The Smoky Corridor

127

That night, all sorts of people were clustered in the main entrance to the school, right below the portrait of Horace P. Pettimore.

First came the police and paramedics, who took Azalea and the janitor Wade to the hospital, Ms. DuBois and her brother to the morgue. The first detectives on the scene had a theory that the brother and sister had died in a domestic dispute: They both wanted the gold, but they didn’t want to share it. So Ms. DuBois hired an attack dog, while her brother relit Captain Pettimore’s boiler and tricked his sister into going into the smoky chamber, where she suffocated when the door locked behind her.

Zack’s dad, Judy, Malik, and Zack did not feel compelled to disagree with the detectives.

While the police issued an all-points bulletin for a “giant attack dog,” Judy rushed Zipper to the closest animal hospital just to make sure that the zombie kick to his ribs hadn’t broken any bones.

Zack’s dad used his cell phone to call Malik’s father, who came racing over to the school. While they waited for the police to finish their work and haul the gold up from the basement, Zack’s dad and Mr. Sherman talked about how proud they both were of their brave sons. After a while, Mr. Sherman told Zack’s dad all about how sick Malik’s mom was and how they didn’t have health insurance right then.

That was when the assistant principal, Carl D. Crumpler, stormed into the building.

“Jennings?” he screamed at Zack and his dad, who were standing in a corner with Malik and Mr. Sherman. “What goes on here?”

Zack’s dad put his arm around Malik’s shoulders.

“Well, Mr. Crumpler, my client, Malik Sherman—”

“Your client?”

“That’s right. He needs someone to help him manage his money.”

“What?”

“Mr. Sherman and Mr. Wade Muggins, a janitor here at the school, a man of great initiative, uncovered a coded stone left in the old root cellar by Horace P. Pettimore.”

“What root cellar?” Mr. Crumpler had never looked more flustered.

“Showing great courage and determination, the two of them found what has eluded so many for so long: Captain Pettimore’s stolen Confederate gold.”

“Stolen?”

“Well, I’m sure the statute of limitations has expired, and the aggrieved party, the Confederate States of America, no longer exists. Therefore, it will be the recommendation of the Pettimore Trust that some reward money be given to both Mr. Sherman and Mr. Muggins.…”

“The boy and the janitor?”

“That’s right. We also feel a donation should be made to the Fund for Extraordinary Young Girls in New Orleans.”

“What?”

“Oh, it was one of Captain Pettimore’s favorite charities. The bulk of the treasure will, of course, be transferred to the Pettimore Trust so we might continue doing the good works we know the captain would want us to do.”

Zack nearly burst out laughing. That was the biggest fib of the night.

“I don’t like this, Jennings. Something smells funny.”

“Perhaps that’s sour milk you’re smelling, sir. Sour chocolate milk?”

That shut Crumpler up.

“Now, let’s go help them inventory the gold,” said Zack’s dad, leading the way to the cafeteria, where the bars were slowly being transferred from the treasure tunnels.

While the adults streamed out of the main building, Zack turned to Malik.

“Congratulations,” he said.

“Wow! They’re really gonna give me a reward so I can help my mom?”

“Sure sounds like it.”

“Thanks, Zack!”

“Hey, you earned it!”

“So,” Malik whispered, “can you really see ghosts?”

“Yeah. But don’t tell anybody, okay? My dad didn’t even know until today.”

They knocked knuckles on it.

“Hey, are there any ghosts in here now?”

Zack looked around the room. Didn’t see anybody.

Except … yes … stepping through the wall underneath the Pettimore portrait.

“Just one.”

“Really? Who is it?”

“A young guy. He used to fly with the Tuskegee Airmen.”

“My great-grandfather?”

“Yep. And you know what?”

“What?”

“He’s very proud of you, too!”