Sammy Keyes and the Cold Hard Cash Read Online Free Page A

them.
    It was more money than I’d ever seen before in my life.
    And I couldn’t believe it—it was mine!
             
    The first thing I did in the morning was check to make sure I hadn’t been dreaming.
    Yup, there was the money, stashed in the bottom of my backpack.
    Which meant that yup, I’d scared a man to death on the fourth-floor landing.
    I tried not to think about that.
    It’s better to focus on the positive, right?
    The trouble was Grams. She was in the kitchen humming softly as she made oatmeal, and I was feeling torn. Should I tell her about the money? What would she think? What would she
do
?
    Knowing her, she’d have the money turned over to the police by noon.
    But…why should we?
    What would the police do with it?
    Keep it for evidence?
    For what crime?
    Murder on the fourth-floor landing?
    There was no way I wanted to open that can of worms!
    So I casually shoved my backpack under the couch and once again tried not to think about the fact that there was a dead man involved in my hitting the three-thousand-dollar jackpot.
    I headed for the kitchen. “Smells good,” I said, sounding as sleepy as I could in my hyped-up, flush-with-cash state.
    Grams gave me a quick kiss, then continued scooping oatmeal into a second bowl. “I barely slept a wink last night. That poor man! What a place to end your days!”
    “Grams, please. I’m trying not to think about it, okay?”
    She stopped midscoop, the gloppy wooden spoon looming over a bowl. “Oh, Samantha. You have got to stop blaming yourself! His heart was obviously in poor condition!” She thwacked the oatmeal into the bowl, put the pot back on the stove, and handed me the walnuts, brown sugar, and milk. “But I would love to know what he was doing there!”
    I sat at the table, suddenly not at all hungry. “Can we please not talk about it?” I leaned forward and whispered, “I killed a man, okay?”
    She flicked out a napkin and smoothed it across her lap. “You did
not
kill him. He obviously shouldn’t have been—”
    “
I
shouldn’t have been there! I’m not supposed to be living here, remember?”
    She zeroed in on me through her glasses. “But you
do
live here, and he doesn’t! He lives at the Heavenly.” She shivered a little when she said “Heavenly,” then almost right away added, “Or, I should say,
lived.
” She poured milk on her oatmeal. “I want to know what he was doing on
our
fire escape!”
    “Stop it!”
    “My,” she said, passing the milk. “For a girl who is usually
too
curious, it’s odd that you’re not at all interested in this.”
    I leaned waaaay forward and said, “I
killed
him, okay?”
    But she was right. It wasn’t just that. It was the money. The fact that it was a dead man’s money. The fact that I wanted to
keep
the dead man’s money. The fact that after an entire life of having nothing to spend, I now had more than I knew
how
to spend.
    Marissa helped with that little problem. She called later that morning and asked, “Can you meet me at the mall at eleven? I need to find a new swimsuit.”
    “Me too,” I said, realizing with a happy rush that I could actually afford to buy one instead of borrowing an old one of hers.
    “Cool!” she said. “You want to meet at Juicers?”
    “Sure!”
    I waited until Grams was in the bathroom to dig up some cash. I peeled off six twenties, not because I was planning to spend a hundred and twenty bucks on a swimsuit but because that way I’d be ready in case I wanted to buy…other stuff!
    I folded the bills in half and slipped them in my jeans pocket. I felt a twinge of guilt, but I shook it off. So I’d caught a lucky break for once. There was no crime in that—I just wasn’t
used
to it.
    I felt a little nervous leaving the rest of the money in a place Grams could find it if she had the mind to snoop, but really, Grams isn’t in the habit of snooping. I mean, where’s there to snoop? Except for my skateboard and my backpack, which both get