The Jewel and the Key by Louise Spiegler

stealing. Her eyes traveled across the wall to the hidden closet, exposed now. Perfect. She opened the door, placed the book on the little seat that protruded from the wall, and shut the door again. She’d put the book back once things settled down.
    As she stepped into the back hall, she ran into Whaley coming out of the storage closet with his hammer and a jar of nails. His bleak expression startled her.
    â€œWhaley? Something wrong?”
    But he just ignored her and went out the door into the backyard.
    Concerned, Addie followed him out, then stopped short.
    Mrs. Turner was reclining on their flowered garden chair, her injured foot propped up on a stool. Zack was sitting on the old picnic table, reading one of his books to her.
    â€œAddie!” Zack leaped up and charged toward her as if he’d been fired from a cannon, hair sticking up and smudges of dirt across his cheeks. “It was so cool! The teachers helper hid in the broom cupboard. There were six of us under my table, and the table legs jumped like a frog, and one of the boys was hanging on to this girl’s braids, and as soon as it stopped, she socked him—pow!”
    â€œYou’re spitting on me!” Addie spluttered, holding him at arm’s length, grinning.
    â€œIt was a six point eight, the radio said, but way deep down, not on the surface.” It figured that Zack would know this, Addie thought. He loved earthquakes, volcanoes—any kind of natural disaster. He always wanted to go to Mount Saint Helens when they went hiking so he could look at the lava dome. “That’s why there wasn’t too much damage.”
    â€œThis isn’t much damage?”
    â€œ
And
we get to have a barbecue,” Zack rushed on. ‘A barbecue in April! There’s still no electricity, so Mrs. Turner said I could get those iron tong things, if it’s okay with Dad, and she’ll make toasted cheese over the fire pit.”
    Mrs. Turner was watching Addie with a sheepish look on her face. “It sounds as if I sent you on a fools errand. I’m sorry, sweetie.”
    Gently, Addie pushed Zack away. “Go tell Dad about the barbecue.” Zack ran into the house. She turned to Mrs. Turner. “What do you mean, a fool’s errand?”
    â€œI mean there was no need to send you after all. Becky Powell rang a little while ago to make sure I didn’t come hitching across the city to check on her, since she was fine.”
    â€œThe phones are working?”
    â€œMy cell is, now. Still no landlines.”
    â€œWell, she said she would call you.” Addie leaned against the picnic table. “There’s something funny there,” she said slowly.
    â€œWhere?” Mrs. Turner looked around, as if expecting to see a rat by the chicken coops.
    â€œAt the Powells’.” Addie hiked herself up onto the table and sat where Zack had been. The wood was slightly damp,
and for the first time since she got home, she felt the chill in the air. “For one thing, there’s nothing wrong with your friend’s eyes, is there?”
    â€œOf course there is! Didn’t you notice? She’s recovering from cancer.”
    â€œCancer?” An image of a thin, withered-looking woman in a hospital bed flashed through Addie’s mind. Her mom. So long ago. Addie could remember very little of her during that last illness, when she was in the hospital, but this image had always haunted her. She held it up to her image of Mrs. Powell from earlier in the day, and shook her head. “How could that be? She has so much energy.”
    Back by the alley, the shed door slammed loudly. She looked over at Whaley, struggling with a sheet of plywood. ‘Addie! You helping or what?”
    â€œIn a minute!”
    Whaley heaved the wood up onto his back and stalked past her.
    Mrs. T. eyed Addie quizzically. “Becky had brain surgery about six months ago. It nearly destroyed the vision in her right