MOSQUITOES

of

SUMMER

JULIANNA KOZMA

McArthur & Company

Toronto

This edition published in Canada in 2010 by

McArthur & Company

322 King Street West, Suite 402

Toronto, Ontario

M5V 1J2

www.mcarthur-co.com

Copyright © 2010 Julianna Kozma

All rights reserved.

The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in

any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,

recording or otherwise stored in a retrieval system, without the

expressed written consent of the publisher, is an infringement of

the copyright law.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Kozma, Julianna

Mosquitoes of summer / Julianna Kozma.

ISBN 978-1-55278-863-9

I. Title.

PS8621.O979M68 2010 jC813’.6 C2010-900807-3

eISBN 978-1-77087-073-4

The publisher would like to acknowledge the financial support of

the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and

the Canada Council for our publishing activities. The publisher

further wishes to acknowledge the financial support of the Ontario

Arts Council and the OMDC for our publishing program.

Cover design and illustration by Vincent Salera www.vincentsalera.com

Text design by Szol Design

Dedicated to my creative muses and the loves

of my life, Daniel, Kira and Emmie

CONTENTS

Prologue

CHAPTER ONE: ESCAPE

CHAPTER TWO: ROAD HOGS

CHAPTER THREE: HOME COMMING

CHAPTER FOUR: SECRETS REVEALED

CHAPTER FIVE: FRENCH RIVER

CHAPTER SIX: ARROW HEAD

CHAPTER SEVEN: PLANSAND TRAPS

CHAPTER EIGHT: ASUSPECT

CHAPTER NINE: JACK JACK

CHAPTER TEN: GHOSTS AHOY

CHAPTER ELEVEN: JACK ’ STALE

CHAPTER TWELVE: THE PLOT THICKENS

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: ENLIGHTENING SUPPER

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: MOSQUITOES OF SUMMER

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: STORM FRONT

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: LOST AT SEA

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: NORTH RUSTICO

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: RESCUE

CHAPTER NINETEEN: THE INHERITANCE

Acknowledgements

Prologue

The heavy rain seemed endless and unforgiving. It pocked the roughened red sand with millions of tiny holes. In rhythm with the downpour, the angry sea churned and immense waves smashed into the beach front, gouging large trenches in the sand. The booming crash of each wave was deafening, while the wind shrieked in the tortured night.

Amid the rare lulls in the storm, the distant but insistent clang of a buoy could be heard as it fought to remain standing in the ferocious sea. Tossed about like a child’s bath toy, it struggled against the pressure of the maddening tide, stubbornly refusing to give up its rightful place. It was a haunting sound.

Back on the beach, broken pieces of wooden lobster traps were washed up, along with mounds of seaweed, shattered blue mussel shells and translucent lumps of dead jelly fish. For the past few hours the Gulf of St. Lawrence was relentlessly pounded by the storm, and the strong winds and rain were not abating.

Suddenly, through the heavy ocean mist, a faint light appeared among the sand dunes. The tall grasses whipped their razor-sharp stalks in a wicked dance against the howling wind. Although the yellow beacon from a lighthouse gave off an intermittent glow, it was not the source of the light. No, this unsteady light slowly made its way down the winding path toward the sandy beach.

“Can’t see a damn thing in this rain,” a low rumbling voice muttered, seemingly weaving its way down a narrow footpath. “Should have worn a rain hat. Long underwear too, curse it!”

The shadowy intruder finally reached the path’s end and paused to catch his breath. He raised the kerosene lantern, haloing himself in its white glow. His black raincoat whipped around his knees as the rain fell in steady streams, plastering his hair against his head.

The lone figure silently surveyed the battered shoreline, squinting against the lantern’s glare. He noticed mounds of sea debris scattered in all directions. After a few minutes, he moved sluggishly off to his left on the beach, leaning forward against the strong winds.

After about two hundred yards, the man stopped. A large hulking shape blocked his way. The lantern began to shake unsteadily in his right hand as he stared ahead. He was motionless for several minutes and then, with a shudder, he raised the light and circled the mysterious object. Every now and then he bent down to examine something of interest. Suddenly, he paused.

“Hah! I knew it. After all these years it’s finally happened. It’s come in! It’s her!”

The man’s left hand reached into his slick raincoat and quickly pulled out a small shiny object. Switching the lantern to his left hand, he struggled to pry open the blade of his pocket knife.

“Success comes to those who wait, and I intend to be rewarded, at all cost.” He whispered fervent prayers as he clumsily worked his knife. Once successful, he bent down again and disappeared within the object, seemingly swallowed up whole by the darkness. It was a very small and cramped space for a man his size. Scraping noises mixed with uttered curses – then, a surprised grunt. Wood cracked like a rifle shot as it tore apart. The knife thudded into the wet sand as it fell from hands numb with cold.

“Damn this weather!” he said. “I can’t believe it’s April.”

The man groped in the sand and found the knife again. For the hundredth time he wished he had better tools. Frantically he struggled to coax whatever he was looking for out of its ancient resting place. At last, with a final heave, something snapped and plopped to the ground. The stranger fell back on his butt, squelching wet sand and slimy seaweed under his raincoat. Quickly he scurried back to where he was working, the glow of the lantern casting menacing shadows. Peering down, he uttered a yelp of pleasure, and clapped his hands together in great excitement.

“At last!” yelled the stranger. “After all these years, I’ve finally found it. Unbelievable! I never thought –” Hurriedly scrambling to his knees, he crawled back out into the night and started to dance around the large object, swinging his arms above his head and twirling like a mad dervish. A frightening midnight spectacle.

Returning to the lantern’s feeble light inside the mysterious shape, he bent and picked up a small object not much bigger than his hand. Lovingly he stroked his new-found treasure. Fumbling with his coat, he managed to fish out a plastic Sobey’s bag from his pocket. Quickly placing the object inside, he hid it within the folds of his raincoat. “Time to go,” he sang.

Picking up his lantern, he stopped and caressed the large dark shape, as if patting an old dog. Then he left, stumbling against the night. As the lantern light faded away into the dunes, the lighthouse remained vigilant; a silent and impassive observer.

Just beyond the horizon and off to the west, the heavy clouds scurried across the sky. An occasional flash of silvery light shot through the gauzy curtain of night. Then, the cold crescent moon peeked through the parting clouds. Its tentative glow held a promise that tomorrow might be a better day.

Except for the occasional scurry of exhausted crabs, the beach was finally, and utterly, deserted.

When the weather channel warned of unusually high winds and heavy rains, both tourists and locals kept to the indoors. Many prayers were uttered to long-forgotten gods, especially those that ruled over strong walls and waterproof roofs.

So it came as quite a shock when mussel fisherman Wayne Simpson happened to glance out his living room window. He was unable to sleep because of worry over his boat, The Lost Horizon. Simpson loved his little corner of the island. French River was the loveliest place on earth, he thought fondly. But his joy in his home depended on his livelihood, which meant the seaworthiness of his boat. In other words, it had to stay afloat... in water!

Pushing aside the white lace curtains that framed the large picture window, Simpson strained to see through the darkness of the storm. The filmy pane of glass was wet from the rain. “Phew! She’s still there,” he thought out loud. The boat was indeed secure in the relative safety of the tiny harbour.

But what’s this? Out of the corner of his eye Simpson noticed a small light bobbing in the distance off to his right. It was headed away from the harbour and towards Route 20, the main road that ran through much of the communities along the north shore of Anne’s Land.

Who was wacky enough to be out strolling in this weather? Had to be some crazy idiot tourist out for a last look at the ocean, he thought. Or maybe someone with car trouble. Or better yet, a poor soul got thrown out by the wife! Simpson turned away from the window and chuckled. “Oh well, I’ll find out all about it tomorrow.” Gossip was a major pastime on the island, a veritable hotbed of current and irrelevant news, and Simpson just loved it.

Giving in to a jaw-cracking yawn, he carefully shuffled his way along the darkened corridor to his bedroom. It was the last room at the back of the house and the farthest away from the harbour. The noise of the storm was much more subdued here. Nonetheless, occasional gusts of wind still buffeted the sides of the house, making the old walls creak and groan.

With no wife to worry about waking, he quickly jumped into his cold bed and huddled under a feathery duvet blanket, waiting to warm up. “I’ll check out the beach tomorrow and see what’s been washed up on shore,” he thought, as he drifted off to sleep. There was always something interesting to scavenge.

CHAPTER ONE

ESCAPE !

“Make sure to pack everything you want to bring with you to PEI,” shouted Mom to her daughters, Hannah and Emily Morgan, who were already sacked out in the car. “Check your beds for your MP3 players and DVD movies. You’ll need those for the long ride!”

“You mean the long and borrrring drive,” said 13-year-old Hannah, rolling her dark brown eyes with typical teenage angst. She was forever trying to perfect her eye rolling technique. Unfortunately, it rarely had any effect on her parents. More practice was definitely in order.

She ran back to her room for a final look and found many forgotten things in her bed – no big surprise. She knew her bed resembled more a landfill than a soft place to lie down on, but it was her sanctuary. She most certainly needed the 23 books, apples, dolls, stuffed animals, pens, papers, flashlight, radio, half-eaten granola bar … No question! Those were all essential for survival in bed. Well … except for the bugs. Those had to go … eventually.

Hannah scurried out of her room. After a year of yearning to go back, she was only days away from seeing her beloved Prince Edward Island again. She dashed down the stairs and sprinted back to the car, arms laden with last minute stuff. A few moments later, four humans, one bird and 15 Monarch caterpillars left St. Eustache, Quebec, in their overflowing Toyota Corolla and headed east towards the Maritimes. Hitched to the back of their car was their well-used tent trailer, which they planned to leave on the island. Hannah thought it a great place to store unexpected guests.

“Talk about making my life difficult,” muttered Hannah under her breath as she tried to find space in the car for her insect cage. It took her weeks to collect these caterpillars along the road of their country place in the Laurentians. She fed them milkweed leaves to keep them alive. Last week some of the fatter ones started forming their chrysalides. If all went well, Hannah expected to release the newly hatched Monarch butterflies in PEI.

“Emily, move your junk from the middle of the seat,” demanded Hannah, impatiently flicking her long brown hair out of her tanned face.

“Say please or no go,” replied her pint-sized 10-year-old sister Emily, otherwise lovingly known as Emzo the Bozo.

Jabbering non-stop, this tiny would-be gymnast of a sister was a tough little pain in the butt who had no qualms about pushing what little weight she had around. Emily barely made it into the lightweight category of 55 pounds, but this Grade 4 graduate was tougher than most of the Grade 6 bullies in her school. Hannah, however, was grossly unimpressed.

As the older child, Hannah was the shy and quiet one. She often had a smile on her face, and many people considered her the quintessential model of a “nice girl.” A voracious reader, she zipped through the books her mother bought her. She absolutely adored Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys mysteries. She was also the biggest (Hannah’s emphasis) CSI fan. The TV show that highlighted forensic science and “gross stuff” was Hannah’s raison d’etre, and she worshipped the weekly drama. Life would be worthless if she missed an episode of blood and gore.

She was also a real pro at pushing Emily’s buttons. Quietly and on the sly.

“Emily, your head’s on my side of the car,” whispered Hannah to the slouched-over blond hairball. “Push over or you’ll squish Mr. Bean.”

Instead of sitting back, Emily raised her left arm and plopped it further onto Hannah’s side. A deliberate, methodical and evil move. Hannah pushed it back with her right hand while her real-life parrot, Mr. Bean, sat upon her left. A severe tactical error! Emily lashed back. Hannah’s life flashed before her eyes.

“Ouch! You almost got Mr. Bean and now he’s freaking out,” yelled Hannah. “Get back on your side. Mooom-mmm! Emily is touching me. She won’t stop pushing over to my side. Tell her to stop. Now!”

“Hello Mr. Bean.”

“Pretty boy.”

“Cutie pie.”

“WHATCHA DOIN?!?!?!?!” screamed the green feathered Bean as he struggled to hold on to Hannah’s spastic hand.

“Emily, sit up,” said Mom glancing behind her.

“Watcha doin?” said the parrot, in a more subdued voice.

“If we get into an accident your seat belt won’t help you. In fact it might hurt you even more. So sit up!”

“Watcha doin?” Louder.

“And stay on your side.”

“Watcha doin?” Even louder.

“Hannah, stop pushing Emily

“Hannah, stop pushing Emily and watch out for the Bean. He’s toppling over. Emily, Sit up!! ”

“WHATCHA DOIN?!!!”

Completely frazzled, Dad turned up the radio in hopes of drowning out the three mad sopranos in the back seat. This did not bode well for the upcoming 12 hour drive to PEI.

Then … horror of all horrors:

“How many more minutes till we get there?” yawned Emily. “I’m hungry.”

Reality check: they were only half an hour into the ride. Moans and groans came from both the front and back seats as “Teeny One” demanded answers, and more Timbits. Breakfast in the car would not be the same without those little donut hole treats that were gobbled up in one bite.

After scarfing down a dozen Timbits, Emily moved on to a bag of cotton candy and then some Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Crumpling up the chocolate bar wrapper, she then asked for chips. It was all washed down with some neon blue Gatorade.

“Hannah, peel your sister off the ceiling of the car and hide her snacks,” cried Dad. He was maneuvering through a difficult stretch of Highway 640 and the distraction from a hyper child on a massive sugar high was a bit much. “I can’t believe all this construction. They’ve been working on this road forever, and they make the detour lanes so narrow. Because it’s still dark out it’s hard to see where your next turn is.”

Thankfully, a few minutes of silence passed. There was actually a glimmer of hope that peace would triumph. But alas ...

“Mom, do my eyes still glow red in the dark or have I outgrown that little problem?” asked an angelic-looking Emily. She had a very attractive ring of chocolate around her mouth. She was peering at her reflection in the car door’s window, moving her head from side to side.

Mom almost choked on her cappuccino and laughed till she cried, or just plain cried. Hannah couldn’t tell for sure. Dad had an alarmed look on his face. “Yes Emily, the curse is still with you. Your eyes glow red, you can turn your head completely around three times, and when you speak you actually growl. Seriously though, wherever did you get that crazy idea from?”

“Do we really want to know?” whispered Mom. “Let’s tell ourselves it was a completely normal comment from a very normal child. Okay? Sometimes we need to pretend ignorance. It’s what keeps me sane.”

After giving Emily the evil eye, Hannah checked on the Bean. He was sleeping in his Bean Mobile (a converted cat carrier), oblivious to the chaos. He hated early mornings and refused to get out of his cage at home when it was time to leave. After forcefully prying his feet off his warm teddy bear one claw at a time, Mr. Bean was dumped into his carrier and brought to the car at four o’clock in the morning. How rude!

A much loved member of the family, the Bean had a character bigger than his 4-foot-tall palatial cage. Last year the two-year-old Mustached Parrot had to be babysat by Hannah’s grandparents, Nagymama and Nagypapa, when the family went on vacation. A month is a long time for a bird … and an obsessed girl too.

“Love you!” screeched the Bean as the car bounced through a nasty pothole.

Every year since Hannah was four years old, the family headed to PEI for a month-long holiday. The island has some of the loveliest beaches in Canada. Hannah and her family considered the north shore of this tiny province the best place of all. They always camped at Twin Shores in Darnley, about 20 kilometers west of the ever popular Cavendish, home of Anne of Green Gables.

This winter her parents decided to buy a vacation home on the island with some family friends, and planned on renting it out when they were not using it. Mom and Dad spent months looking through the online MLS listings, eliminating most of the houses they saw. Many were so old that they were falling apart. Others were out in the boonies and nowhere near a beach. Some houses even had to be moved from where they were currently standing. Imagine that!

Dad and his friend Andrew took time off from work in May and flew to PEI to look at a shortlist of potential buys. There was a really scary house that for some reason Hannah’s parents simply adored. It boggled the mind how some parents think! When Hannah saw a picture of the house she shuddered at the thought of spending a single night there.

It was an old Victorian in New London and the price, according to the adults, was just right. But in Hannah’s experienced opinion, the outside looked like a haunted house straight out of Goosebumps. The paint had faded a long time ago and the windows were all boarded up. They looked like eyes. Grass was waist high, the porch was sagging and the roof had big gaps in it. All that from a picture!

“But it has character and the woodwork in the house is simply gorgeous and New London is one of the prestigious areas of the province and it’s not far from Lucy’s house in French River, and you’ll love it,” her parents gushed, eager to convince two very unwilling girls. Luckily, after an onsite visit, Dad broke the bad news. The interior walls were crumbling from water-damage, there was no septic system and no interior plumbing, just an outside well that might or might not have water.

“That’s too bad – really,” said Hannah as she tried to console her parents. Oh-so-short pause. “So, did you find another house?”

“Yes, but it’s a bit out of our original price range and it needs a lot of work,” said Dad. “But it’s in Darnley and on the same road we take to go to the campsite.”

Hannah and Emily’s eyes opened wider as they continued to listen to the sales pitch.

“We’d be in the area we love and know so well, and you would still be able to see all your friends that you met at Twin Shores last year. You can still go watch the movies and play chocolate bar bingo at the campsite. An added bonus is that you can continue your bottle collecting business.”

Now this was more like it, thought Hannah. Last year Emily and Hannah decided to set up their own little business and began collecting empty beer, wine and pop bottles from the campsite. Lugging back bags and bags of glass empties, they would then redeem them at the local recycling depot in Kensington. The young entrepreneurs made over $200 last year.

Long story short, the Darnley house was bought, papers were signed in June and Hannah was all packed for the July 14 departure date. She could hardly wait to get there.

CHAPTER TWO

ROAD HOGS

“We’re not far from the bridge now,” Mom shouted over the rock music coming from the car’s CD player.

Finally, thought Hannah. Twelve hours cooped up in a crowded car listening to Dad’s music was not her idea of fun. Dad just loved Pink Floyd, a group from “his era,” like ancient history. Hannah thought some of the music was cool, but other songs were a bit too weird. She definitely did not get the ones where the animals start making music.

Emily was a U2 fan and unfortunately knew the lyrics to every song. The family had to listen to the Greatest Hits CD (and accompanying screeching) a couple of times before it was inexplicably “lost.” Emily usually woke up between Moncton and Confederation Bridge. One year she even missed the bridge part and Hannah laughed at her sister’s confusion. Not to mention the tangled nest of hair that strategically hid her face. This year looked like it would be a repeat performance.

Confederation Bridge is the longest bridge in the world to cross ice-covered salt water. The 12.9 kilometer span has two lanes, and a speed limit of 80 kilometers per hour. Built in 1997, it links Cape Jourimain, New Brunswick with Borden-Carleton, Prince Edward Island. The Bridge replaced a ferry service that was established in 1917. For 80 years the three-hour ferry ride shuttled people and vehicles between the two provinces across the Northumberland Strait.

Hannah had mixed feelings about the bridge. It was very exciting to see it in the distance as their car came closer and closer to the on-ramp. It meant that they were minutes away from the island. But the drive across was almost anti-climatic. Because their car was so low to the ground, Hannah had no view over the bridge. Concrete barriers lined both sides of the span and were too high to get any glimpse of the water. Ahead and behind were only cars. Bummer!

Prince Edward Island is bordered by two large bodies of salt water. The south shore is fronted by the Northum-berland Strait, and on clear days you could spot New Brunswick and Nova Scotia on the other side of the water. Gentle waves lap this shore and people claim that the water is much warmer on this side of the island. The north shore, bordered by the Gulf of St. Lawrence, is a much rougher but more exciting body of water.

At one point during the drive across, the bridge sloped upwards (so that boats might pass under it more easily). When the car got to this high point of the bridge, Hannah sat up on her knees in her seat to get a better look.

“I see it, I see it!” she yelled. “Look at the red cliffs. And the water looks rough. There’s PEI! We’re there!” Whipping out her kiddie binoculars, Hannah scanned the far shores of the island, trying to get a glimpse of a lighthouse, a boat, or even Anne of Green Gables.

“You know, before the two of you were born, Dad and I used to take the ferry across,” recounted Mom. “Back then, you had to line up in a big parking lot and wait your turn to get on. If you missed the boat,” she grimaced, “you had to wait for the next ferry, usually a few hours later.

“And when you landed in PEI and drove through the welcome gate,” Dad added, “Anne of Green Gables would be there, suitcase and all, waving to everyone. It was magical. You knew for sure that you were going to have a great time on the island.”

“How come she’s not here now?” piped up Emily, who managed to wake up from her nap just in time. Amazed, Hannah gaped at her sister, shocked that Emily was actually civil upon awakening. Usually it’s not a picnic, having to deal with someone who looks angelic in sleep, but is truly the devil when just woken up.

“Anne must be busy in Avonlea now,” said Dad. “After all, she can’t be in two places at once.” Glancing at his watch, he continued, “Right now she is probably out with her friend Diana, and then she’ll be going to the ceilidh in the church. Oops, look, we’re over. Only another half hour or so and we’ll be in Darnley by five this afternoon.”

As soon as the car touched solid PEI land, Dad changed CDs and started up Great Big Sea, a popular group of Newfoundland singers. Playing their music when on the island had become a tradition since time immemorial. Hannah loved listening to the jaunty Maritime fiddling. It always put her in a great mood; that is until Emily started singing along.

As vehicles made their way off the bridge, the Morgans were greeted by huge signs advertising the Gateway Village of Borden-Carleton. The Village was specifically built for bridge users. Many tourists stopped off here to pick up maps and guide books. The Village also had many gift stores that provided everything an average tourist would require of the island. It was a one-stop shopping experience of all things PEI. Mud shirts, Anne dolls, sea glass, Paderno pots, red sand sculptures and Authentic Lobster Chips filled store shelves.

In addition, there was a replica of one of the bridge pontoons, demonstrating the engineering feat required to build such a marvel. Hannah would have loved to stop off here and explore everything, but after such a long drive her parents were eager to get to their final destination. Regretfully, she watched as the car headed away from the south shore of the province.

Driving along Trans Canada Highway 1, the family followed signs for Summerside. One of the larger towns along the south shore, Summerside boasted warm waters, but not many good beaches, according to Hannah. At least nothing compared to where they were going. However, it did have the all important things like McDonalds, Wal-Mart, Canadian Tire and Dollarama (Hannah’s favourite store because her money went a long way there).

The car steadily made its way along the highway, passing Summerside and the Cavendish Farms Company. This local manufacturer produced various frozen food items, but Hannah’s favourite product was the best ever Flavour Crisp fries, made with home-grown PEI potatoes.

