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origami out of my pocket and set it beside the postcard, staring at them both through the glass. It might have been my imagination, but I could almost swear they had a kind of glow.
    I put everything away and wrote a letter to Lacey, filling her in about the unfinished bird from Mama’s toolbox and the origami I’d found as a signpost. I told her about the postcard and Margery’s store in town, how Mama must have set a new treasure hunt for me to follow, her way of leading me home, just the way she always did. And home was Mrs. Greene’s house.
    I knew it sounded crazy, but Lacey would believe me. That’s what best friends did.
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    I decided to wait until after my phone call with Lacey on Saturday to go to Threads. Hopefully, she’d get my letter by then and have good advice. Plus I needed a day when I had enough time to ride my bike into town, figure out the next clue, and get back, all without Grandma knowing.
    In the meantime, my mission to do more Plan B sabotage was stopped in its tracks by Grandma’s insomnia. After a couple nights of sneaking out later and later, I was starting to wonder if Grandma went to sleep at all, or if she was having trouble, like me.
    I’d thought about calling off Plan B now that there was a treasure hunt to follow, but it was satisfying in this deep-down way to try and drive Grandma crazy.
    I decided to set my watch alarm just in case I fell asleep, which was a good thing because I slept for almost an hour. When I woke to the beeping, my hair was sweaty and my throat hurt. There’d been a dog in my Mama dream this time, a big German shepherd, the tip of his leash dangling in the water. When he barked, the white mist of his breath had grown and grown until I couldn’t see Mama out on the rock anymore. Every time I tried to wade into the water after her, the dog blocked my way, baring his teeth.
    I shivered in the sleeping bag, feeling the chill of the river, and wondered if my dreams were bringing me one piece of Mama’s death at a time, so that eventually I’d be able to see the whole thing without wanting to throw up. I turned on my flashlight. It was three o’clock in the morning. Grandma had to be sleeping by now.
    I stoked the embers in the stove and added wood so it would be warmer when I got back. Then I shoved on my boots and walked out into the moonless night, dragging my feet through the mud, the light from Grandma’s porch leading the way. The rest of the downstairs lights were off.
    I didn’t take off my muddy boots as I went inside and tracked the mud from one light to the next, unscrewing bulbs so she might think they were out, and poured her liquid laundry detergent down the sink, replacing it with dishwashing soap. I’d washed laundry with dishwashing soap once and we’d almost drowned in bubbles.
    By the time I was done, the floor was a mess of mud and another mess was about to happen the next time she did laundry, which I figured was enough for one night.
    As I tiptoed through the hall back toward the front room, I heard Grandma’s door open upstairs and then the wood floors creaked on the landing.
    After turning around in a full circle, I decided to hide in Grandpa’s office. I softly closed the door as I heard Grandma coming down the stairs. There was a desk made of burled wood with a small glass lamp on top and a perfect hiding space underneath. I tucked myself in and waited.
    A sliver of light came under the door, and I heard water running in the kitchen, the only bulb I didn’t unscrew because the chair wasn’t high enough to reach the light fixture.
    Great. Knowing Grandma, she probably saw the mud and was about to mop for the next six hours. Then I’d be stuck.
    Just as I was planning my escape out the window, there was a soft knock on the door.
    â€œCome on out,” she said.
    Surprised, I uncurled myself from under the desk and stood up, brushing at the