Chapter One

It only happened because of the rain.     

Slumped on the couch, one leg dangling off the side, Skip contemplated new options for what was left of her spring vacation.  What to do… What to do…  Her older sister Emma was in her bedroom, sending silly e-mails to her other twelve-year old friends.  What was the point of sending an e-mail if you had nothing new to report?  Her little sister Ruby was setting up a tea party with her Barbie dolls.  B-O-R-I-N-G.   Skip brushed her toes back and forth across the sisal rug.  She was just going to have to find something else to occupy herself until it stopped pouring outside. Maybe she could create some mysterious magic potions with her old science kit, but she’d done that a gazillion times.  Perhaps she could play with that kooky detective game—if she could remember where she left it.  Or, hmm, maybe she could sneak downstairs to Dad’s tool bench and try to build something cool.  What to do… What to do….      

Skip heard the shrill ringing of the telephone in the kitchen.   She counted the rings.  One.  Two.  Three.  Why wasn't anyone picking it up?  Usually Emma jumped on the phone before the first ring ended.  Lately, even Ruby had been answering the phone, which created a problem because she didn't know how to write. Therefore, she couldn't really take any messages, even though she pretended to be taking a message so the caller THOUGHT she was taking a message. Who knows how much confusion that had caused!     

"Skip, the phone’s for you.”       

Her mom appeared in the doorway, her favorite blue cardigan and pressed wool trousers covered in a thin film of white dust.  She held the phone out with one hand, while batting away a stray lock of brown hair with the other.  A little cloud of white flew off her fingertips as she flicked at her hair.  Was that flour?  Should she point out the white mess unfolding around her mom or just keep it to herself that her mom resembled a ghost at the moment?  If she said something, her mom might make her get the broom and sweep it up.  Better not to say anything, Skip concluded.  She unfolded her legs, patted down the cowlick that was a permanent fixture in her strawberry-blond hair, and rose from the couch.  She took the handset before realizing it, too, was covered in flour. 

“Umm, Mom?  You’re not making dinner tonight, are you?” Skip asked, dangling the phone by her side.

“Don’t worry, honey, your Dad’s making dinner.  I’m just baking some cookies for the picnic tomorrow, assuming it stops raining.”     

“Are they going to be flour-only cookies?” Skip asked, smirking.     

Her mom’s left eyebrow arched as she looked into Skip’s eyes.  “Skip, you do have a phone call, remember?”  Her mother turned and marched back to the kitchen, surrounded by a little white dust cloud.     

Still chuckling at her joke, Skip tried to wipe away her mom’s flour handprint before bringing the phone up to her ear.     

“Hello?”     

“Hi!  It’s Connie.  Whatcha doin’?”     

“Nothing.  I’m so bored.  What are you doing?”     

“Want to meet me at Corner Books?  It’s not raining that hard and if we walk fast, we won’t get too wet.  I heard that Susie Slater’s new mystery is out now and I really want to read it.”     

“Okay, I’ll see you there in a few minutes.”  Skip heard a faint “okay, bye” as she clicked the End button on the phone.  Oops, perhaps I should have said goodbye before hanging up, Skip realized.  Oh, well, she’d apologize to Connie when she saw her.     

Ten minutes later, Skip opened the door of the bookstore, not sure where to put her dripping umbrella.  She eased her backpack off her shoulder and set both of them by the door.  Mr. Mackey, the bookstore’s owner, looked up from the counter, reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose.      

“Hello, Skip,” he said cheerfully.  “I’ve got a new book for you.  It’s a mystery that takes place in an old tavern and it reminded me of your house.  It’s called The Missing Musket by Jack Deever.  You can find it over in Aisle 3 if you want to take a look.”     

“Thanks, Mr. Mackey.  I’ll look at it while I wait for Connie.”  Skip headed over to the far side of the store.  She loved this bookstore, with its floor to ceiling shelves, the worn wooden planks on the floor and the comfy chairs scattered about.  She ran her finger over the spines of the books until she found The Missing Musket.  She pulled it off the shelf and sank into a nearby chair to take a look.     

