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THE MYSTERY OF THE JEWELER'S JALOPY

By Toby Robin O'Keefe

Hi Folks!

This is the first of a three part text collectively entitled "Mystery of the Marsh Diamonds".

"Toby! I need your help!"

I looked up from my Darcy Newell mystery just as Terry came through the crowd of red and grey plaid and sat down on the school bench to my left.

"Hey!," I said over the morning schoolyard noise. "Where were you? I waited at the corner for ten minutes."

"That's why I need your help," she said, and opened her binder up to a half completed page of numbered sentences.

"Sure, Terr. Whatcha got?"

"I didn't get the vocabulary words done last night. I was going to do them this morning but I didn't wake up in time."

I looked at my watch. It was twenty minutes after eight o'clock. Ten minutes before the bell. Terry already had her reading book open to the chapter's vocabulary list.

"Hmmm.... You know, Terr..." I sounded like I was thinking it over. "Aren't you about three points ahead of me right now...?"

She looked up with this really shocked look on her face.

"Toby! You're not gonna..."

"Naw. Let's do the words."

She looked back down at the book.

"Ratified..."

I thought about the word for a little while, and she was already looking at the next word and writing a sentence one place below the one I was going to help her fill in.

Terry was three points ahead of me this year for top of class. That was a lot to make up. But we always helped each other out of a jam. She usually got my help with writing and I usually got hers with math.

But if I was going to help her stay ahead by three whole points, I wanted to get some kinda fun out of it.

She was already to the R's... only five words left to go.

Easy stuff.

"Ratified... hmmm..." I began, and watched her face.

"Okay, how's this... 'Dad and I were shocked to find that the rice in the cupboard had been rat-i-fied' ".

Terry stopped writing. Her head shot up, mouth open.

"Tow-beee! Come ON!!"

"Sorry..." I said, but I was giggling. Terry wasn't.

I thought seriously for a little bit. I had to be careful not to give her anything that sounded like the sentence I had used for my own homework paper last night.

In sixth grade, the stories aren't fun to read any more. Instead of adventures and things like that, the Readers have history stories and biographies and stuff. Both our Reading and History classes were all about the Revolutionary War. Yawn.

We did 'ratified', 'seclusion', 'territories', 'verified' and 'wintry' in five minutes flat. When she stopped writing the last sentence, Terry was still safely three points ahead of me (thanks to two little misspellings and one big math error).

"Thanks, Toby", she said, and she was really grateful. "I'll pay you back".

"You bet," I nodded. "We gotta study together for the math test on Friday, okay?"

(I hate math.)

Then Tricia came up and sat down on my right.

"Hey, Trish" I said.

"Hey! Take a look... how about this, huh?"

Tricia held up a typewritten piece of paper and waved it in front of me, making me bob my head around trying to read it. I pushed my glasses back and grabbed it out of her hand.

"Whatcha..." I started, then saw what it was. "Wow! The History essay. You TYPED this?"

Tricia nodded, then smiled in that way she does when she has her own secret. "Well... it was typed, okay?"

Tricia's family had so much money, she probably had her own secretary doing her homework.

Terry looked over at the essay while I read some of it. Tricia was just ignoring her, as usual.

"I think we're supposed to write out our homework, Tricia" she said. "It's supposed to be our Penmanship, too".

Tricia tilted her head back and made a sleepy look in that way she does whenever she talks to Terry.

"Excuse me, but writing is for things that you just turn in for grades. Typing is for things which are actually going to be read. You know, just like the way they do in THESE things..."

She opened one of her schoolbooks and waved it at Terry, with the covers going up and down like a flying bird.

I just ignored this. It was your basic Tricia and Terry Show. Then I saw something on Tricia's essay.

"Hey, Trish..." I pointed to one of the words on the page. "I think 'esteemed' has two 'E's, you know?" I couldn't keep myself from giggling. "This looks like they held poor Jefferson over boiling water!"

Tricia grabbed the paper out of my hand and squinted angrily at the misspelled word.

"Yah, Trish," Terry said across me. "You're supposed to have all the words spelled right..." she flapped one of her own books up and down in the air. "Just like the way they do in THESE things".

That got Tricia hot, and things were about to get ugly when the bell rang. Just in time.

The whole schoolyard went from noise to quiet, and our sea of red and grey plaid started to slowly stream into the halls. The three of us got up and headed in with everybody else.

I was careful to stay in between Tricia and Terry. If those two started up, all three of us would get detention for talking after the bell. Even if I didn't say a word. Sister would say it was for the time I talked and didn't get caught. That's how it works at Sacred Heart. Go figure.

Terry never ever keeps quiet when she's supposed to. That's what used to get us into trouble when we sat next to each other in class, before Sister moved us three rows apart.

"Wanna get together after school for math?" she whispered. We were still far enough away from the school doorways to be kinda safe, though the Sisters can hear for miles. "The test is going to be easy".

Trisha heard her whispering and quickly got out of range. She wasn't going to get caught with the talkers.

"Can't..." I whispered back. "Gotta pick up Dad's birthday present downtown. Talk later".

Tonight was Dad's birthday, and I was going to pick up his present from Mr. Potter's jewelry store on my way home.

That was why I rode my bike into downtown Greendale after school, which began one of the most dangerous cases of my detective career.

===*===

Mr. Potter's jewelry store is the only one left downtown ever since they had to close down the store owned by Mr. Kassabe about a year ago, when the police found out he had been cheating the nsurance company after he said his store was robbed.

I guess I had something to do with that, because I was the one who found where the jewelry was hidden. I thought that it had been hidden by the robbers, but it turned out that Mr. Kassabe didn't tell all the truth about it so that he could get money from his insurance company.

There was an article in the Greendale Journal, the newspaper that my Dad runs. It had my picture and how I found the hiding place even after the police didn't. It said that I was a "schoolgirl detective" and I think that the story made Chief Macy really embarrassed. I liked Chief Macy, and I didn't want that to happen. After the next city election we got a new Mayor, and Chief Macy wasn't the Chief of Police anymore.

I have the newspaper story in a frame up on my wall. That's what really got me started doing detective stuff.

So Mr. Potter is always really friendly to me, probably because he knows that if anybody steals jewelry from him, I'll help him solve the crime. He even lets me try on the really expensive jewelry in front of the big store mirror.

I had been saving up my allowance for over a month to get Dad a nice present for his birthday. Mr. Potter helped me pick out a gold tie clasp, and said he would put Dad's initials on it. It was supposed to be ready today, which was a good thing because today was his birthday.

I locked my bike up in the rack by the side of the store, put my book bag over my shoulder and walked up to the big glass door. I looked through the glass, but I couldn't see anybody inside the store. Not even Mr. Potter.

The jewelry store door is so heavy that I always have to lean against it with my whole weight to open it. When it finally did swing open, the buzzer went off in the back of the store where he does all his work. I waited, expecting him to come through the back office door any second.

"Hi, Mister Potter!" I called to the back of the store. I figured if he knew it was me he'd bring Dad's tie clasp with him.

The glass cases always have really nice things in them, and I usually spend a lot of time looking at everything. But today I had to be in a hurry. We were going out to a really nice restaurant, and I had to wrap Dad's present and do all my homework before he got home.

I waited for a little while, then called out again. "Hey, Mister Potter... it's Toby! Are you back there?"

I listened for him to answer like he usually does, but I couldn't hear anything. This was kinda weird, because he always answers unless he's not in the shop. And if he isn't in the shop then he always locks the front door.

Then I heard him walking from the back. He stopped at the doorway to his workshop and looked at me from across the display cabinets. He seemed kinda strange, looking at me like he didn't know me.
He looked behind me, through the windows into the street, then back at me.

"Hello, little girl," he said like he didn't know who I was.

"Jeeps, Mister Potter... it's me!" I didn't say anything about the "little girl" part because I never talked to him about how I hate to be called that.

He squinted through his thick glasses, still acting like he didn't know who I was. I was starting to get worried. I got my wallet out of my book bag and took out the yellow slip of paper he had given me for buying the tie clasp.

"I came to pick up Dad's present... it was gonna be ready today, remember?"

Mr. Potter reached over the display case and took the yellow slip of paper. He looked at it for a moment, then looked behind him into his workshop.

"Oh yes, of course. The gold tie clasp with the initials. It's in the back. Just a moment". He went back behind the doorway where I couldn't see him any more. I waited, and I was getting worried while I waited.

