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paper to give it an authentic look. The route to Jesse’s treasure was illustrated on the map like the bending, curving pattern of a child’s board game.
    Beginning in Jamesville, the dotted line followed James Creek west and on past Harper’s Hole to a cave on the west side of Bear Mountain. The route to the treasure began at the Cave Entrance, a place on the map adjacent to something called the J.J. Rock.
    “The map looks real,” Kiki said.
    “It is real,” Clarence said. “Just like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.”
    I couldn’t take my eyes off the map. Continuing inside the cave at a place called the Hotel Lobby , I traced the treasure route through the underground passage with my eyes: Boulevard of Chandeliers, Death Cake, Lake With Dam, Church Organ, Room of Ghosts, Graveyard, Magic Rock. The route ended at a place named the Cathedral . An X marked a spot in the Cathedral where the treasure could be found.
    “What’s wrong with the map?” Kiki asked.
    “You see all those places in the cave named Hotel Lobby and such?” Clarence asked, flattening one curled edge of the map with his palm.
    Kiki nodded.
    “There is no cave—map’s a fake,” Clarence said. “It’s just a novelty to raise money for the museum. But everybody knows the map’s a fake, so nobody’s offended.”
    Clarence wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his Civil War jacket. “Old woman from Stark City donated it to the museum. She was a bit touched, if you get my meaning, but nobody wanted to insult the poor woman—she donated a ton of money to the museum’s restoration fund—so it was displayed alongside the real stuff,” Clarence explained. “Jesse and his boys really did steal all that money and jewelry, but there’s no cave. It’s a windy—a myth. They’ve been looking for that cave for years. Problem is, there aren’t any caves in Bear Mountain.” Clarence threw his head back with a laugh. “Wished there was. I’d be the first one in that cave.” His turkey beard jiggled like Jell-O.
    “Just the same,” I said. “I’ll take one.” I handed Clarence a dollar bill.
    “Bet you kids didn’t know that Jesse and his gang staged America’s first bank holdup,” Clarence said, rolling up the map, securing it with a rubber band, then handing it to me. “Robbed the Clay County Missouri Bank of more than $60,000, nearly all of it in coins.”
    “You mean like gold coins?” Pia asked, swiping at a tangle of hair that had flopped across her face.
    “That’s right, girlie,” Clarence said. “In the Glendale, Missouri train robbery of 1879, the gang made off with more than $40,000 in brand new twenty-dollar gold pieces.”
    “What year?” I asked.
    Clarence repeated the year.
    Odd. The year of the Glendale robbery and the year on the $20 gold coin I’d found in James Creek were the same. I wondered if that was just a coincidence.
    I looked at Kiki. Kiki looked at Pia. Pia looked at me. None of us said a word.
    “Jesse and his boys also made off with a bunch of jewelry they stole from bank customers, and from train and stagecoach passengers,” Clarence concluded.
    “I’ll take one of those books,” Kiki said, handing Clarence the money. The thin paperback was titled The Life and Times of Jesse James. Kiki stuck the book in the back pocket of her shorts.
    “How about a key chain?” Clarence asked, dipping into a straw basket and pulling one out. A pair of six-shooters dangled from a small chain.
    “No thanks,” I said. “I think we’ve got all—”
    “Hey, Duct Tape!” a voice shouted.
    I cringed.
    It was Jimmy Coleman. He was in the company of a couple of cheerleaders—including Sara Miller—and a middle-school football player named Chet Armstrong. Everyone called him Big Dog because of his size. They were strolling past the gazebo and acting like a bunch of kindergarten kids.
    “Friends?” Kiki asked, noting the group as they approached.
    “Not really,” I said.