The Jewel and the Key by Louise Spiegler Page A

eye. She can see fine out of the other, but it affected her spatial sense—for example, she can’t always judge distance. The other eye will eventually compensate, the doctor says. But it’s good to hear that she was energetic.”
    The beautiful polished-agate color of Reg's mothers eyes rose in Addie’s mind, and the whisper of unease she’d felt at the Powells’ stirred again, stronger this time. It fit with that feeling she’d had from the moment she met Reg, that something was really off; things just weren’t adding up.
    She thrust the thought away. Looking around at the familiar yards, the houses, the big Douglas fir, the weathered picnic table, and the piled-up milk crates that Dad used and reused for transporting books, she found it all oddly comforting. She turned back to her neighbor. “I really liked her—Mrs. Powell. She invited me to the Jewel on Tuesday after school.”
    â€œTuesday?
I’m
going there on Tuesday, to help her with the inspector.”
    â€œWhat inspector?”
    â€œBuilding code. Becky wants to renovate the place.” Mrs. T. shook her head. “It’ll be a lot more than she was bargaining for now, with this earthquake.”
    Maybe Mrs. Powell had been lucky and her theater had suffered as little damage as her house, Addie thought. Though when she looked around at the roof shingles in the yard and Mrs. Turner’s damaged chicken coop, it seemed unlikely. “What time are you going to be there?”
    â€œAround two. Becky gave me a key. If you’d like, I could leave it in the mailbox for you—its by the loading dock entrance in the alley around back—so you can just let yourself in when you get there.” She paused, examining Addie. “She must have seen you were interested in theater. Did she think that old dress was a costume? Now that I look at it on you, I’m beginning to wonder.”
    Addie leaped off the picnic table. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry! Its a mess. I’ll get it dry-cleaned, I promise!”
    â€œStop apologizing! You ran halfway across the city just because I was worried about Becky. Besides, the dress isn’t mine as far as I’m concerned. Its yours. I was thinking I’d offer most of the contents of the crates to Becky for the Jewel, since it seems they came from there in the first place. But of course you can keep anything you like.”
    â€œReally?” Delight flashed through her. This wonderful dress was hers! And maybe even—she reached into her pocket, pulled out the mirror, and handed it to Mrs. Turner. “I forgot I had this. Do you mind if I keep it, too?”
    Mrs. Turner’s eyes widened. “Where did this come from?”
    â€œIt was wrapped in the shawl that went with the dress. The shawl must still be up in my room. I forgot about it when I found the mirror.”
    â€œI don’t blame you. This is gorgeous!” She held the silver closer to her face and squinted. “Do you see this here?” She pointed the manicured nail of her pinkie finger at some tiny letters along the edge of the metal. “The silversmith’s mark.
T-a-g
... something.”
    Addie went and leaned over the edge of the lounge chair. “There’s a date, too ... 19—oh, I can't tell what the other numbers are. We need a magnifying glass.” She looked up. “That’s a great idea, giving the costumes to the theater. You’ll need help getting them there, won’t you?”
    â€œI’m hoping your dad will offer to loan me the van.” She looked down at her bandaged ankle ruefully. “And help me pack it too.”
    â€œWell, when I get to the theater, I’ll help carry the crates inside. Actually, I’ll get Whaley to help, too. How does that sound?”
    â€œPerfect.”
    The sound of banging on the front door carried into the backyard, and Addie heard Whaley yell, “Don’t come that way!