The summer went along lazily. Courtney played baseball and got her junior lifeguard certification. Mark tinkered with his killer robot, getting ready for the big state competition. He had gotten an invitation and everything. His reputation was getting around.
Mark always wore the ring, waiting for the day when the next journal would arrive. The truth was, both Mark and Courtney tried not to think about Bobby, because the longer it went without getting a journal, the more they feared that something nasty had happened to him. That was something they didn’t even want to consider, so it was easier to put Bobby out of their minds entirely.
Then, on August 21, two things happened. First, it was Mark’s fifteenth birthday. He celebrated in his usual way: getting some creepy new clothes from his mother and a gift certificate from his father that would be spent wisely at the local electronics store.
The other thing that happened was Mark got a strange phone call at home.
An official-sounding woman’s voice said, “May I speak to a Mr. Mark Dimond, please?”
“That’s me.”
“This is Ms. Jane Jansen, vice-president of the National Bank of Stony Brook. Are you familiar with us?”
The woman sounded like somebody’s idea of a pruny old schoolteacher.
“Uh… sure,” he said. “You’re on the Ave… uh… Stony Brook Avenue.”
“Correct,” she answered. “Do you know a Ms. Courtney Chetwynde?”
“Yes, what’s this about?”
“Mr. Dimond, would you and Ms. Chetwynde please come down to our branch as soon as possible? With some identification? I believe this may be an issue of some importance.”
This really threw Mark. He didn’t even have a bank account. What could they possibly want with him and Courtney? He was just about to tell this wacky woman that he wanted to call his parents first, when she dropped the bomb.
“It has to do with a Mr. Robert Pendragon.”
Those were the magic words.
“We’ll be right there,” Mark said, and hung up the phone before she had the chance to say good-bye.
Mark immediately called Courtney and was relieved to find her home. Half an hour later, the two of them were standing outside the large, gray cement building with the big brass letters that read: national bank of stony brook.
Mark never understood how Stony Brook could have a national bank, but it had been around forever so he figured they must know what they were doing. The bank itself was old-fashioned. There was a huge lobby with a high ceiling capped by a glass dome. This was not like the modern banks that Mark had been in with his mother. This looked like the bank from Mary Poppins. There was lots of dark polished wood, brass hardware, and leather furniture. There were a lot of customers, too, and they all whispered when they spoke. It was like a library. Mark thought this bank probably looked exactly the same as it did the year it was built. Based on the cornerstone he saw outside, that year was 1933.
Mark and Courtney told the receptionist they were there to see a Ms. Jansen. They were asked to have a seat in the waiting area, so the two of them sank into the cushy leather chairs to wait for this mysterious woman who had some news about Bobby.
“You have any clue what this is about?” Courtney asked Mark.
“None, zero, nada,” Mark answered.
A second later they both saw a rail-thin woman walking toward them. She wore a gray suit and had her hair up in a bun. Her glasses were black with perfectly round lenses. Mark knew immediately that this must be Ms. Jane Jansen. She looked exactly like her voice sounded. She was old, too. Mark wondered if she had been working here since the bank opened.
The woman walked up to the receptionist and asked her a question that Mark couldn’t hear. The receptionist pointed to Mark and Courtney. Ms. Jansen looked at them and frowned.
“I guess we’re not what she was expecting,” Courtney whispered.
Ms. Jansen walked over to them quickly. She had perfect posture and a stiff neck that didn’t turn. Whenever she looked in a different direction, she moved her whole body.
“Mr. Dimond? Ms. Chetwynde?” she asked with a snippy tone.
“That’s us,” answered Mark.
“Do you have some form of identification?” she added suspiciously. Courtney and Mark gave the woman their student ID cards. Jansen looked at them over her glasses and then frowned again.
“You two are quite young,” she said.
“You needed our ID’s to figure that out?” Courtney asked.
Mark winced. Courtney was being a wise-ass, again.
Ms. Jansen shot Courtney a sour look and handed them back their ID’s. “Is this the way young people dress today to attend a meeting?” she asked, sounding all superior.
Mark and Courtney looked at each other. They were both wearing shorts, T-shirts, and hiking boots. What was wrong with that?
“We’re fifteen, ma’am, what did you expect?” said Courtney. “We don’t have snappy outfits like you’re wearing.”
Jansen knew this was a cut, but let it go.
“Please follow me,” she said, then turned and walked toward the back of the bank.
Courtney rolled her eyes at Mark. Mark shrugged and the two of them followed the stiff, skinny little woman. A minute later they were sitting across from her at a large oak desk.
“We have been holding an envelope for the two of you,” she explained. “We assume it must be some sort of inheritance from a relative of yours. Are either of you related to Mr. Robert Pendragon?”
That was a tough one to answer. Mark was about to say that they were just friends, but Courtney jumped in first saying, “Yeah, he’s a distant relative.”
Jansen continued, “Well, it doesn’t matter actually. The instructions are quite clear.”
She then handed the envelope to Mark. It was an old, yellowed letter that had two names written on it: “Mark Dimond” and “Courtney Chetwynde.” It was Bobby’s handwriting. Both Mark and Courtney had to force themselves to keep from smiling.
Jansen continued, “We were instructed to deliver this envelope to you on this date. We were also instructed to have you open it right away.”
Mark shrugged and opened the letter. He pulled out a sheet of paper that was folded in half. It was old and yellow too, like the envelope. There was a header engraved on top that read: “National Bank of Stony Brook” in fancy lettering. Below it were the words: “Safety Deposit Box #15-224.”
There was one other thing in the envelope: a small key.
Mark and Courtney had no idea what to make of this, so they showed it to Ms. Jansen. She looked at the note and the key, then said quickly, “Follow me, please.”
She got up and walked off again. They followed her.
“This is freaky,” whispered Courtney.
This time Ms. Jansen led them into a place Mark had always wanted to go — the huge bank vault. Since the bank was open for business, so was the vault. There was a giant, round door that looked like something you’d see in Fort Knox. When this baby closed, there was nobody getting in. Or out, for that matter.
Mark wondered if inside they would see big bags of money with dollar signs on them. Or stacks of clean crisp bills. Or maybe even bars of gold.
But there was none of that. Ms. Jansen led them to a room full of brass lockers. Some were as big as the lockers at school, others were no larger than a few inches wide. These were the safe deposit boxes of the National Bank of Stony Brook.
Ms. Jansen walked along one row of doors, scanning the numbers inscribed on each. She finally arrived at the one marked: 15-224. She stopped and handed the key to Mark.