As she began reading, she heard a faint whispering coming from the next aisle.  The whispering stopped as the sound of footsteps approached nearby.   Skip realized Connie had arrived when she heard her say, “Hi Kim and Debbie, what book are you guys looking at?”      

“Oh, it’s Connie.” Skip recognized the voice of Kim Delaney, one of the cheerleaders at school.     

“Nothing you’d be interested in, Connie.  These books are all about how to attract boys and keep your boyfriend happy,” said Debbie.  “And since you will never have a boyfriend, Connie, why bother?”     

Skip heard Kim giggle.      

“What do you mean; I’ll never have a boyfriend?  I’m sure at some point when I’m older I’ll have a boyfriend.  When I’m ready, I guess,” said Connie, a little uncertain.     

Kim and Debbie laughed at the same time.      

Hidden in her chair on the next aisle, Skip put her book down and sat very still.     

“Connie, you are never going to have a boyfriend!  Look at you –your clothes look like you fell into a bin at the Salvation Army and your glasses are so 90’s.  I mean really, what boy would possibly want to go steady with you?   Plus, boys don’t like girls with, you know, extra poundage,” giggled Kim.     

Skip felt her face go hot.  Why were they being so mean to Connie?  Sure, she could probably lose a little weight, but who cares?  And Skip knew Connie’s clothes were usually hand-me-downs from her older sister Sybil, but they were still cute, weren’t they?     

“That’s not very nice, Kim,” Connie mumbled.  Skip could hear that Connie was about to start crying.  Should she get up and go over there?  Tell those two horrible girls to lay off her best friend?  But if she did, they would probably just insult her as well.  And it wouldn’t stop there.  She had watched Kim and Debbie at school.  They were relentless when they didn’t like someone.  One time they had put something slimy all over Ruth Flannigan’s locker and she couldn’t even get her combination to work.  She was late to class and had to stay after school.  No, Skip definitely did not want to get on their bad side.     

“That’s not very nice, Kim,” came the mocking voice of Debbie, followed by another round of laughter.  Skip could hear Connie start to sob as she ran to the front of the store.  The jingle of the bell confirmed that Connie had left.  Skip held her breath.  Should she run after Connie?  Her best friend must feel terrible right now! But what if Kim and Debbie saw her and realized that she had overheard their conversation?      

Still not sure what to do, Skip stared at the book in her hand, hoping it somehow held the answer.  She heard the two girls walk to the front of the store, still whispering and giggling.  She waited until she heard the bell jingle again.  Giving Kim and Debbie a few minutes head start, Skip ran to the front of the bookstore.  She peered out the door.  Kim and Debbie were gone, but so was Connie.  Skip hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she took a big gulp of air.  She was relieved that she had saved herself from embarrassment, but what about Connie?     

Back home, shrugging out of her baby blue slicker, Skip could still feel her cheeks burning. Disgusted, she did a backwards karate kick with her right leg, slamming the heavy wooden door closed with a bang.      

"Skip!" There was her mom, wiping her hands on the green and red dishtowel.  A few flecks of flour still nestled in her wavy hair.      

"Was it really necessary to close the front door with your foot?" she asked, a small hint of a smile on her face.              

“I hate this place," Skip stated firmly as she continued to struggle with her raincoat. Something was preventing her from getting the cold, wet rubbery coat off her body.     

"Hate is a pretty strong word, Skip," her mother said calmly as her high heels clicked back into the kitchen.

She felt her eyes start to tear up as the frustration with the raincoat mounted. She could see gleaming puddles of water forming around her, as if there was a little rain cloud just above her head and nowhere else.      

"Oh, and Skip? You might want to take off your backpack before you try to get out of your raincoat," her mom said, with a chuckle.     

"Murf!" Skip growled, as her backpack thudded to the floor.     

