“You’ll find it,” Grandma said. “You’re good at finding things.”
“What about the two sicko killers that are still out there and want the keys?” I asked Grandma. “What about the three crazy sisters who want the keys? What about Barbara? Don’t you think it would be a good idea to give the keys over to the police and get on with our lives in a sane, less stressful fashion?”
“Indiana Jones wouldn’t do that,” Grandma said.
“I’m not Indiana Jones!”
“You could be if you wanted to be. You could be anything.”
I didn’t have a comeback for this. Truth is, I wouldn’t mind being Indiana Jones. He was brave and smart, and he could crack a whip and ride a horse. He didn’t like snakes, but he was okay with spiders.
“Indy would have curiosity about the keys,” Grandma said. “He’d want to go out there and see for himself, even if he had to hack his way through jungles and go into creepy caves and tombs.”
My mother was looking at Grandma as if she had corn growing out of her ears. My father was laid back in his new chair, eyes closed and a smile on his face.
I was smiling too. “Fortune and glory, Grandma. Fortune and glory. Let’s go find a treasure.”