Now he was sweeping up the sawdust that lay as thick as a carpet under his feet. Pete said no carpenter worth his salt leaves a mess behind at the end of the day. So Evan was sweeping up the sawdust and bent nails and small chips of wood, while Pete hauled the bigger scraps out to the truck. But every once in a while, Evan stopped and held the broom still in his hands so that he could admire the work they had done. He couldn't wait to show his mom when she got back from the hospital.
He was dumping the last pile of sawdust into the large gray plastic barrel when he heard loud clomping on the front porch, followed by the front door opening. Evan walked into the living room just as Jessie tried to step over the threshold wearing her snowshoes.
'Evan! The bell is gone!' She tripped over the doormat and fell face first into the living room, landing hard on her hands and knees. Behind her was an older boy Evan had never seen before. He had funny-looking cross-country shoe-boots on his feet, and he was carrying a pair of ski poles. Evan guessed he was at least twelve, maybe thirteen.
'I can't get these off,' said Jessie. She had rolled onto her back in the living room and was holding her feet up in the air. The snowshoes were dripping clumps of snow onto her face and the floor. 'Help me, Evan!'
'Oh, for Pete's sake,' he said. He crossed over to where she was squirming and grabbed hold of one of the snowshoes. The boy had a funny smile on his face and was rocking back and forth, one foot out in front of the other. 'Hey,' said Evan, as a way of introducing himself.
'You don't see that every day,' said the boy, looking at Jessie, who looked like a ladybug caught on her back.
'Yeah, actually, I do,' said Evan. Jessie was always tripping over something or getting caught on something or dragging something along behind her. Evan unclipped one snowshoe and then the other and flipped them off Jessie's feet.
'The bell is gone, Evan! Gone!'
'What do you mean? Grandma's bell?'
'Yes! The New Year's Eve bell!'
'It can't be gone. You must have climbed the wrong hill.'
'No, we didn't. The wooden post was there, just like always, but the bell is gone!'
Evan shook his head. 'That thing weighs—I don't know—a hundred pounds. There's no way someone could just walk off with it. And besides, who would want to take it?'
'Who wouldn't want to take it?' Jessie asked, bouncing from one foot to the other. 'It's an antique and it's famous—'
'It's not famous, Jessie,' said Evan, shaking his head. 'Just 'cause it's in that book doesn't make it famous.'
'Well, it's worth two thousand five hundred dollars!'
'Is not!'
'I'll show you!' Jessie ran to the couch where she'd left The Big Book of Bells that morning and pulled out a letter that was tucked into the back cover of the book. She handed it to Evan, who read it slowly, not understanding all the words but getting the general idea. About five years ago, Grandma had had the bell appraised to find out how much it was worth, and Jessie was right: the letter said the bell was worth $2,500.
'Wow,' said Evan.
Maxwell bobbed his head several times, rocking back and forth on his feet.
'We've got to find it,' said Jessie, pulling on Evan's arm. 'New Year's Eve is in three days! If we don't ring the bell on New Year's Eve..' Jessie couldn't get the words out, and Evan knew what she was feeling. It was hard to imagine not ringing the bell on New Year's Eve. They had always done that, for as long as he could remember.
Evan looked at the boy and then back at his sister. 'Jessie..?' He half pointed at Maxwell, hoping his sister would get the hint, but as usual, she didn't. 'Uh, my name's Evan,' he said to the boy, sticking out his hand the way grownups did.
'How do you do,' said the boy, shaking Evan's hand. 'My name's Maxwell. I'm smart!' Then he rocked forward on his left foot and shook his right hand in the air. Evan looked at him closely.
'Maxwell lives in the yellow house. The one with the big rock out front,' said Jessie. 'He knows Grandma really well.'
'Yep,' said Maxwell. 'I come here all the time.' Maxwell was rocking back and forth steadily now, snapping his right hand in the air with each forward motion. 'We watch TV! And we do puzzles. And we feed the birds. And I'm smart! That's what Mrs. Joyce says. She says, 'Maxwell, you are smart!'
There was a moment's silence, and then Evan asked, 'What grade are you in?'
