The Case of the Missing Deed (20 page)

NOTE: The morning of the Clam Pot, dig fresh clams, being sure to toss back any that are too small. Cover clams with a damp cloth and place in the fridge.

Grandma’s clam-cleaning tips:

1. Use clams within 24 hours of digging.

2. To clean clams, soak them in a bowl of cold water for 20 minutes. This will allow them to breathe and release any sand trapped in their shells.

3. Scrub each clam by hand before cooking to remove barnacles and seaweed from the shell.

4. Test that your clams are alive by tapping each one on the counter. If a clam’s shell doesn’t close, discard it.

Armed with sand shovels, the cousins hopped on their bikes and set off along the south shore for Osprey Cove. The
road curved around a bend – and suddenly it ended, blocked off by a chain-link fence. The fence was six feet high, and it stretched away from either side of the road.

They braked to a stop.

“What the–” Claire began.

“Look,” Sébastien said. He pointed to a sign hanging on the fence that read
TANTALUS MINING ACCESS AREA – KEEP OUT
.

“They can’t do that!” Claire said. “They can’t fence off Osprey Cove!”

But they had. The cousins stood there, straddling their bikes, staring up at the fence.

Alex looked at the others. “Are we going to let a stupid fence stop us?”

“No way!” Geneviève said. Hiding her bike in the grass, she bent down beside the fence, forming a platform with her hands. “Who’s first?”

They walked the rest of the way to Osprey Cove, where the shoreline scooped out a natural bay. Flanking the cove on either side stood two ancient, dead cedar trees, on whose broken-off tops ospreys built their messy looking twig-and-bark nests every year.

Even as they watched, one of the white-and-brown-flecked birds floated over the cove, lazily circling down, down, down, until, with a sudden movement, it plunged into the water and emerged with a wiggling fish in its talons.

“Grandpa loved those birds,” Olivia said, watching the osprey return to the nest with one flap of its great wings.

“Okay, the clue is
Treasure in the sand, treasure in the pot
,” Geneviève said. “What did Grandpa want us to find?”

“Clams, I guess,” Alex said.

Sébastien shook his head. “It must be something else. Something we can use.”

They looked around. There were rocks, hunks of driftwood, tangles of seaweed, broken mussel shells. Nothing looked like a clue.

“Think,” Olivia said. “Something in the sand. A treasure.”

Alex and Claire turned toward each other, mouths open, eyes alight.

“What?” Olivia said.

“Pirate Harry’s Pit,” Alex said, grinning at Claire.

“What’s Pirate Harry’s Pit?” Geneviève asked.

“It’s this funny little cave, under the bank,” Alex said, heading toward the grass that ringed the beach. “Even at high tide, the water doesn’t reach it, so the bottom stays dry.”

“It’s just about big enough for a kid to squeeze into,” Claire added, trotting to catch up to him, the others following.

“When we were little, fishing here with Grandpa, he used to tell us stories about this character called Pirate Harry,” Alex told them. “He had lost an eye in a duel with Scurvy Steve, and he commanded a ship with black sails.”

“And he plundered the high seas,” Claire said.

“And he hid treasure in the pit,” Alex said.

“How come we don’t know about Pirate Harry?” Olivia asked.

“ ’Cause you never went fishing with us,” Alex said. “Grandpa made up the stories while we were waiting for a bite.”

“We used to go into Pirate Harry’s Pit and dig and dig and never find anything,” Claire said, laughing. “And when we told Grandpa he was making it up, he said, ‘Oh, Pirate Harry must have come back yesterday and dug his treasure up.’ ”

“There’s this little stone shelf at the back, where we used to put seashells and pretend they were Pirate Harry’s gold coins, remember, Claire?” Alex said.

She laughed in reply.

By now the cousins had reached the bank, which rose a couple of feet above the sandy beach. Claire and Alex started pushing aside the beach grass that hung down over the bank.

“What are we looking for?” Sébastien said.