“Daddy, roll down the window. We want to smell the French fries. Look, there’s a blast of smoke. That means they’re cooking a new batch. Ummm! Smell that! PEI fries. Do you smell it Mr. Bean? This is your first sniff of the world famous fries. They’re the best vegetable in the world.”

“And the only one you eat!” mumbled Emily as she continued to stare out the window.

“What. Did. You. SAY?” Hannah’s eyes burned for a good fight.

“Nothing,” quipped Emily, looking sickeningly smug. “Actually, I said that Beanie is eating your food.”

Craning his neck beyond the point of looking good, Mr. Bean was indeed trying to steal some of Hannah’s cotton candy. “Up, up … hello Beanie butt!” screeched the green monster.

They were now on Highway 2 and heading towards Kensington, the town closest to their house, and about 10 minutes from Summerside.

“Are we stopping for gas?” asked Hannah.

“Because I need to go to the bathroom,” squeaked Emily with a painful look on her face.

“I need to go too,” added Mom. “Even though we are 15 minutes from the house, I don’t think I can make it.”

With a dramatic sigh, Dad pulled into the small Esso station where he always filled up. Chatting with the old-timer who manned the gas pumps, Dad caught up on local weather information. Mr. Bean could be heard chatting up a storm in the back seat of the car, not pleased to be left alone. Meanwhile the girls made their way to the bathroom. Although it still smelled of gas and oil, it was spotless, and even sported dainty curtains on a high window.

“This is what makes PEI so special,” sighed Hannah contentedly. “Even the public bathrooms are pretty.” Emily rolled her eyes at such gushy sentiment, but Mom laughed.

Once back in the car, it did not take long to drive down Route 20 towards historic Malpeque. Hannah could never figure out why the sign said historic. She’ll have to do some research on the town and find out why it’s so special. Near Malpeque the car came to a crossroads surrounded by two churches and the Malpeque Community Centre. Turning right, they continued along Route 20.

“I see the ocean … look, look!”

“The waves look small.”

“There’s a blue heron, sitting on a piece of wood in the bay.”

“There’s a boat going out.”

“Daddy, roll down the window. I want to smell the ocean.”

Five minutes later, they turned left on Lower Darnley Road and, after driving a couple of kilometers more, finally pulled into the driveway of their new house. But where was the house? All Hannah could see was grass. Grass, grass, grass. When she got out of the car, she was surrounded by it. A sea of grass!

“We need to call George to mow this,” said Dad. “Watch out for Emily. She might get lost in this jungle.” From far ahead and somewhere to the right came a faint voice. Emily had already cut a path to the front door and was jumping up and down, waiting for someone to open it. Mom and Dad quickly followed, eager to have a look inside.

“So much for getting lost,” mumbled Hannah to herself. Grabbing the Bean Mobile, Hannah trailed after her parents towards her new house.

CHAPTER THREE

HOME COMING

The house was blue! Totally!

“We’ll call it The Blue Lobster

“We’ll call it The Blue Lobster Cottage,” said Mom.

“It’s the brightest house on this road,” said Hannah. “What’s it made of?”

“Cedar shingles,” replied Dad as he searched his pockets for the house keys. “Two sides of the house are covered by the shingles, but the previous owners ran out of money and didn’t finish the rest of the house. The back and left side is covered by some kind of wood siding. We’ll have to paint it.”

“No kidding,” said Mom as she squinted against the glare of the sun that bounced off the offensive siding. Or was she just trying not to be sick? Hannah wasn’t too sure. “It’s a pukey turquoise and I can’t stand it. It’s quite an eyesore. Did we bring our paint brushes?”

Hannah rolled her eyes … again. That’s Mom. She needs to get things done now. No, more like yesterday! And they hadn’t even unpacked the car yet. Hannah strolled through the grassy jungle, looking up at the house. The house was a bungalow with a basement. The front had many windows, both large and small. There was one large picture window in the living room, two smaller bedroom windows beside it, a small octagonal opening in the mudroom, and another window in the kitchen.

From the outside it looked like an average size house, but when she stepped inside, Hannah was pleasantly surprised at how large and open it was.

“Wow, we can really move around in here,” she exclaimed as she made her way towards the back corner of the living room. “And here’s the TV, right next to Mr. Bean’s cage.” A moving van had already brought down the furniture for the house, as well as boxes filled with kitchen stuff, towels, toys and most importantly, Mr. Bean’s cage. What parrot had three homes? Talk about spoiled.

“There you go Beanie.” After making sure Mr. Bean was settled in his new cage, Hannah and Emily looked around their new home. The kitchen, living room and dining area was one big open space. Mom loved that aspect of the house because it made entertaining much easier. Hannah thought that being able to see the living room TV from the kitchen and dining table was more critical!

Off the living room were two doors, each opening up to a bedroom. They were quite big and comfortable, but the walls were still bare and needed to be plastered and painted. And there were no beds for the girls. According to Dad, that was another project. Hannah didn’t think it was such a big deal since they were going to sleep in the tent trailer that they used to camp in at Twin Shores, just down the road. She just loved that. It would bring back fond memories of her long-ago childhood.

The bathroom opened up off the kitchen, and it was huge but ugly. Paint was peeling from the walls and ceiling, the sink cabinet was spray-painted a splotchy black, the plastic shower curtain was a map of the world (maybe Emily can learn something while taking a bath, sniggered Hannah under her breath), and worst of all, big black beetles lounged in the tub.

“No way am I taking a bath in there,” stated Emily, her lips curled in disgust.

“We’ll get rid of the bugs pronto,” said Mom, shivering as she quickly pulled the shower curtain closed. “Daniel, where’s the bug spray?” Funnily enough, she was one of those people who had no problems with snakes, mice or spiders, but she simply HATED bugs. Little did she know what was in store for her this summer.

Whoever owned this house before Hannah’s family really liked blue – a lot. The kitchen cabinets were blue, the kitchen floor was blue, the bedroom walls were painted blue, some of the dishes were blue, and the horizontal blinds were blue.

“And we brought blue sofas to match the house. We’re smart people, aren’t we?” quipped Emily as she ran around the bare uneven floors. “Look Mom, I can bounce on the floor. It’s like a trampoline! I love this house!”

“Stop running and no bouncing,” yelled Dad. “These floors need to be reinforced before we do any gymnastics.”

“I guess we have to finish the ceiling too,” said Mom as she looked up. “There’s a lot of work to be done here. Some of the walls look water damaged so I guess part of the roof leaked. There is also a big dip in the floor between the kitchen and the living room.”

“That was where they originally had the stairs going down to the basement,” said Dad as he bent to examine the floor more closely. “I checked the basement and we’ll need to jack up the floor beams at that point. Simple job. No worries.”

“What about the crack in the foundation?” asked Mom.

“We’ll have to fix that too.”

“And the leaking faucets?”

Dad did not look too pleased. Time for Hannah to leave….

“Can Emily and me ride our bikes down to the beach?” interrupted Hannah. “You said the movers left them in the shed. We want to see what the ocean is like. Please, please, please?”

Overjoyed that Mom and Dad gave in to their pleas rather quickly, Hannah and Emily made like bandits and pedaled down the busy road towards the beach. After about a kilometer, the girls arrived at their beloved Twin Shores campground. Riding through the front gates, they made their way down one of the two paved roads on site. Straight ahead they could see campers heading back from the beach, hurrying to make supper on camp stoves or open fire pits.

“First one down is the winner,” yelled Emily as she dropped her bike near the two racks by the beach cantina. “Hannah, hurry up! You don’t need to lock up the bikes here. We’re in PEI!”

After a year of being separated from her ocean view, Hannah’s first glimpse of the beach was always special, and she loved to savour the moment. Unlike her sister, she took her time to stroll down the boardwalk. She kicked off her bright yellow Crocs (still the rage), and lovingly dug her feet into the warm red sand. She closed her eyes and smiled.

“This is heaven,” she sighed and made her way down to the water’s edge.

“Let’s go in, Hannah,” cried Emily as she dashed over the first cresting wave and plunged under the water. “Ooohhh, this is amazing. The water’s so warm. It’s even warmer than the lake. And there’s no jelly fish. Come in Hannah! The waves aren’t bad. We should have brought our boards.”

PEI’s north shore opens out onto the unpredictable Gulf of St. Lawrence. Hannah fondly recalled the many days last summer when the waves were so big people were cautioned to stay out of the water. On wild surf days the noise of the waves could be deafening. Heedless of rip tide warnings from the National Parks Services, many people still spent hours riding the waves on their boogie boards.

Over an hour later, two exhausted and wet girls dragged themselves out of the water. Long blades of brown sea grass clung to their legs and hair, and their eyes were rimmed red from the salty water. Emily sported a bright pink welt on her upper thigh where a jelly fish’s tentacles had brushed up against her skin. Rubbing wet sand on the wound helped a bit, but the sting was still unpleasant.

“I’m starving,” panted Emily as she pedaled home, her short legs pumping twice as fast as Hannah’s while covering the same distance. In the best of times she was a bottomless pit when it came to food. Hannah could not understand how her sister could shovel so much food into that teeny tiny body and not get fat. And she ate everything! Fruits and vegetables too. Yuck! Hannah had no interest in such things. They were much too good for her.

“I hope we go to Pizza Delight tonight for supper,” she yelled back to Emily who was steadily falling behind.

“Course we will. It’s tradition,” huffed a breathless Emily. “We always go on our first night in PEI.”

Hannah agreed that tradition had to be maintained, at any cost! The first leg of the ride home was on a red dirt road. After a heavy rain PEI public works usually scraped it down smooth, getting rid of the “washboard” surface that made for a bumpy ride. However, they also added a lot more gravel. Cars loved it, but the bikes did not and today the gravel was super fresh and made for a difficult ride home.

“Hannah, I see another car in the driveway,” stuttered Emily as she thankfully eased her bike off the gravel and onto the paved and smooth part of Lower Darnley Road.

Arriving in record-slow time, both bikes skidded to a stop in the grass-lined driveway. The tent trailer was already opened up behind a stand of pines, sheltering it from the gusting winds that regularly ripped through the north shore.

As soon as the girls freed their kickstands, the front door opened and a pretty blond girl ran out to greet them.

“LUCY!” yelled Emily as she ran towards the tall 13-year-old. “It’s been ages since we saw you. The last time was in March during the sugaring off season. Where’s Meg?”

Just at that moment, a black and white border collie came bounding around from the back of the house, a stick already clamped tightly in her mouth.

“Meg!” Hannah went up to the dog and gave it a quick hug. Not having much time for girly affection, Meg got down to business and dropped the stick at the girls’ feet. Tilting her head to the right, she gazed up at them with intelligent eyes and wondered who would throw the stick.

“We’re going to Pizza Delight,” gushed Lucy. “Your parents asked me to come along too. I just love that place. And we have so much to catch up on.”

The girls screamed with joy and the dog barked impatiently (the stick was still sitting in the grass). Finally, after saying quick hellos to Lucy’s parents, everyone piled into their cars and left the house.

“Wait till you hear what happened in French River this year,” said Lucy as she settled into the middle of the back seat. Hemmed in on both sides by Emily and Hannah, she had a hard time not giving in to their relentless demands. “It’s really exciting. And Hannah, we might even have a mystery to solve, just like in your favourite Nancy Drew books.”

Hannah was drooling. Lucy was one of her best friends, even though she lived in far-away Vermont, USA. She was super smart, funny, and sweet. What more could you want? And she usually came down to PEI at the same time as Hannah. Lucy loved all the same things that Hannah and Emily did, which included picking seashells, boogie-boarding, collecting bottles, and reading mysteries. The girls were inseparable.

“This was turning out to be a really amazing and wonderful summer,” thought Hannah. She could hardly wait to hear more.

CHAPTER FOUR

SECRETS REVEALED

Pizza Delight was filled to capacity this Saturday evening. Nestled in between Cows Ice Cream and Roots Canada, delicious smells of garlic and baked bread escaped from its front door. A tourist hotspot, it was located on the popular Cavendish Boardwalk and was minutes away from the heart of PEI tourism.

“When are we going to eat?” demanded Emily, impatiently waiting in line to be seated at one of the wooden booths.

As soon as they were all seated and the grown-ups were studying the menus, Hannah turned to Lucy. “So, what’s going on in French River?”

Sitting forward and leaning across the table, Lucy started whispering her news to a rapt audience of two. “In the spring PEI was hit by some big storms. There was snow, rain and very heavy winds. The sea was really crazy. There was one particular storm in April that was a doozy. After two days of scary winds, something washed up on the shore at Arrowhead Beach.”

Dramatic pause …. Lucy sat back and pretended to examine the menu. The tension was mounting. Hannah struggled not to tackle her friend across the table. No nonsense as usual, Emily came straight to the point.

“What was it?”

“You know how we always look for artifacts buried in the sand or the cliffs at Arrowhead,” continued Lucy, her multi-coloured braces glinting in the restaurant’s warm lighting. “Well, a lot of things like the arrowheads we found came from the Native American settlement that was there hundreds of years ago. But we also found tons of pottery pieces and rusted nails, beads and bones in the water. Those came from shipwrecks.”

“We know all that,” said Hannah, showing her frustration by accidentally knocking her cracker to the floor. “Ten second rule,” she cried as she bent to pick it up.

“Well, with that super-duper storm blowing in, something washed up on the beach, something much bigger than pottery pieces” continued Lucy. “Ready for this? It was a shipwreck.”

“Wow!” sighed Emily and Hannah at the same time.

“Jinx,” said Hannah. Emily glared. Now she couldn’t talk until someone said her name. This was torture. She gestured wildly with her hands, trying to get her parents to pay attention. No luck. She quickly took a crayon supplied by the waitress and wrote out her question:

“Did it have people on board?”

“No,” said Lucy, shaking her blond head slowly, savouring the moment. “The wreck came from a long time ago. It was really OLD. It was the front part of a big ship. My parents say it probably went down during the Yankee Gale.”

“Yankee Gale?” Hannah scratched her head, trying to remember why this sounded familiar. Before Lucy could continue however, Emily shocked both girls.

“The Yankee Gale was this big storm that blew into PEI in the 1800s and lots of boats sank around the island,” she lectured to an open-mouthed Hannah. “Remember when Mom and Dad bought that map of all the PEI shipwrecks? There was a bunch in this area that went down during that storm. And by the way, Mom just said my name when she told everyone about how I licked your nose while you were sleeping in the car.”

“Ewwww!!!!! That’s gross,” yelped Hannah, frantically rubbing her nose. “I hope you got some boogers out. And by the way, I still have my cold from February.”

Emily continued, unaffected by her sister’s hysterics. “There were hundreds of shipwrecks drawn all over that map of PEI we got. It was really cool.”

Excitedly, Hannah recalled that the north shore had a great number of shipwrecks. Unconsciously, she rubbed her nose again until it was red, trying to rid it of all traces of Emily spit.

“But wait! Here is where the mystery comes in.” Looking around to make sure no one else was listening to their conversation, Lucy told them about the fresh scratches she found inside the hull of the ship.

“While everyone was looking at the outside of the boat, I crawled underneath and inside it. It was like a small cave, and I pulled myself in to the tip of the wreck. The planks let in quite a bit of light so I could see pretty well in there. And that’s when I saw it! Deep scratches.”

“The scratches could have happened during the storm as the wood got dragged across the reefs,” said Hannah doubtfully, disappointment beginning to dampen her excitement. “I don’t see anything mysterious in that.”

But Lucy was not deterred. “There was a small secret compartment too. It looked like a hiding place built into the wood. Many boats used to have it. And that is where I found the scratches, as if someone forced it open. And there were a bunch of footprints there in the sand, and … ” Lucy leaned in closer, “some fresh blood.”

Hannah reconsidered her theory when she heard this new tasty tidbit of information. “What do you think the secret compartment was for?” asked Hannah.

“Treasure, of course,” said Lucy. “And someone took it that night the ship washed ashore!”

“You don’t know that!” Emily knew that both Hannah and Lucy had very active imaginations and saw crimes in the most ordinary things.

“But I have proof,” Lucy shot back. “You know Wayne Simpson, the guy who takes care of our house when we’re not there? He told my parents he saw a light the night of the storm, coming from the beach. He thought he was seeing things, but I think it was the thief. And they found the wreck the next day. Coincidence? I think not!”

The three girls continued to chatter about the mysterious light and the wreck right through supper. The pizza was amazing. Pepperoni with extra cheese, and wonderful garlic fingers. Yum!

“Finger-licking good!” smacked Emily, her mouth smeared with tomato sauce.

“That’s Kentucky Fried Chicken, you dope,” scoffed Hannah.

“It was still delicious,” said Mom, gathering everyone’s coats and sweaters from the abandoned chairs. She missed seeing Emily’s dirty face. The little monster was already heading towards the door.

So stuffed were the two families they were hardly able to waddle through the busy restaurant. They stepped outside into the warm evening air. By unspoken consent, everyone started making their way left along the covered boardwalk, trying to sidestep the numerous tourists along the way.

Crocs of all colours and sizes were lined up outside a store right next to Pizza Delight. Those popular rubber clogs that came in various styles were the rage the previous summer. Everyone had to have them. It seemed this year was no different, thought Hannah, as she squeezed through a family with four kids trying to find the right size.

“So when do we start investigating?” asked Hannah. Lucy stopped in front of Cows (voted Best Ice Cream by Reader’s Digest) and took a deep breath. The homemade waffle cones smelled so delicious.

“It depends on how quickly you can come down to French River,” she replied. “The Maritime Museum of somewhere wants to study the wreck. I’m not sure when they want to take it away, so the sooner you get there the better. We definitely want to beat all those nosy tourists. We have to sit down and make an action plan.”

“I’ll get a pad and pencils at the dollar store,” said Hannah. “I’ve brought along my tape recorder, and we’ll need to interview Wayne again and get more info. I also have my fingerprinting kit. Who knows, it might come in handy. I got it for my tenth birthday and it works really well.”

“Sounds good,” said Lucy, hungrily eying peoples’ ice cream cones.

“When are we going to go exploring?” demanded Emily, breathlessly joining the other two a few minutes later. No one noticed that the Emzo had been missing in action. A tad bit obsessive about all kinds of footwear, she couldn’t resist the call of the Croc.

After trying on about 12 pairs of Crocs, Emily realized she was alone and came running.

Being far superior teenagers, Hannah and Lucy looked at each other and shook their heads. Nonetheless, Hannah grabbed Emily’s small hand and held on tight.

CHAPTER FIVE

FRENCH RIVER

Hannah woke to a foggy day. Dull light seeped in through the tinted windows of the camper. It was supposed to be sunny. Island weather forecasts were always wrong! Fighting to disentangle her arms and legs from all the stuffed animals in her bed, she slowly opened the curtains on her side and noticed a soft mound next to the bed. Emily was curled up on the floor.

“Rolled out of bed again,” thought Hannah, shaking her head. “Oh well, at least she dragged her sleeping bag with her this time. It cushioned the landing.” Looking at the pale face peeking out from behind the tangled mass of hair, Hannah felt an unexpected pang. Emily was a major pest and was hard to live with, but still …. Hannah pulled the sleeping bag up to Emily’s chin and gently tucked in her sister’s stuffed dog, Sally.

Quickly making her way to the house, Hannah noticed that George, their new neighbour, had cut the grass yesterday. She had been too tired and preoccupied to notice when they came home last night. Piles and piles of hay covered the yard. Hannah wondered who was going to rake that. Definitely not her!

Once inside the Blue Lobster, Hannah uncovered Mr. Bean, went to the bathroom (with the Bean) and then asked Mom and Dad what they had planned for the day.

“Shopping, like we always do on the first day,” said Mom.

“Poop Mr. Bean,” interrupted the bird.

“You already went in the toilet,” said Hannah to the Bean. “Now hush!” Turning back to her mom, Hannah continued, “But I thought we’re going down to French River.”

“Later, if we have time. We need to get groceries or else we have nothing to eat. We only brought enough food to tide us over for breakfast. Speaking of which, we have some leftover Timbits or cereal.”

After a not so exciting breakfast, Hannah and Emily got ready to go into town with Mom. Dad was staying behind, already working in the basement. There was a lot of junk downstairs that was left with the house and he was slowly going through it, deciding what was worth keeping or throwing out. The garbage pile was huge! Maybe she could hide Emily in there without anyone noticing.

“Yes! The old Hannah is back, thank you very much,” whooped Hannah.

The drive into Summerside was uneventful. Mom did not want to do her shopping in Kensington, which was closer. She thought she would find better deals in the larger stores of Summerside. After carefully maneuvering through a new roundabout near the town, Mom drove straight to Granville Street, Summerside’s main shopping strip. As Hannah looked out the back window, she noticed that a blue minivan was driving through the roundabout for the second, and then third time. Some people just did not get the concept.

First stop was the dollar store. Hannah whipped out her wallet and started filling her basket with essentials. Paper, pencils, assorted paint colours, beads, wire, and more came off the shelves. She looovvved this store. The girls then made their way next door to Canadian Tire, where Mom bought a few items needed for the bathroom plumbing.

Across the road from Canadian Tire was the very crowded Wal-Mart. Here they stocked up on toilet paper, canned food, chips, cookies, snack cakes, bacon, pizza and peanut butter. Good food. The sun was beginning to break through the fog cover, and by the time they finished stocking up on fresh meat, fruits and vegetables from the Atlantic Super Store, it was getting hot.

Back home, after a quick lunch of nutritious macaroni and cheese, Hannah and Emily helped their mom unpack all the clothes. The sisters had to share a dresser in their parents’ bedroom, but there was more than enough drawer space for all their clothes. And it certainly beat last year’s system. Shorts, t-shirts, bathing suits, and sweaters were stored in laundry baskets in a small tent next to the camper. What a mess that was. When it rained, her pants and underwear got soaked. Wet underwear made her walk funny.

“Can we go see Lucy now?”

“First you have to make me a sign to put out in the driveway,” said Dad as he hauled broken chairs, tables, lamps and bikes to the side of the road. “We need to get rid of some of this junk and maybe some people driving by will want it. Take this board along with your new paints and write out ‘Please take – Free.’ That should get some attention.”

Hannah chose a dark blue for the letters and then painted a bright red border around the outside of the sign. Artistic! She was done in no time.

“Ready!”

Pulling Mom away from raking up the hay in the yard, Dad found Emily playing with her dolls out on the back picnic table. Hannah was already waiting in the car when the others joined her for the drive to Lucy’s house.

