“I kept it secret and I made Birdie and James keep it secret, too. I didn’t care about the reward. And I yelled at Mr. Ronnie to stop when he tried to chisel off a piece. He didn’t know it was harder than a ten on the Mohs scale. He said people were mad because we’re water witchers and we’d be sorry.”

“What?” Charlotte Rose puts down her pen.

“The Mohs scale measures hardness—” I start to explain when the policewoman interrupts me again.

“Mr. Ronnie of the Picker Palace threatened you?”

“No, he just said we’d be sorry. Mom says ‘sorry’ can mean many things. He thinks the rock is evil.”

The policewoman grabs her head with both hands.

“You’re one hundred percent sure you heard Mr. Ronnie say your family would be sorry?”

I’ve never been asked a percent question before. What if I was only ninety-five percent sure of something? What would that mean?

Charlotte Rose taps her fingers on the table in front of me.

“Henry? Did you hear him say that or not?”

“Yes, I heard him say that. One hundred percent,” I answer.

“Thank you. Is that it, or do you want to keep my card in case you think of anything else?”

“No, I told you everything.”

She leans toward me.

“Are you thinking of going into police work, Henry?”

“No, I think I might study science. Or help my father and Lincoln and Braggy. Are you going to write that down?” I point to the pad.

“No. I think I’ve got all the information I need for now. How’s your friend James?”

“He’s still not awake.”

The policewoman stands up.

“I’m going to take a ride by the Picker Palace.”

“Will Mr. Ronnie go to jail?” I ask.

“I don’t know what Mr. Ronnie has done, only what he’s said. That’s what I intend to find out.”

She puts the note in a plastic bag and takes it with her.

I feel instantly lighter with the note gone. A piece of paper doesn’t weigh very much, but it made me feel like I was walking on Jupiter. Because of Jupiter’s gravity, I’d weigh two hundred and thirty-six percent more there. That would make me two hundred and twelve pounds instead of ninety.

Mom is watering her tomato seeds in their egg carton. She drips the water over her fingers into the soil a few drops at a time so she doesn’t wash the seeds away. I’m glad Dad thought to bring them, because watching Mom makes me feel like I’m home again.

“I’m going to see Lincoln,” I tell her.

“Yes.” She says the one word like she already knows what I’m planning to do.

Chapter 19

Are you a dowser? You will never know until you try.

—Joseph Baum, The Beginner’s Handbook of Dowsing