Something was really really wrong with this picture. Mr. Potter never had memory problems before. And I just saw him a couple of days ago.

I started looking around the store for clues, just like my Uncle Jack taught me to do, trying to figure out if I could tell what was wrong. Something was going to show up wrong somewhere, and give me a clue to why Mr. Potter was acting so weird.

Okay... All the cases were closed, and there weren't any gaps in the displays like anything was missing. The cash register was closed. There was nothing spilled on the counters or carpet. The chairs in the store were right where they were supposed to be.

Everything looked fine. I couldn't find a single thing wrong before Mr. Potter returned with Dad's tie clasp.

But he was still acting really nervous while he looked through a drawer full of little white boxes to put the clasp into. I started to wonder if maybe I should come right out and ask him what was wrong.

I figured it was better not to give away that I was suspicious. Uncle Jack says that you always pick up more clues if the other people don't think you're paying any attention. That works a lot.

Mr. Potter was moving like a robot, and hardly even looking at me. He set the tie clasp down on a little mat for me to see. It was a thin gold bar with a spring clip on the back and the letters "FIW", for Francis Ian O'Keefe, engraved in fancy letters on the front. Dad's first name is really "Francis", even though everybody calls him "Frank", except for me because I call him "Dad".

It was exactly what I wanted.

"That looks great, Mister Potter!". I looked up at him and smiled.

He smiled back, but didn't look at me. He put the clip in the white box and took it back to the cash register.

He should have been talking. He was always talking, and about almost anything.

"That will be fifteen dollars, little girl".

There was that "little girl" stuff again, as if he didn't want to admit he knew me.

Okay. Don't act surprised. Keep watching. I handed him a twenty dollar bill - all of my allowance for a month. He rung up fifteen dollars on the cash register and pulled out five one dollar bills. He counted them out on the glass.

"Thank you, Miss. Please come again".

He walked around the counter and put his hand on my back. He didn't really shove, but he was pushing me so that I had to walk really quickly to the door.

I was trying to juggle the gift box, the receipt, my change, and my wallet while I almost had to run across the store. The strap of my bag was starting to slip off my shoulder, and all the things I was holding were just about falling out of my hands.

Mr. Potter swung the shop door open and kept on pushing me until I was out on the sidewalk. Then his big, heavy door slammed shut. "Oh jeeps, Mister Potter!" I said, and was grabbing at everything that was dropping out of my hands. I shoved the one dollar bills in my wallet and dumped everything into my book bag. Then I turned around and grabbed the handle of the shop door and pushed. It wouldn't move. I leaned against it and pushed until my shoes were slipping on the ground. He had locked it right behind me.

I squinted through the glass. Now the shop looked empty, just like it did when I had first gotten here, except that now the lights were turned off.

Jeeps! Something was really wrong!

I just couldn't go away until I figured out what it was. I went back to the rack at the side of the shop and set my bag into my bicycle basket. Then I looked around the small parking lot behind the store.

There were only two cars parked there. One was a really nice looking polished black car. That was Mr. Potter's car. The other was an old gray wreck with banged up bumpers, rusty dents everywhere and a peeling fabric roof. It looked years and years old. It didn't even look like it could run.

I could tell right away that there was something wrong. There was mud splattered on the sides, where the tires would have thrown it up along a muddy road. And there were weeds caught underneath the fenders. And the mud was fresh... I could tell even before I stuck out my finger to touch it.

It was a pale yellowish kinda color. It was clay, like the kind you made things out of. But it didn't come from an art store.

I knew that there were only two places that had wet, yellowish clay. One of them was the sand quarry. But the sand quarry didn't have long swamp weeds like were under the car fenders.

That left only one place. Fawnhollow Marsh, where all the clay that runs out from the sand quarry collects. Suddenly the shop's back door started to open. I didn't want anybody seeing me looking for clues, so I ran back to my bicycle and pretended to be unlocking the chain. I tried my best to look really busy, like I was having trouble remembering the combination.

I couldn't look to see who came out of the back door without looking like I was spying. Then one of the cars started. I knew it had to be the old beat-up one because of how bad it sounded.

It came out from the side and right out into the street without even looking for traffic. I tried to see into the windows when it went by, but they were so dirty that I couldn't see a thing.

Anybody could have been inside that car, and I wondered if Mr. Potter was.

I left my bike and went to the front of the store again. Now the "Closed" sign was hanging in the door, and no sign of Mr. Potter anywhere inside.

I stood there for a long time. Something was really wrong with this picture. The sign with the store hours said he was open until six o'clock, and it was only a little after four right now. And all his jewelry was still in the window displays. He never closed up his store without taking all the things away from the front windows.

Just then I had an idea. The receipt! What if he wrote something down on it, like a note for help or something?

I dug into my book bag and fished out the slip of paper.

Nothing.

I opened the white gift box. Only cotton and my Dad's tie clip. What about the money he counted out... any secret messages? I opened up my wallet and looked at all five one dollar bills.

Nope again.

Now I didn't know what to do. Maybe he was in trouble, and maybe I was imagining things.

Mom and Dad were always telling me that I have a runaway imagination. Maybe this was one of those times.

But what if it wasn't? Maybe I was the only person to see how weird Mr. Potter was acting. Then that meant I was the only person to know that he was in trouble if he really was in trouble.

Sometimes a good detective has to follow their instincts, right?

I don't know how you get instincts, but my girl's intuition said that Mr. Potter was in trouble and he was probably in that old car, and the old car was probably going back to the place it came from... Fawnhollow Marsh. . . .

Okay... If I saw the car, I'd go home and call the police. Even if Mr. Potter wasn't in it, nobody should be driving like this into the marsh. The police would come and see for themselves, and if Mr. Potter was in trouble, they would find him.

There. That's what I was going to do. I pushed my way through the reeds, looking around really carefully for the dry places to step. If I got my school uniform or penny loafers muddy, Mom and Dad would throw a fit (again). Unless I found Mr. Potter and got him out of trouble, and I was a hero. Then they might understand. Maybe.

The tire tracks got deeper the farther I went. There were fewer and fewer dry places to step, and the tracks were getting fainter.

Now it was getting too muddy to go on. I stood at the edge of a really muddy spot, wondering if I should just go back, when I saw the old car.

It was stuck in a mud pit! Oh jeeps, a big clay mud pit! Right out here in the middle of the marsh!

Was anybody still inside? Like Mr. Potter?

I took a few steps closer, but suddenly the ground got really soft. I was almost in the clay myself! I jumped back really fast, leaving a footprint about an inch deep.

Another step and I would have been in big trouble.

Should I go back now? Call the police?

What if Mr. Potter were in the car? It didn't look like it was sinking in the clay pit, but maybe it was sinking really slowly. And maybe Mr. Potter was in the car, and had gotten hurt driving into the marsh? And what if the car sank all the way under the clay before the police got here?

Down deep I knew that the best thing to do was go back and call the police.

Then I saw the plywood lying just to my left. A long enough piece to lay across the soft clay, between me and the passenger side window of the car. I stepped really carefully across the short grass to pick it up by the edges. Then I slid it across the pit, pushing it slowly so I wouldn't splash any of the muddy clay. The board was sturdy enough to walk on. Even so, I walked really slowly. I wasn't sure if the clay underneath it was too soft even for the board.

It stayed on top of the clay, and I was able to make my way to the side window. I looked in. Somebody was still in the car, sitting behind the steering wheel but leaning forward like they were asleep...

Oh jeeps... it was Mr. Potter!

My intuition had been right... Mr. Potter was in big trouble!

Now what was I going to do?

Run back, ride to the nearest telephone and call the police. Even Uncle Jack would have told me to do that.

But I couldn't just leave Mr. Potter here...

I had to make sure he was okay. I didn't even want to think that he might not be okay. I hoped that he had just driven into the pit by mistake and gotten knocked out when his head hit the steering wheel.

I really really REALLY hoped that's what had happened.

The car door on my side was unlocked, and I opened it very slowly. It was heavy enough that I had to lean a little to get it past me, which was kinda hard to do without almost slipping off the plywood board.

I got it open just enough to be able to crawl on the seat on my hands and knees.

The car was tilted forward because it was sinking into the clay from the front. I didn't even notice if it was moving, because I was too busy watching Mr. Potter. I had my right foot on the floor and my left knee on the passenger seat, trying to keep my balance.

I leaned forward.

"Mister Potter...?" I whispered.