“Murf," came a tiny echo from the top of the stairs. Skip looked up wearily. Her little sister Ruby stood on the top step, chubby little fingers gripping the hand rail. As usual, she was dressed entirely in pink from the band on her hair to the pink slippers on her little feet. Skip glanced to her right and saw Ruby's pink raincoat hanging on the last hook. Her size one pink wellies below were still gleaming with moisture. Skip detested the color pink. No self-respecting redhead would EVER wear pink.     

Her mom came around the corner again. She looked up at Ruby and then back at Skip. "That ‘murf’ word is starting to get on my nerves, girls," she reminded them. "Could you at least think up a new word to use for awhile? I believe that one has run its course, don't you?"                    

Skip just shook her head and tugged at her rain boots.      

"Why are you in such a foul mood, Skip?” her mom said softly.  “Didn’t you meet Connie at the bookstore?"       

But before she could tell her mom what happened, her sister Emma stepped into view, munching on an apple.

“Guess what?  I got invited to my first dance party for Logan’s birthday.  I’ve got to find a great dress to wear.  Isn’t that so exciting?”      

Ahh, Emma, the perfect, straight-A sister who had tons of friends.  She wouldn’t have any trouble finding a boyfriend.  Maybe she already had one.  Had she told Mom or was she keeping it a secret?  Skip would have to ask her the next time she was in a chatty mood.  You never knew with Emma.  One time she could be really nice and sisterly and then suddenly she could turn so crabby and mean.       

Just then, Mom said, "Skip, I have to take Emma over to Blake’s house and then I have to swing by my office for a few minutes. Please keep an eye on Ruby while I'm gone."     

"Murf," Skip mouthed the word silently as she looked at her little sister.      

"Okay Ruby,” Skip suggested, “why don't we watch a movie on TV?"     

Her mom frowned.  "I don't think that's going to work.  With all these rainstorms today, the cable seems to be out. You and Ruby will have to find something else to do."     

"Want to play Barbies, Skippy?"       

"NO! You always make me be Ken and then you tell me what to say. It's no fun.  And don’t call me Skippy."       

"That’s okay," Ruby said cheerily, "I'll be both Ken and Barbie. They get along better that way anyway."       Skip looked at her mom and rolled her eyes.      

"Just please keep an eye on her, Skip. I don't want any trouble while I'm gone. No fighting."         

"Sure,” Skip mumbled as she contemplated calling Connie.  But how would she explain where she was while Kim and Debbie were being such bullies?     

As if on cue, the phone rang.  Skip turned the corner into the kitchen and picked it up.     

“Hello?”     

“Where were you in the bookstore?” asked Connie, her voice trembling. “Kim and Debbie were there.   They made fun of my clothes and my glasses and said I was fat…” Her voice trailed off, ending in a little sob.     

“I’m sorry Connie; I guess I got there a little late. I didn’t see you.”  Which wasn’t technically a lie, Skip thought.     

Skip’s statement was met with silence on the other end of the line. After a moment, Connie’s voice came through.  The sobbing had stopped.     

“I saw your backpack at the door when I walked in.  I know you were there.   I just don’t understand why you didn’t come help me with Kim and Debbie.  I thought you were my best friend!”     

“But,” Skip started to explain.  Before she could say anymore, however, she heard the click as Connie ended the call.   

Chapter Two

Beginning to wonder if she made the wrong decision in the bookstore, Skip slowly replaced the phone in its cradle.  As she stood there, absentmindedly running her fingers through her cowlick, she noticed how quiet the house had become.  Too quiet.  Where was Ruby?  Skip walked into the playroom, tripping over the bright orange Dune Buggy parked at an angle just inside the door, as if the Barbies had screeched to a halt in their search for the latest beach party.  The dolls were sitting in various states of repose throughout the room.  Skip winced when she realized each Barbie was dressed in head-to-toe pink.  Ruby, however, wasn’t sitting among them.        

