8

AUGUST, PRESENT DAY

Twelve years old

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked. “You have a Star-Gazer Twelve? And you think it’s buried at the Moose Junction Library?”

Simone and Dr. Lacamoire glanced at each other.

“Underground,” I clarified.

“That is what the word buried means, yes,” said Dr. Lacamoire smoothly.

“I told you,” snapped Simone. “I told you this was a waste of our time.” She looked back at me. “I’m sorry, Abby. We shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“It’s just—it sounds kind of . . . you know. Hard to believe,” I said. “A time capsule? And why would there be a Star-Gazer Twelve in it? How did it get there?”

Dr. Lacamoire shook his head. “That’s the wrong question. The question is, how are we going to get it out?”

“We?” I asked.

“Yes. You have to help. You’re friendly with the librarian. You know the lay of the land. I can’t just take a bulldozer to the place, as much as I’d like to,” he said. “I need someone familiar with the library to help me figure out where exactly it’s buried on the library grounds, and then procure it while I’m otherwise occupied. They would never expect some local child to have dug the thing up.”

I shook my head. “First of all, I’m not even sure there is a time capsule.”

“Show her!” Dr. Lacamoire barked at Simone. She rolled her eyes but pulled a piece of paper off the mantel and handed it to me. It was a black-and-white photo of a group of people in City Hall. I even recognized some of them. Joe Kitt from the hardware store still had that same denim shirt, but his hair was blond instead of its current gray. Miss Mae. My grandmother! My own grandma, smiling wide. In front of them was a table full of stuff, from books to a creepy-looking doll to a baseball.

And circled in red, the Star-Gazer Twelve. One of the best telescopes in the world.

Preserving Time, the headline read. The caption of the photo: Citizens of Moose Junction buried a time capsule outside the Moose Junction Public Library this weekend to preserve what life was like in the small resort town in 2000.

“There,” said Dr. Lacamoire confidently. “Proof. That article came from Waukegan Weekly. I printed it from the archives. I thought for sure there would be some sort of detail about where the thing was, but of course, this was probably Jim Bob Smith, the Reporter. Not exactly an investigator. They should have higher standards.”

Yes, because there was so often breaking news here in the Northwoods. The last time Moose Junction had made the Waukegan Weekly was when an albino deer had been spotted.

“But if it’s yours, how did it wind up in the time capsule?” I asked again.

Simone’s eyes shot toward Dr. Lacamoire. His entire face turned stony. I had clearly tiptoed onto some forbidden land.