His head was leaning up against the steering wheel and he wasn't moving at all. I crawled the rest of the way into the car and reached out for his shoulder. I could see my hand shaking. I guess I was scared.

"M... Mister Potter..." I whispered again, and I gave his shoulder a small push.

He didn't move. I got even more scared.

"Mister Potter!" I said louder, and pushed his shoulder a couple of times.

He groaned.

Jeeps, was I ever glad to hear that!

"Hey, Mister Potter... you gotta wake up!"

He groaned a little louder, and then he opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, looked in front of him, and then turned his head and looked at me.

"Huh... wha...?"

"Mister Potter, we gotta get outta here!"

Then his eyes went from sleepy to surprised.

"T... Toby? Toby?"

I just nodded.

"Oh my God, what are you doing here!"

"Jeeps, Mister Potter... I'm trying to get you out of the car! Look where we are!"

I pointed out the window. That's when he finally realized how much trouble we were in. "Good Lord!" he said, and then he looked left and right really fast. "We have to get out of here!"

He twisted around toward me, toward the open door.

"Be careful, now!" he said. "Go ahead... I'm right behind you!"

I turned myself around and got ready to crawl out. He was still trying to turn himself around from behind the steering wheel so he could follow me. I could feel the car rock, and almost lost my balance.

Then it rocked some more, and I suddenly felt myself falling to my left. I lost my balance and fell to the car floor just as the door slammed shut. The car was sinking --- fast!

I looked back at him to see if he was going to help me up. But instead of trying to get out the door, he was doing something to the middle of the steering wheel. He kept hitting it like maybe he was trying to honk the horn, but he was hitting it a lot harder than that.

Then the cover in the middle of the steering wheel popped off, and Mr. Potter pulled a small, white cloth bag. He stuffed the bag into his jacket top pocket, then grabbed my hand to pull me back up off the floor.

But the car tipped forward again, and he fell right on top of me!

Now I could feel the car really tipping down into the clay. It was the weirdest thing in the world. Mr. Potter was trying to get off of me, but the car seats and fallen forward and it was really hard for him to move. I could hardly breath. I started to feel trapped, and I guess I sounded pretty scared.

"Mister Potter! We gotta get out! Come on... we gotta get out!"

I could barely see him push one of the seats back. He reached up and used the steering wheel to pull himself off of me. As soon as he did, I twisted myself around and grabbed the passenger seat. But I didn't try to push it back. Instead, I reached behind the folded back and pulled myself up off the floor, half way toward the back seats.

The car had tipped down so much that I was almost standing up, looking right at the back seat floor. I raised myself up on my elbows and looked around. That's when I saw the scariest thing I think I've ever seen in my life...

The clay was covering up the windows!

It took half a second to imagine the whole car sinking under the clay and the two of us being buried alive inside. That's about when I could hear myself breathing really loud.

"The glove box!" Mr. Potter shouted to me, pointing right behind me. "Look inside! There's a wrench!"

I turned around and reached down to push the button. The door popped out a little, and I had to pull it open.

There was mostly junk inside... paper cups and old napkins... some pens... a flashlight.

Right behind the flashlight was a big wrench. Really big, and heavy too. I pulled it out, and it was so heavy that it bent my wrist. I had to use both hands to get it up to Mr. Potter.

Mr. Potter grabbed it and then stepped up on top of the steering wheel. He straightened out until he was standing straight up.

It was really weird inside the sinking car...

I was lying on the folded passenger seat, but it felt like I was standing straight up. The car was pointing almost straight down now.

"Close your eyes and cover your head!" Mr. Potter said.

Then he started hitting the wrench against the back window, as hard as he could. I thought it would break right away, but it didn't.

Then I DID hear breaking glass, but it wasn't the back window...

Mr. Potter yelled something, and then I felt something heavy hit me on the back. Then I heard even more breaking glass making loud popping sounds all around me, and little bits of glass that looked like tiny rocks were flying around everywhere.

I tried to twist around to see what was happening and saw the clay pouring in through the broken windows, pouring on top of me, below me and all around me! It was pouring in from all sides!

"Mister Potter! Help!!" I screamed, and tried to reach up for him.

The clay was filling up the car all around me, pouring in from the front and side windows, squeezing my feet and legs together, pinning me down against the back of the folded passenger seat. I tried to squirm out of it, but I couldn't move. It was too heavy.

"Keep your eyes closed!" he yelled back at me, and I saw him pull back his arm, ready to swing the wrench at the back window as hard as he possibly could. I closed my eyes just as I heard the glass above me make this loud popping noise and felt what must have been hundreds of little glass pebbles rain down on top of me and the clay.

I could feel the clay molding itself all around me, sealing me up like a mummy. It was getting heavier and heavier and heavier, and I could feel it rising up and up until I was completely buried up to my chest. I opened my eyes again and held my arms up toward Mr. Potter. I couldn't move... the clay was squeezing in on me... it was getting hard to breathe...

He reached down with both hands and grabbed my wrists. I didn't think there would be any way he could get me up out of that clay. It was so heavy...

But I could feel myself sliding through it, rising up toward the shattered back window. I helped as much as I could, pushing my feet against the dashboard, then the steering wheel. Mr. Potter wrapped his arms around my chest and pulled up again. I could feel myself getting free of the clay. He let go long enough to grab my waist, then pulled up again. I was almost out. He put his arms around my legs and lifted me up and through the back window.

I put my hands on the roof of the car and pulled myself up even further. Mr. Potter gave me one more push, and I was sitting on top of the tilted, sinking car. Mr. Potter reached out of the back window, put his arms out to either side, then drew himself up until he was sitting right next to me. We were both breathing hard, trying to catch our breaths, and totally covered with clay.

My legs were still inside the car, and I could feel the clay swallowing my feet.

"Come on, Mister Potter!" I yelled. "We gotta get to the hard ground!" We both turned around to see how close we were from the solid edge of the clay pit.

That's when we saw the man with the gun

He was a tall, thin man who looked as if he hadn't shaved in a long time. His clothes were rumpled and almost too big to fit him.

He waved his gun around at us, but didn't point it.

"Hey, Gramps," he said, his voice low and raspy. "Looks like you finally found what I was looking for."

I turned my head to look at Mr. Potter. He was looking back at the man with the gun. It didn't take a second to figure out that the gunman was talking about the white cloth bag sticking out of Mr. Potter's jacket.

"What happens when I throw it to you?" Mr. Potter asked.

The gunman made a big smile and stretched his arms out from his sides.

"Then I'm a happy man, and I can go my merry way!" he said, as if he were an old friend. "Not only that, but I'll shove this board back over the mud so you can, too.

"I'd forgotten about the plywood, and now I could see that he had pulled it away from the sinking car and up on the firm bank.

"Let the little girl go first, then."

This had to be the first time I didn't mind being called that. Anything that got me away from the man with the gun was okey dokey with me.

I started to think about what I'd do first, and it was an easy guess. My bike was just past the reeds, and I would ride to the first telephone I could find and call the police.

But the gunman must have figured out the same thing.

"Your little friend has already been bad luck for me once today," he said, and he waved his gun around at me. "If she was lucky enough to find you way out here, she'll be trouble for me out on her own."

I heard Mr. Potter let out a loud sigh.

"Okay, you win" he said. "I'll throw you the diamonds."

Mr. Potter slowly worked at pulling his legs out of the clay, then stood up on the back of the car. The car was pointed straight down into the clay pit, so he had to lean against the left fender.

I watched him pull the white cloth bag from his jacket pocket and hold it up as if he was ready to throw it to the gunman.

But he didn't.

"Let the girl go first. Just push that board out here and she can bring the diamonds to you."

The gunman looked at Mr. Potter for several seconds, then grinned.

"You're a real sweet guy, y'know that fella? Okay, I'll do it your way if that's going to finish up our business."

I looked up at Mr. Potter.

"Are you sure this is okay?"

Mr. Potter nodded his head, as if everything was going to be okay and he had some kind of plan for getting out of this jam.

But I sure couldn't see what it was.

I heard the plywood being dragged across the ground and looked back at the gunman. He slid the wide board across the clay until it was right next to me.

"Let's get going," he said.

I wiggled my legs around in the clay until I could pull them out, and then I rolled over onto the plywood. When I looked back at Mr. Potter, his arm was reaching out to hand me the little white sack. I took it from him and started crawling back across the board.