“There’s a kind of rocky ledge that juts out at the top,” Claire said, “and the hole slants down, under the – Oh, Alex! I think I’ve got it!”

Everyone rushed over. Claire pushed back a clump of tan grass heads, and there was a shelf of slate, about four feet wide, that stuck out from under the thatch of grass. An oval-shaped hole, maybe three feet across, gaped beneath it.

“That’s it, Claire!” Alex shouted. He began to scoop sand away from the lower lip of the hole, enlarging the entrance. Then he flung himself onto his stomach and reached into the hole.

“Anything?” Geneviève asked excitedly.

“No, just sand,” Alex said. He squirmed to thrust his arm in at another angle, pushing his shoulder against the gap. “I can just feel the edge of that shelf at the back … but I can’t get any farther.”

He drew his arm out, looking disappointed.

Sébastien squatted and peered into the hole. “Claire, do you think you could still get in there?”

Claire knelt beside him. “I don’t know. I was pretty small the last time.” She stuck her head in. “Well … maybe. It’s worth a try.”

She flopped down on her stomach.

“Wait,” Geneviève said. “Is it safe?”

Claire twisted around to look at her. “The top can’t collapse, if that’s what you mean. The worst that can happen is that I’ll get stuck.”

“Like Winnie-the-Pooh,” Olivia said.

“Promise me you won’t leave me here to get thin – or hang washing on my feet,” Claire said with a laugh. She turned back to the hole and slithered forward so that her head and one shoulder were in, then twisted and slid her other shoulder inside. Her chest, then her hips, disappeared. Her legs twisted and turned; she flipped onto her side and drew one leg into the hole.

“Are you okay?” Geneviève called anxiously.

“Fine” came the muffled reply, from farther away. Then, “I’m at the shelf.” More twisting. “Wait!” Very muffled. “I’ve got something!” She kicked her free foot. “Help me out!”

Carefully the cousins pulled, first one leg, then both, helping Claire slide backward, freeing her hips, her waist, her chest …

She twisted, pulling her shoulders out of the hole, then her head, covered in sand. She scrambled to her feet and held out –

– a miniature treasure chest.

It was made of metal. It had no decoration, no writing, on it. The top curved like a dome and its lip curled over the lower part, keeping dirt and moisture out. Aside from moss growing on top, and sand clinging to the bottom, it looked perfectly intact and in good shape.

“Oh my goodness!” Geneviève said.

“However did Grandpa get it in there?” Olivia said.

“Open it, open it!” Sébastien said.

Claire pushed upward on the lid with her thumbs. It didn’t budge. She banged the handle of her sand shovel against the lip of the dome, tapping all around its underside. The dome sprang free.

Everyone crowded around. Inside was the usual nest of plastic boxes inside plastic boxes, each sealed with tape. Wrapped around the smallest box was a length of fishing line, with a tag that said number 1. Inside the box were two sheets of paper, folded up inside a plastic bag.

Claire drew out one sheet. It was thick and sturdy, like parchment. At the top it said
MAP
, but the rest was blank.

“Huh?” Alex said. “That’s no use.”

“Open the other one,” Sébastien said.

Claire unfolded the second sheet. As she scanned it, her cheeks grew pink. “Oh, my,” she said.

“What?
What?”
Geneviève asked.

Claire read aloud,
“My dearest Lily, if you have reached this letter, you have found the last clue–”

“Hooray!” Alex shouted.

“Shush, Alex,” Olivia scolded. “Go on, Claire.”

“Oh, I’m so excited, I can hardly read,” Claire said, but she continued, “
Use the objects in the order of the numbered tags to discover the deed. Good luck! I love you with all my heart. Sam”

“We’ve got it!” Alex yelled. “Come on, let’s go!”

e found it, we found it!” Sébastien yelled, running into the living room.

There was no answer.

“Where are they?” he said, disappointed, as Alex and Olivia came running up behind him.

“They’ve gone out,” Geneviève called from the kitchen. Sébastien, Alex, and Olivia went back in and saw a note that had been propped on the counter.

