For months, I thought I’d lucked out with my neighbor’s kids—two teenagers who spent their Sunday mornings cleaning up the street like they were running for office. But when I caught one of them stashing something under a bush, I realized their “good deeds” weren’t exactly what they seemed.
As a woman in my 60s, I’ve seen a lot over the years in this neighborhood, from the good to the bad and everything in between. But seeing two teenagers, barely out of middle school, sweeping the sidewalks and picking up trash every Sunday? That gave me hope for the younger generation.
Every Sunday morning, I’d sit by my window with a cup of tea and watch them work hard—pushing brooms, hauling trash bags, making the street look pristine. It was impressive, and they reminded me of my own kids when they were younger, before they grew up and moved away. It was almost admirable.
One morning, while watering my plants, I spotted their mother, Grace, hurrying out of her house.
“Grace!” I called out, waving. “Your kids are doing a fantastic job cleaning up the neighborhood. You must be proud!”
Grace paused, giving me a strange look. She smiled politely and replied, “Oh, thank you… they’re good kids.” Her tone was off, but I didn’t think much of it at the time.
Over the weeks, I continued watching Becky and Sam—those were the names I thought I heard—working diligently each Sunday morning. I even offered them lemonade once, but they politely declined, saying they had to finish their task. I remember thinking how mature they seemed.
Then, last Sunday, something strange happened. As usual, Becky and Sam were out there, heads down, working their way along the street. But this time, I noticed something odd. Sam wasn’t just picking up trash—he was crouching near the big oak tree in front of my house, sweeping leaves aside, and carefully placing something under a bush.
Curious, I watched closely. He seemed secretive, glancing over his shoulder before moving on. My interest was piqued. What could he be hiding?
Once they left, I slipped on my gardening gloves and headed outside. I bent down, moving the leaves aside where Sam had been. My heart raced slightly—there’s something exciting about uncovering a mystery, even at my age.
And there it was: a small pile of coins. Quarters, dimes, and even a couple of shiny pennies. I frowned, confused. Why were they hiding money under a bush?
I kept looking and found more coins tucked behind the street sign, between bricks of the curb, even near the storm drain. By the end, I’d collected nearly five dollars.
I couldn’t figure out why they were hiding money. Were they up to something mischievous?
Later that afternoon, I saw Grace unloading groceries from her car. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to ask. I walked over, the coins jingling in my pocket.
“Grace!” I called out.
She smiled, surprised. “Hey! Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah,” I replied casually. “I just wanted to mention how thoughtful your kids are, cleaning up the street every week.”
Grace looked puzzled. “Cleaning up the street? What do you mean?”
I blinked. “You know, they’re out every Sunday, picking up trash and sweeping. I see them all the time from my window.”
For a moment, she looked confused, then suddenly burst into laughter. “Oh no, no! They’re not cleaning!” she said between giggles.
Now I was the confused one. “What do you mean?”
“They’re on a treasure hunt!” Grace explained, wiping tears from her eyes. “Their grandpa hides coins around the neighborhood every Sunday. It’s a little game they’ve been playing for years.”
I was stunned. “So they haven’t been cleaning up the neighborhood—they’ve just been playing a game?”
Grace nodded, still grinning. “Exactly! My dad started it when they were little to keep them entertained. He hides quarters, dimes, even a dollar bill here and there, and they spend the morning hunting for them.”
I stared at her. “All this time, I thought they were doing some sort of community service, and they’ve just been searching for coins?”
Grace laughed again. “Yes! It must look like they’re cleaning up, but trust me, they’re just out there for the treasure.”
I pulled out the handful of coins I’d collected and held them up. “So I guess I found their ‘treasure’ today.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “Oh no! You found their stash!”
“I couldn’t help myself,” I admitted, laughing. “I saw them hiding something, and I thought they were up to no good.”
“Don’t worry,” Grace said with a grin. “I’ll tell them you found it. They’ll think it’s hilarious.”
We shared a laugh before Grace asked, “What did you think they were really doing?”
I shrugged, smiling. “Honestly? I thought they were cleaning the neighborhood as some kind of project. I even complimented you on how responsible they were.”
Grace shook her head, still smiling. “Well, in a way, they are. They’re getting fresh air and keeping Grandpa entertained.”
“True,” I said. “But next Sunday, I’ll just sit back and enjoy the show… treasure hunt and all.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Grace replied with a wink.