“RUBY!”  Skip yelled, as she began to search from room to room.  No answer.  Uh oh.    Skip knew what this meant.  Playing Barbies was Ruby’s favorite pastime.  But Ruby’s second favorite game to play was hide and seek.  And Skip knew from experience that Ruby had a habit of hiding in places she shouldn’t.  One time they had looked all over the house and her mom was about to call 911 when Emma found her curled up in the clothes dryer.  That did not go well for Ruby, Skip remembered.       

As she entered the kitchen, Skip saw the pantry door ajar.  That was a new place to hide.      

“Ruby! Are you eating again?  Mom said ‘no snacks’ before dinner.” Skip reached the open door and scanned the tiny room.  Evidence of Ruby’s foraging for food lay on the pantry floor.  Skip bent down to scoop up the empty paper chip bag and tossed it into the trash can underneath the shelf.   But where was her sister now?     

“RUBY!”  Skip was getting mad as she stomped up to the second floor bedrooms.  “RUBY! COME OUT THIS INSTANCE!  I AM NOT PLAYING HIDE AND SEEK!”     

Skip moved through all the bedrooms and double checked the laundry room.  No sign of Ruby.  As she stood in front of the open dryer, she heard a shuffling sound coming from the ceiling above her.  And then a little giggle.  Skip looked up.  Ruby’s gone up to the third floor attic!  Leave it to Ruby to hide in the one place in the house she has been forbidden to visit, Skip thought.  Okay, two can play this game.  Ruby wasn’t supposed to be on the third floor, so instead of shouting her name, Skip would sneak up on her.  Maybe if she scared her enough, Ruby would stop hiding all the time.  Skip tiptoed to the bottom of the third floor stairs.  She put her hand on the old wooden rail before she hesitated.  When they had moved into the house five years ago, her parents had told them not to go up to the third floor until they could get the stairs fixed.  Skip had always wondered what was up there and now she had a good excuse to find out.  If she didn’t fall through the rickety old stairs on her way up, that is.     

Gasping after the steep flight of stairs, Skip stopped on the third floor landing and rested her hands on her knees to catch her breath. Straightening up, she peered around the landing.  She hadn’t realized that the third floor wasn’t just one big open attic, but a series of small rooms.  And now that she was all the way up on the top floor, she wasn’t sure exactly where the shuffling and giggling had come from. Which room should she try first?   Skip spotted a white, slatted door on the right side of the hallway.  She grasped the old-fashioned door handle and pulled.  Nothing happened.  This time she tried pushing and leaned into the door with all her weight.  The door gave way, propelling her into a small, dark, wood-paneled room.    “Ah choo!”  Just as the smell of mothballs caused her to sneeze, something brushed the back of her neck.  Skip screamed, and with arms flailing about, she frantically tried to get it off.  She slapped repeatedly at her neck with both of her hands until she realized it was just the rope for the light switch.  Oh, geez, Skip thought, at least it wasn’t a huge spider.  She really hated spiders.  Turning around and reaching up, she yanked on the cord and the attic room was illuminated.  Her eyes grew wide as they circled the little room, taking everything in.  An old-fashioned dresser stood to her left.  In front of her, in the far reaches of the room, boxes and crates were stacked haphazardly.  On her right was a small window so caked with dirt she could barely make out the individual panes of glass.  She had never noticed that window from the outside of the house and yet, there it was, inviting her now to peer through it.      

As Skip took one step toward the window, a floorboard under her foot slipped and she stumbled.  Catching herself on the old dresser, she looked back to see if she had broken the board.  Her mother would not be very happy if she had put a huge hole in the floor of a room she probably shouldn’t even be in anyway.  But no, the floorboard appeared intact; it had just become dislodged.  She got down on her hands and knees and gingerly moved the piece of wood further out of the way.  I really hope I don’t get splinters from this, Skip thought. “I hate splinters,” she muttered as she rested the board on the floor beside her.       