“Are we still FFAs?” piped up Emily from the back seat.

“FFAs?”

“You know, what the locals call people who aren’t from here – Folks From Away,” explained Emily. “Now that we have a house, we live here, so we’re not from away. Right?”

“That’s brilliant,” Hannah cut in sarcastically before either of her parents could answer. “We only live here for the summer and then we go back home. So that means we are still from away.”

Emily stuck her tongue out at Hannah.

“I knew I should have put you out with the garbage,” grumbled Hannah.

Lucy’s parents owned a house in French River, a 10 minute drive from Hannah’s new digs in Darnley. And like Hannah’s family, the Smiths were also FFAs and drove up from Hartland, Vermont, their full-time home.

Driving along the picturesque north shore the family passed through the small (and pricey) communities of Sea View and Park Corner. Many tourists flocked to this part of the island because of the breathtaking views of the ocean. Park Corner’s claim to fame is the Lucy Maud Montgomery Museum and the Lake of Shining Waters, which was originally the home of the famed author’s aunt and uncle. Montgomery was married in this beautiful century-old wooden house, and many tourists come to get married in this scenic setting.

Just past Park Corner is French River and Lucy’s house. The gorgeous white A-frame was trimmed with dark green gingerbread. Hannah always thought it looked a lot like the Anne of Green Gables house. The driveway climbed at a steep angle to the back of the house, and overlooked a charming bunk house to the right, rye fields facing the back door, and a small tree house nestled among the large branches of a lone maple.

Named after the original owner, the Buzzel House was one of those buildings that had to be moved from its original location. When the Smiths bought it nine years ago, it had no basement and was tiny. Now the house had a large two-storey extension in the back and sat on a solid foundation with a real basement. Beautiful purple and pink clematis climbed the white siding, and the back porch was surrounded by flowering day lilies, hollyhocks and poppies.

“Mom, we’re going to go look at some kittens at a neighbour’s, but we’ll be back soon,” yelled Hannah, fast disappearing around the house with Lucy and Emily.

“Do you have the tape recorder?” Lucy asked.

“Yes, and some paper and pencils for all of us, if we need them.”

“I’ll draw a map of Mr. Simpson’s house and the road and whatever he saw. I’m good at that,” said Emily, eagerly balancing on her tip-toes.

Hannah gave Emily a queer look, but realized that it was better to keep her sister busy with small tasks. A pencil in her hand had a strangely calming effect on her hyper sibling. Bouncing along the road, the older girls followed Emily as they quickly made their way to Simpson’s house.

When they caught up to Emily, Hannah pulled her aside and said, “If Mom asks, the kittens were adorable and you want one, OK?”

Emily stuck that tongue out again. “I’m not dumb, you know. We’re undercover detectives and we can’t let anyone know what we’re doing. And by the way, I want the black one with white spots. OK?”

Simpson’s house, a bright yellow clapboard, had one of the finest views in French River, a fact he never tired of repeating to anyone he met. It was ideally situated overlooking the picturesque French River Harbour, one of the most photographed locations in PEI. Rustic and multi-coloured fishing shanties of red, blue and green crowded together alongside a small pier and neat piles of lobster traps greeted tourists.

The man of the hour was sitting outside his porch, mending one of the many fishing nets lying at his feet.

“How was the fishing this morning Mr. Wayne?”

Turning a squinty-eyed look on Lucy, Simpson nodded slowly and said that the fishing was just fine.

“Water was calm, and that were a big help in bringing up the nets, it was,” he replied. “And who have you brought along with you today missy Lucy? Scallywags to 36 help me unload the boat? They don’t look like much.”

Lucy ignored the subtle hint of work, and got right down to the reason of their visit.

“Remember the night of the storm when the wreck washed up on Arrowhead? My friends want to hear all about it. Hannah’s writing a story for her school’s creative writing club and could use some ideas.”

“What you want to hear? I got loads of stories, but whatever happened that night remains a mystery to me,” said Simpson. “Mind you there’s not much to tell.” He sat back in his straight-backed wooden chair and let the net fall at his feet. He folded his arms across his narrow chest, and began his tale. He loved an audience.

“The night was wild. Everyone was inside, as they should be, me included. Storms like this are not good omens. The sea was angry, and was punishing the earth. Maybe it resented all the fish and like that we took from her. Lots of things get washed up on shore after weather like this. So I was not surprised that the wreck was there the next day. Many things got torn from the depths of the Gulf that night. Maybe even that mermaid in Malpeque.”

The girls exchanged amused looks. Mermaids? Then, in a much less dramatic fashion, Simpson continued his story.

“What did surprise me was seeing someone out in weather like this. He must have been crazy. He was coming down this here road, and passed right in front of my window. Came from up there,” said Simpson, pointing up the road. “Up from Arrowhead. Nothing much out that way except woods, sand and water. No houses so no neighbours to visit. My guess is he was an eager-beaver beachcomber.”

Hannah frowned. If it was a dark and stormy night, how could Simpson see anything? She voiced her doubts and then fiddled with the tape recorder as Simpson turned his eyes on her.

“Dearie, see that there light next to the red fishing shanty,” he growled, pointing straight ahead and across the road. Perched on the corner of the roof, a round aluminum umbrella sheltered a light bulb, and it was aimed on the road. “We call it Little Mabel because it was the now late Mabel Higgins who first suggested we put it up, God rest her snooty soul. It lights up the whole road and part of the harbour. Helps me keep an eye on things at night, if you get my meaning.”

They didn’t.

“Can you describe him?” asked Hannah after a slight pause, glancing at Emily’s ‘map.’ She could recognize the road, and the fishing shanty, but that stick figure was a bit troubling. It looked like it was fishing. Scratching her head, Hannah wondered what exactly Emily was looking at?

“Well, he looked like he had dark hair, but that was hard to tell since he was soaked. Had no umbrella you see. Anyways, he had this long raincoat, some dark brown or green in colour. It was them fancy kinds that you would wear to church. He was carrying a lantern. Not a flashlight. He was tall. And he moved kinda fast, not like a real old-timer. Wasn’t fat either.”

Pencil poised in the air, Emily asked if the mysterious stranger was carrying anything.

“Nothing that I could make out other than that lantern,” said Simpson, shaking his head. “However, now that I think about it, I must say that his other hand was hugged to his chest, real tight like, as if he had something under his coat that he didn’t want to fall out.”

The girls quickly looked at each other, clearly excited by this little tidbit of information. Treasure! Always thinking ahead, Lucy said, “Maybe he found one of the stray kittens that Mrs. Wilson takes care of.” She hoped it was enough to draw Simpson’s attention away from her juicy idea.

“Perhaps,” nodded Simpson. “Them darn cats are everywhere. Agatha needs to stop feeding those beasts. They’re overrunning French River. Nasty creatures.”

Emily shot Simpson a dirty look. In return, Hannah’s foot shot out and booted her sister in the butt, silencing her from any further comment.

Oblivious to this episode of sisterly love, Simpson picked up his net and went back to work, tying the loose and frayed ends. It was obvious he had no more to say on the matter. The girls thanked him for his time, and made their way back up the road.

Emily’s map was interesting. Birds flew in the sky, trees grew in the water, and boats floated on land. “File it away for future reference when they decide to take a trip to Wacky Ville,” sighed Hannah.

“Obviously someone was at the beach. And they were desperate enough to go out in that kind of weather. They must have seen the wreck first, knew what they were looking for, and found it. We need to find out what that was,” said Lucy.

“Why?” asked Emily.

“Because whatever it was, they took it without permission,” Lucy patiently lectured. “Archaeologists and scientists like to study these things. If it was an important ‘relic’ it needs to be in a museum. That way everyone can see it. Pirates steal. I think he’s a modern day pirate, plundering treasure from shipwrecks.”

Tucking away their detective kits in pockets and purses, the girls headed back to the Buzzel House, eager to start on the next part of their adventure.

CHAPTER SIX

ARROW HEAD

Tales of shipwrecks and hidden treasure have fascinated both young and old since time immemorial. Stories of boats lost at sea and mysterious disappearances of crew or cargo have been a vital part of the island’s storytelling repertoire. And much to the delight of the girls, many of the rotting remains of ships of all shapes and sizes, sunken skeletons of wood and metal, lay scattered deep within the clear waters of PEI.

“Scarier yet are the whispers from the ghosts of lost souls who roam aimlessly along the coast’s beaches and burial grounds,” intoned Lucy, trying to set the mood. The girls eagerly made their way down the winding path that led to Arrowhead beach, with their parents trailing not far behind. “There it is, off to the left. Last one there is a square!”

Although not one of the more popular areas for sunken ships, French River had unusual currents that swept in and out of the small bay located off to the right of Arrowhead Beach. These same currents that tragically drowned unsuspecting swimmers often also deposited an abundance of artifacts for those knowing where to look.

Lucy’s family had been coming down for years now, wading through the shallow shore during low tide, searching for artifacts from these ancient shipwrecks. Shards of pottery, broken old medicine bottles, rusted square-peg nails and small pieces of Blue Willow china filled their buckets whenever they combed the beach. Never in their wildest dreams though did the girls expect something bigger than those trinkets to wash in.

Just past the grassy dunes, all three girls came to a sudden stop.

“Wow,” they said in unison and with varying degrees of emotion:

Reverential: “It’s beautiful,” gasped Hannah.

Relieved: “It’s still here,” said Lucy.

Disappointed: “It’s dirty,” stated Emily.

Indeed, the old wreck was still in the same position since its unexpected landing that stormy April night. Staff from the PEI Museum & Heritage Foundation had secured it with giant pegs nailed down into the sand, hoping to prevent it from being washed back out by rogue waves. So far, so good.

The museum claimed that the 700-kilogram treasure from the past looked to be old timbers fashioned with hand tools and put together with wooden pegs. These were sure signs that the wreck was not of modern origin, thought Hannah.

Gazing down at the 10 meter-long wooden structure, the three girls let their imaginations run wild. Emily first thought of ghosts. Then she imagined a clawed hand poking out from underneath the bottom edge of the plank nearest her foot. Jumping clear across the sand and Hannah’s feet, she splashed into a pool of water and face planted. Safe, at least! Imagination had to have its limits, she thought.

“This might be the remains of a pirate ship,” cried Hannah. “I just love pirate stories. I have so many books at home. Did you know that according to some legends there was even a woman pirate? Her name was Arabella Drummond and the ship was called the Bold Adventure. And there were rumours that she sailed near the coast of Newfoundland. Maybe she came here too. You never know!”

“Hannah, you’re babbling,” cautioned Lucy, the calm and analytical one of the bunch, as their parents caught up with them. “Get a hold of yourself. This isn’t a pirate ship. But maybe it’s one of those tall ships that came looking for the New World.”

“Actually, Mr. Rousseau from the museum told us that he suspects this piece may have broken loose following erosion near a breakwater in Cavendish,” explained Roger. Lucy’s dad was like a walking encyclopedia, but with a great sense of humour. “The violence of the April storm was the last straw and the wreck was finally pulled off its resting place. Then it got caught up in the immense currents of the sea.

“Storms are a part of life here on the island, and there is a good chance we might see more artifacts like this coming ashore,” he continued. “This piece probably came from a ship that was lost at sea during the Yankee Gale. A hundred years ago there was no regulated PEI fishing industry like today. Back then anyone could come from anywhere and fish here, and then take away whatever they hauled in. A fleet of American boats was fishing off the waters of the island when the storm came in, crushing them.”

Hannah remembered reading somewhere that one of the most tragic of all marine disasters in PEI was the Yankee Gale of 1881. On the afternoon of Friday, October 3rd, the weather was ideal. The cold had not yet set in and the sea was calm. As the day came to an end however, local islanders began to worry. Skies to the north and north-west began to darken ominously and a violent gale arose.

Much to the horror of everyone, this wind stuck around for two days. By the time it abated, over 100 boats from the New England fishing fleet were destroyed or damaged, and hundreds of people were reported dead or missing. Many of the area’s graveyards became the final resting place for the dead sailors.

The August Gale was another fierce storm that swept the area on August 24, 1873. Within a few hours the evening temperature dropped from a comfortable 21 degrees Celsius to a chilly 8 degrees. Along with the cold came violent winds and heavy rains. The sea was a mess, and once again many boats and lives were lost.

It was hard for the girls to imagine that the sea in which they swam could be so dangerous. The horrors of death were so remote to them. Shipwrecks happened to someone else, long ago, and were exciting. Still, Hannah was troubled as she gazed down at the scarred hull of the boat. Living people actually fished on this boat, just like she did when she went deep-sea fishing with her dad. Hannah struggled to understand her sudden sadness, but it seemed so complicated.

As the grownups continued talking about the past, Lucy told her friends to follow her. Once out of earshot, she whispered, “We need to make a closer examination of this wreck. See that opening to your left? That’s where I crawled in. Go in and take a look once the parents leave.”

Hannah nodded, took off her backpack, snapped open its top and rooted around inside. A few seconds later her hand came out holding a small flashlight that she could wrap around her forehead. This would leave her hands free to explore without the struggle of a flashlight. They waited … and waited … and waited some more …. Grownups sure could talk a lot.

Ages later, Meg ran off after a seagull, and the adults followed the wayward dog. With not a minute to lose, the girls bounded back to the boat and Hannah crawled inside. The sand underneath her hands was still damp, and pieces of seaweed got caught in her fingers. Shaking them off, she continued to make her way forward. Coming to the end of the road, she turned on her headlight.

“Ouch!”

“Are you OK, Hannah?” asked a nervous Emily. She always worried when Hannah got hurt. Her parents thought that was a good sign that she was actually capable of a bit of compassion!

After the murky darkness, the bright light from the headlight almost blinded her. “I’m OK,” she called out, and then went back to exploring. “I found the spot with the scratches.”

The scratches were etched into the wood, perhaps 8 centimeters long and not very deep. Right beside the scratches however, was a deep gouge where chunks of wood had been chipped away. It had a square outline. She looked closer at the scene of the crime and noticed a streak of dark reddish brown on the wood, just below the square. It definitely looked like blood. Glancing down she saw the splintered pieces that lay half-buried in the sand around her knees. She missed kneeling on them by inches. Phew!

Picking up one of the pieces, Hannah used it to idly scrape the sand around her. Nothing. Frustrated, she drove the tip of the splinter deep into the ground between her knees. Thump! She hit something! Digging faster with her hands, Hannah groped in the sand until her hand closed around something. Bringing it closer to her headlight, she brushed off the red sand and beheld a pocketknife.

The blade was still opened but was broken off close to the base of the knife. There was more of what looked like blood on the end of the broken blade. The pale wood handle felt rough under Hannah’s fingers, and faint shapes could be seen. Carvings! Maybe it’s a name, she thought. Wrapping it in a tissue, she carefully placed it in her jeans pocket. After a bit more unsuccessful digging, Hannah emerged from under the wreck, her hands full of splintered wood.

“You’ll never believe what I found,” she cried.

“Wood,” commented her sister.

“That too,” she agreed. “We’ll piece it together and see what it was before it got broken. Help me open my backpack.”

After Hannah secured her wood she pulled out the tissue and uncovered her find. In shocked silence, the three girls gaped at the knife.

“Oh … my… gosh!” Lucy gaped at the knife. “Our pirate must have used the knife to break the wood, and then dropped it in the sand. It must have gotten buried by accident and he couldn’t find it. What a clue! And look, there’s a name carved into the handle. I think it says W. M… n... I can’t make out the rest.”

The three heads huddled close together and with subdued excitement, they continued discussing the knife. However, they were completely unaware that someone was watching them. A stranger sat far back from the beach, partially hidden by the tall dune grasses. As the girls’ parents made their way back with Meg in tow, the stranger got up and headed into the woods behind the road that led into French River. Within seconds he was out of sight.

CHAPTER SEVEN

PLANSAND TRAPS

Back at the Buzzel house later that evening, Hannah carefully cleaned the knife with her archaeology brush (from a fossil kit she had bought in Ottawa’s Museum of Natural History). She then checked for fingerprints using a special black powder which she lightly sprinkled on the handle. No luck. The wooden handle looked like it was whittled by hand and was too rough to hold any prints. With a sigh, Hannah put her kit and the knife back in her bag.

“We’ll have to ask around and see if anyone lost a knife,” said Hannah. “But we can’t make it obvious. We don’t want anyone to know that we actually found something near the wreck. We might get into trouble for snooping around under there.”

“Yeah, that’ll be a piece of cake, Sherlock,” Emily quipped, artfully rolling her eyes. She was almost as good as Hannah but needed a bit more practice.

“I can also look through the phone book and see if there is a listing for W. M.,” added Lucy. “If that doesn’t work, then I’ll talk to Mr. Wayne again and see if he knows anyone by those initials in French River.”

“And I will keep Meg occupied so she doesn’t get in our way,” added Emily. Personally, she thought that was one of her more brilliant ideas. Emily and Meg had a special relationship. Emily chased Meg. Meg ran away. She simply loved Meg to bits and followed the poor dog everywhere. Hannah thought it was a wonder Emily actually stuck close to the wreck this afternoon, what with Meg practically begging to play Frisbee.

Normally Emily would have been chasing Meg up and down the beach, neither tiring of playing fetch. But she desperately ached to be a part of Hannah’s ‘big-girl world.’ Tagging along with her sister made Emily feel more important, even though she did not always understand, or even care about what was going on.

Before leaving Lucy’s house, the girls promised to meet up as soon as their parents allowed. They needed to plan their next move. On the drive back, Emily fell over onto Hannah’s lap, exhausted by the hectic day. She was fast asleep within minutes. Usually Hannah did not tolerate Emily sleeping on her (she tended to drool), but this evening she was deep in thought, trying to puzzle out the meaning of the knife. She leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. Within minutes she too was asleep.

The next day dawned bright and hot. And noisy! Frustrated, Hannah slammed her blue Harry Potter pillow over her head, muffling the sounds that were coming from right above her.

“Squirrels!” she said disgustedly. Normally she thought they were cute furry brown things and she enjoyed listening to them chatter in the trees. But not today. Today they were hopping all over the vinyl tent covering of the camper.

Making an effort, Hannah squinted from under her pillow. She sat up instantly. She was staring face to face with one of these suckers. He was hanging off the screen window like a mini vampire, glaring at her. Hannah swore she saw tiny fangs sticking out from his upper lip! Beady little black eyes bored into her skull. On the smallish side, the mangy squirrel had a small scar over his left eye. He also had a stumpy tail.

“Crazy squirrel! Shoo.” Hitting the screen mesh, Hannah watched the diabolical little rodent drop like a stone off the tent. Plunk! “Bye-bye. Have a nice trip Squirrellee!” Smiling, she snuggled down into her sleeping bag and prepared to go back to sleep. Cracking open one eye, she glanced at the digital clock sitting beside the sink.

“Nine o’clock! Way too early,” she mumbled. With very little effort, she started drifting off again, dreaming of….

“WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!!!!!!!!!”

Flying out of bed, Hannah’s legs got tangled in the sleeping bag and she went down hard on the floor.

“What are you yelling about?” she shouted to Emily. “You made me fall out of bed.”

“THERE’S SOMETHING IN THE CAMPER,” cried Emily, not lowering the decibels. “It’s right under my bed, in one of the storage containers. Just shut up for a change and LISTEN!”

Eyes near bursting from their sockets and hair all twisted in ugly knots, Emily pointed to a spot near her feet. Standing as still as possible, Hannah strained to listen. Sure enough, she could hear furtive scratching noises. Then a thump. Scratching. Thump.

“Something’s hitting the lid,” whispered Hannah. “We need to get Dad. Fast!”

She sprinted out the door, leaving poor Emily alone with the evil monster. In record time she was back with her small army. Mom, Dad and the Bean (hanging precariously onto Hannah’s middle finger), found Emily huddled in the far corner of the camper, knees drawn to her chin and staring wildly ahead. A shaking finger pointed down.

“The noise is coming from there, where we keep our Trivial Pursuit game and drawing papers.”

Hannah watched her dad cautiously lift the cushions off the offending storage box. Slowly he opened the lid. Wow, thought Hannah. A garbage bag worth of shredded white paper filled the box to the brim. Chewed up cardboard game pieces added colour to the pile. Poking aside the mess of paper with a fly swatter, Dad carefully looked for the monster. Suddenly, a pair of black beady eyes poked up out of the mess. A small scar was over its left eye!

“CRAZY SQUIRREL!” shouted Emily, at which the squirrel promptly disappeared into its little mountain of paper. The last thing Hannah saw was a stumpy tail being quickly pulled back in. Banging shut the lid of the box, Dad went outside, looking underneath the camper.

After listening to her dad while he let off a few choice swear words, Hannah managed to make out the fact that the squirrel had chewed a nice big hole in the bottom of the camper, right where the storage box was located. Dad came storming back inside and asked the girls whether they had food stored away somewhere.

“Only our chocolate bars,” said Hannah. “And they weren’t in the box. Besides, with the lid closed, the squirrel is trapped in there. He can’t come into the tent.

“Where did you keep your chocolate?” asked Dad.

Turning to point to the counter opposite the storage box, Hannah found herself staring at the empty wrappers. Mr. Bean stared too.

“My Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup! Emily, you ate it!”

“Did not! You ate my Mars bar.”

“Did not!”

“WATCHA DOIN?!”

“Girls, enough!” yelled Mom. “You too, Mr. Bean!”

“Poop, Mr. Bean!”

After giving the bird a dirty look, Mom turned back to her daughters and told the girls to take a closer look at the chocolate bar wrappers. Sure enough Hannah could see tiny teeth marks etched into some melted chocolate.

“He scraped it clean! I can’t believe it.” Hannah turned to her dad. “But how did he get in? The windows were screened and the door was closed. It wasn’t through the box!”

Everyone started searching the camper, looking for an opening. Minutes passed.

“Oh no!” wailed Mom, pointing to the screen where Hannah had her bed. On the bottom of the screen was a big hole. Small mesh shavings littered the foot of the bed. More swearing from Dad.

“We have to trap him and then take him far away from here,” he said, rubbing his hands together with an evil glee as he planned his attack. “I’ll use the red cooler box as the trap. Hannah, get some peanuts from the Bean. It’ll be our bait.”

“Watcha doin?” Again from the Bean.

Dad set to work quickly. He tied some string to a cork, and then placed the cork between the hinged door of the cooler, propping it open. Inside the cooler he scattered a handful of peanuts. When he pulled the string, the lid came crashing closed. The cooler was then placed near the camper. Dad set up his camp chair about 8 feet away, holding the string in one hand while drinking his coffee in the other.

