“Start looking for treasure,” Nancy said. But as she looked around, she doubted they’d find any. The root cellar was very cool, with a sharp odor. “Do you know what it smells like down here?” she asked the others.

  “A grave?” Bess answered.

  Nancy ignored Bess’s answer. “Remember when you were a kid and you’d turn over a big rock?” Nancy asked. “And the dirt would be all dark under the rock, and it’d smell damp and moldy? That’s the way this place smells.”

  “Bring the light over here, Nancy,” George said. “I found some jars of something.”

  Nancy, Bess, and Sassy moved over to where George stood. “What is this stuff?” Sassy wondered, holding a jar up to the flashlight beam. Inside were six or seven brownish gray hard chunks. They rattled when she jiggled the jar.

  “It was food once,” George said, “a long time ago.”

  The other jars held the same sort of material—petrified food sealed up and long forgotten. It was impossible to tell what it had been originally.

  Nancy flashed the light around the rest of the cellar. A couple of burlap sacks lay in one corner. Remembering the nurse’s warning about the brown recluse spider, Nancy warned the others not to pick up the bags. She could tell by the way they lay on the ground that they were empty.

  In the opposite corner four empty baskets were stacked against the wall. She shook them out, but nothing lay inside. The girls all looked around, but there was no place left to look.

  “Well, there’s no valuable antique table down here,” George said.

  “And no gold,” Bess added.

  “I agree,” Nancy said. “Let’s go back up. We’ve reached a dead end.” She flashed the light beam toward the stairs.

  But as Bess put her foot on the bottom step . . . bam!

  The girls stood plunged in darkness.

  The door to the root cellar had slammed shut—trapping them underground!

  14

  A Lethal Weapon

  With the door slammed shut, the root cellar felt like a tomb.

  Nancy raced up the steps and pushed up against the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The other girls ran to help her, but the cellar was sealed shut.

  “Stop,” Nancy said. “No point in hurting yourselves. I don’t think it’ll do any good anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” George asked.

  “I think the door is locked,” Nancy said.

  “Locked!” Bess repeated. “But who—Oh, Nancy, what’s happening?”

  “Now, don’t panic,” Nancy said. “We’ll get out of here.” I’m just not sure how yet, she thought.

  “I’ve got the shovel,” George said. “We can try digging our way out.”

  “The wood door frame is embedded in these stone walls,” Nancy pointed out. “I’m afraid they’d cave in on us if we tried digging. No, we’ve got to get this door open somehow.”

  She studied both sides of the door—the hinge side and the latch side. Then she handed the flashlight to Bess, asking her to shine it on the hinges.

  Nancy took a screwdriver from the duffel bag and tried to loosen the screws in the hinges. They wouldn’t budge. She rammed the hinges with the shovel, but still they stayed tight.

  Frustrated, Nancy turned to the other side of the door. She forced the blade of the screwdriver between the door and the wood frame. Then she slid it along the crack until she ran against the hook that latched the door outside.

  With all her strength she jammed the screwdriver into the hook over and over. Finally she felt the hook pop up out of the eye.

  “Now let’s try it,” she said triumphantly. All four girls lined up on the steps and pushed upward on the door with their hands. Slowly it creaked open, and they gulped the fresh night air.

  Without another word they rushed through the darkening woods and back to Mary Cook’s cabin. They burst inside, closing and locking the door behind them.

  Cleo greeted them eagerly, then paced around the cabin, running from window to window, as if on guard.

  “What happened back there, Nancy?” George asked. “Did that door slam shut by itself?”

  “I don’t think so,” Nancy said. “The latch hook was back in place. It couldn’t have fallen there by accident. Someone deliberately locked us in.”

  “Do you think it was someone trying to find Sassy’s family treasure?” Bess asked.

  “Or trying to keep us from finding it first,” Nancy said.

  She walked over to the desk, opened a small silver box, and took out the key and button she had found in the ashes of Sassy’s home. “If only we could figure out what lock this key fits,” she said.