As she bent her head closer to the opening, a smell of burning wood reached her nose.  Had Ruby started a fire?  They were both going to be in so much trouble!   Skip sniffed again. The odor was very faint and somehow seemed like a very old smell, like the wood had been burning a long time. It reminded her of last winter with all the snow and the cups of hot cocoa her dad always served in front of the fireplace when it got really cold outside.  Those steaming, hot cups of delicious chocolate, topped with fat, fluffy marshmallows and a giant dollop of whipped cream were good on rainy days too.  She would have to remember to ask her mom for some of that hot chocolate as soon as she got back.   Momentarily forgetting her search for Ruby, Skip leaned closer to the floorboard, squinting in the dim light.  A flashlight would be pretty handy right now, she thought.  She was not going to go all the way back downstairs to search for a flashlight that she was pretty sure she had misplaced the last time she had borrowed it anyway.  Maybe if she just moved her body a little to the right and let the dim light from the overhead bulb shine into the hole she could see how deep it was and where that smell was coming from.       

Skip tried to shift onto her hands and knees to let the maximum amount of light shine into the gap.  Her hands were shaking and she could feel a tingling flush of excitement creeping up her neck. Was she going to find some buried treasure? She couldn’t see a thing!  Without a flashlight she was going to have to stick her hand in there.  Did spiders like holes like this or were they more ceiling dwellers?  Gritting her teeth, she began to feel around the edges of the hole.  Something came loose under her fingers as she made contact with a smooth piece of wood. Skip tried to lift whatever it was out of the hole with one hand, but it was just too heavy.  She crouched, straddling the space where the floorboard had been and began pulling with both hands.  POP! The object suddenly came loose from its hiding place and Skip tumbled back onto her bottom.  Amazed, she stared at the painting clutched in her hands.   Wow!  It wasn’t exactly gold coins, but still…     

As she sat there, Skip began to examine the painting.  It was a farmhouse scene, complete with a barn and horses and what looked like people scattered here and there in the picture.   The farmhouse looked somewhat familiar, and, as Skip continued to look at it, she realized she was staring at her own house, the Fitch Tavern.  It didn’t have the west wing off to the side or the three- car garage, but the front of the house in the painting looked exactly the same as it did today.  This was great!   

Skip wondered when it was painted.  She peered at the edges of the canvas, but could only make out a faint scrawl on the bottom right-hand corner.  It looked like the artist’s name, but all she could see was the top of the letters, as the rest was covered by the simple, wooden frame.  She turned it over to see if anyone had written anything on the back and noticed a small stamp up at the top. “J Crowe and Sons, 1775.”  Was that the name of an art gallery?     

Flipping the painting back in front of her, she decided to take a closer look at the people.  How did people really dress back then?  Smiling to herself, Skip saw a little boy and girl playing with a small black dog and a farmer working in front of a big haystack.  A woman and a girl stood talking in front of the house.  She almost missed it, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw one more figure just standing in the upper right-hand corner, as if she were observing the whole scene.  Odd, Skip thought.  Realizing the figure was a girl by the long skirt and bonnet she wore, Skip leaned forward to get a better look.  Did that girl in the painting have strawberry-blonde hair just like hers?  She had to get a better look at this!     

The painting looked blurry in the dim attic light.  Wondering if the dust would come off easily, Skip brushed her hand over the red-headed girl in the painting’s corner.  Her fingers came away grimy and smeared with dirt.   Better to get it downstairs in brighter light and figure out how to clean it properly.  But first she needed to find Ruby.  She propped the painting against the attic wall and began to stand up, still straddled over the empty hole in the floor.      

Thinking about her find, Skip forgot about the low wooden beams bracing the corners of the small attic room.  As she straightened her knees, her head bumped the closest beam.  Losing her balance, she began to stumble sideways.  Her right hand shot out to grip the edge of the painting, her fingers clawing at the corner of the picture, trying to get a firm hold before she fell. Suddenly, the room grew darker and Skip felt her body falling onto the canvas. Her hand began to disappear into the painting, as if the red-haired girl in the picture was grabbing onto her outstretched fingers….