“Perfect! Now we wait.”

Ten minutes later Dad was carrying a noisy cooler to the car, trying to hold it steady as the enraged rodent banged around inside. Once he was back he told everyone that he let the squirrel off near the Darnley Greens golf course, a couple of kilometers from the house.

“Maybe now he’ll keep busy chasing balls instead of destroying our camper.”

The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough. The girls tidied up in the camper, making sure the remaining chocolate bars were back in the house. Dad sewed up the squirrel hole in the tent and then patched up the hole in the storage box using a piece of tin. “Let’s see the little tree rat try to get through that!”

In the meantime, Mom vacuumed the house which meant a bath for the Bean. Unlike other normal parrots, Mr. Bean hated water. However, for some reason the vacuum cleaner forced him to seek out water. But even this trick had its limits and the crazy bird would not take more than one bath per week, if they were lucky!

After lunch the girls changed into their bathing suits and decided to ride their bikes down to the beach at Twin Shores. Hannah’s mom and dad joined the girls a couple of hours later, bringing down boogie boards, sand toys, beach umbrellas, chairs and most importantly, food! A bag of ketchup chips, chocolate chip cookies, and sliced cucumbers (for Emily) were gobbled up in no time.

“Mom, did you bring anything to drink?”

“Oops!”

“Dad, do you have any money for slushies?”

“Oops!” again.

“Mommy, I’m shriveling up from thirst!” cried Emily.

“I guess we’ll have to walk around the beach and collect empty bottles,” Hannah sighed while searching through the cooler for plastic bags. “We can cash them in at the General Store and use the money to buy the slushies. With the two of us taking different sections of the camp site, we can cover a lot of ground. Let’s go.”

An hour later the girls came back with blue-red and orange slushies brimming in clear plastic containers. “That was hard work. We had to beg for more bags because we found so many bottles. I guess everyone likes to drink in this heat. We couldn’t carry the beer bottles though, so we left them.”

“It was heartbreaking!” sniffed Emily, having a hard time forgiving Hannah for forcing her to throw money away like that. “All those beer bottles would have made us rich! Hundreds of dollars!”

A perfect eye roll from Hannah.

After a quick supper of grilled cheese sandwiches the family gathered around the campfire in the backyard, roasting marshmallows and hotdogs until the evening turned too cool to remain outside. It had been a fun-filled day of squirrel hunting, swimming in the ocean, making sandcastles and eating junk food on the beach. There was no mention of the Arrowhead mystery, and it was refreshing to take a little break in between their detective work.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ASUSPECT

The following day Lucy called the girls and begged them to come over in the afternoon. The Smiths had been out on Wayne’s boat earlier in the morning and Lucy had just gotten back. Breathlessly, she told Hannah to come over quick! Something had happened while they were out!

Hannah’s mom dropped the girls off at the Buzzel House, promising to be back before supper. Meg came bounding out around the side of the house as soon as she saw the car. Out on the back porch, Lucy’s parents looked up, distracted by the sudden racket. They had been completely absorbed in what looked like a serious talk with a grey-haired man.

“Everyone, I would like you to meet Mr. Bill Malone,” said Roger as he introduced his guest. “We seemed to have had some excitement while no one was home. A break-in, as a matter of fact. I don’t think anything was taken, but they sure made a big mess, especially in Lucy’s room. For some reason whoever came in here was mighty interested in her things.”

Wide-eyed, the girls could not believe the news. This had never happened to the Smiths. They never even locked their door. Someone was looking for something and the girls were afraid of what that was. “Did the neighbours see anything?” Hannah asked.

Nodding her head, Lucy’s mom, Alice, turned to Mr. Malone. “Actually, Bill did. He was coming back from fishing in the harbour this afternoon when he heard a large crash coming from our house. As he hurried up the drive, he saw someone running out and disappearing into the field and –”

“Something didn’t feel right,” cut in Bill. “So I decided to take a look. By the time I made it up to the top of your drive the burglar was gone. That’s when I noticed that the backdoor window was broken. I didn’t call the police because I wasn’t sure that your parents would have liked that. So I decided to wait for them to get home. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a good look at the intruder, so I’m little help to the police.”

Bill directed his entire conversation towards the girls, keenly watching their reactions. He seemed unusually pleased by their uneasiness. Meg was barking again as two Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) approached Roger and Alice. As her parents moved off to make their report, Lucy turned to Bill, looking thoughtful. “Are you from around here? I don’t remember seeing you here before.”

As if expecting this line of questioning, Bill quickly replied, “I just rented the Davis place. It’s been for sale since April when I was last here, looking at houses to buy. I left the day before the storm hit that brought in the wreck. I usually never stay in one place for too long, but I have some interests here. So I decided to come back and give this place a try before I actually bought into the area.”

“What are those … interests?” asked Hannah, very curious about Malone. There was something about Bill that she did not fully trust. She just couldn’t put her finger on exactly what that was.

“Oh, this and that,” said Bill. “I like to dabble in history and research, and this place offers some interesting potential. Take that wreck down at Arrowhead for instance. Where did it come from? What mysteries does it hold? If those planks of wood could talk, I bet they would have many stories to tell. Do you girls have any special stories? Maybe I can use them in my research.”

“What are you researching?” asked Hannah.

“Island shipwrecks. A most interesting topic, in my opinion. Did you know that many of the sailors who died during shipwrecks are now buried in PEI’s local cemeteries? Those graves hold many secrets. It would be interesting to know something about them. After all, those men sailed on boats that went down and only the dead know what was hidden away in cargo holds. Maybe the Arrowhead wreck held a few secrets of its own.”

“What kind of secrets?” asked Emily in a hushed voice. Shrugging his shoulders, Bill said “Don’t know, but I wouldn’t mind finding out.”

“Most of those shipwrecks were really only fishing boats,” said Lucy. “Not much of a story there.”

“Of course,” replied Malone, an enigmatic smile on his face

Hannah did not like where this conversation was going. Just who was Mr. Bill Malone, and why was he really there? He seemed to be fishing for information. “We went to visit the wreck too, but didn’t find anything mysterious about it.”

“Really?”

Unconvinced, Bill stared down at the girls. He was actually an old man, maybe about 70 years old. He was dressed casually, in faded and baggy blue jeans and a white Nike t-shirt. The silence stretched, with no one saying another word. Finally, Emily broke in and asked him how he did with his fishing.

“My fishing?” He looked momentarily confused but then quickly got back on track. “Oh yes, the fishing I did this afternoon. I had no luck. I guess they didn’t like my bait.” He glanced away from the girls, and looked towards the house. “I see the police are done looking around inside the house. I think they’ll want to speak to me too.” He started to walk off but stopped suddenly and turned to face them again.

“I wouldn’t play around that wreck too much if I were you. It might be dangerous. You never know what can happen with these old things. Sharp nails and stuff like that. I think it would be much safer if you forgot all about the wreck … for your own good.”

The girls watched Malone walk off and then ran to the tree house near the woodshed, climbing up onto the small platform.

“What was that all about?” demanded Hannah, clearly upset by Bill’s last words.

“That sounded like a threat!” said Lucy. “For some reason he doesn’t want us snooping around the old boat. I think he’s afraid we’ll discover something.”

“Do you think he was the stranger that Wayne saw the night the wreck washed in?” asked Hannah.

“I don’t know.” Lucy shook her head slowly, thinking. “He said he left the area before the storm came in. He could be lying about that, but we can’t prove it. All he would have to do is hide out without anyone seeing him. And Wayne never saw his face.”

“Mr. Wayne also said the man he saw the night of the storm had dark hair, but that could have been due to the rain,” said Hannah. “It was also dark, so who knows what the stranger’s real hair colour was. Grey can easily look dark when it’s wet.”

“Do you think he knows about the knife?” asked Emily. “Maybe it’s his!”

Hannah and Lucy looked stunned. The knife! Maybe that’s what the burglar was looking for. He probably thought that Lucy had the knife hidden in her room and came looking for it. In fact, Hannah still had it in her backpack. But why the interest? Could it be that someone actually saw them find it? They never really paid much attention to the other people down at the beach. Maybe they should have been more careful, but who would have thought they were in danger.

“His story about the burglary sounded phony to me,” intoned Hannah. She started ticking off her fingers. “First of all, he couldn’t describe the burglar. If Malone was really in the driveway and saw the guy running away, he should have had a clear view. After all, it’s the middle of the afternoon, with lots of light out. He was not that far away from the ‘supposed’ burglar.

“Secondly, why was the back door broken? Your parents don’t lock it so anyone could go in. It seems like someone wanted to make it look like a real burglary. Why?

“And third, for someone who came from a fishing expedition, where was his gear?”

The three friends exchanged puzzled looks. Deep in thought, they sat high up in the old maple, watching the house from their platform. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves and warm sunshine dappled the girls’ faces. “I think we need to keep an eye on Mr. Malone.”

CHAPTER NINE

JACK JACK

The Crazy Squirrel came back!

“Daaaadd!!!!!!” The camper swayed erratically. Whacking noises beat an unusual rhythm. The tent’s soft side walls shook with each whack.

“Hannah, what’s wrong?” yelled Dad from the roof of the house. He was desperately trying to reach the ladder. Strong winds were wreaking havoc with anything and everything that was not securely tied down, including the rickety wooden ladder which kept on angling away from the house.

The camper door slammed open and Hannah bounded outside, arms waving wildly above her head. “The Crazy Squirrel is back! He’s running around inside the camper, mad as hell!”

“Oh … My … God! Dad!!!! Hannah said a bad word,” yelled Emily, face planting in the grass in front of the camper, completely missing the first step down. Bad habit, that face planting, thought Hannah, not even remotely trying to suppress her giggles.

“Hah! That’s what happens when you don’t mind your own business,” Hannah shot back. Picking herself up while sticking her tongue out at Hannah, Emily quickly made her way to the side of the house. The ladder was now barely gripping the corner ledge of the house’s roof.

“Emily, push the ladder back towards the window,” advised Dad. “I’ll come down and see about the squirrel, but I doubt it’s the same one.”

“It’s definitely the Crazy Squirrel. Same scar and same stumpy tail. And he is NOT pleased. But go see for yourself. By the way, what were you doing up on the roof?”

“I had to patch the chimney area with tar where the rain was coming in,” explained Dad. “We need to get this house as dry as possible so that those black water beetles don’t come in anymore. They love the dark and the damp. But they freak your mother out, and she hates to hear them flying around at night.”

Shuddering at the thought, Emily heartily agreed with Mom for a change. Quite simply put, they were disgusting. And at night they flew in her hair and climbed into her clothes that were lying on the floor. Yuck! Now she had to put her clothes in the laundry hamper. Talk about slave labour. “Go get him Dad!” Although out loud she voiced total confidence in her dad, in truth she was not sure who would actually win, squirrel or man.

Wiping his black and sticky hands on his pants, Dad warily made his way to the open camper door. He slowly peeked inside. Suddenly he pulled back and slammed the door!

“Unbelievable! He’s staring right at me.”

The Crazy Squirrel set up such a racket, squeaking and chirping, making a loud clicking noise. As soon as it saw Dad it pounced on the screen window of Hannah’s bed, and scrambled outside through a newly chewed hole on the other side of the tent. Sure enough, Emily was right. As the neurotic rodent glanced back for a last look, Dad saw the scar. Then the stumpy tail disappeared through the hole.

“I can’t believe he came back,” said Dad, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s just not possible. I dumped him far away.”

“The cat came back, the very next day,” chanted Hannah under her breath. She thought the whole thing hilarious. As Dad opened the door again, Crazy Squirrel came bouncing over the roof of the camper, hopping closer and closer towards his sworn enemy. More squeaks and trills could be heard in the nearby branches of the spruce as other squirrels joined in on the excitement.

Battle stations! Human attack plans were drawn up. Squirrel territories were invaded. Chases ensued. It was pure and utter chaos.

“This is war,” bellowed Dad as he shook his fist at the brown fur balls frantically running around him. He marched quickly back into the house. A minute later he emerged with the red cooler, cork and string in hand. A bag of peanuts bulged from his pants pocket.

Throughout the morning, squirrels were trapped and forcibly removed to greener pastures many more kilometers away than the Darnley Golf Course. In the end, Dad managed to entice six squirrels into his homemade trap, including the Crazy Squirrel. They were transported, one at a time, to Sea View, located about 8 kilometers away. All this activity used up half a tank of gas. Was it worth it? You bet!

“That should do it,” he nodded with satisfaction. “Got the Crazy Squirrel, and five more to boot. They were insurance, just in case any of them decided to follow in Crazy’s footsteps. Unlike the Acadian deportation of the 1700s, the tree rats got what they deserved.”

Hannah thought it was more about revenge than anything else. No squirrel was going to beat her dad.

The remainder of the day passed quietly. It was a hazy lazy kind of afternoon. The gusting wind turned into a gentle breeze. Across the road from the Blue Lobster, tall yellow rye grass swayed slowly, flirting with the butterflies that hovered above. Hannah watched as small bees gathered pollen from the wild rose bushes that bordered the front porch. Emily bugged Mr. Bean, trying to entice him to wake up from the afternoon nap he was taking in his cage. He was strategically positioned under a red beach umbrella, enjoying the warm weather, head tucked back under his wing, stubbornly ignoring all poking and prodding.

“Hi! My name’s Jack, but my friends call me Jack Jack.”

Surprised at the sudden intrusion, Hannah jumped off the stairs where she had been sitting, quietly reading her Hardy Boys book. She came face to face with a blond-haired blue-eyed boy about her age. Emily came dashing up from the side of the house to critically inspect the strange boy.

“You’ve got freckles,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Yup, and they get worse in the summer,” agreed Jack. “I read somewhere that you can get rid of them by rubbing lemon juice over the spots. So I gave it a shot. Made no difference that I could see, but my ma said I smelled as good as her clean laundry. That’s me, fresh lemony scent Jack Jack.”

He had a big smile plastered across his face as he continued to gaze at the girls, and then the Bean. He did a double-take. Where was the bird’s head?!

“Where are you from?” asked Emily. Hannah hung back, a bit shy. She usually let her sister break the ice first, and then made friends when she was sure they didn’t bite. Sometimes Emily had her uses, thought Hannah. Guess everyone needed to have a use in life, even the Bozo.

“I’m visiting my grandparents. They live just down the field in the back of your house,” said Jack, pointing behind Hannah to George and Helen’s small white house. “I usually come down from Summerside to stay here during the hot weather. Grandpa told me he cuts the grass at your place and said I should introduce myself. So here I am. Want to go visit a cemetery?”

“What?” choked Hannah, unexpectedly uttering her first word since Jack came on the scene. “What are you talking about?” She stared at Jack, unsure if he was the type of person who would turn into a werewolf on a full moon. A cemetery, of all things! Although … he certainly had a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“There’s a really cool cemetery in French River that not many tourists know about,” said Jack, bending towards Hannah in his eagerness to convince the unwilling. “Grandpa’s going to visit my uncle Fred after supper. He lives down near the harbour and he can take us with him. The cemetery is not far from there. It might be a bit dark by the time we get there, but I can borrow a big flashlight. Grandpa’s got one of those that he claims gives off a million candle lights worth of brightness.”

“My dad bought one that has two million candles,” boasted Emily. “He’s a flashlight junkie. The bigger, the better. He has a whole bunch of them. And going to this cemetery, especially in the dark, is just plain crazy. Only stupid people would even think of doing that.”

“What’s so special about this place?” interrupted Hannah, still wondering what Jack was all about. She also noticed his sudden odd behaviour. Jack kept looking around as if a ghost or something was eavesdropping on his conversation. He also looked a bit nervous, constantly licking his lips. It was a change from his jovial introduction. Emily, in the meantime, took three steps back and away from Jack, eying him with much skepticism.

“You know how ships used to sink in the sea in the old days because of the wild storms?” he whispered conspiratorially. “Well, there are a whole lot of shipwrecks scattered around there. Where do you think the bodies disappeared to? I’ll tell you! They got washed up on our beaches. The locals who found them didn’t want to go far to bury the bodies so they planted them nearby. My cemetery is one of the burial grounds people used for the sailors who died during the Yankee Gale. Guess what it’s called?”

Silence.

“Yankee Hill Pioneer Cemetery. Original, huh?”

Jack paused for effect, expecting screams. Better yet, maybe Hannah would fall into his arms and ask for his protection. That would be great. She was really pretty, with her long dark hair. What a smile. And she had freckles too. Dark skin and freckles. Imagine that.

Silence.

Jack laughed. Girls! They were afraid of their own shadow. No one of the female persuasion had ever taken him up on his offer. Not that he was disappointed much. Graveyards were not exactly his thing either. He much preferred playing a good game of Mission Impossible on his Nintendo. But he also liked showing off, and most of the girls thought he was really brave for even suggesting such a thing. And he definitely wanted to impress his new neighbour.

“Okay, we’ll go,” said Hannah finally. There was absolutely no hesitation. “But I’m going to ask our friend Lucy to come with us. We usually go to the Cavendish Cemetery and do grave rubbings. I like to hang the rubbings in my room. They’re really interesting. I found one last year of 10-year-old girl called Leila Rose. She died in 1888. There was a lamb carved on her white tombstone. I thought it was pretty cool.”

Jack Jack’s mouth hung wide open.

“What’s wrong, Jack? Your chin’s touching your shoes!” Emily smiled, all innocent-like. “Did you actually think we would say no?”

Hannah also smiled to herself. People were always shocked when she mentioned her grave rubbings. She loved doing them. Tombstones, especially in the older graveyards, had so many stories to tell. Her mom found a really interesting one last year in Cavendish. A woman died at the age of 43, sometime in the late 1800s. Her entire family was buried all around her grave. There were two markers for her babies who died a few years apart at the age of one and two years old. Then her son died at the age of 18. And finally her 23-year-old daughter died two years after the mother. A tragic story, thought Hannah. This woman must have had a lot of sadness in her life.

“Well … okay,” stammered Jack. “I guess I’ll see you after supper then. We’ll pick you up at seven o’clock.” In a daze, Jack headed back to his house. Shaking his head, he muttered “They actually said yes! I just don’t get them…. Girls!”

CHAPTER TEN

GHOSTS AHOY !

Four shadows quickly flitted past the rows of fishing boats tied up in the harbour at French River. The slowly setting sun cast a warm glow on everything, bathing the still water with a golden light. There was Wayne Simpson’s Lost Horizon. Wayne looked up from the stern of his boat as the children passed silently by.

“Them kids look like they’re up to something,” he mumbled, staring off after them. Then, without a second thought, he went back to his repairs. A couple of nails peeked through his pursed lips as he hammered in a loose plank. Seeing Lucy reminded him of the upcoming supper at the Smiths. He just loved Alice’s home cooking, even though he would die a thousand deaths before he admitted it to her. Although his cod cakes were second to none, at least according to his old girlfriend Nancy, Alice’s were even better. He hoped that she’d make some more of that tomorrow night.

Meanwhile, Jack led the three girls farther up along the path. A few minutes after leaving the relative peace of the harbour, the sandy road turned sharply to the right and the group made their way towards a small copse of woods. Beech, elms and maples gently rustled their leaves and cast long shadows in the darkening evening. Every once in a while, a branch creaked in the wind, stirring up birds settled down for the night.

Suddenly Jack stopped and three bodies bumped into him, thump, thump, thump, sending him sprawling in the red dirt.

“Why did you do that for?” he demanded, sitting up and brushing the dirt off his bright yellow sweater that sported thick black stripes.

“Next time don’t stop like that without warning us, Bumblebee,” said Lucy.

“If you weren’t following so closely I would still be standing,” he shot back. “Now listen up. The graveyard is in those woods. Once the sun sets it gets pretty dark. I don’t want you girls getting scared, so if you want to turn back, now’s the time.”

“Nope, we’re fine, thanks,” Lucy assured him. She was all for joining the girls and their new friend on this mission of discovery. Although not interested in making her own grave rubbings, she enjoyed exploring this long lost cemetery. She and her parents had found this cemetery a few years ago while chasing Meg. It was perhaps half a kilometer away from the open sea and Arrowhead Beach. Many of the grave markers were overgrown with brambles and grass gone wild. Most of the lost souls buried here lay under unmarked graves, but every so often Lucy managed to uncover a tombstone that had a name and date etched faintly into the greying and mouldy rocks.

Shrugging his shoulders, Jack resumed walking. Glancing back he said “Just don’t come crying to me if you get scared.”

Hannah snorted. She wasn’t scared. Now, where was her flashlight again? Ah yes, the top front pocket of her coat. Lucy told them to dress in pants and a jacket. The nights get cool on the island, but it was the mosquitoes that were worse. They were voracious pests and swarmed the unwary victim, sucking up all of her blood. Vampires with wings. Shaking her head, Hannah forced herself to think happy thoughts. She was too good at scaring herself.

Finally, after an uneasy 10 minute walk, they reached the edge of the woods and paused to ready flashlights.

“Here we go,” said Emily softly, not at all convinced that she should be here. She gripped her flashlight tightly in one hand, and grabbed hold of Hannah’s coat with the other, reluctantly following her sister into the darkening woods.

As soon as they stepped into the old forest, the sunlight disappeared and the air turned cool and damp. The trees were tall, and grew close together, obliterating the sky with their leaves. Very little light penetrated this thick canopy. The dark giants stood watch, swaying in the wind, their creaking trunks the only noise in the eerie silence that filled this corner of the island.

“I don’t think I like this very much,” complained Emily. “This is spooky.”

Unfortunately, none of her compatriots seemed to have heard her, or cared about her plight for that matter.

“Ahhhhh!”

Jack went down again, tripping over a large rock half-buried in the mossy grass.

“You might be better off on your hands and knees instead of walking upright,” laughed Lucy, relieved that the scream was not ghost-related. “It seems you have too much trouble staying up.”

“Ha ha! Funny,” said Jack. “It’s all these rocks. You never know where they’ll pop up next. And I bet I scared you all.”

“They’re not rocks,” said Lucy, ignoring his teasing. “They’re tombstones. Or at least grave markers. Some of the dead were buried without anyone knowing their names. So the locals marked the burial spots with rocks. If you look closely, you can see a cross or an anchor scratched into the stone. Some of the bigger ones even have dates of when the bodies were found.”