A million thoughts were running around through my head as I slowly crawled across the plywood toward the gunman. The best one said I should take the bag and run into the tall grass to make him chase me and give Mr. Potter a chance to get away.

I stood up slowly so I could walk the rest of the way and be ready to run.

But as soon as I did, the gunman stepped onto the plywood, reached out and grabbed me hard by the arm. I barely had time to say "ow!" when he snatched the white bag out of my hand.

Then, without letting go of my arm, he turned around and pointed his gun straight at Mr. Potter! "No!" I screamed, and I shoved my whole weight against him. I heard the gun go off . . .
so close to my head that my ears rang. I felt dizzy, and forgot where I was for a second.

Then I felt a sudden shove against my back, and watched the clay pit stretch out beneath me as I sailed through the air.

A voice in my head said "Don't land feet first!"

But the voice was too late. I hit the clay with both feet at once and slipped into the mud pit with hardly a splash.

The clay made waves all around me, rolling and bouncing as I felt myself dropping deeper and deeper. I shoved my hands down into the clay to keep from slipping further. Everything kept moving until I had sunk up to my shoulders.

Then it was completely quiet, completely still.

I didn't notice how hard I was breathing until I tried to listen for other sounds. Then I heard a car start up from far away.

The sound of the car got closer for a few seconds, then farther and farther away. I tried to remember what kind of a sound it was. It sounded like a small car, with a small engine. It kinda started and stopped, so it must have had a stick shift. That's all I could figure out, but I think Uncle Jack would have approved.

I wanted to turn around and look for Mr. Potter. But I didn't want to see him lying on the clay shot. I really, really hoped I had knocked that guy hard enough to make him miss.

The clay wouldn't let me turn around. It was soft between my shoulders and waist, kind of like pudding is. The palms of my hands were lying on a thicker layer between my waist and knees, kind of like peanut butter. But the layer was so thick below my knees that I couldn't move my feet. My shoes were like anchors. I couldn't budge my legs an inch.

But it wouldn't have been smart to try. The clay was slowly creeping over my collar. I could feel myself sinking, very slowly, even though I wasn't moving. I tilted back my head and looked straight up at the sky. I wanted to keep my face away from the mud for as long as I could.

"M – Mister Potter...!" I called out. "Are... are you there?"

I heard something, but it could have been the wind through the cat tails at the banks of the pit. Or was it Mr. Potter? The Bad Guy? Anybody else at all?

The clay was touching my chin and the backs of my ears.

This was so unfair... you weren't supposed to keep sinking if you didn't move.

"Help!" I yelled as hard as I could. "Help! I'm sinking!!"

I kept on yelling until the clay covered over my ears and I couldn't hear myself. Then I started taking really deep breaths, so I could hold my breath if I sank completely under.

I had a full breath of air when the mud crawled over my mouth and nose. I closed my eyes just in time.

I prayed... very, very hard.

I felt my glasses and my hair band being pulled off as my head went completely under. Just before I started to panic, I felt very, very sad. Nobody was ever going to find me down under all this mud...

Everything was wiggling around me, and I wondered if the clay did that all the time. My chest was hurting. I wanted to breathe but pushed my lips tightly together and squeezed down on my lungs to try and stop them from pushing my last air out.

The clay wiggled even more. Like it was trying to swallow me deeper.

Then something hit me on my head, then shoulders, and I felt the material of my jumper being grabbed in two big handfuls. There was a growing pain under my arms as my jumper was being pulled up.

I drove my hands up through the mud and grabbed on to whatever was holding me. Hands... wrists... I grabbed onto the wrists...

Up I went, and my head tore through the thickening layer of clay above me -- up into the free, wide, living air!

The clay in my ears kept everything silent, but I knew I screamed out with my first full breathe of air. I breathed in and out hard and fast, getting all the air I could as fast as I could, still gripping the wrists that had saved my life. I couldn't open my eyes, but as long as I knew where the wrists were, I knew I was going to live.

My feet were still caught in the really thick clay below, and as the wrists tried to pull me out further I kicked my legs up and down trying to soften the clay enough to let me go. It was hard work, especially because I felt so weak after holding my breath.

I tried to kick my loafers off. But a weird suction between my feet and my shoes made it feel like they were glued to my feet. That made it a lot harder. But I kept on kicking until the thick clay was as soft as the peanut butter clay.

The wrists pulled away, and then I could feel two large hands holding on to my wrists instead. My arms were stretched straight up over my head, and then I could feel myself being dragged up and out of the clay in a single, continuous motion, until I was lying face up on something flat and hard.

As soon as the hands had let my wrists go, I started scooping away the clay off my face and out of my ears. Then something soft was wiping my face for me, and I could open my ears.

Mr. Potter was using his jacket to wipe the mud off my face.

"Mister Potter!" I gasped. "You're okay!"

He nodded and didn't say anything. He was wiping he mud out of my right ear, looking at was he was doing with his head tilted back the way he looks at other people's jewelry.

"... way up in there," I heard him say.

"You're okay!" I said again. "What happened? Did he shoot you? Are you really okay? Where did that guy go? Is he gone? What..."

"I'm okay, Toby" he said, and stopped wiping my face. "He didn't hit me, and he's gone."

I noticed that we were sitting on the plank of plywood that I had found. Mr. Potter had pushed it back over the clay to save me.

You should have seen us. It was like we were both melting grey wax statues.

I knew that if I tried to stand up, I'd probably fall down. Both because I was shaking so much, and because I was covered with so much clay that I must have weighed a zillion pounds.

"Jeeps, Mister Potter... you save my life."

He smiled.

"That makes us even, sweetheart. I'd be parked overtime at the bottom of this mud pit if you hadn't come along."

I was really anxious to find out more.

"So, Mister Potter, how come you drove your car into the clay?"

Of course I knew he didn't drive himself into the clay. It was a way to get him to tell me everything that had happened.

Mr. Potter looked over at the back fender of his car, which was all that was left sticking up out of the clay pit.

"I drive that old wreck when I'm bringing very expensive things into my store. I had always figured that anybody who wanted to rob a jeweler wouldn't think to look for a heap like that."

The clay made deep popping noises as some bubbles burst up on it's surface. Mr. Potter made a grunting noise.

"Looks like I figured wrong."

"So the things in that little white bag were really expensive?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Diamonds. From a very famous mine in Africa, and as clear as the air itself." He sounded like he was describing something in a dream.

"I had the diamonds sent to my home instead of the store so that I could photograph them. Then I hid them in the steering wheel to bring them into the shop. When I got there, two thugs hiding inside jumped me.

"First they had me drive out here, where they could search the car without being seen. It didn't matter that I told them the diamonds were in the store. They didn't take the bait until they had looked everywhere but where I'd actually hidden them.

"Just a few minutes after they had me drive back to the store, you arrived."

"Ah!" I said. "I *knew* something was wrong!"

"I got you out the door as fast as I could. If they had thought for a moment that you might have suspected something was wrong, you would have been in that car with me as well."

"Oh Jeeps! So that's why you were in such a hurry! To keep me from saying anything that made them nervous."

"Yes, and I could tell you were getting very suspicious, so out you flew. It wasn't until after I had locked up the shop and returned to the back that they decided you might try to call the police.

"So rather than continue to look for the diamonds, they took me back out to the marsh to give themselves time to get away. The last thing I remembered was one of them putting his foot over mine to press the accelerator, and the clay pit suddenly appearing in front of us. I think I must have hit my head on the steering wheel when the car reached the clay. The next thing I knew, you were shaking my shoulder."

And I knew the rest of the story.

"You saved my life again when you threw his aim off trying to shoot me," he said. "I fell back and rolled behind what was left of the car. Then I saw him push you out into the pit. But I couldn't do a thing until he had gone."

"Lucky for me he was in a hurry."

"And so was I," Mr. Potter said. "As soon as I heard him start up his car, I rolled to the firm ground and grabbed this plywood. Another few seconds and I'm afraid I would have been too late."

"Jeeps, Mister Potter, I'll say! I didn't have a whole lot of breath left."

We sat there for a while longer, very muddy and very tired, not saying a thing. The only noises were from the birds, who were still telling us that we weren't supposed to be there.

I couldn't have agreed with them more.

And I thought that I would never set foot in Fawnhallow Marsh again. But as long as there were two nasty crooks running around loose in Greendale, things were really dangerous.

How dangerous?

Me and my best friend Terry found out soon, when we went to solve "The Mystery of the Marsh Diamonds".