Sébastien groaned. “They’d be so excited.”

“But this way we can find the deed and surprise them when they get back,” Claire said.

“True. Oh, won’t Grandma be thrilled?”

“Let’s do it!” Alex said.

The cousins assembled all the objects on the kitchen table.

“Grandpa said to use them in numbered order,” Olivia said.

Geneviève pointed to the map. “That’s number 1.”

“What’s number 2?” Sébastien said.

“The paintbrush,” Olivia said, and grabbed it.

That didn’t present any ideas.

“Number 3?” Claire asked.

“The vinegar,” said Alex.

“Oh, I get it!” Olivia said. It must be an invisible map, and we have to paint it with vinegar to reveal the ink,” she explained. She poured some vinegar into a bowl, then picked up the paintbrush. “Who wants to do the honors?”

“You do it, Liv. You’re the artist,” Alex said.

She dipped the brush in the vinegar and swept it across the top of the paper, just below the word
MAP
. The tangy smell of vinegar rose from the paper. Lines began to appear, squares and rectangles.

“Let’s all take a turn,” she said, handing the brush to her brother.

Alex swept the brush below where Olivia had painted. More squares and rectangles emerged. The brush went around the table. More lines appeared. All of the squares and rectangles seemed to be enclosed in one larger rectangle.

“It’s a diagram,” Alex said. “A floor plan.”

“It’s the cottage!” Sébastien said. “Look, here’s the upstairs – that’s Grandpa’s study,” he said, pointing at one square. “And that’s Grandma’s room.” He pointed at the square next to it.

“You’re right, Seb,” Geneviève said excitedly. “Look, this is the downstairs, and there’s the studio … and the bathroom.”

“And the kitchen,” Claire said, painting the lower right corner of the page with vinegar. She handed the brush to Sébastien, who brushed over the final part of the map, the lower left.

“That’s the living room, and look–” he said, as a mark appeared, “– an x! That must be where the deed is!”

The X appeared in a rectangular box marked on the wall facing the beach. “What’s that?” Alex said, pointing to it.

“I don’t know,” Geneviève said. “Let’s go find out!”

Grabbing the other objects, they dashed into the living room. Using the map to orient themselves, they figured out that the rectangle had to be the cupboard beneath the bay window.

Olivia opened the doors.

“The old wall!” Claire said. “Of course Grandpa would hide the deed here.”

“But where?” Alex said, kneeling down and peering at the old wooden boards. “There’s just boards here. I don’t see any papers or anything.”

“What’s number 4?” Sébastien asked.

“The flashlight,” Claire answered. She turned it on and shone the beam over the weathered boards. At first they appeared entirely blank.

Then Sébastien noticed something. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Alex said.

“That.” Sébastien pointed to a tiny darkened area, about the size of a pea, in the middle board, about halfway up from the floor. “I can’t tell what it is, but I think there’s something there.”

“I don’t see anything,” Olivia said.

“Me neither,” Alex said. He adjusted his glasses. “Wait – there is something. But I can’t make it out.”

“What’s next?” Claire asked.

“The prism,” Geneviève said. She held it up, letting it dangle from the fishing line. “What do I do with it?”

“Try holding it in front of the flashlight,” Sébastien said.

She did, and instantly a beam of light shot onto the wall. The beam skittered over the wall’s surface as the prism rotated.

“Hold it still, Gen,” Alex said.

Geneviève touched a fingertip to the prism and it slowly stopped turning. The beam of light settled on the dark spot, revealing a tiny metal coil embedded in the wall.

“What is it?” Alex said.

Geneviève leaned as close as she could without bumping the prism. “A spring of some kind,” she said in a puzzled voice.

“This is crazy!” Olivia said with a laugh. “What’s next?”

“The knitting needle,” Sébastien said, grabbing it. “What do I do with it?”

“Try poking it at the spring and see what happens,” Geneviève said.

Sébastien stuck the tip of the knitting needle into the center of the spring and pushed. The spring popped out. And then the board slid a fraction of an inch to the left.