Thick brush grew throughout the forest floor. Bright green ferns and thorny brambles wrapped themselves around tree trunks and caught tight to the kids’ jeans as they slowly made their way through the dense undergrowth. Hannah walked over to another bump in the grass and started digging around the edges. Sure enough she uncovered a large rock the size of a basketball. After brushing off the damp earth she could just barely make out the faint outline of a ship. No date though. Oh well.

“You’ll find bigger stones farther in where the trees have grown in more thickly,” instructed Lucy. Hannah, Emily and Jack followed her advice and broke apart, moving in different directions towards the ghostly white shapes.

Somewhere close by, an owl screeched a warning cry. Four white faces peered uneasily up into the trees, wondering if he was hooting at them.

“Wow, here’s a gorgeous one,” exclaimed Emily, excitedly jumping up and down. Hannah quickly joined her sister, helping to clear away some of the bigger branches of a wild chokecherry bush. “The trees and bushes have really gone wild here. No one’s come to clear any of this away, and it’s probably been over a hundred years that this place has been left alone.”

Shining the flashlight on the leaning tombstone, Hannah squinted, trying to focus on the inscription. “Here lies Ebenezer Scottsdale. May his sails catch the winds and carry him up to Heaven. Departed from this life in 1851, aged 27.”

Standing directly behind them, Jack spoke up suddenly and startled the two sisters. “You’ll find a few graves from the 1851 sea disaster when a whole fleet of American fishing boats went down in this huge storm. And if you notice, many of the tombstones are facing out towards the sea. I think that’s very creepy, as if the ghosts of the dead could actually look out to sea. Who would want to look out for all eternity at the place where they actually died? Sometimes adults make absolutely no sense!”

The sisters turned in the direction of Jack’s pointed finger and saw more tombstones. Although the setting sun was barely visible through the trees, the girls could still see that yes indeed, the graves faced west. The sun was setting, slowly sinking below the horizon, beyond the sea. Hannah approached the nearest grave marker, whipped out pencil and paper, and started rubbing the impression from the stone.

In the meantime Lucy was unsteadily weaving her way through what looked like a bramble of fallen twigs and wild rose bushes. Trailing vines wrapped greedy suckers over the branches of a nearby yellow birch, slowly choking the young tree. It seemed like everything wild and thorny was triumphantly taking over the burial ground, reclaiming the dead. The tombstones, monuments to past lives, were now being swallowed up by creeping green vegetation, ultimately suffocating in this woody embrace.

“Ouch!” yelled Lucy. “This darned rose bush has a lot of thorns. Guys, come help me clear it away. It seems that someone has already started removing some of the branches, and I want to see what they thought was so interesting.”

The job went quickly as all four kids helped lift, pull and break off the abundant growth surrounding Lucy’s find. Thistle spears poked out of their sweaters and the kids’ faces and hands were covered with dirt. Finally the work was done and four pairs of eyes studied the grey stone in front of them.

“What’s so special about this one?” asked Emily, disappointed. “It looks like all the rest, except that it’s grey. It’s also facing the other way, not like the tombstones we were looking at before. See, it’s crooked. Do you think there is a reason for that?”

“I don’t know,” said Jack, frowning in concentration. “This grave is also from the 1850s. I can’t make out the last number of the year though. It’s got an anchor carved on the top, so that usually means he was a sailor or was from a shipwreck. He was 48 when he died. Can any of you make out the name? There’s a lot of moss stuck in the grooves of the letters, so it’s really hard to read.”

“I have an idea.” Hannah took out another blank sheet of paper from her backpack. “We’ll rub it. Sometimes the impressions are clearer because only the letters are coming out on the paper, and not the moss and other gunk growing on the stone. Let’s see if this will work. Shine the flashlight over here.”

The four friends squatted beside the oddly placed stone, trying to make out the writing. “The first name looks like Silas,” said Jack. Holding up the paper in front of his eyes, “The last name looks like … I think … it’s … Malone.”

Gasp!

Looking up at the sudden noise, Jack noticed the three girls were eying each other in great excitement. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Lucy nonchalantly. “It’s just that the name sounded familiar. But lots of people must have the same name. After all, look how many Mackenzies are buried in Cavendish. And the island is so small that everyone knows everyone else, probably because they are, or have been, related at one point in time.”

“It’s really getting dark now,” spoke up Emily, nervously looking back towards the entrance to the cemetery.

“You know, the best part of coming here is that you never know what you will find,” said Jack, completely ignoring Emily’s unease. “A couple of years ago when I was digging around here –”

“You were DIGGING?!” burst out Hannah, not sure if she should be outraged at the idea, or impressed. “In a cemetery?”

“Sure,” boasted Jack, clearly proud of the effect of his alleged bravery. “I thought I might find some old pirate bones. I was a kid back then and loved listening to the pirate stories my grandpa told me. With all the shipwrecks around here, you would think that some of those ships would be pirate galleons. And if there be pirates, there be treasure, right me maties?!”

“So what were you looking for, treasure or bones?” sniffed Lucy, not all that impressed by the fake pirate talk. Why did boys always have to show off and goof around? Adventuring was a serious business, not to be taken lightly. At least according to Lucy’s definition.

“Well, actually, I lost my flashlight in a hole which was covered by a pile of dead branches,” admitted Jack, afraid of Lucy’s impatient foot tapping. “When I finished clearing away the branches, I bent down to get the flashlight out of the hole. As soon as I went down I felt a hard edge digging into my knee. I dug around a bit in the grass and surprise! I found an old coin. Grandpa said it’s an old sovereign, all the way from England. He also said it might have fallen out of the pockets of a dead sailor. In fact, there might be more coins … or other treasure, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, yeah. There might be, but it’s too dark to look now,” said Emily, desperately staring at the path home. “The sun has set, and it’s only going to get even darker. I don’t like graveyards at night. No way. There might be ghosts. I don’t like ghosts either. They’re dead.”

“Actually, it’s the best place to tell a ghost story,” smiled Jack. Not waiting for a response, he sat down against the Malone tombstone, wriggling around until he was comfortable. Patting the grass on either side of him, Jack invited the girls for a sit down. “Not scared are you?”

“Not at all,” laughed Hannah as she sat down next to Jack. “I love ghost stories. They’re soooo exciting.”

Lucy joined the giggling duo and sat on Jack’s other side. Emily on the other hand, reluctantly dragged herself close to her sister, clutching at Hannah’s hand and trying to cover her ears at the same time. With interesting results.

Whack!

“What was that for?!?!” screamed Emily.

“You stuck my fingers in your ears!!!” Hannah yelled back. “Gross me out!”

“Well, soo—rree,” sniffed Emily, rubbing the back of her hand. Offended, she scooted over to Lucy and buried her head under her friend’s arm. Now she was ready.

With no further complaints from anyone, Jack began his story…

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JACK ’ STALE

“There was once a pirate named Black Sam,” whispered Jack. “He was a mean old buccaneer who kidnapped and murdered many people for their gold. He was the perfect looking pirate. He had dark tanned skin from all his years sailing the open seas. His face was pockmarked from a childhood bout with small pox. Many of his teeth were missing or black with slimy gunk. And he had long stringy hair, and no one knew what colour it really was because it was always dirty, crawling with lice. They say he even had snakes wrapped around some of the braids, believe or not.”

“I don’t!” came Emily’s muffled voice.

“As I was saying, he lived for gold, whether it was gold coins or jewelry or even gold bars. He would do anything to get it, including killing his old man. He first started his swashbuckling life back in England, some time in the early 1800s. His ship, the Rogue Destiny, sailed all along the southern English coast, and Black Sam, along with an evil gang of pirates, pillaged nearby towns for many years.

“So great was his infamy that Black Sam was wanted wherever he sailed. As a result, he was forced to take his business offshore. He sailed all over the world, including Europe, Africa and South America, and continued to rob and kill. He would bury his treasure in many places, making note of them in a journal. He was an evil pirate captain and everyone trembled at the sight of him, especially if they had gold.”

“Some people have gold in their teeth,” said Hannah.

“He even took those,” continued Jack without missing a beat. “He would pull them out, just like this.” Jack snapped his fingers. “Eventually, he made his way to North America and roamed along the Atlantic Coast of the US and Canada, burying more treasure. The news of his arrival spread throughout the area and people were watching and waiting for him. And then something terrible happened. Just off the coast of PEI he met with a violent storm, like the Yankee Gale. Know about that?”

“Of course,” said Lucy. “You mentioned it before. Just continue.”

“Okay, well, you guys are pretty smart. For girls I mean. Now where was I?” Jack scratched his head, thinking hard. “Oh right, yes, Black Sam crashed into the treacherous rocks along the north shore. The Rogue Destiny smashed its hull against the dangerous ledge of rocks jutting out from the sea, near Rustico and she was sinking fast. The pirates had never in all their years of experience, seen a storm as terrible as this one. Many jumped into some rowboats and prayed they would make it to shore. Black Sam was desperate not to abandon his gold. The ship was full of his illegal bounty.

“Running out of time, Sam loaded as many treasure chests as he could fit into the one remaining row boat. He knew it was a risky move, and the weight of the boat might mean his death. Once in the water, he rowed for his life. The waves pounded at his tiny vessel, but he just laughed at the face of death as each deluge threatened to overturn him. But the evil rascal made it to shore, probably with the help of the devil, who had claimed his soul.

“He surveyed the area where his boat had washed up. It was the dead of night and he had a hard time making out the lay of the land. He wondered if his other mates were still alive, but did not really care one way or the other. His heart was black, through and through. After an hour of searching, he found the perfect spot and buried all the chests. Then he sat down to record the exact location. Patting his pockets with increasing panic, he let out a loud shriek –

“AAAHHHHHHHH!”

Everyone jumped and screamed.

“STOP THAT JACK!” yelled Emily, kicking at his feet.

“Sorry, but I had to get you in the mood, no? Anyway, old Black Sam had his comeuppance. His journal was gone. It must have stayed behind on the ship. The locations of all the treasure he had buried over the years were recorded in that book. It was the most important thing in his life. It was his life. He had to go back. So he hopped into the row boat and headed back to his sinking ship.

“Then tragedy hit. He was not far from the beach when an immense wave came crashing into his boat and swept him out to sea. Only the devil heard his dying curses. A few days later some fishermen found his body near New London and buried him in an unmarked grave.

“Not long after the old pirate drowned, another storm swept in from the north. Although not as savage, it still pounded the shore. A nearby lighthouse keeper, grimly watching the water for signs of floundering ships, saw a light flickering in the distance near the beach. Gathering some equipment he headed off to check out the light. When he arrived at the spot, the light was gone and there was no sign of a living soul. Just as he was about to turn towards home, the keeper saw a white ghostly shape slowly shuffling towards him, arms out, seaweed hanging from his soaked and tattered clothes.

“Terrified, the would-be rescuer dropped his lantern and took off running. When he looked back again to see if the ghost was following him all he saw were red eyes … the eyes of the devil. And then the night was broken by a blood curdling scream!”

“WHAT ARE YOU KIDS DOING HERE?!”

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE PLOT THICKENS

Shrieks pierced the night air again.

“What the –”

Scrambling to their feet, the panic-stricken kids stumbled over the jutting rocks that littered the graveyard.

“Hannah, run! It’s Black Sam!!” yelled Emily, frantically tugging at her sister’s sleeve. With all the tugging from Emily and dealing with her own shaking legs, Hannah had a hard time standing up, let alone running away.

Thud!

Lucy came down hard, tripping over a hidden tree root as she tried to make a run for it.

Thud!

Jack lay sprawled on top of Lucy, having tripped over the same root. “I think I wet my pants,” he cried.

“And I’m positive you left shoe prints on my back as you ran over me! Now get off me,” hissed Lucy.

“HOLD ON THERE,” boomed a deep voice. “Don’t I know some of you? Girls? We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

Emily peeked out from behind her sister. Hannah bent down to recover her discarded flashlight. The beam was unsteady, but as she focused it on the intruder, she hissed in surprise.

“Mr. Malone! You nearly scared us to death. What are you doing here?”

“That’s what I just asked you. This is no place for young kids, especially at this time of day … or night. Aren’t your parents worried about where you are? And who the hell are you?”

“Well sir,” started Jack, clearing his throat in readiness of a long and winded explanation. From much experience, he found that adults usually liked to explain things to him in much detail, taking hours to get to the point. His dad called it lecturing. He figured that’s just the way grownups worked. And he had practiced it often on his dog, Jack Jr. Jack Senior thought this was just the right time to practice his theory on a human.

“My name is –”

“We have to meet Jack’s grandpa at the harbour at 10 o’clock and then he’ll drive us home,” interrupted Emily, stepping forward from behind Hannah. Still shaking from the great scare she just endured, she was none too pleased to stand around listening to Jack’s long-winded explanation. However, she also enjoyed annoying the unsuspecting, and decided she should do just that to Malone. “We have lots of time to hang around.”

“You still shouldn’t be here.”Malone was clearly very irritated with the kids. He kept glancing towards Hannah and Lucy, who remained standing near the oddly placed tombstone. “You are not being respectful of the dead by trampling all over their graves. And telling ghost stories! What an idea. Kids nowadays! No sense of right from wrong.”

Lucy thought Malone seemed a bit too anxious to see them gone. With a sudden inspiration she said, “Mr. Malone, this might be just up your alley since you’re an historian. We just uncovered this tombstone, you see, and we were wondering about it. The name inscribed on it is Silas Malone. He died a long time ago in the 1850s. Is he related to you?”

Malone turned his eyes on Lucy but seemed to take forever before replying. Seconds dragged. Finally he shook his head and said, “No. Never heard of him. Now go home!” With that abrupt order he crossed his arms and proceeded to glare at the four bewildered faces. “Move it!”

Reluctantly the kids gathered all their belongings. Carefully folding the scattered grave rubbings, they stashed the papers and pencils into the backpacks. Flashlights were picked up wherever they had rolled off to. This was easier said than done since a couple had disappeared behind fallen branches and thick grass. Without a glance back at Malone, the four moved off toward the path and headed out in single file, with Jack Jack in the lead and Lucy bring up the rear.

“Who does he think he is?” grumbled Jack when all four were well out of earshot of the old man. “And how come he knows you but acts like you’re the enemy?” When he turned back to look at the girls he noticed that they were deep in thought, not paying any particular attention to his questions. Not that that was anything new. More often than not people rarely listened to him. Odd….

“Sheesh! What does a guy have to do to get your attention? Hellloooo! Anyone home?”

“Did you say something?” asked Hannah as she came to stand next to Jack.

With a frustrated sigh Jack repeated his question, dying to know who this Malone guy was. Hannah looked uncertainly at Emily and Lucy. Her sister shrugged, lifted up her hands. Lucy nodded her okay. After a few minutes of furious whisperings Jack was brought up to speed with the girls’ adventures so far.

“Wow, this Malone guy sounds really suspicious and I am 100 percent sure that he was up to something in that graveyard.” Jack took off his backpack and threw it into the nearby bushes. “Let’s go back. We need to find out why he’s there. He waited till dark to go up there, probably thinking no one would be around at that hour. He must have been pretty peeved to find us there. Come on. Hurry! And no flashlights or he’ll see us coming.”

Before the girls could reply Jack took off at a quick trot back down the path they had just come from. Curiosity got the best of them (not to mention the fact that it was their investigation, not Jack’s) and Hannah and Lucy followed close behind. Emily wasn’t sure she liked the idea. No, scratch that. She was positive she did not want to go.

“Drat!”

Left with no option other than stay and have a potentially fatal heart attack caused by extreme fear, Emily realized she had to move fast. Frantically, she ran after the others.

Jack suddenly stopped in his tracks. The girls piled roughly behind him, gasping for breath after their run. Placing a finger to his lips, Jack pointed into the woods ahead of him. They had reached the entrance to Yankee Hill. Beyond the opening they could see a light bobbing around in the dark. Motioning them to follow, Jack led the girls away from the entrance. He backtracked and then turned right, leading everyone through a field of tall grass that bordered the woods to the left. Finally he came to a stop and whispered a warning.

“We have to be very, very quiet as we head into the woods. There’s another path that starts right here. I cleared it last year it so that no one saw me coming from the front. Just don’t get off the path. The woods are full of broken branches and if you step on them … ”

“We’re not stupid,” hissed Hannah. “We know we can’t make a sound or he’ll hear us.”

“Right. Let’s go.”

Carefully making their way down Jack’s secret path, Hannah and her friends finally stopped and hid behind a huge raspberry bush. Just four feet beyond the bush they could clearly see the old man. Muttering under his breath he was crouched behind the Silas tombstone. Malone was peering at a piece of paper, using his flashlight to illuminate the contents. Every once in a while he glanced down or moved an inch or two around the grave.

With a grunt of satisfaction, he balanced the flashlight on the top edge of the grave marker, folded the paper, pulled out a book and tucked the letter inside. Before he put the book back in his coat pocket, bright lettering flashed in the glow from his flashlight. Hannah got a good look and quickly clamped a hand over her mouth.

From his other pocket Malone withdrew a trowel and started digging at the base of the tombstone. Minutes later he pried out a small square object. Shining his light on it, he examined what looked like a small box. Using the tip of the trowel he fiddled with what was probably a small lock. A sudden pop and the lid flew open. With great care, he pushed it all the way back. He reached inside and carefully brought out a locket and pocketed the box. The large oval locket was attached to a gold chain and it glinted in the yellow beam of his flashlight. With shaking hands, Malone started to open the locket.

“HOOT! HOOT! Screech!!!!!”

A dark shape suddenly erupted out of the tree directly in front of Malone. The gold chain swung wildly in his tight grip as he stumbled out of his crouch, and the locket hit the tombstone with a small crack. The clasp flew open. Hannah saw something white fall out of the locket and flutter to the ground. The frantic old man did not notice.

“What in the blazes … oh, bloody hell!” roared a very frightened and angry man. “You damned near gave me a heart attack you crazy owl.”

Malone made an obscene gesture towards the long gone bird, and turned back to the grave. In his panic, he must have knocked his flashlight off the tombstone and it had gone out when it hit the ground. After groping around in the dark for a few minutes, Malone gave up his search. Reaching inside his pocket he pulled out the metal box and placed the locket inside, closed the lid, picked up his trowel, and blindly made his way out of the cemetery.

When she was sure Malone was far enough away, Hannah looked back at her friends. Two white faces stared back at her. Jack and Lucy looked like they were close to tears. Emily however, was flat on her back. She had fainted!

“Oh great! Help me get her up.” Slapping her sister’s cheeks (none too gently either), the Emzo slowly came to. “Are you okay?” hissed Hannah. “It was just an owl. He was probably hunting and took off after a mouse or something.”

Emily sat up slowly, rubbing her face and looking very upset that she was still in the graveyard.

“C’mon, get up,” continued Hannah, dragging her sister by the hood of her sweatshirt. “I think I saw something fall out of the locket and I want to see if it’s still there. Hurry!”

“I want to go home,” whimpered Emily as she stumbled after them. “I’m scared. Let’s go Hannah. Now. Please!”

“In a minute,” said Hannah, silencing any further protest from her sister with what she thought was a most withering look. “Follow me.”

Hannah stumbled around a couple of times but finally made her way to the grave. She made sure her friends were following close behind. Pointing three flashlights downwards (Emily’s was spastically wavering around the woods) they looked at the ragged hole next to the grey stone. It was not very deep, perhaps about 25 centimeters down. Bending down for a closer look Hannah noticed a faint mark on the tombstone.

“X marked the spot!” she whispered. She pointed out the mark carved into the base of the weathered stone. “It seems he found some kind of treasure. Now look for a very small piece of paper. I think it fell out of the locket when Malone freaked out.”

“A mere locket does not make for a treasure trove,” said Jack thoughtfully as swept his flashlight over the bumpy ground around the tombstone.

“Maybe there was something inside the locket, something important,” whispered Emily. “Like a code.”

“That’s what we’re looking for now, Bozo Brain!” muttered Hannah. “Stop waving your flashlight around and start looking!”

“I think I found something,” said Jack in an excited whisper from behind the grave. “Here it is. You were right Hannah; it was a piece of paper. And it’s got numbers on it. LL4516. But what does it mean?”

“I … don’t know.” Disappointed, she turned to Lucy, who kept poking her in the back.

“There was something else,” added Lucy, bobbing her head excitedly. “Did anyone notice the book in his hand?”

“JOURNAL!” squeaked Hannah, slapping her forehead. Hard! “The gold lettering spelling out the word journal glinted when Malone shone his flashlight on the book he was holding. Of course.”

All four looked at each other. Finally Jack voiced what everyone was thinking.

“Black Sam’s journal! Treasure! And these numbers might be coordinates. Directions leading to his buried treasure.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ENLIGHTENING SUPPER

The traditional weekly supper in French River was always an adventure for Hannah because she never knew what to expect. Being one of the world’s most finicky eaters, mealtimes outside her home were challenging at best, and more often horrific episodes best left forgotten. This evening was no exception.

The nightmare meal consisted of the following: Appetizers of fresh crab puffs made by Wayne Simpson; main dish of mussel spaghetti made by Alice. Roger had gone out to the Island Gold Mussel factory for fresh mussels which he then cleaned at the kitchen table. Right in front of Hannah of all things! Gross, slimy mussels! And then dessert. Not chocolate cake. Not ice cream. Not even cookies. No, it had to be strawberry-rhubarb pie! An outrage, throwing a vegetable into a fruit pie!

Throughout the meal Hannah worked very hard picking out the food she refused to eat. As a result, the keep pile was very small while the throw away pile kept growing at an alarming rate. The only saving grace was the company of her friends. Lucy managed to convince her parents to invite Jack and he showed up armed with quarts of fresh strawberries (but when it came to fresh fruit, Hannah only ate apples).

“Do you really think Malone’s journal actually belonged to Black Sam the pirate?” asked Emily, helping herself to more fresh pasta. Unlike her sister, she was a bottomless pit when it came to eating and variety was her motto in life. “That would be quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Of course it’s his.” Jack insisted on the pirate angle. Anything else would be much too boring. He knew his life was meant to be filled with adventure, and so far there wasn’t much to speak of. This was his chance. He had to spell it out to the lesser beings seated at the table with him. “That journal was lost on his ship. The ship went down not far from here. Shipwrecks wash up here all the time –”

“All the time?” Hannah hiccupped, trying not to choke on a mussel that had escaped her inspection.

“Well, maybe not all the time, but you get my meaning. Things wash up here a lot. What’s to say this journal was not among all the other artifacts that made it onto our beach? And you told me that Mr. Simpson saw someone coming from Arrowhead the night that brought in the Yankee Gale wreck. Suppose he found the journal in the wreck?”