Description
THE MYSTERY OF THE JEWELER'S JALOPY

By Toby Robin O'Keefe

Hi Folks!

This is the first of a three part text collectively entitled "Mystery of the Marsh Diamonds".

"Toby! I need your help!"

I looked up from my Darcy Newell mystery just as Terry came through the crowd of red and grey plaid and sat down on the school bench to my left.

"Hey!," I said over the morning schoolyard noise. "Where were you? I waited at the corner for ten minutes."

"That's why I need your help," she said, and opened her binder up to a half completed page of numbered sentences.

"Sure, Terr. Whatcha got?"

"I didn't get the vocabulary words done last night. I was going to do them this morning but I didn't wake up in time."

I looked at my watch. It was twenty minutes after eight o'clock. Ten minutes before the bell. Terry already had her reading book open to the chapter's vocabulary list.

"Hmmm.... You know, Terr..." I sounded like I was thinking it over. "Aren't you about three points ahead of me right now...?"

She looked up with this really shocked look on her face.

"Toby! You're not gonna..."

"Naw. Let's do the words."

She looked back down at the book.

"Ratified..."

I thought about the word for a little while, and she was already looking at the next word and writing a sentence one place below the one I was going to help her fill in.

Terry was three points ahead of me this year for top of class. That was a lot to make up. But we always helped each other out of a jam. She usually got my help with writing and I usually got hers with math.

But if I was going to help her stay ahead by three whole points, I wanted to get some kinda fun out of it.

She was already to the R's... only five words left to go.

Easy stuff.

"Ratified... hmmm..." I began, and watched her face.

"Okay, how's this... 'Dad and I were shocked to find that the rice in the cupboard had been rat-i-fied' ".

Terry stopped writing. Her head shot up, mouth open.

"Tow-beee! Come ON!!"

"Sorry..." I said, but I was giggling. Terry wasn't.

I thought seriously for a little bit. I had to be careful not to give her anything that sounded like the sentence I had used for my own homework paper last night.

In sixth grade, the stories aren't fun to read any more. Instead of adventures and things like that, the Readers have history stories and biographies and stuff. Both our Reading and History classes were all about the Revolutionary War. Yawn.

We did 'ratified', 'seclusion', 'territories', 'verified' and 'wintry' in five minutes flat. When she stopped writing the last sentence, Terry was still safely three points ahead of me (thanks to two little misspellings and one big math error).

"Thanks, Toby", she said, and she was really grateful. "I'll pay you back".

"You bet," I nodded. "We gotta study together for the math test on Friday, okay?"

(I hate math.)

Then Tricia came up and sat down on my right.

"Hey, Trish" I said.

"Hey! Take a look... how about this, huh?"

Tricia held up a typewritten piece of paper and waved it in front of me, making me bob my head around trying to read it. I pushed my glasses back and grabbed it out of her hand.

"Whatcha..." I started, then saw what it was. "Wow! The History essay. You TYPED this?"

Tricia nodded, then smiled in that way she does when she has her own secret. "Well... it was typed, okay?"

Tricia's family had so much money, she probably had her own secretary doing her homework.

Terry looked over at the essay while I read some of it. Tricia was just ignoring her, as usual.

"I think we're supposed to write out our homework, Tricia" she said. "It's supposed to be our Penmanship, too".

Tricia tilted her head back and made a sleepy look in that way she does whenever she talks to Terry.

"Excuse me, but writing is for things that you just turn in for grades. Typing is for things which are actually going to be read. You know, just like the way they do in THESE things..."

She opened one of her schoolbooks and waved it at Terry, with the covers going up and down like a flying bird.

I just ignored this. It was your basic Tricia and Terry Show. Then I saw something on Tricia's essay.

"Hey, Trish..." I pointed to one of the words on the page. "I think 'esteemed' has two 'E's, you know?" I couldn't keep myself from giggling. "This looks like they held poor Jefferson over boiling water!"

Tricia grabbed the paper out of my hand and squinted angrily at the misspelled word.

"Yah, Trish," Terry said across me. "You're supposed to have all the words spelled right..." she flapped one of her own books up and down in the air. "Just like the way they do in THESE things".

That got Tricia hot, and things were about to get ugly when the bell rang. Just in time.

The whole schoolyard went from noise to quiet, and our sea of red and grey plaid started to slowly stream into the halls. The three of us got up and headed in with everybody else.

I was careful to stay in between Tricia and Terry. If those two started up, all three of us would get detention for talking after the bell. Even if I didn't say a word. Sister would say it was for the time I talked and didn't get caught. That's how it works at Sacred Heart. Go figure.

Terry never ever keeps quiet when she's supposed to. That's what used to get us into trouble when we sat next to each other in class, before Sister moved us three rows apart.

"Wanna get together after school for math?" she whispered. We were still far enough away from the school doorways to be kinda safe, though the Sisters can hear for miles. "The test is going to be easy".

Trisha heard her whispering and quickly got out of range. She wasn't going to get caught with the talkers.

"Can't..." I whispered back. "Gotta pick up Dad's birthday present downtown. Talk later".

Tonight was Dad's birthday, and I was going to pick up his present from Mr. Potter's jewelry store on my way home.

That was why I rode my bike into downtown Greendale after school, which began one of the most dangerous cases of my detective career.

===*===

Mr. Potter's jewelry store is the only one left downtown ever since they had to close down the store owned by Mr. Kassabe about a year ago, when the police found out he had been cheating the nsurance company after he said his store was robbed.

I guess I had something to do with that, because I was the one who found where the jewelry was hidden. I thought that it had been hidden by the robbers, but it turned out that Mr. Kassabe didn't tell all the truth about it so that he could get money from his insurance company.

There was an article in the Greendale Journal, the newspaper that my Dad runs. It had my picture and how I found the hiding place even after the police didn't. It said that I was a "schoolgirl detective" and I think that the story made Chief Macy really embarrassed. I liked Chief Macy, and I didn't want that to happen. After the next city election we got a new Mayor, and Chief Macy wasn't the Chief of Police anymore.

I have the newspaper story in a frame up on my wall. That's what really got me started doing detective stuff.

So Mr. Potter is always really friendly to me, probably because he knows that if anybody steals jewelry from him, I'll help him solve the crime. He even lets me try on the really expensive jewelry in front of the big store mirror.

I had been saving up my allowance for over a month to get Dad a nice present for his birthday. Mr. Potter helped me pick out a gold tie clasp, and said he would put Dad's initials on it. It was supposed to be ready today, which was a good thing because today was his birthday.

I locked my bike up in the rack by the side of the store, put my book bag over my shoulder and walked up to the big glass door. I looked through the glass, but I couldn't see anybody inside the store. Not even Mr. Potter.

The jewelry store door is so heavy that I always have to lean against it with my whole weight to open it. When it finally did swing open, the buzzer went off in the back of the store where he does all his work. I waited, expecting him to come through the back office door any second.

"Hi, Mister Potter!" I called to the back of the store. I figured if he knew it was me he'd bring Dad's tie clasp with him.

The glass cases always have really nice things in them, and I usually spend a lot of time looking at everything. But today I had to be in a hurry. We were going out to a really nice restaurant, and I had to wrap Dad's present and do all my homework before he got home.

I waited for a little while, then called out again. "Hey, Mister Potter... it's Toby! Are you back there?"

I listened for him to answer like he usually does, but I couldn't hear anything. This was kinda weird, because he always answers unless he's not in the shop. And if he isn't in the shop then he always locks the front door.

Then I heard him walking from the back. He stopped at the doorway to his workshop and looked at me from across the display cabinets. He seemed kinda strange, looking at me like he didn't know me.
He looked behind me, through the windows into the street, then back at me.

"Hello, little girl," he said like he didn't know who I was.

"Jeeps, Mister Potter... it's me!" I didn't say anything about the "little girl" part because I never talked to him about how I hate to be called that.

He squinted through his thick glasses, still acting like he didn't know who I was. I was starting to get worried. I got my wallet out of my book bag and took out the yellow slip of paper he had given me for buying the tie clasp.

"I came to pick up Dad's present... it was gonna be ready today, remember?"

Mr. Potter reached over the display case and took the yellow slip of paper. He looked at it for a moment, then looked behind him into his workshop.

"Oh yes, of course. The gold tie clasp with the initials. It's in the back. Just a moment". He went back behind the doorway where I couldn't see him any more. I waited, and I was getting worried while I waited.

