Secret of the Time Capsule by Joan Lowery Nixon Page A

live in Redoaks. Why don’t we find out and invite them to the party?”
    Mrs. Jackson beamed. “What a wonderful idea, Sean!” she said.
    Debbie Jean shook her head. “No, it isn’t,” she said. “No one will know the names of the kids until the capsule is opened, and then it will be too late to invite anybody.”
    Bummer! At first, Sean felt the same sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that hit him every time Debbie Jean really bugged him. But as the answer to the problem popped into his mind, he laughed. “Schools keep records,” he said. “We could find the kids’ names that way.”
    “Good thinking,” Mrs. Jackson said. “I’ll volunteer to go through the records. Sean, would you like to trace the names, once I get them, and see how many of these former students you can track down?”
    “I’ll help,” Debbie Jean said. “I was thinking of exactly the same idea. Sean just happened to say it first.”
    Matt slowly raised a hand. “I know someone who was in the fourth grade in 1918. His name’s Mr. Boris Vlado, and he lives on our block with his daughter’s family. A couple of times he’s talked about when he was in school and wrote something for a time capsule. I didn’t pay much attention to what he said because … uh, because …”
    “Because why?” Sean finally asked.
    Matt’s words tumbled out in a rush. “Because Mr. Vlado talks about a lot of strange things. He said there was something dangerous in that capsule. And he’s also said that he’s seen UFOs hovering over the bus terminal. And he knows for a fact that aliens hide out in the basement of the city hall.”
    Sean wanted to laugh until he saw Matt was really afraid.
    “I’d just as soon stay away from Mr. Vlado,” Matt said. “He’s so weird he scares me!”

2

    T HE STORY ABOUT THE time capsule was on the front page of the next morning’s Redoaks News. John Quinn put down his coffee cup and read aloud, “The ceremony will be held on Saturday, complete with a parade and a band concert in the park.”
    “There’ll be speeches, no doubt,” Dianne Quinn said.
    “Speeches? Right,” Mr. Quinn answered. “City Councilman Victor Williford will give a speech about his grandfather, the late John M. Williford, mayor in 1918. And, of course, our mayor, Harry Harlow, plans to give a speech in honor of the occasion.”
    “Maybe there’ll be a speech in honor of Boris Vlado,” Sean added.
    Brian reached across the table for another slice of toast. “Who’s Boris Vlado?” he asked.
    Sean swallowed a long slurp of orange juice, then told his family about the fourth-grade letters and what his class planned to do.
    “What a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Quinn said. “Sean, we’re proud of you for thinking of inviting any former fourth graders who are still living in Redoaks.”
    “This sounds like a good project for the Casebusters,” Mr. Quinn said. “Bring me the list of names, and I’ll show you how you can try to trace them by computer search.”
    “If the women married, they’d have different names than they had at school,” Brian said.
    “That’s right,” Mr. Quinn said. “However, if they were married in the Redoaks area, there’s a county department that will give you information about marriage certificates.”
    Mrs. Quinn looked at her watch and pushed back her chair. “I’ve got to run,” she said. “We’re right in the middle of a big advertising promotion for one of our main accounts.”
    “I’ve got an early meeting, too,” Mr. Quinn said. “You boys have exactly twenty minutes until it’s time to leave for school. Watch your time. Don’t be late.”
    “We won’t,” Brian answered.
    “Listen to this, Bri!” Sean had spread the front section of the newspaper across the table and was leaning on it. “Here’s a list of the stuff that was buried inside the capsule. There’s a copy of the local newspaper from November 30, 1918; a copy of California Pix, a monthly magazine; and an essay