'Sixth grade,' said Maxwell. 'Hardy Middle School. Grade six.'
'Mom's home!' shouted Jessie, running for the front door. Evan had heard it, too—the old Subaru making its way up the long driveway. He hurried back into the kitchen. He wanted to get the trash barrel outside before his mom walked in.
He was carrying it down the makeshift back steps he and Pete had rigged up, when Pete came around the house. 'Your grandma's home, so I'm heading out for the day,' said Pete. 'We'll hang the dry wall tomorrow, then we'll start on the upstairs the next day. Sound good?'
'Yeah, sure,' said Evan. He wanted to sound casual about it, so Pete wouldn't think this was the first construction job he'd ever done, but he couldn't keep the eagerness out of his voice.
'Okay, then. See you tomorrow.' Pete plugged in his headphones and headed for his truck.
Evan walked back into the kitchen and took one more look around. It was still definitely a disaster area, but they'd accomplished a lot: the wall was repaired, and the back door was framed and hung, and you could walk up and down the back steps if you were careful. Plus, it was a whole lot cleaner than it had been an hour ago. When Evan heard voices (mostly Jessie's) in the living room, he hurried in to say hello.
His grandmother stood just inside the doorway, next to the coat rack and umbrella stand. Her winter parka was draped over her shoulders as if it were a cape, and Evan could see that her arm was in a cast, cradled in a sling around her neck. She fumbled one-handed with the coat until Evan's mother took it from her and hung it up on the rack.
Evan watched as Jessie tried to grab hold of Grandma's hand, but Grandma pulled her hand in, hunching forward protectively, and covered the sling with her good arm, as if she were afraid someone might try to steal something away from her. She began to walk toward the middle of the room, taking small steps, which was not at all the way his grandmother usually walked. Then she stopped and looked at the stairs that led to the second floor and then back at the front door.
It was her face that surprised Evan the most. It looked pale, and she had bags under her eyes, which Evan had never noticed before. Most of all, she couldn't seem to settle her gaze on anything. Her eyes kept flitting around the room, like a bird that won't perch on any one thing.
Jessie was hopping around like a bird, too, chattering nonstop about the bell. Maxwell was walking behind them, carrying on his own conversation and making a strange puffing noise that sounded like he was trying to blow feathers out of his mouth. Evan's mother had an arm around his grandma's shoulder, guiding her slowly toward the couch, and when Evan caught sight of his mother's face, he knew right away that something was very wrong.
'Hi, Grandma,' said Evan cheerfully, from across the room. But Grandma didn't look at him.
'She's tired,' said his mom. 'Jessie, would you please stop asking so many questions. Grandma needs a couple of minutes to get used to being home.'
'Why?' asked Jessie. 'Why do you need to get used to being home, Grandma? That doesn't make any sense.'
'Jessie, shut it,' said Evan, feeling a little panicked. What he really wanted to do was run up to his mother and get a hug from her, but with Maxwell standing right there, there was no way he was going to do that.
'Come see the kitchen, Grandma,' said Jessie. 'See how good it looks.'
'Jessie,' warned her mother, 'you need to slow down.'
'A cup of tea,' said Grandma. 'That's what I need. A good strong cup of green tea.'
She started to walk toward the kitchen. Evan hurried ahead of her, scooping up two last stray nails that were on the Formica counter. Then he stood beside the patched hole. His mot
her and grandmother walked into the kitchen, trailed by Jessie and Maxwell, who had finally stopped talking. Everyone looked at Evan and the repair work that he and Pete had done that day. It was his grandmother who spoke first.
'What is this? What has happened here?'
'Mom,' said Mrs. Treski. 'There was a fire. Do you remember the fire?'
'Where's my stove? How am I going to make my tea without a stove?'
'The stove was ruined, Grandma,' said Jessie. 'They had to take it out because it was no good anymore.'
'What do you mean, Jessie?' asked Grandma. 'Who did this? Where was I?' She looked at Mrs. Treski. 'Susan, what has been going on here?'
'Mom—'
'You don't see that every day!' said Maxwell, rocking back and forth nervously. His right

The Bell Bandit