  “The button,” Sassy said, hurrying to Nancy’s side. “I almost forgot. Let’s see it again.”

  Sassy intently studied the piece of blue-and-white cloth with the unusual square pearl button. “That’s it!” she said. “It’s the same material and everything.”

  “Same material as what?” Nancy asked.

  “I picked up some dry cleaning for my folks and Aunt Helga this morning,” Sassy explained. “The clerk mentioned that a button had been torn off one of Aunt Helga’s dresses. This is it!”

  George’s jaw dropped. “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Positive,” Sassy said.

  Nancy’s mind raced. Had Helga lost this button at the Brandons’ house some day before the fire? Or had she been the mysterious figure poking around the ashes the other night? Did she know something about the treasure that she hadn’t told the rest of the family?

  “Nancy,” Sassy said in a small, frightened voice. “What if Aunt Helga is the one who’s been causing all the trouble for my folks and me? I mean, I know I’m not crazy about her, but you have to admit—”

  “It was her map that led us onto the covered bridge,” George said. “You were able to move those detour signs, Nancy—she could have, too.”

  “She was also on the festival grounds just before your fiddle disappeared, Sassy,” Bess pointed out. “Remember? She came to deliver pies to your mother’s booth.”

  “And if your father knew about the root cellar, she certainly would have known about it,” George added. “But how did she know we were headed there?”

  “She knew we’d be gone today—she knew the cabin would be empty,” Nancy said. She had to admit that the pieces were starting to fit together. “If she was the one who broke in, maybe she was still hanging around when we got home. When the sheriff came, she easily could have hidden in the woods until he left.”

  “But why would she stick around?” Sassy asked.

  “It’s a beautiful day—all the windows are open,” Nancy said. “Maybe she wanted to eavesdrop on us—find out what Mrs. Hatter told us.”

  “Maybe that’s why Cleo was pacing around,” Sassy said. “She knew Aunt Helga was out there. She doesn’t like her any more than I do.”

  “I still don’t understand how she knew we were going to the root cellar,” Bess said.

  “If she heard us figuring out what the riddle meant, she might have headed straight there,” Nancy reasoned.

  “Maybe she found something in the cellar,” George suggested. “She got to it first. That’s why we didn’t see anything.”

  “But then why would she hang around waiting for us?” Bess asked.

  “She probably heard us coming before she got away,” Nancy said. “So she hid and trapped us in there. Remember how the layer of leaves was thinner over the cellar door? And that handy rock was just lying there so we could bang open the latch? She wanted to make sure we found that door and went into the cellar.”

  “But why would she trap us like that?” Sassy asked. “We . . . we could have died in there. Nobody else knew where we were.”

  “Well, once we didn’t show up,” Nancy said, “she could always have organized a search and ‘found’ us.”

  “Making herself look like a hero,” Bess added sourly.

  “But in the meantime, we would have been out of the way,” George said. “Long enough for her to find the treasure, or at least to scare us off the trail.”

  “I still think she has a piece to this puzzle that we don’t have,” Nancy said. “So why don’t we go to her house and see what we can find out?”

  By the time the girls arrived at Helga Brandon’s, it was nine o’clock. The cottage was dark, and no one was home. After going inside and switching on the lights, they found a note from Mrs. Brandon, saying she’d gone to a friend’s house for dinner.

  “I wonder where Aunt Helga is,” Sassy murmured.

  “I’ll check the yard and the garage,” George offered, taking the flashlight.

  “Good,” Nancy said. “Bess, you stay on the porch and be our lookout. Come on, Sassy, show me where your aunt’s bedroom is.”

  While Nancy checked Helga’s closet, Sassy began rummaging through her aunt’s dresser. “Here’s the dress you were talking about,” Nancy said, holding up a blue-and-white sundress with a torn buttonhole. “Have you found anything yet?”

  Suddenly a loud voice boomed from the bedroom door. “And just what are you looking for?”

  Nancy jumped and wheeled around. She felt as if her heart had leaped into her throat.

