my pillow. But with all the drama going on now, I have a different idea about what she’s been doing with that money.”
“She’s not a con artist, is she?” said Woodrow. Sylvester rolled his eyes and shook his head. Woodrow continued, “Then what is Hal-muh-ni’s deal? What has she really been doing down in the basement with that money?”
“Making withdrawals,” said Sylvester.
“You mean, like, bank withdrawals?” Viola asked. Sylvester nodded. “She was keeping money in the old yellow couch?”
“That’s what I assume,” said Sylvester. “It must be her savings.”
“Oh no!” said Rosie. “That’s awful. What was she thinking, keeping all that cash in your house?”
“I’m not sure,” said Sylvester. “She doesn’t trust banks or something. I just figured it out this afternoon, and I finally told my mom all about it. Of course, now I’m going to have to give the money back. Whatever. I shouldn’t have accepted it anyway. But losing this money is nothing compared to what Hal-muh-ni might lose if my dad doesn’t track down that couch. I asked if I could go with him to the town dump to help look for it, but my parents didn’t want me digging around in the dirt … so here I am.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Viola asked.
“Keep your fingers crossed for her. For all of us, I guess.” Woodrow, Rosie, and Viola did just that, all night. In fact, they woke up with sore knuckles.
The next morning at school, Sylvester pulled the other three aside before classes started, so hecould explain what had happened the night before.
“So, just as the sun was setting, my dad ended up at the dump in the hills past Deerhof Park,” Sylvester started. “He talked to the manager, an old man named Ned, about where the latest large furniture drop-offs might be located. Ned looked at my dad like he had two heads, but pointed him in the right direction. Near the rear lot. When my dad drove all the way back there, he realized that someone already had his eye on the couch. In fact, my dad said this person had already loaded the couch onto the bed of a small busted-up pickup truck. He immediately recognized this person. And he told me that I would recognize him too, given the chance.”
“Was it Bill?” asked Woodrow, with a determined look. “I knew he was up to something!”
“No,” said
He came back upstairs, peeked in at her, and said, “Need help?” His mother was frantically folding clothes in the small room off the kitchen where the washer and dryer hummed.
She shook her head. “Yes, but not with this stuff. When your father called Hal-muh-ni this morning to tell her what happened, she went ballistic.”
“Ballistic? That sounds bad.”
“She insisted that your father retrieve the couch immediately. He told her that was impossible. Honestly, I can’t understand her attachment to this piece of furniture.” Mrs. Cho shrugged. “But it’s undeniable. I’d like you to be here this evening when she gets home so you can help us try to calm her down.”
“She’s coming home today? What about her visit?”
“She left her sister’s house early. That’s how important this is to her.” Mrs. Cho sighed, frustrated, and launched herself into folding shirt after shirt after shirt.
“Where’d you get all this money?” Viola gasped. It was later in the afternoon. The group had decided to meet in Rosie’s dining room. Sylvester wore a freshly washed, bug-free sweatshirt and pair of corduroys. With a dramatic flourish, he’d tossed several twenty-dollar bills onto the table.
“I haven’t told anyone about this,” said Sylvester, “because Hal-muh-ni asked me not to. But recently, a few times, I’ve found her in my bedroom. And whenever I do, she hands me a wad of cash. She’s told me that it’s a gift, that she wanted to leave it under my pillow. But with all the drama going on now, I have a different idea about what she’s been doing with that money.”
“She’s not a con artist, is she?” said Woodrow. Sylvester rolled his eyes and shook his head. Woodrow continued, “Then what is Hal-muh-ni’s deal? What has she really been doing down in the basement with that money?”
“Making withdrawals,” said Sylvester.
“You mean, like, bank withdrawals?” Viola asked. Sylvester nodded. “She was keeping money in the old yellow couch?”
“That’s what I assume,” said Sylvester. “It must be her savings.”
“Oh no!” said Rosie. “That’s awful. What was she thinking, keeping all that cash in your house?”
“I’m not sure,” said Sylvester. “She doesn’t trust banks or something. I just figured it out this afternoon, and I finally told my mom all about it. Of course, now I’m going to have to give the money back. Whatever. I shouldn’t have accepted it anyway. But losing this money is nothing compared to what Hal-muh-ni might lose if my dad doesn’t track down that couch. I asked if I could go with him to the town dump to help look for it, but my parents didn’t want me digging around in the dirt … so here I am.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Viola asked.
“Keep your fingers crossed for her. For all of us, I guess.” Woodrow, Rosie, and Viola did just that, all night. In fact, they woke up with sore knuckles.
The next morning at school, Sylvester pulled the other three aside before classes started, so hecould explain what had happened the night before.
“So, just as the sun was setting, my dad ended up at the dump in the hills past Deerhof Park,” Sylvester started. “He talked to the manager, an old man named Ned, about where the latest large furniture drop-offs might be located. Ned looked at my dad like he had two heads, but pointed him in the right direction. Near the rear lot. When my dad drove all the way back there, he realized that someone already had his eye on the couch. In fact, my dad said this person had already loaded the couch onto the bed of a small busted-up pickup truck. He immediately recognized this person. And he told me that I would recognize him too, given the chance.”
“Was it Bill?” asked Woodrow, with a determined look. “I knew he was up to something!”
“No,” said
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