Grace, their mother, leaving her home. She was probably off to work because she was always in a rush. “Grace!” I waved and yelled out. “I must remark that your children are performing admirably in terms of neighborhood cleanliness. You ought to feel pleased! Grace paused, staring at me with this peculiar expression — like I’d just said something that didn’t quite sit right with her. But then she gave me a kind grin. “Oh, yes, I see. Thank you, they are nice kids.” Her voice seemed strange to me, but I ignored it. At the time, I did not give it any thought. I assumed she was simply rushing, possibly running late for work. I continued to observe them over the coming weeks; I believe their names were Becky and Sam. They were working harder than most children their age. I saw them every Sunday morning.
Once, when I offered them some lemonade, they graciously declined, stating they had “things to finish off.” They were so sophisticated for their age, I recall thinking. A odd event happened on Sunday. Becky and Sam were going about their daily business as usual, with their heads down and their routinely moving along the street. As I observed via my window, I became aware of something strange. Sam was not merely gathering rubbish. Instead, he was crouched down next to the large oak tree in front of my house, clearing some leaves off the way and gingerly hiding something under a shrub.
I tried to attempt to see better through the window, but I was unable to see anything. Despite its nature, it did not appear to be garbage. He even gave off the impression of being nearly shy about it, peeking over his shoulder as he got up to go to the next door. I sat there with a grimace on my face as my curiosity overcame me. What could he possibly be concealing beneath a bush? I chose to hold off until they were done. I wasn’t going to let this go. I had spent more than 30 years living in this neighborhood, after all. I could tell when things did not feel quite right, and this felt particularly strange.
I put on my gardening gloves and padded out the front door as the children vanished around the corner. I made my way toward the bush beside the sidewalk, letting the cold breeze tousle my hair. I knelt down and pushed Sam’s leaf pile to one side. Even at my age, there is something exciting about solving a mystery, so my heart skipped a beat or two. Coins. Changes loose, strewn about and concealed by foliage. Dime, quarter, and even a few gleaming pennies. I scowled as my thoughts raced. How in the world were they concealing money in that manner?
I got up and took a look around. I could not quit now that I understood what to search for. I began looking beneath more shrubs, pushing stones aside, and peeping around edges of the pavement. Once more, there it was — further coins. concealed in the corner close to the storm drain, tucked behind the street sign, and even between the curb’s bricks. It was more than a few.