Something was really really wrong with this picture. Mr. Potter never had memory problems before. And I just saw him a couple of days ago.

I started looking around the store for clues, just like my Uncle Jack taught me to do, trying to figure out if I could tell what was wrong. Something was going to show up wrong somewhere, and give me a clue to why Mr. Potter was acting so weird.

Okay... All the cases were closed, and there weren't any gaps in the displays like anything was missing. The cash register was closed. There was nothing spilled on the counters or carpet. The chairs in the store were right where they were supposed to be.

Everything looked fine. I couldn't find a single thing wrong before Mr. Potter returned with Dad's tie clasp.

But he was still acting really nervous while he looked through a drawer full of little white boxes to put the clasp into. I started to wonder if maybe I should come right out and ask him what was wrong.

I figured it was better not to give away that I was suspicious. Uncle Jack says that you always pick up more clues if the other people don't think you're paying any attention. That works a lot.

Mr. Potter was moving like a robot, and hardly even looking at me. He set the tie clasp down on a little mat for me to see. It was a thin gold bar with a spring clip on the back and the letters "FIW", for Francis Ian O'Keefe, engraved in fancy letters on the front. Dad's first name is really "Francis", even though everybody calls him "Frank", except for me because I call him "Dad".

It was exactly what I wanted.

"That looks great, Mister Potter!". I looked up at him and smiled.

He smiled back, but didn't look at me. He put the clip in the white box and took it back to the cash register.

He should have been talking. He was always talking, and about almost anything.

"That will be fifteen dollars, little girl".

There was that "little girl" stuff again, as if he didn't want to admit he knew me.

Okay. Don't act surprised. Keep watching. I handed him a twenty dollar bill - all of my allowance for a month. He rung up fifteen dollars on the cash register and pulled out five one dollar bills. He counted them out on the glass.

"Thank you, Miss. Please come again".

He walked around the counter and put his hand on my back. He didn't really shove, but he was pushing me so that I had to walk really quickly to the door.

I was trying to juggle the gift box, the receipt, my change, and my wallet while I almost had to run across the store. The strap of my bag was starting to slip off my shoulder, and all the things I was holding were just about falling out of my hands.

Mr. Potter swung the shop door open and kept on pushing me until I was out on the sidewalk. Then his big, heavy door slammed shut. "Oh jeeps, Mister Potter!" I said, and was grabbing at everything that was dropping out of my hands. I shoved the one dollar bills in my wallet and dumped everything into my book bag. Then I turned around and grabbed the handle of the shop door and pushed. It wouldn't move. I leaned against it and pushed until my shoes were slipping on the ground. He had locked it right behind me.

I squinted through the glass. Now the shop looked empty, just like it did when I had first gotten here, except that now the lights were turned off.

Jeeps! Something was really wrong!

I just couldn't go away until I figured out what it was. I went back to the rack at the side of the shop and set my bag into my bicycle basket. Then I looked around the small parking lot behind the store.

There were only two cars parked there. One was a really nice looking polished black car. That was Mr. Potter's car. The other was an old gray wreck with banged up bumpers, rusty dents everywhere and a peeling fabric roof. It looked years and years old. It didn't even look like it could run.

I could tell right away that there was something wrong. There was mud splattered on the sides, where the tires would have thrown it up along a muddy road. And there were weeds caught underneath the fenders. And the mud was fresh... I could tell even before I stuck out my finger to touch it.

It was a pale yellowish kinda color. It was clay, like the kind you made things out of. But it didn't come from an art store.

I knew that there were only two places that had wet, yellowish clay. One of them was the sand quarry. But the sand quarry didn't have long swamp weeds like were under the car fenders.

That left only one place. Fawnhollow Marsh, where all the clay that runs out from the sand quarry collects. Suddenly the shop's back door started to open. I didn't want anybody seeing me looking for clues, so I ran back to my bicycle and pretended to be unlocking the chain. I tried my best to look really busy, like I was having trouble remembering the combination.

I couldn't look to see who came out of the back door without looking like I was spying. Then one of the cars started. I knew it had to be the old beat-up one because of how bad it sounded.

It came out from the side and right out into the street without even looking for traffic. I tried to see into the windows when it went by, but they were so dirty that I couldn't see a thing.

Anybody could have been inside that car, and I wondered if Mr. Potter was.

I left my bike and went to the front of the store again. Now the "Closed" sign was hanging in the door, and no sign of Mr. Potter anywhere inside.

I stood there for a long time. Something was really wrong with this picture. The sign with the store hours said he was open until six o'clock, and it was only a little after four right now. And all his jewelry was still in the window displays. He never closed up his store without taking all the things away from the front windows.

Just then I had an idea. The receipt! What if he wrote something down on it, like a note for help or something?

I dug into my book bag and fished out the slip of paper.

Nothing.

I opened the white gift box. Only cotton and my Dad's tie clip. What about the money he counted out... any secret messages? I opened up my wallet and looked at all five one dollar bills.

Nope again.

Now I didn't know what to do. Maybe he was in trouble, and maybe I was imagining things.

Mom and Dad were always telling me that I have a runaway imagination. Maybe this was one of those times.

But what if it wasn't? Maybe I was the only person to see how weird Mr. Potter was acting. Then that meant I was the only person to know that he was in trouble if he really was in trouble.

Sometimes a good detective has to follow their instincts, right?

I don't know how you get instincts, but my girl's intuition said that Mr. Potter was in trouble and he was probably in that old car, and the old car was probably going back to the place it came from... Fawnhollow Marsh. . . .

Okay... If I saw the car, I'd go home and call the police. Even if Mr. Potter wasn't in it, nobody should be driving like this into the marsh. The police would come and see for themselves, and if Mr. Potter was in trouble, they would find him.

There. That's what I was going to do. I pushed my way through the reeds, looking around really carefully for the dry places to step. If I got my school uniform or penny loafers muddy, Mom and Dad would throw a fit (again). Unless I found Mr. Potter and got him out of trouble, and I was a hero. Then they might understand. Maybe.

The tire tracks got deeper the farther I went. There were fewer and fewer dry places to step, and the tracks were getting fainter.

Now it was getting too muddy to go on. I stood at the edge of a really muddy spot, wondering if I should just go back, when I saw the old car.

It was stuck in a mud pit! Oh jeeps, a big clay mud pit! Right out here in the middle of the marsh!

Was anybody still inside? Like Mr. Potter?

I took a few steps closer, but suddenly the ground got really soft. I was almost in the clay myself! I jumped back really fast, leaving a footprint about an inch deep.

Another step and I would have been in big trouble.

Should I go back now? Call the police?

What if Mr. Potter were in the car? It didn't look like it was sinking in the clay pit, but maybe it was sinking really slowly. And maybe Mr. Potter was in the car, and had gotten hurt driving into the marsh? And what if the car sank all the way under the clay before the police got here?

Down deep I knew that the best thing to do was go back and call the police.

Then I saw the plywood lying just to my left. A long enough piece to lay across the soft clay, between me and the passenger side window of the car. I stepped really carefully across the short grass to pick it up by the edges. Then I slid it across the pit, pushing it slowly so I wouldn't splash any of the muddy clay. The board was sturdy enough to walk on. Even so, I walked really slowly. I wasn't sure if the clay underneath it was too soft even for the board.

It stayed on top of the clay, and I was able to make my way to the side window. I looked in. Somebody was still in the car, sitting behind the steering wheel but leaning forward like they were asleep...

Oh jeeps... it was Mr. Potter!

My intuition had been right... Mr. Potter was in big trouble!

Now what was I going to do?

Run back, ride to the nearest telephone and call the police. Even Uncle Jack would have told me to do that.

But I couldn't just leave Mr. Potter here...

I had to make sure he was okay. I didn't even want to think that he might not be okay. I hoped that he had just driven into the pit by mistake and gotten knocked out when his head hit the steering wheel.

I really really REALLY hoped that's what had happened.

The car door on my side was unlocked, and I opened it very slowly. It was heavy enough that I had to lean a little to get it past me, which was kinda hard to do without almost slipping off the plywood board.

I got it open just enough to be able to crawl on the seat on my hands and knees.

The car was tilted forward because it was sinking into the clay from the front. I didn't even notice if it was moving, because I was too busy watching Mr. Potter. I had my right foot on the floor and my left knee on the passenger seat, trying to keep my balance.

I leaned forward.

"Mister Potter...?" I whispered.

