The Ghost's Grave Read Online Free PDF Page B

thirty thousand dollars for the shelter. It should have been built by now, but it isn’t going to happen.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œSomeone stole all the money.”
    â€œStole it! How?”
    â€œThe day of the auction, all the coins were put in one of those coin-counting machines and then exchanged for large bills, which were taken to the auction. It was called “Cash for Critters,” and those who attended the auction were asked to pay in cash. It was a gimmick, to see how high the pile of money would be, and it worked. One of the TV stations from Seattle even sent a reporter to film it. People got all fired up when they saw that heap of money grow bigger, and some even threw bills on the pile without bidding. After the auction, the county treasurer and the auction chairman counted the money. Then they put it in bags and took it to the bank’s night deposit.”
    Tears sprang to Aunt Ethel’s eyes. “Before the money could be deposited, an armed robber stole it all.”
    â€œNo! How? What happened?”
    â€œAs the two men walked from their car to the night deposit, a man wearing a ski mask and darkclothing jumped around the corner of the bank with a gun pointed at them. He grabbed the bags of money and fled. His car was parked out of sight, and he was in it and gone before they could get a license plate number.”
    â€œHe never got caught?”
    Aunt Ethel shook her head, no. “Mr. Turlep, the bank manager, posted a reward for information leading to an arrest, but it didn’t help. The money was never found.”
    â€œDoesn’t the bank have insurance?”
    â€œNot for money that was never deposited. For a long time we hoped the robber would be caught and the money would be recovered. When we realized it wasn’t going to happen, there was talk of starting over and doing the auction again, but most folks had run out of steam by then. We’d given generously already; it was hard to get excited about doing it over again, and many folks couldn’t afford to give twice.”
    The story made me angry. Aunt Ethel would have to bake a lot of cakes to earn five hundred dollars. She’d given a donation out of love, as a way to honor her parents, and some scumbag had stolen it.
    â€œSo we never got our animal shelter,” she said, “and people still dump unwanted cats and dogs in the woods.”
    â€œMaybe if I feed the stray cat, I can tame it and then we can find a home for it. There may not be a shelter to help all the animals, but we could help this one.”
    â€œNo. Cats kill birds.”
    â€œThe peacock—Florence—is way bigger than the cat.”
    â€œFlorence.” She paused, then smiled. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Ever since you asked what I did as a child, my mind’s brimmed with memories. Florence and I used to ride our bicycles down to Carbon City to buy penny candy. We had a big tire that we hung from the chestnut tree with a rope; it made a fine swing. We played marbles, too, and hopscotch, and in the evening when our brothers finished dinner, we all played kick-the-can.”
    She had a faraway look, as if she saw her sister and brothers still hiding behind trees, waiting to dash out to kick the tin can. She’d forgotten all about the stolen money and the stray cat.
    â€œI think that big tire is still in the barn,” she said. “Maybe you’d like to hang it in the tree this summer.”
    â€œI’ll go look for it,” I said, not because I cared about the swing but because I was upset that Aunt Ethel wouldn’t let me feed the cat. Right then, Iwanted to get away from her. I felt sorry about the shelter money and sorry all her family had died, but I also felt sorry for the dead bat and the hungry stray cat.
    I walked across the yard to the barn, then lifted the wooden bar that held the door shut. The air inside smelled like stale bread. Dust motes