“We never said that it was old Malone that Wayne saw that night,” Lucy reminded him.

“But it could be him,” cut in Hannah excitedly. “I just thought of something. Remember the knife we found in the sand under the wreck? The initials were W.M. Maybe the M stands for Malone. I can’t figure out the W though.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” said Jack, waving his fork around. “My cousin’s real name is William, but we call him Big Bill. He’s like 10 feet tall.”

The three girls looked at each other. No one even thought of this angle. It was almost too simple. Hannah turned to Jack. “So let me get this straight. You think this old Malone was the stranger that Wayne saw. He lost his knife while exploring the ship, found the journal in the wreck, and now is using it to find treasure.”

“Bingo!” laughed Jack. “And he needs us to stay away because he wants it all to himself. I bet he was the guy who broke into your place. He wanted to get his knife back.”

“But how did he know we had it?” asked Emily, noisily sucking in a strand of spaghetti between her lips. Before the last of the strand disappeared, it reached out and flicked her in the nose.

Jack frowned, deep in thought. Expectant faces gazed at the boy. Suddenly he smiled. “Ah, I don’t know. We’ll have to ask him.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Crazy!”

“That’s suicide!”

Meanwhile, the adults were enjoying the hearty meal. Loud laughter and the occasional guffaw could be heard coming from their table set a few feet back from the kids. Talk went from potato farming, to politics, to real estate, and the yearly migration of tourists.

“You mean mosquitoes,” sputtered Simpson, spilling some of his red wine on his neatly ironed blue shirt. It was not his best shirt. Ignoring the stain, he went on, “They swarm us in the summer, pests that they are. Always in your face, wanting to see this and that. Never giving you any peace. Buzzing round all the time thinking they own the island. Jamming up our roads with their traffic. Tiresome.”

On to the next topic….

“Speaking of fishing, last year’s cod season had a real bad effect on my memory,” recounted Simpson, a serious look crossing his grizzled face. “Don’t know what it was though. Must have been something in the air I reckon. You know how the darned powers that be slapped quotas on our cod intake. According to our government gods, no more than 15 cod per fisherman. Well, strange thing was that every time I went out on the boat, I kept forgettin’ how many cod was already sitting in my bucket. Lost count, you would say. So I had to start all over again! I even forgot when the season ended.”

Everyone laughed.

“So how many cod did you actually end up catching last year?” laughed Dad.

“Seeings as I still can’t count, I also can’t say,” Simpson grinned, winking at Roger. “However, my box freezer seems awfully full this winter. And a year later my memory ain’t quite as good as it was, if you get my meaning.”

Every once in a while Emily would drop her fork and listen in on the adults. She was a major busybody at the best of times and insisted on knowing what was up. A perfect fit with the islanders, thought Hannah morosely. It was hard to get away with a burp without the next door neighbour knowing about it. In record time it would spread throughout the island and people as far away as Souris or North Cape knew about the indigestion. And dear little Emily was like the telephone in the whole deal.

“Shhh! Listen to Wayne,” she warned, suddenly sitting bolt upright and completely ignoring the half eaten pie.

“That’s right, I got a visit from this Malone guy,” continued Simpson. “Ever since I heard about his attempt at a citizen’s arrest, he perked my interest. Strange old coot. Said he’s one of them there historians. High falutin’ word for a plain old gossip gatherer. He wanted to know about everything and everyone in this area. Badgered me for over an hour. Wanted to know about the bygone days, and who lived where.”

“He asked us some questions about the house and its history too,” said Roger. “He seemed a bit too eager but was nice enough about it.”

“Heard he grilled them Hatterly sisters too,” nodded Simpson, as if that said it all.

“Try to chew more quietly,” Emily warned Jack. “And close your mouth. I can see your toes.”

“I’m eating seafood,” mumbled Jack, moving the bread around in his mouth. Opening even wider, he pointed to his mouth and said “See, food!”

“Very funny. That joke’s real old.” Lucy rolled her eyes in frustration. “Where are your table manners? Now be quiet!”

After another gulp of wine, Simpson continued. “Funny thing was, after spending all that blasted time just spewing out the most god-awful boring questions he could think of, Malone finally said something that perked my ears. Turns out that his dear old granny Hilda lived in the area. She and my mum were great friends towards the end of Hilda’s life. Mum would go over and clean her house every so often. Hilda was a great old grump, but they kind of grew on each other. Mum would always bring her some home cooking. She knew how to handle the old bat.”

“Why was Hilda such a grump?” asked Alice.

“According to Mum, Hilda had some family secrets. Always put on airs, all hoity-toity like, if you know what I mean. Said she was descended from royalty, can you believe that? Well, that put many off her, I can tell you. Sure thought she was real superior that one. Always dressed like she was waiting for the Queen, bless her royal arse. Oops, excuse my language! Anyways, as the years went by, she grew more and more grumpy. Looked like she was sore that her prince charming never showed.

“Hilda died when she was 87. She left Mum a very old wooden jewelry box. Beautiful carvings of a castle set high in the mountains. The box had a clasp lock, but no key. Mum never had the heart to break it open and so it stayed untouched for years. When Mum passed, I got the box. First thing I did was open the darned thing. Curiosity had been killing me for years!”

Wide-eyed Emily couldn’t help herself and blurted out, “Did you find a treasure map?”

Simpson turned around in his chair to face the kids. “You mean what didn’t I find! No jewels. No money. Noooo treasure map. Just a bunch of ratty old letters written by members of Hilda’s family. And all that fancy writing was so hard to read that I gave up after the first headache. It was just an account of some sheep farm somewhere. Big whoopee. When I found out that Malone was related to this family, I thought it was only right that he got the letters. I didn’t let on about the jewel box though. That was Mum’s. But the letters were okay and no use to me.”

“Was he happy with the letters?” asked Lucy.

“Happy?” cackled Simpson. “After he read one of the letters, he had a damned conniption fit. Started doing this dance around my living room. Crazy as a coot, like I said before. Spinning around, dervish-like. Never seen anything like it in my life and hope I never will again. Bit scary if you know what I mean.”

Suddenly Meg dashed through the screen door. She was deathly afraid of thunder and lightning and no one noticed the storm that blew in during the past hour. Everyone dashed towards the living room and tried to trap the poor dog. Tail between her legs, Meg quickly hunkered down under the kitchen table, quivering from fear and daring anyone to approach. Meanwhile Roger tried to attach the screen mesh back on the door, but it was obvious that the whole thing needed replacing. From what Hannah could see, bucketfuls of rain came pouring in through a gaping hole as large as … well, a dog.

As the excitement died down the grownups cleared away the dishes. The children were excused and scurried upstairs to Lucy’s room. Settling down on cushions and bed, they dissected the latest news.

Looking around at the sea blue room Hannah noted all the new additions to Lucy’s eccentric décor. Scattered throughout the room were a varied assembly of toys and oddities. On a large white table standing under Lucy’s window was a wooden castle, protected by a large number of knights, some already engaged in a heated battle against marauding pirates. Catapults were strategically set up around the castle’s palisades, ready to launch Styrofoam rocks and crush the unwary.

In the far corner of the room, a tall bookshelf was sagging under the weight of volumes on shipwrecks, medieval times, pirates and fairies. On the floor beside the bed were over 100 toy horses, some plastic, some ceramic and some stuffed. And on the walls were all of Lucy’s works of art, from multi-coloured mosaics to realistic renderings of the PEI shoreline.

On a narrow shelf above a night table sat a genuine stuffed squirrel, its black fur glistening while its beady glass eyes stared down at the assembled guests. “Wow, this is great! Where did you get it?” enthused Hannah. She was a real connoisseur of all things dead and stuffed. After all, wasn’t she the proud owner of a stuffed and mounted skunk? Her mom got it from an old high school display. She also had some mummified bats and squirrels which her dad had found in the attic of their country place.

“Oh, that was from Wayne,” remarked Lucy. “He thought of getting into a new hobby and tried taxidermy. I think he kind of missed on this one though. The squirrel looks like it was crazy or something. Look at that crooked grin, and his eyes are definitely lop-sided. I think it was road kill and this is the best that Wayne could do.”

“Can we discuss the case, or are we here for a tea party?” chided Jack, clearly impatient to jump into the newest developments. “When Malone was at the graveyard he was holding a letter. It looked like the letter was directing him to the hiding place of the locket. I bet it’s the same letter that Wayne gave him.”

“But I thought it was the journal that listed all the hiding places of Black Sam’s treasure.” Emily had a pained look on her face. Things were getting a bit complicated for her and she decided that she was a much happier camper playing with Lucy’s castle.

“Hmmm. We’ll have to think about that,” muttered Jack thoughtfully. Rubbing his chin with his hand, he crossed his lanky legs Indian-style and closed his eyes. Lucy quickly grabbed her pad of paper and scribbled a Do Not Disturb message and gently taped it to Jack’s chest. Unaware of what just happened, Jack continued to puzzle out the journal and letter dilemma. Meanwhile, Emily just managed to breach the castle gate, killing and maiming a large number of knights and their horses.

“We need to get a hold of that journal,” said Hannah, but she was not sure how realistic that plan of attack actually was. “Maybe the easiest thing would be to follow Malone wherever he goes.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” asked Emily as she sent the king and queen flying into the moat. “It’s not like we can drive. If he decides to take off to the other end of the island we can’t follow him, unless we ask our parents to drive us, and since we know they won’t, what do you suggest, smarty pants?”

Glum faced, the kids sat silently (except for Emily, who was launching squires and pages over the castle’s ramparts). “We can’t do much tomorrow anyway,” sighed Lucy, finally rousing herself and prodding Jack awake. “Hannah’s parents are taking us to Avonlea for the day and we won’t have time to do much afterwards. We’ll have to get together another time and figure out our next move.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MOSQUITOES OF SUMMER

Every year Hannah and her family made it a point to visit at least one of the island’s fun parks (a.k.a. tourist traps). Everyone had different needs. Mom needed music and food. Dad needed adventure, with a little golf thrown in. Emily needed water parks and Anne of Green Gables. Hannah needed everything! She refused to be picky and wanted it all. Unlike her eating habits.

“Shining Waters is the new theme park, and maybe we can go visit that this year,” said Hannah. “But we must go to the ‘you know where’ first.” Lucy had no idea what Hannah was talking about but Emily was quick to fall for her sister’s bait.

“I don’t want to go on the Haunted Woods walk,” whined Emily. “No way. There have been enough haunted things in my life this summer and I don’t need more. But I do want to see Green Gables, and then Avonlea. Too bad Rainbow Valley is closed. I would have liked to go there as well. How about Ripley’s Believe it or Not Museum? And the Toy Factory, Butterfly Garden, and Sandspit. And all the shops. I want to shop! I need to shop!”

“This year I went to Shining Waters with my dad and a friend from Vermont,” recounted Lucy, smartly ignoring Emily’s long list of needs. “The water slides were awesome. One of them is a really long ride, and it’s completely covered, so you are sliding around really fast in the dark. Then all of sudden you splash out into a pool. There’s also this water slide like a giant toilet bowl and you skim around the edges.”

“But is it like Rainbow Valley?” Emily really missed the family fun park since it closed its doors in 2005. Open in 1969, Rainbow Valley had the charm and innocence of an age that’s long since been replaced with modern conveniences. Mother Goose storybook statues were hidden throughout rolling lawns of green grass and shady chestnut or linden trees. Hannah and Emily loved the mini-rollercoaster that chugged along rusted tracks. The Witch’s cave never failed to scare Emily, the rope bridge was dangerous when Dad decided to give it a try, and Hannah became an out-of-control driver in the swan boats.

“Today we are going to stick to all things Anne, if that’s all right with Emily,” said Mom, directing a warning glance at the tiniest backseat passenger. “As I mentioned this morning, we are going to start out in Avonlea Village and follow Anne’s schedule. She arrives by train at 9:30 and we should be able to get there in time to see that.”

Hannah could hardly wait. Over the years the family has never been able to drag Emily out of bed on time and they always arrived an hour late for the park opening. This year Emily had an easier time waking up, knowing that Lucy was joining them.

After picking up their friend, the car headed down Route 6 into the heart of PEI tourist country. Traffic was usually heavy from the Cavendish Boardwalk all the way to Green Gables and Hannah enjoyed gazing at the many themed attractions, family parks and restaurants lined up along this small strip of highway.

Although Hannah had already visited Avonlea and Green Gables many times, she never tired of it. She also had high hopes of seeing the Fantasmic Museum, Wax World and the Sandspit. Ripley’s Believe It or Not Museum was a blast last year (there were only two Ripley’s museums in Canada, the other being in Niagara Falls). Hannah definitely wanted to go back for another look at the grotesque and unusual.

“Hey, we passed Avonlea,” cried Emily, looking at her dad with a panicked look on her face.

“We need to get gas, and at the same time I’ll buy some ice for our multi-purpose cooler. It will keep our picnic lunch cold.” Just up the street from the gas station and Cavendish Cemetery was a National Parks Canada information building, and Hannah always noticed streams of cars coming out of the small parking lot. “Can we visit the National Park later?” she asked sweetly.

“Not today, Hannah-girl,” replied Dad, getting back into the car. “It’s a holiday today and Cavendish Beach will be very crowded. Everyone goes there because they often see it in the PEI Travel Planner book. This whole area is for tourists and everything is close by for them. After Labour Day in September, the stores, museums, and motels along this road are closed and boarded up for the winter. It looks like a ghost town. I think only Green Gables stays open, and that’s because of the golf course next door. The Green Gables post office is closed after Thanksgiving weekend.”

“Then we’re being tourists today too,” giggled Emily, putting down her Game Boy as the car’s tires crunched on the gravel parking lot of Avonlea Village. “Wayne said that we’re mosquitoes of summer. So we’re going to buzz around and bother everyone, not that I ever do that. Oh look, there’s Anne. First one to get her autograph is queen for the day!”

Avonlea was one of Hannah’s favourite places in PEI, not counting the beaches. No trip to the island would be complete without at least one visit to this increasingly popular attraction. Since many of the activities were held out of doors, Hannah’s parents always made it a point to visit on a sunny day. Today was no exception. It was a gorgeous morning with clear skies. A slight breeze forced Hannah to grab her sweater out of the car, just in case.

“Wait for me,” yelled Hannah, running to catch up. Everyone had already moved into the period train station. Many of the props found lying around the ticket booth (where her parents paid the park fees) were from actual island train stations no longer in operation. In fact, the entire Avonlea Village was built according to various descriptions found in the Lucy Maud Montgomery books.

“Here you go Hannah,” said Dad as he handed everyone their colour-coded bracelets. A woman dressed in vintage costume welcomed visitors at the door fronting the village. Hannah took a Schedule of Events from her outstretched hand. Quickly glancing at the paper, she told Lucy, “Let’s go sit in the wagon. We’ll be the first to ride around the village plus get our choice of seats.”

The horse-drawn wagon was parked in front of Avonlea’s barn, and passengers were greeted by the strong aromas of horse and cow coming out of the large building. Avonlea had a real working farm, complete with horses, cows, pigs, goats, chickens and barn cats. Hannah loved going inside the barn, looking for the cats, although her sister usually beat her to it. Emily had a real talent for finding animals, especially the ones that were hiding from her.

“Hi Hannah,” waved Emily from the front of the wagon. “I saved you some seats,” (she patted one of the red leather benches) “but Farmer Bob let me sit up front with him. He said I might even drive the wagon! Isn’t that cool? And look at the horses. They’re be-u-ti-ful! Names are Chester and Daisy-Mae. Chester’s the big dark brown one. Daisy-Mae has a gorgeous tail to go with her blond coat. See … our hair matches!”

Hannah and Lucy looked at each other resignedly. How did she do it? Well, they weren’t the first ones on the wagon, but at least they had choice seating. After a few more minutes the wagon had about 15 passengers and Emily grabbed hold of the reins. Off they went, lurching from side to side as the horses trotted down the wide street. It was a great way to get a first look at Avonlea.

Opened in 1999, the village contained a combination of newly built stores and original buildings that accurately represented a small PEI village at the turn of the century. Staff members dressed in period costumes stroll along the dirt roads or sidewalks made from plank boards. Actual historic buildings were physically taken apart, moved to this site from their original spots, and re-built in the new village. Among the more famous of these buildings were the Belmont schoolhouse, where the famous author taught, as well as the Long River church where Montgomery once attended service.

“Look at all these activities,” gushed a young boy sitting next to Lucy as he looked at the brochure. “I want to go on the pony ride!”

“And I want to see the 1908 Men’s Swimwear Competition,” added the boy’s mom, smiling slyly while fiddling with her digital camera. “The County Fair sounds like fun too,” added her husband.

A day in Avonlea was a day spent running from one activity to the next. A series of dramatic productions based on the popular Anne of Green Gables books were interspersed with village activities such as potato sack races, pie eating contests, oyster shucking and the infamous manure toss (last year Dad came in second place!). An added bonus were the numerous musical concerts (or ceilidh) held in some of the village buildings.

The three girls tried really hard to follow the suggested schedule. Hannah and Lucy went to school with ‘Anne and Gilbert’ and cringed when the red-headed heroine smashed her slate over Gilbert’s head.

“He deserved that!” whispered Emily, sneaking in just in time to witness the drama. She then proceeded to one of the empty desks in the front and sat down to watch the rest of the play.

Towards mid-day the gang decided to have lunch and set up their picnic spread under the white gazebo in the heart of the Avonlea flower gardens. Charlie Sloan, the funny guy in the Anne stories, ambled by on his way to the barn, and decided to inspect Hannah’s sandwich. Not finding it to his liking, he went through the family’s cooler and bit into a peach while stuffing his denim overall pockets with carrot bits.

“Want a cheese stick?” asked Emily, waving it in Charlie’s face. Taking off his patched straw hat, Charlie scratched his head in puzzlement.

“What’s a cheese stick?”

“It’s cheese.”

“But it’s skinny, and it’s got orange spots and it’s wrapped in something funny. Ain’t never seen anything like that in my world.”

“DON’T EAT IT LIKE THAT!”

Quickly snatching the cheese stick back, Emily peeled off the plastic covering. “Here. Now you can eat it.”

And he did, in one big gulp, swallowing both cheese and peach at once.

“Boy, talk about getting into character.” Hannah and Lucy laughed as Charlie waved goodbye.

The afternoon concert in the white Long River church building was a hoot. Lively fiddling music poured from the building’s numerous open windows. Hannah and her family sat in the upper balcony and had a wonderful view from above. Emily managed to find a seat in the front, and joined Anne in the square dancing up on stage.

“How does she manage to get into everything?” Hannah was not sure if she should be frustrated with her sister or proud of her gumption to plunge into all kinds of adventure (trouble too!). Hannah was much too shy to even think about standing in the front of the church. She would never ever volunteer to dance like that on stage in front of all these strangers. But she wondered whether she was doing the right thing. Just look at the Emzo’s face! It was lit up with pure delight, thought Hannah. Her sister was having the time of her life. In a way, Hannah envied her for the ease and enthusiasm in which Emily approached everything life had to offer.

After the concert, Emily pulled everyone along to the pony rides. She had waited patiently all day for her chance to ride one of the miniature horses that always grazed in the Avonlea pasture. And Mom needed to take a picture of her on top of Thistle, her chosen pony. Thistle was soooo beautiful, gushed Emily to anyone unfortunate enough to be close by. The horse had a sandy brown coat with patches of white on its chest and over one eye. The pony’s light blond mane was free of tangles and its pink muzzle blew out a loud gust of air, much to Emily’s delight.

“He likes me,” she yelled to Hannah, laughing as she bounced along in the saddle. Meanwhile, Lucy and Hannah perched themselves along the fence, waiting for their turn. No one should ever be too old to ride a pony, thought Hannah, deciding this year she was going for it. Guided by one of the farm hands, Emily and Thistle made their way towards the far end of the pasture.

Suddenly from out of nowhere, a small boy crawled under one of the fence beams and ran towards Thistle, wildly waving his arms and screaming “Horsie! Horsie!” at the top of his lungs. The horse jerked hard to the right, startled by the unexpectedness of the boy’s presence. Trying to avoid hurting him, Thistle tried to retreat, but stumbled on a patch of hay. The momentum of his retreat whipped the reins out of the farmer’s hands and Emily was thrown to the ground, hard.

The whole incident took less than a minute. Mom and Dad ran down the pasture towards the fallen Emily, followed by a crowd of anxious spectators. As Hannah took off after her parents, she heard her sister shrieking, the screams piercing the air with an intensity that Hannah had never heard before. Fear gripped her heart, and her stomach clenched in terror as Hannah sensed that something was really wrong.

“MOMMY! IT HURTS SO MUCH!!!”

When Hannah and Lucy reached Emily, they saw her lying half-buried in a mud puddle. Emily’s pale face was streaked with tears mixed in with a bit of horse manure for good measure. Her blond hair dripped rivulets of mud down her much cherished Anne of Green Gables t-shirt. If it weren’t for the look of genuine agony on her sister’s face Hannah would have found the entire incident quite funny. However, Emily’s forehead was already sporting a bump the size of a walnut. More disquieting was the fact that Emily’s arm did not look normal. Mom was cradling Emily’s head in her lap and bent forward as she whispered soothing messages in her ear.

“Daddy, why is the Em’s arm all twisted like that?” she whispered, eyes bulging with panic. Without waiting for an answer, Hannah quickly knelt next to Emily and held her other hand, trying to calm her down. Emily tried to focus on Hannah, but her eyes were already beginning to glaze over from the shock. Through her own tears Hannah tried comforting her sister.

“You’ll be okay, teeny one,” cried Hannah, babbling at her sister while she wiped Emily’s face with a crumpled napkin. “Everything will be alright, you’ll see. Remember, we’re mosquitoes of summer, and it’s our job to be the biggest pests we can be. And you’re the best at that job. So we need you in tip top shape.”

“We need to get her to the hospital in Summerside right away,” said Dad. “Waiting for an ambulance will just take too long so we’ll drive her ourselves. Hannah, run back to the car and prepare the blanket for Emily. Here are the keys. Hurry.”