His head was leaning up against the steering wheel and he wasn't moving at all. I crawled the rest of the way into the car and reached out for his shoulder. I could see my hand shaking. I guess I was scared.

"M... Mister Potter..." I whispered again, and I gave his shoulder a small push.

He didn't move. I got even more scared.

"Mister Potter!" I said louder, and pushed his shoulder a couple of times.

He groaned.

Jeeps, was I ever glad to hear that!

"Hey, Mister Potter... you gotta wake up!"

He groaned a little louder, and then he opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, looked in front of him, and then turned his head and looked at me.

"Huh... wha...?"

"Mister Potter, we gotta get outta here!"

Then his eyes went from sleepy to surprised.

"T... Toby? Toby?"

I just nodded.

"Oh my God, what are you doing here!"

"Jeeps, Mister Potter... I'm trying to get you out of the car! Look where we are!"

I pointed out the window. That's when he finally realized how much trouble we were in. "Good Lord!" he said, and then he looked left and right really fast. "We have to get out of here!"

He twisted around toward me, toward the open door.

"Be careful, now!" he said. "Go ahead... I'm right behind you!"

I turned myself around and got ready to crawl out. He was still trying to turn himself around from behind the steering wheel so he could follow me. I could feel the car rock, and almost lost my balance.

Then it rocked some more, and I suddenly felt myself falling to my left. I lost my balance and fell to the car floor just as the door slammed shut. The car was sinking --- fast!

I looked back at him to see if he was going to help me up. But instead of trying to get out the door, he was doing something to the middle of the steering wheel. He kept hitting it like maybe he was trying to honk the horn, but he was hitting it a lot harder than that.

Then the cover in the middle of the steering wheel popped off, and Mr. Potter pulled a small, white cloth bag. He stuffed the bag into his jacket top pocket, then grabbed my hand to pull me back up off the floor.

But the car tipped forward again, and he fell right on top of me!

Now I could feel the car really tipping down into the clay. It was the weirdest thing in the world. Mr. Potter was trying to get off of me, but the car seats and fallen forward and it was really hard for him to move. I could hardly breath. I started to feel trapped, and I guess I sounded pretty scared.

"Mister Potter! We gotta get out! Come on... we gotta get out!"

I could barely see him push one of the seats back. He reached up and used the steering wheel to pull himself off of me. As soon as he did, I twisted myself around and grabbed the passenger seat. But I didn't try to push it back. Instead, I reached behind the folded back and pulled myself up off the floor, half way toward the back seats.

The car had tipped down so much that I was almost standing up, looking right at the back seat floor. I raised myself up on my elbows and looked around. That's when I saw the scariest thing I think I've ever seen in my life...

The clay was covering up the windows!

It took half a second to imagine the whole car sinking under the clay and the two of us being buried alive inside. That's about when I could hear myself breathing really loud.

"The glove box!" Mr. Potter shouted to me, pointing right behind me. "Look inside! There's a wrench!"

I turned around and reached down to push the button. The door popped out a little, and I had to pull it open.

There was mostly junk inside... paper cups and old napkins... some pens... a flashlight.

Right behind the flashlight was a big wrench. Really big, and heavy too. I pulled it out, and it was so heavy that it bent my wrist. I had to use both hands to get it up to Mr. Potter.

Mr. Potter grabbed it and then stepped up on top of the steering wheel. He straightened out until he was standing straight up.

It was really weird inside the sinking car...

I was lying on the folded passenger seat, but it felt like I was standing straight up. The car was pointing almost straight down now.

"Close your eyes and cover your head!" Mr. Potter said.

Then he started hitting the wrench against the back window, as hard as he could. I thought it would break right away, but it didn't.

Then I DID hear breaking glass, but it wasn't the back window...

Mr. Potter yelled something, and then I felt something heavy hit me on the back. Then I heard even more breaking glass making loud popping sounds all around me, and little bits of glass that looked like tiny rocks were flying around everywhere.

I tried to twist around to see what was happening and saw the clay pouring in through the broken windows, pouring on top of me, below me and all around me! It was pouring in from all sides!

"Mister Potter! Help!!" I screamed, and tried to reach up for him.

The clay was filling up the car all around me, pouring in from the front and side windows, squeezing my feet and legs together, pinning me down against the back of the folded passenger seat. I tried to squirm out of it, but I couldn't move. It was too heavy.

"Keep your eyes closed!" he yelled back at me, and I saw him pull back his arm, ready to swing the wrench at the back window as hard as he possibly could. I closed my eyes just as I heard the glass above me make this loud popping noise and felt what must have been hundreds of little glass pebbles rain down on top of me and the clay.

I could feel the clay molding itself all around me, sealing me up like a mummy. It was getting heavier and heavier and heavier, and I could feel it rising up and up until I was completely buried up to my chest. I opened my eyes again and held my arms up toward Mr. Potter. I couldn't move... the clay was squeezing in on me... it was getting hard to breathe...

He reached down with both hands and grabbed my wrists. I didn't think there would be any way he could get me up out of that clay. It was so heavy...

But I could feel myself sliding through it, rising up toward the shattered back window. I helped as much as I could, pushing my feet against the dashboard, then the steering wheel. Mr. Potter wrapped his arms around my chest and pulled up again. I could feel myself getting free of the clay. He let go long enough to grab my waist, then pulled up again. I was almost out. He put his arms around my legs and lifted me up and through the back window.

I put my hands on the roof of the car and pulled myself up even further. Mr. Potter gave me one more push, and I was sitting on top of the tilted, sinking car. Mr. Potter reached out of the back window, put his arms out to either side, then drew himself up until he was sitting right next to me. We were both breathing hard, trying to catch our breaths, and totally covered with clay.

My legs were still inside the car, and I could feel the clay swallowing my feet.

"Come on, Mister Potter!" I yelled. "We gotta get to the hard ground!" We both turned around to see how close we were from the solid edge of the clay pit.

That's when we saw the man with the gun

He was a tall, thin man who looked as if he hadn't shaved in a long time. His clothes were rumpled and almost too big to fit him.

He waved his gun around at us, but didn't point it.

"Hey, Gramps," he said, his voice low and raspy. "Looks like you finally found what I was looking for."

I turned my head to look at Mr. Potter. He was looking back at the man with the gun. It didn't take a second to figure out that the gunman was talking about the white cloth bag sticking out of Mr. Potter's jacket.

"What happens when I throw it to you?" Mr. Potter asked.

The gunman made a big smile and stretched his arms out from his sides.

"Then I'm a happy man, and I can go my merry way!" he said, as if he were an old friend. "Not only that, but I'll shove this board back over the mud so you can, too.

"I'd forgotten about the plywood, and now I could see that he had pulled it away from the sinking car and up on the firm bank.

"Let the little girl go first, then."

This had to be the first time I didn't mind being called that. Anything that got me away from the man with the gun was okey dokey with me.

I started to think about what I'd do first, and it was an easy guess. My bike was just past the reeds, and I would ride to the first telephone I could find and call the police.

But the gunman must have figured out the same thing.

"Your little friend has already been bad luck for me once today," he said, and he waved his gun around at me. "If she was lucky enough to find you way out here, she'll be trouble for me out on her own."

I heard Mr. Potter let out a loud sigh.

"Okay, you win" he said. "I'll throw you the diamonds."

Mr. Potter slowly worked at pulling his legs out of the clay, then stood up on the back of the car. The car was pointed straight down into the clay pit, so he had to lean against the left fender.

I watched him pull the white cloth bag from his jacket pocket and hold it up as if he was ready to throw it to the gunman.

But he didn't.

"Let the girl go first. Just push that board out here and she can bring the diamonds to you."

The gunman looked at Mr. Potter for several seconds, then grinned.

"You're a real sweet guy, y'know that fella? Okay, I'll do it your way if that's going to finish up our business."

I looked up at Mr. Potter.

"Are you sure this is okay?"

Mr. Potter nodded his head, as if everything was going to be okay and he had some kind of plan for getting out of this jam.

But I sure couldn't see what it was.

I heard the plywood being dragged across the ground and looked back at the gunman. He slid the wide board across the clay until it was right next to me.

"Let's get going," he said.

I wiggled my legs around in the clay until I could pull them out, and then I rolled over onto the plywood. When I looked back at Mr. Potter, his arm was reaching out to hand me the little white sack. I took it from him and started crawling back across the board.

