Fish Finelli Book 1: Seagulls Don't Eat Pickles (4 page)

“If I win—I mean
when
I win—Fish gives me fifty bucks,” said Bryce. “ ’Cause it’s not like he has anything I’d ever want.”

“Deal?” asked Trippy.

I didn’t say anything for a minute. I was too busy thinking about how I had a whopping $27.51. How could I possibly give Bryce almost twice that? And forget about the Seagull. It would be long gone before I could even think about buying it.

“You know what you are?” said Bryce, revving the engine. He held up his forefinger and stuck out his thumb to make an L and pointed it right at me—the universal sign for loser.

The tips of my ears started burning, the way they do when I get really mad. “Deal,” I said before I could think about it for one more second.

“You’ve got two weeks to get me my money,” said Bryce. “Or you’ll be sorry.”

“You’re the one who’s going to be sorry when we find that treasure!” I shouted as the engine roared to life.

Bryce and Trippy shot off in a surge of spray that sent water all over us. Our boat rocked. Roger and T. J. looked at me as they wiped the water out of their eyes. Feenie and Mmm and Shrimp did, too. No one said anything for a long moment.

Then Roger grinned. “Fish, are you Captain Kidding me????!!!!”

The Librarian's Got the Booty?!

"It’s very clear.” Roger pointed to the gold-lettered sign. “By appointment only. And last time I checked, you did not have an appointment.”

“What are we doing here?” asked T. J. He blew a big pink bubble with his gum. It popped all over his nose.

“T. J., can you quit chewing so loud?” I whispered. “We don’t want anyone to notice us.”

“Why not?” said T. J. “I brought my library card.”

“I did, too,” I said. “That’s not the point.”

“No, the point is, Fish, we need an appointment,” said Roger. He made his
duh
face, which makes his eyes bulge like a squid’s.

“Do you really think they’d give a kid an appointment?” I shot back. “It says ‘Researchers Must Go to the Front Desk for Assistance.’ That means they’ll know we’re kids.”

“So, what’s the plan?” asked Roger.

“The Lioness donated a bunch of stuff to the library,” I said. “So, maybe there’s a map or a letter from when Captain Kidd landed on Lyons Island that will give us a clue.”

The Lioness is what everybody calls Winthrop Lyons IV’s widow, who lives on the island. She’s supposed to be as tough as a lioness. That is pretty tough, since it’s the females, not the males, who defend the pride.

“I’m starving,” said T. J. He pulled a roll of SweeTarts out of his pocket and popped a fuzzy one into his mouth. It looked like it was covered with dryer lint.

Roger leaned against the door and put his ear to the shiny wood.

“Hear anything?” asked T. J.

Roger shook his head. “Silent as a dead man’s chest. I say yo-ho-ho, let’s go for it.” He reached for the doorknob.

“Roger!” I hissed. “Don’t!”

Suddenly, the knob started to turn all by itself.

We stepped back just as the door opened. A skinny woman with red-framed glasses stepped out. “Oh,” she said in surprise. “Hello, gentlemen. Sorry, but I’ve got to run. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” She hurried down the hall, as Roger put his foot in the space between the door and the jamb so it wouldn’t lock.

“Fifteen minutes, Finelli. Ready, set, go!” Roger took his foot out of the doorframe. “The usual warning if there’s trouble, okay?”

Heart pounding, I slipped inside. There were old wooden bookcases filled with old leather-bound books. Under the window was a desk with a computer on it. Opposite that was a long, glass-covered table.

I went over to take a look. Under the glass was a whale jawbone with a scrimshaw design of a ship, a beat-up arrowhead, and an old map. Maybe it was a treasure map! I looked closer. Nope. It was just a map of the town.

“Now what?” I said.

I turned. My eye was caught by the letters on the cabinet drawer in front of me. It read
AB–AS
. The one below read
AT–BD
.

The card catalog! Perfect! Instead of computers, librariesused to have these cabinets with cards in them, called card catalogs. Each card lists the name of a book, its author, and some stuff about it. Each book also has a call number that tells you where to find it. It’s called the Dewey Decimal System ’cause it was invented by this dude, Melvil Dewey, back in the 1800s. And lots of the call numbers have decimal points. Dewey Decimal—get it? I could look up Captain Kidd and find the call numbers for the books about him.

I reached for the
C
drawer. Then I remembered that it wasn’t like Captain was Captain Kidd’s first name. That was William. I was just bending down for the
WA–WU
drawer when I realized that stuff is usually alphabetized by last name, not first. So I needed a
K
drawer. As I scanned for
K
, I spotted the words
Lyons Island
on one whole drawer.
Sweet!

I flipped through cards about the island’s ecosystems. Next was a bunch of cards about Winthrop Lyons and the Native American chief who gave him the island in the first place. Turns out it was called Monchonake
(mahn-cho-nake)
back then, which means Island of Death. Spooky.