  Mr. Brandon stood there casually, as if he’d just come home from work—not as if he’d been missing for two days.

  “Daddy!” Sassy cried, running to her father.

  Mr. Brandon hugged her but then stepped back. “I want an explanation, young lady,” he said firmly. “Why are you two poking around in Helga’s things?”

  “I’ll give you an explanation if you give me one,” Sassy said, her hands on her hips. “Where have you been? Mom and I were worried to death. How could you leave like that without letting us know where you were going? The sheriff thinks you ran away because you’re an arsonist.”

  “Now, wait a minute,” Mr. Brandon said, looking back and forth from Sassy to Nancy. He looked stunned by Sassy’s words.

  “Helga knew where I was,” he explained. “After I left Monday night, I drove to the mill. She phoned to say that a Mr. Summers had called from Chicago just after I left. Said it was a terrific business lead—but I had to be there for a meeting the next morning. I had to leave right away.”

  So “Chi” did mean Chicago, and “8a” meant eight A.M. Nancy realized she’d guessed correctly, remembering the note traces she’d found in Mr. Brandon’s office.

  “I threw some things in a briefcase and left,” Mr. Brandon went on. “Helga said she’d tell you and your mother where I was.”

  “She didn’t,” Nancy said, looking at Sassy. “In fact, she pretended she didn’t know.” Why did she lie? Nancy wondered.

  “What? Maybe you misunderstood,” Mr. Brandon said, frowning.

  “Why didn’t you call us yesterday?” Sassy asked her father.

  “When I got to Chicago,” he answered, “I found out that the name, phone number, and address were phony. I figured Rogers had been the caller, sending me on a wild goose chase to rile me. But I figured as long as I was there, I’d go ahead and try to cook up some business. I tried calling home a couple of times, but the line was either busy or there was no answer. Anyway, I thought you knew where I was.”

  “That’s true,” Sassy said. “You didn’t know how scared we were. You didn’t know Helga had lied.”

  “Mr. Brandon, we think your sister, Helga, is behind a lot of your problems,” Nancy said. Quickly she and Sassy filled him in on what had happened the last two days—the covered bridge scare, Jim Rogers’s arrest, the break-in at the cabin, the return of Sassy’s fiddle, and the riddle they’d found in the chin rest. She finished by telling about the near disaster in the root cellar.

  Concerned, Mr. Brandon tried to reach Sassy’s mother at her friend’s house, but the line was busy. He decided to drive over there right away, while Nancy and Sassy continued their search—this time in Helga’s desk.

  Nancy opened a small drawer. Inside was an old book, bound in soft, worn brown leather. She opened the cover. The first page had Susannah Brandon’s signature in a flowing, elegant script.

  “Look at this,” Nancy said. “I’ll bet this will help.”

  “What is it?” Sassy asked, looking over.

  “Your grandmother’s journal,” Nancy said. Switching on the desk lamp, she thumbed to the end of the book and scanned the last few entries. “Listen.”

  Nancy read a few lines that repeated what Susannah Brandon had written to Caroline Hatter—that Sassy’s fiddle would bring fame and fortune to the Brandons when Sassy found the right key. Again, Nancy pictured in her mind the brass key from the chimney.

  The last two journal entries talked about a great find, a real treasure. Nancy read it aloud to Sassy:

  “But I must be very careful. One person in this family cannot be trusted with this treasure. It really must go to Sassy. I know it will be safer under Mary’s roof until I make sure it is what I think it is.”

  Just then Nancy heard an odd thump from the screen porch, followed by muffled voices. She and Sassy rushed through the living room and pulled to a shocked halt.

  Suddenly, Nancy heard an odd thump from downstairs. Sassy heard it, too. “What was that?” she asked Nancy.

  “I don’t know,” Nancy said, handing her the diary, “but I’d better find out.”

  “I’m going with you,” Sassy said. “It’s too creepy to stay up here alone.”

  As quietly as possible the two girls crept down the stairs and headed for the living room. What they saw when they got there made them stop in shock.