A million thoughts were running around through my head as I slowly crawled across the plywood toward the gunman. The best one said I should take the bag and run into the tall grass to make him chase me and give Mr. Potter a chance to get away.

I stood up slowly so I could walk the rest of the way and be ready to run.

But as soon as I did, the gunman stepped onto the plywood, reached out and grabbed me hard by the arm. I barely had time to say "ow!" when he snatched the white bag out of my hand.

Then, without letting go of my arm, he turned around and pointed his gun straight at Mr. Potter! "No!" I screamed, and I shoved my whole weight against him. I heard the gun go off . . .
so close to my head that my ears rang. I felt dizzy, and forgot where I was for a second.

Then I felt a sudden shove against my back, and watched the clay pit stretch out beneath me as I sailed through the air.

A voice in my head said "Don't land feet first!"

But the voice was too late. I hit the clay with both feet at once and slipped into the mud pit with hardly a splash.

The clay made waves all around me, rolling and bouncing as I felt myself dropping deeper and deeper. I shoved my hands down into the clay to keep from slipping further. Everything kept moving until I had sunk up to my shoulders.

Then it was completely quiet, completely still.

I didn't notice how hard I was breathing until I tried to listen for other sounds. Then I heard a car start up from far away.

The sound of the car got closer for a few seconds, then farther and farther away. I tried to remember what kind of a sound it was. It sounded like a small car, with a small engine. It kinda started and stopped, so it must have had a stick shift. That's all I could figure out, but I think Uncle Jack would have approved.

I wanted to turn around and look for Mr. Potter. But I didn't want to see him lying on the clay shot. I really, really hoped I had knocked that guy hard enough to make him miss.

The clay wouldn't let me turn around. It was soft between my shoulders and waist, kind of like pudding is. The palms of my hands were lying on a thicker layer between my waist and knees, kind of like peanut butter. But the layer was so thick below my knees that I couldn't move my feet. My shoes were like anchors. I couldn't budge my legs an inch.

But it wouldn't have been smart to try. The clay was slowly creeping over my collar. I could feel myself sinking, very slowly, even though I wasn't moving. I tilted back my head and looked straight up at the sky. I wanted to keep my face away from the mud for as long as I could.

"M – Mister Potter...!" I called out. "Are... are you there?"

I heard something, but it could have been the wind through the cat tails at the banks of the pit. Or was it Mr. Potter? The Bad Guy? Anybody else at all?

The clay was touching my chin and the backs of my ears.

This was so unfair... you weren't supposed to keep sinking if you didn't move.

"Help!" I yelled as hard as I could. "Help! I'm sinking!!"

I kept on yelling until the clay covered over my ears and I couldn't hear myself. Then I started taking really deep breaths, so I could hold my breath if I sank completely under.

I had a full breath of air when the mud crawled over my mouth and nose. I closed my eyes just in time.

I prayed... very, very hard.

I felt my glasses and my hair band being pulled off as my head went completely under. Just before I started to panic, I felt very, very sad. Nobody was ever going to find me down under all this mud...

Everything was wiggling around me, and I wondered if the clay did that all the time. My chest was hurting. I wanted to breathe but pushed my lips tightly together and squeezed down on my lungs to try and stop them from pushing my last air out.

The clay wiggled even more. Like it was trying to swallow me deeper.

Then something hit me on my head, then shoulders, and I felt the material of my jumper being grabbed in two big handfuls. There was a growing pain under my arms as my jumper was being pulled up.

I drove my hands up through the mud and grabbed on to whatever was holding me. Hands... wrists... I grabbed onto the wrists...

Up I went, and my head tore through the thickening layer of clay above me -- up into the free, wide, living air!

The clay in my ears kept everything silent, but I knew I screamed out with my first full breathe of air. I breathed in and out hard and fast, getting all the air I could as fast as I could, still gripping the wrists that had saved my life. I couldn't open my eyes, but as long as I knew where the wrists were, I knew I was going to live.

My feet were still caught in the really thick clay below, and as the wrists tried to pull me out further I kicked my legs up and down trying to soften the clay enough to let me go. It was hard work, especially because I felt so weak after holding my breath.

I tried to kick my loafers off. But a weird suction between my feet and my shoes made it feel like they were glued to my feet. That made it a lot harder. But I kept on kicking until the thick clay was as soft as the peanut butter clay.

The wrists pulled away, and then I could feel two large hands holding on to my wrists instead. My arms were stretched straight up over my head, and then I could feel myself being dragged up and out of the clay in a single, continuous motion, until I was lying face up on something flat and hard.

As soon as the hands had let my wrists go, I started scooping away the clay off my face and out of my ears. Then something soft was wiping my face for me, and I could open my ears.

Mr. Potter was using his jacket to wipe the mud off my face.

"Mister Potter!" I gasped. "You're okay!"

He nodded and didn't say anything. He was wiping he mud out of my right ear, looking at was he was doing with his head tilted back the way he looks at other people's jewelry.

"... way up in there," I heard him say.

"You're okay!" I said again. "What happened? Did he shoot you? Are you really okay? Where did that guy go? Is he gone? What..."

"I'm okay, Toby" he said, and stopped wiping my face. "He didn't hit me, and he's gone."

I noticed that we were sitting on the plank of plywood that I had found. Mr. Potter had pushed it back over the clay to save me.

You should have seen us. It was like we were both melting grey wax statues.

I knew that if I tried to stand up, I'd probably fall down. Both because I was shaking so much, and because I was covered with so much clay that I must have weighed a zillion pounds.

"Jeeps, Mister Potter... you save my life."

He smiled.

"That makes us even, sweetheart. I'd be parked overtime at the bottom of this mud pit if you hadn't come along."

I was really anxious to find out more.

"So, Mister Potter, how come you drove your car into the clay?"

Of course I knew he didn't drive himself into the clay. It was a way to get him to tell me everything that had happened.

Mr. Potter looked over at the back fender of his car, which was all that was left sticking up out of the clay pit.

"I drive that old wreck when I'm bringing very expensive things into my store. I had always figured that anybody who wanted to rob a jeweler wouldn't think to look for a heap like that."

The clay made deep popping noises as some bubbles burst up on it's surface. Mr. Potter made a grunting noise.

"Looks like I figured wrong."

"So the things in that little white bag were really expensive?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Diamonds. From a very famous mine in Africa, and as clear as the air itself." He sounded like he was describing something in a dream.

"I had the diamonds sent to my home instead of the store so that I could photograph them. Then I hid them in the steering wheel to bring them into the shop. When I got there, two thugs hiding inside jumped me.

"First they had me drive out here, where they could search the car without being seen. It didn't matter that I told them the diamonds were in the store. They didn't take the bait until they had looked everywhere but where I'd actually hidden them.

"Just a few minutes after they had me drive back to the store, you arrived."

"Ah!" I said. "I *knew* something was wrong!"

"I got you out the door as fast as I could. If they had thought for a moment that you might have suspected something was wrong, you would have been in that car with me as well."

"Oh Jeeps! So that's why you were in such a hurry! To keep me from saying anything that made them nervous."

"Yes, and I could tell you were getting very suspicious, so out you flew. It wasn't until after I had locked up the shop and returned to the back that they decided you might try to call the police.

"So rather than continue to look for the diamonds, they took me back out to the marsh to give themselves time to get away. The last thing I remembered was one of them putting his foot over mine to press the accelerator, and the clay pit suddenly appearing in front of us. I think I must have hit my head on the steering wheel when the car reached the clay. The next thing I knew, you were shaking my shoulder."

And I knew the rest of the story.

"You saved my life again when you threw his aim off trying to shoot me," he said. "I fell back and rolled behind what was left of the car. Then I saw him push you out into the pit. But I couldn't do a thing until he had gone."

"Lucky for me he was in a hurry."

"And so was I," Mr. Potter said. "As soon as I heard him start up his car, I rolled to the firm ground and grabbed this plywood. Another few seconds and I'm afraid I would have been too late."

"Jeeps, Mister Potter, I'll say! I didn't have a whole lot of breath left."

We sat there for a while longer, very muddy and very tired, not saying a thing. The only noises were from the birds, who were still telling us that we weren't supposed to be there.

I couldn't have agreed with them more.

And I thought that I would never set foot in Fawnhallow Marsh again. But as long as there were two nasty crooks running around loose in Greendale, things were really dangerous.

How dangerous?

Me and my best friend Terry found out soon, when we went to solve "The Mystery of the Marsh Diamonds".