And then I came to one card that read in this teensy, old-fashioned writing:
A List of the Treasure Left by Capn. W. K. to W. Lyons, including Pieces of Eight, Arabian gold, emeralds, rubies, diamonds . . .

PIECES OF EIGHT

Also known as Spanish dollars, they were first minted in 1497 in Spain. Each was worth eight reales (see why it’s called a piece of eight?). The first United States silver dollar was based on it, although the dollar contained less silver than a piece of eight and so was really worth less.

Just then a deep voice out in the hall said, “Boys, may I help you?”

I froze.

“Um . . . no . . . thank you, Mystery—I mean, Mr. Mann,” said Roger in his serious voice. Mr. E. Mann is the director of the Whooping Hollow Library. No one knows what the
E
actually stands for—it’s a mystery (get it?). A lot of the kids call him Mystery Man and think he’s a spy. He is pretty cool. He’s traveled all over the world. He wears black clothes, and they say he has a pair of night-vision goggles in his briefcase and poison darts in the tips of his shiny leather shoes. He drives a superfast silver sports car and he can raise one eyebrow.

“We were just doing research for a report,” Roger said. “You know, for school.”

“That’s strange, since school is out for the summer.”

Mystery Man had a point there.

“It’s . . . um, summer homework . . . you know, to keep our minds busy, so they don’t dry up,” said Roger.

“What is the topic of this report that requires you to be in this particular section of the library?” Mystery Man asked in his deep voice. I bet he was arching his eyebrow, too.

“Funny you should ask,” began Roger.

“Since you do not appear to have an answer at the present moment, perhaps you would like to return when you do.
Ciao!
”

Mystery Man might not be a spy, but he sure was cool.
Ciao
means “good-bye” in Italian, by the way.

TAP! TAP! I heard footsteps moving down the hall.

“Seagulls don’t eat ice cream!” shouted T. J. “Seagulls don’t wear sneakers. Seagulls don’t—”

“SEAGULLS DON’T EAT PICKLES!” Roger yelled at the top of his lungs.

OH, NO! Our secret password!

My eyes darted wildly around the room, searching for an escape hatch. I heard the sound of a key in the lock. Then the doorknob began to turn.

Mystery Man stuck one foot in the room. I dove for the only cover I could find—the desk. I sure hoped he wasn’t planning to sit down, or I would be as doomed as a night crawler on the end of a fishing hook.

I watched as Mystery Man’s shiny, pointy shoes headed my way. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened them again, the shoes were just in front of me. What was Mystery Man doing? A minute passed, and then another. I started sweating. If he moved one inch closer, he’d step on me.

Just then Mystery Man cleared his throat like he was coughing up a humongous clam. He started talking in this weird, low voice. I had to strain my ears to hear him.

“ . . .
mumble
. . . lost treasure . . . the map . . .
mumble
. . . ”

Treasure map??? There was a pause.

“Pirates . . .
mumble
. . .” I held my breath, listening. “W. K. . . . ”

My mind started racing. Pirates? Map? W. K. as in—it couldn’t be, but then again, what else could it be but CAPTAIN WILLIAM KIDD????!!!

Mystery Man’s voice dropped to an even lower whisper. “Seven-thirty. At the duck pond . . . treasure . . . ”

Just then an incredibly loud, pulsing buzz filled the air. BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

I was so startled I almost grabbed one of Mystery Man’s poison-dart shoes. Even worse, I couldn’t hear the end of what he said. Something about treasure, but what did that have to do with the duck pond? Was he planning to hunt for Captain Kidd’s treasure at the duck pond?

The alarm kept ringing and Mystery Man’s shiny poison-dart shoes left the room. I counted to sixty hippopotamus. I figured by then it would be safe to come out.

When I reached the hallway, Roger and T. J. were nowhere to be seen. There was nobody around at all. I raced out the door.

“Over here, Fish!” they called. They were standing in the parking lot.

“Phew!” I said. “That was a close one!”

“You’re telling me,” said Roger. “Lucky for you it was fire drill time.” He winked.

“You didn’t—” I began.

Roger drew his finger across his lips like he was zipping up a zipper.

I shook my head. Roger was always goofing around. He might have pulled the fire alarm, but then again he might not have. There was no way to tell. And that was just the way he liked it.

“So, did you find the treasure map?” T. J. asked.

“No, but you’ll never guess who else is hunting for Captain Kidd’s treasure . . . ”

“Who?” asked T. J.

Before I could answer, Mystery Man came walking across the parking lot. He was with the librarian with the red glasses. He wasn’t arching one eyebrow and making his “I’m a supercool undercover operative” face. He was smiling at her. It was like seeing a bluefish blow you a kiss instead of bite your finger off when it was on the end of your line.

I nodded at Mystery Man.

“What the heck?!” said Roger.

“Yep! It’s Mystery Man and I’m pretty sure he has the treasure map.”

“Whoa!” said Roger. “The librarian’s got the booty!”

Operation Quack