Here Lies Linc by Delia Ray Page B

direction. He must have seen me bristling, scowling at his buddy Beez.
    “Not much,” Beez told him with a chuckle. “Just trying to get some research tips from Mr. Professor Junior here.”
    “Hey, I could use some tips myself,” Mellecker said, quickly smoothing out the prickly conversation. He turned to me. “I don’t get it, Crenshaw. With a vault like the one they’ve got in Oakland, I thought the Ransoms would have been pretty famous in town. But I couldn’t find a single word about them on the Web. So what do you think?” he asked. “Where else should I look for clues?”
    As soon as Mellecker called me Crenshaw, I could feel Beez turn watchful. Of course he was wondering why his friend would be giving a nerd like me the time of day. So suddenly I was itching to say something impressive—something that would put Beez in his place and prove I was worthy of Mellecker’s attention.
    My answer flew out before I could think it through. “You could look inside the vault,” I said.
    Mellecker blinked. “What do you mean? How would I do that?”
    “I could get you the key.”
    “The key?” he repeated.
    “Yeah,” I told him, trying to keep my voice even. “The key to the Ransom vault. I can get it for you. Don’t you want a look inside?”
    Mellecker grinned at me in astonishment. He began to nod. “That would be awesome,” he said.
    Beez hooted. “Crenshaw, my
man
!” he yelled out, and raised his hand for a high five. I reached up to give his palm a hard slap as Amy bounced on her toes beside us and asked if she could come too. But then I glanced over at Delaney, who was observing with her eyes wide, and I felt my palm start to sting. And that’s when I thought,
Oh, no, what did I just do?

I ONLY MANAGED TO RUN about a mile with the dogs that afternoon. And the word “run” was an exaggeration. I plodded up and down the blocks in my neighborhood like I was slogging through sand, with C.B. and Spunky dragging me along as I stewed over what in the heck I was going to do about my promise to deliver the Ransom key.
    When I came scuffing back to Claiborne Street, Mr. Krasny was exactly where I had left him, sweeping leaves off his front porch. “Back already?” he called out.
    “Yep,” I said as I slowly climbed the steps to hand over Spunky’s leash. “Sorry Spunk didn’t get very much exercise today. But I’ve got an awful lot of homework, and, well …” I couldn’t hold back my sigh. “It’s just been one of those days.”
    Mr. Krasny leaned on his broom, peering at me through his thick glasses. He nodded sympathetically.“Understandable. Have days like that myself sometimes.” Then his watery blue eyes turned hopeful with an idea. “Would you like to come inside and have a Coca-Cola? The dogs can have a romp together in my backyard. I bet they’d enjoy that.”
    I could almost feel C.B. glaring at me through his eyebrows as he sat waiting to be taken home. I didn’t want to go into Mr. Krasny’s stuffy little bungalow either. I had always wanted our house to be cleaner, but Mr. Krasny’s house felt too neat somehow—with the way its knickknacks and doilies and furniture were locked in their permanent spots, like some sort of museum or movie set from the 1950s. I glanced down at C.B. again, trying to think of an excuse, but then Mr. Krasny’s doormat caught my eye. BLESS OUR HAPPY HOME , it said. It must have been lying there for years, since before his wife died, before their two sons grew up and moved out to the coasts.
    The next thing I knew, poor C.B. was trapped in the backyard with Spunky, and I was wedged at Mr. Krasny’s kitchen table with a glass of warm Coke in front of me. Mr. Krasny plunked down a plateful of cookies next to my Coke. “Here, have one,” he ordered. “I made them myself.” He told me what they were called—something that sounded like “shankies,” but I couldn’t quite catch the name.
    I picked up a cookie, took a bite, and tried not to