The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

If he actually hid the necklace, he wouldn’t need the map to find it again because it was a simple location to remember. I don’t think Ralph was into drawing treasure maps just for the fun of it. And if there were no necklace, that makes it even more unlikely. Unless he was fantasizing that there was one.”
    “Maybe Ralph was a little bit bonkers. I think it runs in our family.”
    “You know what I think? I think Ralph was needling you. He had been listening to your stories about equality and how unfair life was, and he created the map to get to you. The promise of riches. Maybe you two were fighting about the map on the balcony of the auditorium. It was creased and worn, which means somebody had been carrying it around. Another thing I know is that you weren’t attending class when Ralph was killed. That means you could have been with him.”
    I stopped. I had said more than I intended to, trying to get a reaction out of Ed. He was silent. I glanced at him, apprehensively He was looking out the window. I knew he had heard me. I turned on the car radio, and we listened to top 40 songs on WKBW while I pondered Ralph’s thought process. And Ed’s. Why did teenagers act like idiots sometimes? I should be an expert on that subject, but I didn’t know the answer.
    ***
    The picnic was held at the home of one of the girls who was a member of the mathematical society. She was from another school district some miles from ours, and her home was more of an estate than a home. It featured a three-story white house with gables and turrets and acres of green lawn that somebody had to mow. I was glad it wasn’t me. I had mowed the extensive lawn at the farm with a power mower that I had to walk behind and push. It took a lot of time and effort. The farm’s lawn was a fraction of the size of this one.
    Barney and Dr. Graves were already there, and Tabitha, a girl from Carter who I hadn’t met before. When I had a chance, I asked Barney how the car ride with Dr. Graves had gone.
    “Do you mean, did he get fresh with me? No, I’m afraid not. I guess I’m a little too old for him. And Tabitha is the wrong sex. So I have nothing new to report.”
    About thirty of us ate a lunch outside on picnic tables arranged on the lawn, in spite of the coolness of the weather. We were tough Western New Yorkers, able to survive freezing winters. This was nothing to us. However, I was glad that I was wearing a warm jacket. But as the sun got stronger, the day grew warmer, and eventually, I was able to take off my jacket.
    Veronica, the daughter of the owners of the estate, sat at the same table we did at lunch. When I asked her who mowed the lawn, she laughed and said, “Oh, we have a gardener who comes and does that.”
    I felt foolish to have asked the question, but I looked to see whether Ed was listening. He thought my family and Aunt Dorothy were rich, but Veronica’s parents must really be rich.
    Veronica was telling us about her property. In addition to a pond that froze in winter and was used for skating, and an aboveground swimming pool that was emptied in winter so it wouldn’t freeze, she mentioned that her family had built a bomb shelter.
    Bomb shelters were talked about in the newspaper all the time, because of the cold war with the USSR. What would we do if a nuclear attack was launched against us? Where would we hide? These scare tactics had us picturing helmeted soldiers sitting in underground silos, with their fingers on the launch buttons of ICBM’s, waiting for the signal from on high. Bomb shelters were the answer. Some employers offered loans to their employees who wanted to build them.
    Ed, who had been uncharacteristically silent since we arrived, perked up at the mention of the bomb shelter and said, “Is it underground?”
    “Yes.” Veronica pointed to a grass-covered slope that went up from where we were sitting to the house, and said, “It’s buried under the lawn. I’ll show it to you after lunch.”

    CHAPTER 26
    Actually, the first event after lunch was a talk by a student from another school. We were invited into the house by Veronica’s parents. The living room was large enough to hold the whole ground floor of our house in Atherton. It was covered with various area rugs with exotic designs. A large fish tank dominated one corner and was filled with all kinds of colorful fish. The teens flopped on the overstuffed couches and chairs, and the excess sat cross-legged on the floor while a boy