“Gator! Gator!” Clark shrieked.

Grandpa waved his saw wildly. “Later? Later? Okay!”

“Help me! Help me! It’s got me!” Clark wailed.

I peered down.

Down at the dark shape in the grass.

And laughed.

“Cypress knee,” I said calmly.

Clark turned, his mouth still open in fright. He stared at the knobby form in the grass.

“It’s a cypress limb, poking up from the grass,” I explained. “It’s called a cypress knee. I showed you one yesterday. Remember?”

“I remembered!” he lied. “I just wanted to scare you.”

I started to crack a joke, but I saw Clark’s whole body trembling as he picked himself up. I felt kind of sorry for him. “Let’s go back to the house,” I suggested. “Grandma is probably waiting for us. To make her sweet-as-sugar rhubarb pie.”

On the way back, I told Clark about seeing Grandpa upstairs, and the huge tray of pancakes he carried. But Clark didn’t think it was all that strange.

“He probably likes to eat in bed,” he said. “Mom and Dad always like breakfast in bed.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I agreed. But I wasn’t convinced. I wasn’t convinced at all.

“Well, you two look as if you’ve had fun!” Grandma chirped when we walked through the door.

Clark and I glanced at each other and shrugged.

“Are you ready to bake?” Grandma smiled. “Everything is ready.” She waved at the counter, at the pie ingredients all lined up.

“Who wants to roll out the dough,” she asked, staring straight at me, “while I slice the rhubarb?”

“I guess I will,” I replied.

Clark sighed. “Uh, maybe I’ll go into the living room and read my comic,” he told Grandma, trying to escape. “Mom says I just get in the way when she cooks.”

“Nonsense!” Grandma replied. “You measure out the sugar. Lots and lots of sugar.”

I rolled out the pie dough. It seemed like an awful lot of dough. But then—what did I know? I’m never around when Mom bakes. She says I get in the way too.

When the dough was rolled flat, Grandma took over. “Okay, children. You sit down at the table and have a nice glass of milk. I’ll finish up.”

Clark and I weren’t thirsty. But we didn’t feel like arguing. We drank our milk and watched Grandma finish making the pie.

No—not one pie. Three pies.

“Grandma, how come you’re making three pies?” I asked.

“I always like to have a little extra,” she explained. “Just in case company drops in.”

Company? I thought. Company?

I stared at Grandma.

Is she totally losing it?

Who did she think was coming to visit? She lives in the middle of nowhere!

What is going on around here? I wondered.

Is Grandma really expecting visitors?

Why does she make so much extra food?

“Work builds thirst!” Grandpa announced, banging open the kitchen door. He headed for the refrigerator. “See! I’m right!” Grandpa pointed to our empty milk glasses. “Are you two ready to help with the shed now?”

“Eddie, the children didn’t come here to work!” Grandma scolded. “Why don’t you two have some fun exploring the house? There are endless rooms. I’m sure you’ll find some wonderful treasures.”

“Great idea!” Grandpa’s face lit up with a smile. But it faded quickly. “Just one warning. You’ll find a locked room. At the end of the hall on the third floor. Now pay attention, children. Stay away from that room.”

“Why? What’s in it?” Clark demanded.

Grandma and Grandpa exchanged worried glances. Grandma’s face turned bright pink.

“It’s a supply room,” Grandpa replied. “We’ve stored away things in there. Old things. Fragile things. Things that could easily break. So just stay away.”

Clark and I took off. We were glad to get away. Grandma Rose and Grandpa Eddie were nice—but weird.

The kitchen, living room, and dining room took up most of the first floor. And we’d seen them already.

There was a library on the first floor too. But the books in there were old and dusty. They made me sneeze. Nothing very exciting in there. So Clark and I headed upstairs. To the second floor.

We made our way past our bedrooms.

Past the little hall window.

We followed the twists and turns of the dim hallway—until we came to the next room.

Grandma and Grandpa’s bedroom.

“I don’t think we should go in there,” I told Clark. “I don’t think Grandma and Grandpa want us snooping through their things.”

“Come on!” he urged. “Don’t you want to check it out? For pancake crumbs.” He laughed.