The Thanksgiving Treasure by Gail Rock Page A

tell us?” Tanya said, furious.
    â€œWe would’ve told you later,” I said.
    â€œThanks a lot!” she said huffily.
    â€œWhat does she look like?” asked Gloria.
    â€œI don’t know exactly,” I said. “But she has to be fabulous!”
    â€œHow do you know?” Gloria asked.
    â€œLeading ladies have to be glamorous,” Carla Mae said.
    â€œOK, it’s settled,” I said. “When I get her autograph, I’ll ask her to be our celebrity guest.”
    â€œWho elected you?” Tanya asked. “We’ll all go.”
    â€œWell,” I said, in my best snob-lady accent, “I’m sure she doesn’t want a lot of strange people descending on her house unannounced. Perhaps I should go alone.”
    â€œListen, kiddo,” said Carla Mae, annoyed. “It was my idea, too, to get her autograph!”
    â€œYeah,” said Tanya. “It’s a free country. Anybody can go up to her house if they want.”
    â€œOh, all right,” I said. “But I’ll do the asking when it comes to the moment of truth.”
    Tanya was about to give me a smart answer when she looked down at her feet. “Oh, no!” she shrieked. “All my toes are stuck to the cotton!” We all hooted and cracked our gum right in her ears.

Chapter Two
    The next day, contrary to my father’s instructions to stay away, the four of us set off to see Constance Payne. Clear River was so small, we only had to walk about five blocks to get to the Gunderson house. We went around 3 P.M., because, as I had pointed out to everyone, “Actresses always sleep late.”
    I had picked some of the daffodils that were just beginning to bloom around the back corner of our little house, and took them along for Miss Payne. We dressed in our best clothes, and all carried our autograph books. On the way over, there was a lot of serious discussion about who had the best autograph collection. My best autograph was Roy Rogers, who had signed my book at a parade in Omaha. Tanya was bragging about her autograph from Margaret Truman, but I told her it didn’t count because she got it through the mail, and autographs weren’t for real unless you got them from the actual person in the flesh. Tanya said snippily that she would rather have Margaret Truman in the mail than Roy Rogers in the flesh, and I told her that was a sign of her rotten taste.
    There was also a lot of discussion about what Constance Payne might look like. Nobody in Clear River had seen her for years, and other than my father saying that she was pretty and dark-haired, we didn’t know what to expect. Gloria speculated that she might have bleached her hair and look like our favorite movie star, Betty Grable, but I pooh-poohed that idea because I knew stage acting was supposed to be high-class and not pin-up stuff like the movies.
    Tanya was still a bit miffed because Carla Mae and I had come up with this adventure, and she walked ahead a few steps with me to tell me something confidentially.
    â€œMy father said that when they were in school Constance Payne was always flirting with him, but he never went out with her because she wasn’t his type.” She looked at me smugly.
    I knew she had made it up, and I wasn’t about to let her get away with it.
    â€œWell,” I said. “My father knew her very well. I think she was mad for him. They dated a lot.” I plunged on recklessly, “I bet she can’t wait to see him again. She’ll want to come over for dinner, I suppose.”
    â€œFor dinner?” she asked, scornfully. “At your house?”
    â€œYes,” I said, putting on my la-de-da accent, “I suppose I really should invite her for some Saturday evening.”
    Tanya was about to make a rude reply when the others walked up beside us. We were there.
    I was feeling a bit nervous as we approached the big old house. No one had lived in it since we could