As the girls ran off, Hannah glanced back uncertainly and saw Avonlea staff helping Dad lift Emily into his arms. Carefully cradled against his chest, Emily was groaning, while Mom, consumed with worry, walked briskly beside them. Hannah’s summer was certainly turning into an adventure. Unfortunately for Emily, it came at a painful cost.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

STORM FRONT

The wind howled all night. Sudden gusts rattled the doors and windows. Rain lashed violently against the glass. Lightning flashed erratically, cutting bright streaks across the pitch black sky. Seconds later, thunder boomed, drowning out whispers or shouts. Hannah felt the power of the storm through the soles of her feet and nuzzled closer to her stuffed cat, Boots.

Mom and Dad were still at the hospital with Emily. Hannah was spending the night at Lucy’s house. They had planned a sleepover, but it was not supposed to happen under these circumstances. She missed her family… especially Emily. Her sister always shared a room with Hannah and they were rarely apart at night. Even though Lucy was sleeping in the upper bunk above Hannah, it was strange knowing that the Emzo was lying in a hospital bed.

The trip to the hospital had seemed to take forever, but as soon as her parents walked through the hospital doors, nurses took charge and Emily was whisked off to triage. Unlike the Quebec hospitals that Hannah was used to, the Summerside institution was efficient and fast. Within an hour they had Emily sedated, stabilized, and prepped for surgery.

“How long will it take, Dad?” asked Hannah.

“Not too long I think,” he replied. He watched Mom pace the hallway. “Why don’t you and Lucy walk around and explore the shop and cafeteria. Here’s some money if you want to get yourselves something to eat or drink. Roger and Alice should be here in about an hour to pick the two of you up so be sure to be back here by seven o’clock.”

The surgery took an hour. It was a bad break, not just a fracture and the procedure was explained using nasty sounding medical jargon, half of which Hannah could not understand. By the time her sister was out of surgery, Roger and Alice had joined her parents in the waiting room. After the happy verdict came in that Emily would live to annoy another day, Hannah left for French River.

The storm moved in sometime during the night. It was quick and sudden. According to the 11 o’clock evening news, the island was placed under a severe wind warning, with gusts blowing around 90 km/hour. According to Roger, those were major winds, not far from hurricane force. Hannah wondered if their flags would still be there in the morning.

The Buzzel House shook. The Buzzel House creaked. The Buzzel House protested with each gust of wind. Hannah crawled under her blanket and listened to Roger or Alice moving about in the next room, probably making sure the windows were still tightly fastened. Meg was shaking under Hannah’s bed, poor thing! Finally, after an hour spent listening to the storm, Hannah drifted off to sleep and woke up late next morning.

“They’ve closed the bridge,” said Lucy as she smeared some maple butter on her toast. “The wind is much too strong and I guess everyone is afraid that cars and trucks will be blown off into the water. Power is down in a lot of places. Summerside lost its streetlights and the shopping area is closed because there is no electricity. Parks Canada is warning everyone not to go near the water because the rip tides are so strong. The waves are gynormous!”

Hannah joined her friend at the table and helped herself to a Mary’s Bake Shoppe cinnamon bun (best bakery in PEI, according to Hannah). “Too bad Emily’s not here. She’s missing out on her favourite breakfast,” continued Lucy, in between bites of her toast.

Hannah paused in mid-bite, looked down at her bun, and shrugged. Oh well, Emily was sure to make up for it one way or another.

By late morning the rain slacked off and the sun came peeking out behind scuttling clouds. However, the wind still showed no signs of weakening. Sitting on the porch in the back of the house, Hannah and Lucy could hear the distant boom of crashing waves coming from Arrowhead beach. The sea was in an uproar.

“Do you think anything will wash up on shore today?” asked Lucy, licking the drips from the sides of her ice cream cone. Every once in a while the wind whipped a drop of sticky vanilla ice cream on to the girls. By the time they crunched on the last bit of their cones Hannah and Lucy were covered in white smears.

“Maybe,” said Hannah, watching the wind flatten the rye field just past the Smith’s backyard. Seconds later the yellow grass sprang back up, ready to face the next gust. “But we don’t have time to head down there. Your parents will be driving me back home. Emily must have left the hospital by now and I want to be the first to sign her cast.”

Route 20 from French River to Darnley was a disaster zone. Hannah gaped out the window of Alice’s Toyota, unable to believe her eyes. Huge trees lay sprawled across lawns, roots exposed. Multi-coloured mailboxes were knocked down into driveways. Bed & Breakfast signs hung crookedly from broken hooks. Large wooden picnic tables were completely overturned and lay where they had fallen. And the leaves! They were everywhere except in the trees. The strong winds had ripped them off, sometimes with the branches still attached.

Wow, thought Hannah. She never saw such a violent aftermath from a summer storm before. As they passed Jack’s house she noticed that his trampoline was no longer in the backyard but instead lay in the drive, upside down. As the car pulled into the Blue Lobster’s driveway, she noticed the flag pole lying on the ground in between the lobster traps that had held it up.

When Hannah opened the front door, she noticed that Jack was inside; already drawing on Emily’s cast. Looking up, he waved to Hannah and Lucy. “Look at this! I drew a pirate on your sister’s cast. Isn’t it cool? And I’m the first one to sign it. The Bean pooped on it, so I guess he left his signature too.” When he saw Hannah’s dirty look he exclaimed: “What?! She said I could!”

Hannah sighed and went to see her sister. “How ya doing?”

“Great! Mom and Dad got me McDonald’s. Then they got me this stuffed dog. It’s pink! They said I can lie on the sofa and watch TV all afternoon. And I get to have my favourite food. And they’re going to rent me a DVD. And I get to take a special bath tonight. And Jack is here. And he drew a real pirate. And did you see the storm? And what about that ocean? The waves are HUGE! I saw it from the bridge in Darnley. And the people of Avonlea Village called and said I get a lifetime pass to get in. No more paying for me! Isn’t that cool? And what’s new with you? ”

Hannah and Lucy stared, speechless, at the human chatterbox. No, make that inhuman. It was even worse than usual. Mom crept up behind them and whispered “She’s on pain medication. Instead of making her sleepy, it kind of makes her a bit hyper.”

“You think?” said Dad, bringing Her Highness a bowl of heavily buttered popcorn.

“Mom, can Lucy and I bike down to the beach?” Hannah grabbed a handful of popcorn out of the passing bowl. “We want to see what the waves are like.”

Mr. Bean, getting a whiff of the popcorn, was bouncing up on down on his perch.

“Up-UP! Hello Mr. Bean! Cutie pie! Kiss kiss! WATCHA DOIN?!?”

Hannah scooped up a handful of popcorn and approached the Bean. Squeak! In one amazing leap, the green monster was splattered flat in the middle of Hannah’s chest. “So much for waiting” said Hannah, as she tried to pry the Bean’s claws off her shirt. Unfortunately, he was not letting go and the shirt was stretching to an alarming degree. Luckily, Lucy came to the rescue and convinced the Bean to let go, using popcorn as bait. There were only three holes in Hannah’s t-shirt. Not bad.

“Can I come to the beach with you?” asked Jack, hopping from one foot to the other. In between hops he managed to give the Bean a wary look while he stuffed a fistful of popcorn into his mouth.

“Do you have to go to the bathroom or something?” Lucy was eying Jack suspiciously.

“Nah, my foot fell asleep while I was sitting on the floor,” he mumbled, bits of popcorn flying out if his mouth.

Minutes later the three friends were cycling down the road towards the beach, pedaling hard against the wind. It took them twice as long as usual to reach Twin Shores. As they made their way down some of the camp lanes, they noticed that many of the sites were either empty or a complete mess. Blue and green tarps flapped in the wind, torn from ropes tied to the trees. Some of the tents were caved in from too much rain water and coloured sleeping bags were hung on makeshift clothes lines. The dirt road was scarred by deep gullies filled with reddish brown water. Young kids were having a blast riding their bikes through the mud.

Parking their own bikes at the beach snack bar, Jack, Hannah and Lucy ran down the boardwalk and onto the damp sand. The beach was deserted! There was absolutely no one around.

“The waves are huge!” shouted Hannah, a large smile plastered across her face. “And they’re so LOUD.”

The entire beach area was enveloped by a fine mist of ocean spray blown in by the strong winds. The waves pounded relentlessly against the beach and the water rode up close to where the kids were standing. The tide was twice as high as normal, and a long line of seaweed littered the sand.

“The noise is awesome!” yelled Lucy as she made her way closer to the water’s edge. The waves lapped over her ankles as she turned and faced her friends. “The water is amazing. It’s so warm. Too bad we don’t have our bathing suits.” Just as she turned back around an incoming wave swept in and poured over her waist, nearly toppling her over.

Hannah and Jack laughed. “You don’t need your bathing suit anymore. What you need is a towel,” said Jack. “Anyway, it’s too dangerous to go in right now. The rip tides will get you for sure. See those waves down there. That’s usually where the sand bar is and the water is normally up to our knees. Well, right now those waves would be way over our heads.”

An hour later the trio headed back to the Blue Lobster. “Let’s ride the waves tomorrow.” Hannah could hardly wait. “I think they’ll still be strong enough for some good rides. How about it?”

“What about Malone?” asked Lucy. “I thought we’re going to work on our mystery.”

“But the waves –” Hannah looked wistfully back towards the beach.

“Tell you what,” cut in Jack. “My grandpa is heading down to see Uncle Fred tomorrow. He needs someone to help him cut up the old birch that fell in his yard this morning. Grandpa loves cutting up trees. A real He-Man thing. The tree almost took off the roof of the chicken coop. I’ll just tag along and see what’s up. How’s that for a plan?”

“I’ll come with you, since I live close by,” said Lucy.

“Have it your way,” shrugged Jack, pretending not to care one way or the other but clearly pleased at having Lucy’s company. “We’ll come down to the beach once we get back and fill you in on the developments. See you tomorrow.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LOST AT SEA

Hannah woke up the next morning to crying and screeching. For a moment, she had no idea where she was. Then she remembered. Dad closed up the camper yesterday. He was afraid that it would be blown into Darnley Bay by the strong winds. She was sleeping on the living room sofa-bed with her sister.

“What’s wrong?” mumbled Hannah, still half-asleep. She turned over towards Emily.

“My arm!” wailed her sister, her face streaked with tears. “It feels like a hundred knives are stabbing my elbow. Make it stop, please, please, please.”

More alert, Hannah noticed that the Emzo’s face was paler than usual, and she looked like she was in genuine distress. After planting a kiss on her sister’s hot forehead, Hannah sighed and got out of bed. She shuffled to her parents’ room but noticed that Mom was already sitting up and looking for her slippers.

Hannah glanced back into the living room and saw the small form of her sister huddled under the blanket, whimpering softly in between sniffles. A tiny hand poked out every now and then and slowly pulled one of her stuffed animals down under the covers with her. There went Frankie … Sally … Snowy … Minnie … and finally Meg, a remarkable look-alike to the real thing. Poor Meg, she was roughly dragged under by her fluffy tail.

“Emily needs some more happy pills,” said Hannah.

“And Mr. Bean needs his breakfast now that he’s been woken up,” responded Mom. “Make him his peanut butter toast while I take care of your sister.”

After breakfast, Hannah teased Mr. Bean a bit, and then went outside and stood still in the middle of her back yard. The sky was a clear pale blue and the sun was already hot. A great day for the beach, she thought. And yes, there it was! A distant boom. It sounded like the whooshing of the wind, but the trees bordering the back yard were utterly still.

“The waves are still here!” she yelled, excitedly running back into the house. Throwing the door wide open she bounded into the kitchen, jumping up and down in her excitement. Mr. Bean panicked and jumped out of his cage, thudding to the floor. Ashamed of his graceless descent, he slowly turned and waddled back to his ladder, climbing up to his home. “When can we go to the beach? Now? Please!?”

“That’s not fair,” pouted Emily, sitting on the sofa. “I want to go swimming too!” She tried crossing her arms in her usual ‘I want to get my way’ pose, but her cast would not cooperate.

“We’ll go after lunch,” answered Mom as she continued peeling potatoes for fries. “Daddy is still working on the stairs, sealing all the holes under the door. Hopefully this will stop some of those ugly beasts from coming in at night.”

Hannah smiled. The black water beetles were still driving her mom crazy and winning the war. Last night she heard them flying around the mud room, making soft plinking noises as they ricocheted off the walls. This morning she found a couple of the little monsters hiding in her pants. Well, okay, her pants were on the floor, so Hannah guessed she deserved the unwelcome invasion. But it’s not like she was actually going to start picking up her clothes, though. No way, bugs or no bugs.

Lunch came and went at a tortuously slow rate. Once the ordeal was over, Hannah scrambled around the house, gathering everything she needed for an afternoon spent riding the waves. Emily was coming too, doped up on painkillers and jelly beans. A blue freezie dangled from her mouth as she struggled to hold onto her towel. Her cast was wrapped up in a clear plastic garbage bag, just in case the waves grabbed the poor thing off the beach.

“We could only hope,” grumbled Hannah, as she gathered together Emily’s beach toys. Hannah had to put in double duty helping out with chores now that her sister lost the use of her arm. Hannah was not pleased, to say the least. She locked Mr. Bean in his cage and this time used tie-wraps to secure the door. Hopefully he would not be able to figure out how to open it again while they were away. Last week the little Houdini managed to escape while they were out shopping, and discovered the joys of chewing finely upholstered wooden chairs without unnecessary interruptions like someone screaming “NO!”

The beach was jam-packed with people. After setting up towels, chairs and beach umbrellas in their usual spot, Hannah ran into the waves. They were almost as large as yesterday! This is heaven, she thought! This morning Parks Canada issued a warning to swimmers to beware of very strong rip and lateral tides. As a result, Hannah was only allowed to swim to the first crest of waves and one of her parents had to be in the water with her.

“Dad, you’ve got seaweed all over your back,” laughed Hannah. Her hair stuck straight up, plastered to one side of her head by a strong wave. “Did you see me? The wave brought me all the way back to the beach. And I can feel the undertow pulling at my legs. I’m having a hard time fighting it.”

An hour later father and daughter fought their way back to shore, bruised and battered by the relentless pounding of the waves. Flopping down next to Emily and Mom, the tired surfers lay on their backs and soaked up the sun. Emily busied herself putting the finishing touches to an enormous mermaid sand sculpture, adding bits of shell to the fin and seaweed for hair.

“What’s that?” asked Hannah, suddenly sitting up. “Sounds like a siren. I’ve never heard that before down here. What’s going on?”

“Let’s go check it out,” said Lucy, jumping to her feet. She and her parents had come down around three o’clock in the afternoon and Alice was still boogie boarding her way through the waves. Lucy told the girls that she and Jack did not learn anything more on Malone. Jack stayed behind, helping his gramps and uncle finish hauling the remains of the unfortunate tree.

Emily struggled to keep up with the older girls as they headed down the beach towards the boardwalk. The sirens seemed to have stopped near the snack bar. Many sunbathers were sitting up, some pointing towards the water. Throughout the afternoon an unusual amount of fishing boats headed out from Darnley and nearby Malpeque, making their way out into the deep sea.

Thirty minutes passed before the girls came back, bursting with news.

“Two fire trucks are up at the snack bar, as well as what looks like an emergency vehicle,” recounted Lucy. “They’re still there. Emily asked one of the firemen what happened and he said that two people on a SeaDoo had capsized. One of the fishing boats just found them a couple of kilometers from here.”

The sirens continued to scream their alarm all through the rest of the day. Reckless swimmers, too intent on having fun in the waves, ignored warnings to take heed. In the end, the sea won out as it swept rubber boats, inflatable mattresses, boogie boards and people, both young and old, far out into the rough waters. Rescue teams worked nonstop as they struggled to tow the weary back to shore.

“Some people never learn,” said Dad, shaking his head. “They think they’re invincible and have absolutely no respect for the sea. The ocean is powerful and it can kill in an instant. No one has ever been able to tame it, nor control it. And still, some stupid tourists continue to act as if they are merely taking a swim in their backyard pool.”

Dad was obviously grumpy, thought Hannah. The sirens kept interrupting his habitual afternoon nap on the beach.

“Hannah! Lucy!”

Jack ran down the sandy embankment from the beach’s parking lot, kicking up sand as he pounded his way towards them.

“Grandpa is taking the boat out and he wants to know if you want to come along,” panted the boy, resting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. “In fact, he suggested everyone come along. He needs all the eyes he can get.”

“Why would he want to go fishing in this kind of water?” asked Mom.

“He’s not fishing,” exclaimed Jack. “A tourist got swept out to sea near Northport, around Cascumpec Bay. A young guy in his twenties went out kayaking in the bay area with a friend of his. They decided to do some swimming on the north shore but one of them went out too far. His friend tried getting back to the kayak and then paddling out to save him but the waves carried the poor guy out too far and too fast. Now the Coast Guard has called for a search and rescue mission and asked for local boats to help out.”

“Maybe that’s why the helicopter flew past us,” bounced Emily, freshly doped up again.

“You’re right Emily!” added Mom. “It had the Coast Guard markings on the underside and was heading west.”

“Northport is out towards the west,” agreed Jack, nodding his head. “We were visiting Uncle Fred, who’s doing much better by the way, when we got the news. So who’s coming?”

An hour later both families were on board George’s small boat, Summer Serenity, as it headed out of Darnley Basin towards the open sea. The waves were rough but the tough old boat steadily cut its way through the churning waters. Hannah and Emily had their small red binoculars trained on the water.

“When do we start looking?” asked Emily as she glanced up at her dad. In her excitement she seemed to have forgotten her discomfort. Holding the binoculars in one hand, her feet planted wide apart, she balanced like a pro as the boat rocked violently to and fro.

“Oh no!” Hannah and Lucy suddenly gasped in shock. Ducking out of the small pilot’s cabin was a grey haired man. He straightened and stared right at the girls. It was Malone.

“I asked Bill to help us out with the search,” explained George, clapping a friendly hand on Malone’s shoulder. “He came highly recommended. It seems that when it comes to reading the currents and where they pull out to, he’s an expert. He’s been studying the north shore tides and storms for decades now.”

“Kinda like an obsession,” whispered Jack as he joined the girls on their bench.

“Bill here will be able to give us a good guess as to which direction our swimmer got pulled out towards,” continued George. “That way we can zero in on a smaller search area. It’ll save us time and gas, and more importantly, hopefully this guy’s life too.”

The three girls stared accusingly at Jack. Their prime suspect was actually here on the boat … with them! And so far all their previous encounters were less than wonderful.

“Why didn’t you warn us that he’s coming,” Lucy whispered, furious with Jack.

“I thought I’d surprise you?” Jack gave a tentative smile. “Surprise! No? Well, okay, I didn’t think you’d come if you knew he was on board. Sometimes you girls have no sense of adventure. I can’t figure you out!”

Great! Here he comes, thought Hannah, desperately looking for a place to hide.

“It seems we’ve been destined to meet in the most unusual places,” grumbled Malone. “Seen any more ghosts in deserted cemeteries? Or are you finished with your ghost busting ways?”

“Actoooually, a real live ghost lives in our house,” piped up the Emzo, chomping on the huge wad of gum in her mouth. “His name is Earl. You should meet him. He might be able to tell you where the treasure –”

“EMILY!!!” Thud! The big mouth was now sprawled on the deck of the boat, glaring at the guilty twosome who had unceremoniously pushed her off the bench. In turn, Hannah and Lucy looked down at Emily, horror-stricken at the brat’s slip of the tongue. Hannah made a valiant effort to save the situation and started babbling.

“Emily is on pain medication and has been hallucinating about a great many things lately and thinks there are ghosts and pirates and treasure lying buried everywhere and we know there are no ghosts or treasure and, and …”

“Never you mind about that.” Malone patted his jacket pockets and pulled out a long-stemmed pipe. He then tried to light it, but the wind kept snuffing out the match. He replaced his pipe and instead withdrew a handful of mint candies. “That there wind is too strong for the pipe. What’re you looking at missy?”

Emily’s eyes had gone wide. “Last year I found a piece of a pipe stem that looked just like yours. There was even writing on it. It said Glasgow on one side, and W.W. White on the other. Hannah Googled it on the internet, and we found out that it came from Glasgow, Scotland around the 1800s.”

“And where did you find that?” squinted Malone while at the same time offering the Emzo some candy.

“Down at Arrowhead,” said Emily as she reached out for a sweet. She was once more seated next to her confederates. “There’s a special place we like to go to and we find all sorts of things buried in the sand at low tide. We find sea glass and old medicine bottles, rusty square-head nails, and lots of pottery pieces. Even arrowheads, if we’re lucky. Mom and Dad say these things were washed up from shipwrecks from the past. And that an Indian village was settled along the bay area, and the arrowhead and clay pot fragments came from them.”

“My, you have been busy beavers,” Malone said, shaking his head. “Always looking for clues to the past. I wonder what else you’ve found. Just remember to be careful. Sometimes your curiosity can turn into a dangerous obsession if you’re not too careful.”

Before Malone could continue, George stopped the boat and shut off the engine. “I just had a radio transmission,” he said, walking towards his expectant passengers with a rolled up piece of paper. “According to the RCMP search and rescue, most of the volunteer boats have headed west off towards Northport. Bill, give me your best bet as to where we should focus our eyes.”

Malone unrolled the map that George gave him, and flattened it out on the bench seat. The kids clustered around him, anxious to be included. Glancing back at the water and gauging the wind with a wet finger, Malone stood still.

“What are you doing?” asked the ever inquisitive Emily, gazing up at Malone. Hannah shook her head. Her sister really and truly had to get off those pills. She was just way too friendly with their only suspect.

Half a minute later, Malone looked back at Emily and smiled. “I was watching the boat. I needed to know which way the tide was pulling it. It’s a strong current, and it’s acting mighty strange too. It seems to pull you out real far to the west, but then it comes rushing back in, almost like in a circle. That’s real dangerous for a swimmer far from shore.”

Malone looked down and pointed to a spot on the map. “Let’s concentrate on this area first.”

After a quick look at the map, George moved back to the cabin. “Call out the coordinates, Bill.”

Bill carefully studied the spot and, after checking it again, shouted out some numbers to George. The boat’s engine sputtered back to life and the boat moved off and slowly picked up speed.

“I once read this really cool pirate book, and they had directions for a treasure hunt,” said Hannah, looking down at the map. “The clues were numbers and letters, and it took me a while to figure out that those were really referring to longitude and latitude. Map directions, but in pirate code they were written as LL5845, for example.”

“Like what’s on the piece of paper we found in the grave …”

“EMILY! You’re delusional again,” Hannah clamped her hand over her sister’s big mouth. “Stop making up stories.”