  There was no sign of George, but Bess was propped up in a chair, her arms tied behind her back. Her head was slumped over on one shoulder—and she was unconscious.

  Helga Brandon was standing next to Bess. She held a small, lidless jar upside down, on top of a piece of white cardboard. The cardboard was pressed against Bess’s neck.

  “Stop right there,” Sassy’s aunt warned. “Don’t take another step—or your friend here will be very sorry.” She looked down meaningfully at the jar.

  Nancy followed Helga’s gaze. Immediately, she realized what danger Bess was in.

  Inside the jar, moving back and forth, was a brown recluse spider. The thin piece of cardboard was all that separated Bess from the spider’s deadly bite!

  15

  The Tale Is Told

  “Just stay right there,” Helga Brandon repeated, her voice low and threatening. “It would take less than a second to pull this cardboard away. By the time you got over here, it would be too late. Bess would be bitten by our little woodland creature.”

  “What do you want from us?” Nancy asked. She could feel Sassy trembling beside her.

  “Information, my dear,” Helga answered. “I want everything you know about the Brandon family treasure. It’s mine by birthright, and I deserve it. My mother left Ralph and his family everything—everything. I got nothing. I’m going to make up for that little oversight by claiming the treasure.”

  In the dark window behind Sassy’s aunt, Nancy spotted George, hiding in the shadows outdoors. Peering inside, George met Nancy’s eyes, then whirled and raced away.

  Nancy knew George had gone for help. She just had to stall Helga until it came. “We don’t know anything more than you do, I’m sure,” Nancy said evenly.

  “I see you found your grandmother’s journal,” Helga said to Sassy, who was clasping the book tightly in her hand.

  “I never saw this before,” Sassy said. “Where did you get it? I’m sure Gram never meant for you to have it.”

  “Of course not,” Helga Brandon said, her lip curling in a sneer. “She never meant me to have anything. I found the journal in an old trunk in the attic of your house. It was packed with your precious father’s things—his childhood toys, Boy Scout uniform, report cards. None of my stuff, of course. Our mother always did favor Ralph.”

  “When did you find the journal?” Nancy asked.

  “Just last Sunday,” Helga said. She pushed a gray-brown curl back off her forehead. She didn’t look up as she spoke. She kept her eye on the pacing spider instead.

  “In fact,” she continued, “I was planning to search Mary’s cabin later that night after the fire. After all, the journal does say my mother moved the treasure to Mary’s cabin. But when you three showed up, I had to postpone that search. When you decided to go to Lincoln City the first time, I was afraid you might learn about the treasure from Caroline Hatter—and then you might find it before I did.”

  “So you moved the detour signs to send us onto that rotten bridge,” Nancy said.

  “Sure,” Helga agreed. “I figured that would scare you off.”

  “But it didn’t,” Nancy said, taking a tiny step closer. “When we decided to go today anyway, you knew you had to act fast. You broke into the cabin—but you didn’t find anything.”

  “You’re pretty smart,” Helga said. “I saw your car pulling in when you got back from Lincoln City, so I hung around. I overheard you finding the riddle and guessing about the root cellar. I remembered it from when Ralph and I were kids.”

  “And you trapped us in there?” Sassy asked.

  Her aunt nodded. “I heard you coming before I could get away,” she admitted. “I was afraid you’d hear me running and follow me. So I hid and locked you in the root cellar.”

  “Did you burn our house down, too?” Sassy asked. Her voice was low and breathy.

  “That was an accident!” Helga exclaimed. “You and Edith were at the festival that night, and Ralph was working late. I thought I’d poke around your place while it was empty to see if I could find the ‘right key’ my mother’s journal mentioned.”

  Nancy and Sassy were silent as they remembered the stone rolling out of the chimney and revealing the brass key.

  Just then Bess moaned and blinked open her eyes.

  “Bess!” Nancy said. “Don’t move. Just sit still.”

  Bess’s eyes snapped open. Sitting rigidly still, she looked at Nancy, then at Sassy. As she realized she was tied, Nancy saw fear twist her face.

 

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