antiquing junket from Princeton walked in, took one look at it, and wrote out a fat check.
A glow of pride had fol owed Jack home—he’d been responsible for that sale.
On the way out of the store he’d borrowed the lock picks without tel ing Mr. Rosen. Was that stealing? He didn’t think so, especial y since he didn’t
intend to keep the set—just use it and return it.
As he stepped in the back door his mom said, “Dinner’s going to be early tonight, dear. Your father and I are going to a movie.”
Yes! He could work on the lock box without worrying about getting caught.
“Oh?” he said casual y. “Going to see
She made a face. “Not likely. This time it’s my choice, and I choose
Every few weeks his folks would head up to Mount Hol y to catch a movie. They took turns choosing. Though Dad complained about the way the
spaceships maneuvered and hearing explosions in space—none of which bothered Jack in the least—he liked the
romantic comedies. For the sake of togetherness, each suffered through the other’s choices.
“Tom’s going out, and Kate’s in Stratford. You’l be okay with nobody here?”
Jack gave her a reassuring smile. He
“I’l be here with me.”
Just then Tom appeared in the doorway to the living room.
“How’s it going, Miracle Boy?”
Tom saying hel o? Jack was immediately on guard.
“Fine. How about you?”
Tom nodded. “Life is good, but it could always get better.”
Something was up.
Jack turned to Mom. “I’m gonna wash up.”
As he headed down the hal to the bathroom he could feel Tom’s eyes on his back. Up ahead he could see his bedroom door ajar—maybe two or three
inches.
Ah-ha!
He washed his hands and threw water on his face, then stepped back into the hal . Tom stood down by the kitchen, talking to Mom but positioned so he
had a clear view of Jack’s door.
Something definitely up.
He returned to the kitchen and headed for the backyard.
“Where you going?” Tom said.
“Garage. Wanna come?”
“Nah. I’l wait here.”
But instead of the garage, Jack ran around to his bedroom window at the rear of the house. He peeked through the screen and immediately spotted the
bucket balanced atop the partial y open door.
The bucket-over-the-door trick. Oh, Tom, you clever, clever guy. So original.
After half a minute of studying the setup, Jack knew just what to do.
But first he had to know if he could get into the room unseen. He tugged on the outside of the screen—had he latched it last night? He grinned when the
bottom popped out. No, he’d had too much on his mind to worry about latching screens.
He trotted to the garage and pawed through his dad’s toolbox until he found a couple of eye hooks. Then he pul ed out his penknife and cut twenty feet
or so of nylon fishing line from one of Dad’s never-used rods. Goodies in hand, he scuttled back to his bedroom window to crawl inside.
Quietly as possible, he moved his desk chair over to the door and stepped up on it. He screwed one eye hook into the ceiling directly above the bucket.
He threaded the end of the fishing line through the eye and tied it to the bucket handle.
Next he moved the chair to the right, to the corner by his closet, where he placed a second eye hook about six feet up the wal . He threaded the line
through that, then looped it around the closet doorknob. He adjusted the tension on the line just enough to lift the bottom edge of the bucket a smidgen off