“What was that you were saying?” asked Malone, his eyes glinting excitedly as he peered at the cowering Emily.

Unnerved by his penetrating stare, Emily ran to sit with her dad on the other side of the boat. Hannah nervously licked her lips and tried to distract Malone. “Ah, pirates would always disguise map directions to the location of their buried treasure. They did this to try and fool people so that no one else could find the treasure. They made up their own codes that only they could read. Or so they thought.”

Malone was silent, staring out towards the open sea. Rubbing his chin, he seemed to be deep in thought. The girls tiptoed to the prow of the boat and joined Emily, who was now in the cramped cabin of George’s boat.

“Way to go Emzo!” snapped Hannah, furious at her sister’s indiscretion. “Let’s hope Malone did not catch your verbal diarrhea.”

The search continued well into the evening, but as the fiery sun slowly sank beyond the horizon, the unsuccessful fishing boats reluctantly headed back to the harbour. The Coast Guard helicopter flew by a few more times, its brilliant white searchlights sweeping ribbons of white across the turbulent water. The hopeful optimism of the afternoon faded with the setting sun, and the tired searchers gave way to dismay, helplessness and a sense of utter failure.

Four days after the Albertan man was swept out to sea, local fishermen found his battered body lodged between some rocks, not far from Northport. Locals say a great Blue Heron silently stood guard in the shallow waters, a few feet from the body, only to fly away once the solemn scene came to its tragic end.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

NORTH RUSTICO

The next evening the four friends huddled in Lucy’s tree house, heatedly discussing the latest events. Every now and then Lucy, Hannah and Jack threw blistering looks at Emily. They were sure she had let the cat out of the bag and now Malone was on to them.

“How could you be so stupid?” argued Hannah. “Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut?”

Emily was outraged. She was forced to listen to her sister rant and rave at her all evening long after getting off the boat and she was now a mite fed up. “It just slipped out before I could stop myself. Those numbers could be longitude and latitude. We never thought of that did we? So I am the one who figured it out. I cracked the case, and this is how you treat me!”

With a mighty huff, Emily stamped her feet and crossed her arms (and her eyes), trying to intimidate everyone with her withering looks of rage.

“Besides, Mr. Malone was nice to me on the boat,” she pouted, lips almost reaching her nose. “He gave me candy.”

“Yeah, that’s all you need – more sugar!” Hannah snapped back. “And who said Malone was being nice to you? He was probably just trying to get more information from that mouth of yours. The candy was a bribe. And you fell for it!

“Let’s see that paper y’all are fighting about.” Jack held out is hand, waiting to be given the delicate film of white paper. “Who’s got it?”

The kids had taken turns keeping the paper safe. It was Lucy’s turn to be its protector. From out of her blue knapsack Lucy pulled out a tattered copy of Treasure Island. The paper was tucked in between pages 92 and 93.

“The bozo brain might have a point,” said Jack, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. “These numbers do look like map directions. Hannah, you’re the one who brought up the idea in the first place on the boat when you started talking about your ‘cool’ pirate book. Emily just so happened to be smart enough to make the connection between what you said and what we found.”

“Let me see,” snapped Hannah, reaching for the piece of paper. Excitedly, the numbers were carefully passed around, and Emily was the last one left holding the paper. There was much excited buzzing and thoughtful speculation as to the coordinates’ location.

“Mr. Simpson has a nautical map up on his kitchen wall,” said Lucy as she jumped to her feet. “Let’s go take a look at it. And if we can’t make heads or tails of this, we can always ask him if he has any idea where the numbers could point to. Come on, let’s go.”

As Jack clambered down the ladder he paused and looked up at Emily. “Are you coming?”

“I think I’ll rest here for a while,” she sniffed. “My arm is beginning to ache a bit.”

“How will you get down by yourself?” wondered Jack.

“The same way I came up.” Another sniff. “One step at a time, and with the help of the rope.”

“Okay Tarzan, have it your way.” Jack jumped down from the last few rungs of the ladder and ran to catch up with the others. Still seething about Emily’s indiscretion, Hannah was relieved to see her sister decided to remain behind.

The trio sprinted down Wharf Road towards Simpson’s bright yellow house. They promptly collapsed on the porch steps, out of breath. Jack looked up at the house. It was a one-storey clapboard building, with shiny blue shutters framing the large picture windows in the front. The white porch ran the front length of the cheery house, and the deck railings were draped with thick ship ropes and decorated with multi-coloured buoys. He liked it.

“Before we knock on the door, who’s got the paper with the numbers?” Jack looked expectantly at the girls.

“OOOOHHH! We forgot the paper,” wailed Hannah, slapping a hand to her forehead. “I think Emily had it last. We have to go back and get it. Jack?”

“Don’t look at me,” he said as he stumbled backed down the steps. “We were all super geniuses and that means we all go back. Together. Got it?”

Reluctantly, the girls shuffled back after Jack and headed down the road towards the Buzzel House at a much slower pace than before.

“Emily!”

“Emily! Emily?” a chorus of cries rose from the three frustrated junior detectives as they moved towards the tree house. It was empty! Lucy’s mom poked her head around the corner of the garage as the noisy trio approached the maple.

“Emily went out for a bit,” Alice explained. “She said that she was taking a walk over to Mr. Malone’s house. I think she mentioned something about fixing things so that you’ll be happy with her again.”

“And you let her go?” shrieked Lucy. “What if she gets lost, or … or … hurt?”

“Be serious Lucy girl,” scolded her mom. “Mr. Malone is just down the road from us, and she’ll be perfectly safe with him.”

Her mother barely had time to finish her sentence before the kids ran off towards Malone’s house. As they reached his long and winding driveway, they heard the sudden roar of his flatbed pickup coming from the back of the house.

And then Hannah heard it: a faint voice yelling out Malone’s name. It was Emily!

“He’s going somewhere,” said Jack as he sprinted up the driveway.

“And he’s taking Emily with him,” wailed Hannah. “She’s been kidnapped! I’m sure of it. We must hurry.”

As soon as they rounded the last bend in the drive, the idling rusty green pickup came into view. The driver’s side door stood ajar, but Malone was nowhere to be seen.

“Quick, hop in,” whispered Jack as he climbed into the flatbed of the pickup. “This is our chance to see what he’s up to. I saw Malone just as he went back inside.” Lucy was reluctant to follow, but after a rough shove from Hannah, she too was safely on board and hunkered down in the back corner. “We’ll pull this tarp over us, and Malone will never even suspect we’re here. Help me out.”

Hannah almost gagged from the offensive smell that suddenly enveloped them. “This tarp is full of fish crap. Yuck. I think I’m going to throw up.”

Seconds later the truck rocked a bit as Malone climbed into the driver’s seat and backed out down the driveway. They were soon on the main road, and traveling at what seemed an alarming speed. The tarp made a tremendous amount of noise as it was whipped by the wind. The kids had a hard time trying to keep it from flying away. Jostled by an extremely bumpy ride, they remained quiet. Doubt slowly crept in, and all three friends wondered if this was such a bright idea.

Finally, after what seemed like eons, Hannah noticed that the truck was slowing down. After turning off, the truck bumped its way along what felt like a dirt road. Hannah decided to risk a peek from under the tarp. Sure enough, they were bouncing along a deeply rutted and water-logged path that was winding its way through waist-high sea grass.

“We’re at a beach,” she whispered, turning back to Jack and Lucy.

Jack was nodding. “Yeah, I heard the waves. Do you recognize the beach?”

Before Hannah could answer, the truck suddenly lurched to an abrupt stop and the kids tumbled on top of each other. Hannah heard Malone’s door creak open and then close with a thud. The noise was repeated on the other side. Much to Hannah’s dismay, there was no word from Emily. Perhaps she was unconscious, knocked out by Malone. Hannah was worried. She had to admit, she was beginning to panic, and she valiantly fought back the fear.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hannah heard a door slam shut off in the distance. Aside from the continuous rumble of the surf and the occasional cry of the gulls, no other noise could be heard. She cautiously peeked out. There was absolutely no one in sight! Eagerly pushing back the stinky tarp, Hannah motioned for the others to get out of the truck. Gulping in huge breaths of fresh salt air, the three surveyed the landscape.

To the left was a small sandy beach littered with rocks and garbage. A lonely lifeguard tower lay on its side, abandoned for the night. Straight ahead was an old causeway, huge jagged boulders piled up high on the sides. Immense squares of concrete slabs lay broken across the break wall.

This was beginning to look familiar, thought Hannah. And then she saw it. There, to the far right and down the road from them, stood the white and red lighthouse. Although it was far in the distance and the waning light cast confusing shadows, Hannah could make out the lobster trap graveyard that lay in front of the lighthouse. Every year her parents made it a point of posing Hannah and her sister in front of these broken traps for a picture.

“North Rustico!” burst out Lucy. “This is where we came with your mom last year, isn’t it?”

“And we bought all that yummy fudge from the nice old man,” finished Hannah. “I love this place. His daughter sells her homemade fudge right out of that small camper over there. I can still taste the chocolate fudge.”

“And how about that carrot and lemon flavour!” Lucy licked her lips.

“Excuse me, but can we get on with our rescue mission?” cut in Jack impatiently.

“Oh, right! Now where could Malone have gone off too?” asked Lucy, looking around.

“That’s strange,” said Hannah. “But take a look at the lighthouse. There’s a light on inside.

“Of course there is! That’s why we call it a light-house!!!” Jack was clearly agitated just standing around. He was a man of action!

“No silly,” Hannah shook her head as she started down the road towards the lighthouse. “I don’t mean the beacon on top. Look at the bottom window. There’s someone in there.”

“So? There’s nothing strange about that,” said Jack as he caught up with Hannah.

“It’s strange when you know that the lighthouse is always closed to the public, and no one’s been living in there since it became automated in 1965. When we came here last year the old man we bought the fudge from told us to go check out the lighthouse. It was lucky timing because a couple of workers opened it up to do some repair work. They let us in and we got to have a look around.”

“Maybe it’s people working on it again,” suggested Jack, looking up at the white wooden structure. A bright red band circled the top of the lighthouse, near the lantern deck. As the kids came closer, Jack noted the lobster traps. “I guess the traps that get washed up on the beach after a storm get tossed into this pile. Over the years it just keeps getting bigger. It’s kind of creepy, don’t you think?”

Just as they reached the edge of the graveyard, they heard voices arguing, and then a door swung open with a bang. Ducking among the piled-up traps, Jack, Lucy and Hannah gazed up at the source of the noise. A small shape slowly approached the railings of the lighthouse’s lantern deck. As the beacon of light revolved back around, a pale face was momentarily lit up – Emily! Seconds later she disappeared. Hannah stood up. Suddenly a large crash shattered the quiet evening, and an indistinct roar erupted from within the lighthouse. From inside came a sharp but brief scream.

“Oh my god, it’s Emily!” Hannah yelled and impulsively ran towards the lighthouse door. Lucy and Jack sprinted after her. Hannah violently yanked open the heavy front door and leaped inside, closely followed by her two loyal friends.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

RESCUE

Malone looked about him and saw three furious faces staring back at him, arms raised in karate-like poses.

“WHERE IS MY SISTER YOU CREEP?” bellowed Hannah. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!”

“Hi, Hannah!” Emily came bounding down the steep lighthouse stairs at an ‘Emily speed.’ Before reaching the last two steps she leapt into the air and landed at her sister’s feet. “You’ll never guess what we did. Wanna guess? Come on, guess!”

There was stunned silence, three mouths agape.

“You’re not dead?” squeaked Hannah.

“Nope!”

“You weren’t kidnapped?” squeaked Lucy.

“Course not!”

“You found the treasure?” squeaked Jack. “Without us?”

“Treasure?” asked a bewildered Malone, still holding a menacing sledgehammer. “There’s no treasure, at least not in the sense of pirate loot and all them things. Although that would make for a great story, I imagine. Is that what you were on about all this time? I’ll be darned! I’m sure sorry to disappoint you, but this is a treasure of a different sort, and it’s all mine. No one else can make a claim to it. Trust me!”

“Trust you?” sputtered Lucy. “You’ve been working hard to keep us from finding out what you’ve been doing. You even broke into our house looking for your knife. It was yours, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, that was a mistake,” admitted Malone. “A low point in my life. I’m real sorry for that but I panicked. I couldn’t let you four spoil things for me. I didn’t want you getting close to the truth, and I knew eventually you would figure out that it was my knife. I was afraid that with you looking for clues the same way I was would have destroyed a vital clue that I’ve been looking for all my life.”

Hannah looked at the dilapidated main room. “The numbers were map coordinates that led to this place, am I right?” She gave Malone a hard look and refused to back down from his unwavering stare.

“Aaaagggh! I guess there’s no sense in hiding things any more,” he started reluctantly. “It’s a long story, and a mite complicated, but after all the work the four of you have put into this adventure of yours you deserve to hear the truth I guess. I myself did not know the whole story until I started putting together all the information I have been gathering for years. Those letters that your friend Simpson gave me, together with the journal –”

“You’re losing us,” Jack said, straightening up from his fighter’s crouch.

“When I was a young boy I grew up hearing all sorts of stories about this amazing inheritance that should have come to our family. But the proof of our claim was lost at sea when my super-great grandfather’s boat went down in the Yankee Gale. I was six years old the first time I heard the story,” sighed Malone.

“Ever since then I’ve been waiting for his boat to wash up. It’s why I became a nautical historian. It gave me a chance to examine all the wrecks and artifacts that have washed up on our shores. I even got my diving certification so that I could explore the wrecks that remained below the waves. I knew approximately where his boat went down, so I concentrated on this area in particular.”

“So you went out on that April night to see what washed up at Arrowhead, and lucked out when you found the wreck,” theorized Jack.

“I sure did,” nodded Malone. “What a night. I was afraid for my life with that storm raging around me. I wasn’t expecting much, but boy, was I dumbfounded when I stumbled across the wreck.”

“But what made you go out on such a crazy night?” demanded Hannah. “You could have waited till morning.”

“Now that’s an interesting point,” nodded Malone, deep in thought. An uneasy look flittered across his face for an instant, but then he seemed to make up his mind. “Do you believe in ghosts? I never did, but after that night I sure changed my mind.

“The night of the April storm I fell asleep watching TV. All of sudden I was startled awake, not sure what woke me. I was frozen stiff even though the fireplace was still blazing away. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a white shape standing by my recliner but when I turned to look, there was nothing there. I thought I’d check the windows to see if the cold was coming from a window I had left open. But no, they were all closed. As I began to walk away, I tripped over a book lying on the floor.”

“What was the book about?” asked Jack, sitting down on an overturned wooden box. He was really getting into the swing of the story. After all, who could resist another ghost story? Not Jack Jack, that’s for sure!

“It was one that I wrote,” laughed Malone. “About French River. And it so happened to be opened to the page that mentioned Arrowhead beach. I don’t know why, but I got this sudden urge to head down there. There was no logic, and I did not stop to reason out the whys. I just got my coat and left. Even to this day I have no idea why I did it.”

“I’d call it destiny!” said Hannah. “With a capital D!”

“Destiny or not, it’s just luck that I’ve gotten this far,” continued Malone. “The only reason why things started to make sense was because of that journal in the shipwreck. Never in my wildest imagination did I think that I would ever find that journal. But sometimes life just throws a giant curve towards you.”

“What’s this about a journal?” asked Lucy. Looking around the lighthouse, Lucy could not find any more boxes to sit on. Sauntering over to Jack, she reached out and gave him a nice shove. Then she sat down in his place as if nothing had happened, daintily crossing her legs as she waited for Malone to continue.

“The journal is part of a long story, and I think I better start at the beginning,” said Malone, leaning his sledgehammer against the stair rails. He came over to where Lucy was sitting and crouched down next to her. The others followed suit and waited for him to continue. Jack warily eyed Lucy and decided to station himself next to Hannah, hoping that was a safer bet.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE INHERITANCE

“The story of my life actually started a long time before I was ever born. Sounds funny but that’s the truth. It’s about an inheritance that was lost many years ago. A beautiful woman was in the lead role. Her name was Sarah Mackenzie but everyone knew her as Lady Dorchester.”

“Wow,” gushed Emily. “A real-life lady! Almost a queen!”

“Not quite, but anyhow,” laughed Malone. “She lived in Scotland in the early 1800s in a great big castle with her father, the Earl of Loch Moreland. Sarah was an only child, her mother having died young after an outbreak of influenza when Sarah was a mere child. Since the death of his wife the Earl raised his daughter by himself. He spoiled her with love and wealth and he thought she would stay with him always. However, Sarah had other plans.

“When Sarah was a very beautiful girl of 16, William Lyon moved into the nearby village of Loch Moreland. He was a poor noble who had lost his lands and his money in the violent clan wars that continued to plague Scotland for so long. When he saw Sarah, he knew he had to marry her. Whether he was after her money or her love, I never found out, but their engagement infuriated Sarah’s father, the Earl. He believed that William only wanted the Earl’s estate and did not trust him. He forbade Sarah from marrying William but she was a headstrong girl, very much like her father.

“Sarah was torn. With many misgivings, she disobeyed her father and eloped with William, secretly marrying him. The Earl was devastated when he heard the news, and he refused to speak to her after that. He gave her a small amount of money to live on, but cut off all ties with his only daughter. Not long after the marriage, Sarah discovered she was pregnant. But disaster came in the form of famine and plague, and William died four months after the marriage. Believing her father would never take her back, Sarah fled Scotland with some friends, escaping the famine and disease by boarding a ship for Canada.

“I could not find much information on Sarah’s life in Canada but I was able to find some records of her sailing into Halifax, and then moving to PEI a couple of years later with her baby daughter. The next record I found was about her grandson Malcolm, who is my great-grandfather. Here is the story I grew up with, and what made me who I am today!

“Throughout his years growing up with his grandmother Sarah, Malcolm heard stories of a beautiful castle in far away Scotland. Grandma Sarah said that the castle really belonged to her and Malcolm. The people living in it right now were only distant cousins and had no right to own it. Sarah was the real heir now that her father was dead. She had proof: her birth certificate and marriage papers. Sarah insisted that when Malcolm was old enough he should sail back to Scotland and try to reclaim Loch Moreland.

“Malcolm was in his 40s when he finally left for Scotland. Sarah, or Lady Dorchester, had died the winter before, and left Malcolm some money, stipulating that he could only use it for Scotland. Afraid of being robbed on the ship, (Sarah had filled his head with many stories of pirates on the high seas), Malcolm decided not to bring the important papers with him to Scotland. Instead, he hid them somewhere here on the island. If all went well and he was accepted as the rightful heir, Malcolm would sail home and fetch those papers out of their hiding spot.

“The Scotland trip was successful, a distant cousin, unable to deny the family resemblance to portraits hanging at Loch Moreland, was willing to step down in return for a promise of a large payment of money. Malcolm booked passage on the next available ship home to get those papers.”

“What about the journal?” interrupted Emily. “I’m guessing that it was his ship that went down.”

“I’m just getting to that,” growled Malone. “My great-grandfather Malcolm was an avid journal writer. I found several volumes of his journals in an old trunk after my mother died. But I was missing the last one. Of course, it was the one that went down with the ship. I think when Malcolm realized the ship was going down, he knew he had to protect his most prized possession … the journal. With any luck, he thought the ship might wash up on some reefs and never even go down.”

“What did he do?” asked Jack. He was nudging Lucy with his elbow, trying to regain his rightful spot on the box. Brave boy. Lucy slapped his head. So much for that.

Malone continued. “Malcolm knew ships usually have secret water-tight compartments and the one he was on was no exception. He hoped his journal would eventually be found.”

Hannah frowned. “But the ship went down not far from shore in 1851. Its remains finally got pulled in to shore this spring. And then you found the journal, hidden in the wreck. What are the odds that would ever happen? Talk about luck.”

“Luck requires lots of hard work, young lady,” Malone grumped. “I had an inkling about the journal’s existence. I made it my life’s work to find it. Some people call it an obsession. But I never gave up. I think I’ve visited every ship wreck ever to wash ashore in PEI, dived down and explored even more, and got permission to examine thousands of artifacts. But I never really thought I would ever succeed. It just goes to show you that sometimes in life you need some dumb luck.”

“But why did it take you so long to figure out that the papers were hidden in North Rustico? You found the journal in April. It’s now almost August! The journal must have had all the answers.” asked Jack.

Malone scratched his head. “That’s the thing. It didn’t. It was only one more piece of the puzzle. Before he left Scotland for home, Malcolm wrote a letter to his daughter Hilda, telling her of his successful claim. I now have that letter, thanks to Simpson. In the letter he hinted that his ‘journal held an important name, one that would make them rich.’ The owner of this name lay hidden in Yankee Hill Cemetery. And that was it.”

“Silas Malone,” said Lucy.

“Yup, one and the same,” agreed Malone.

“And is this the same Hilda that Mr. Simpson was talking about at dinner?” asked Emily. “The miserable woman who he said was waiting for her prince charming? She had a box filled with letters, and those are what Mr. Simpson gave you, right? He said they made you very happy.”

“Yeah, Hilda became quite a character in her old age and developed a none-too-savoury reputation,” replied Malone. “Unfulfilled dreams made her very miserable. Much to everyone’s surprise, all her mumblings about her belonging to an aristocratic family were dead on. She spent her life waiting for proof of her claim to be supported. But to continue with my story...

“Malcolm wanted Hilda to try and decipher this riddle when he got home. They were always playing around at pretend treasure hunts when Hilda was growing up. But without the journal, Hilda had no name to look for, right? So the treasure hunt came to a sudden end.”

Sighing, Malone admitted his defeat. “And I never realized the significance of the journal until I had that letter in which he explained what the name was all about. Isn’t it ironic that both poor Hilda and I were missing an important part of Malcolm’s puzzle?”

“I don’t get it!” Emily was getting really frustrated. “Why would he do something like that? Why didn’t he just tell Hilda straight out where everything was? Instead, he made this whole thing so complicated!”

“I forgot to mention that Malcolm was a bit eccentric,” laughed Malone. “My great-grandfather loved riddles, puzzles, mysteries and treasure hunts. Don’t forget, he grew up during the heyday of pirate tales, buccaneers, treasure and adventure. Before he sailed for Scotland, he worked out a real treasure hunt of his own, with his inheritance as the prize. The day before he left he buried a locket at an old cemetery. It was his final clue for Hilda.”

“In Yankee Hill Cemetery,” clapped Jack. “And he buried it under the headstone of Silas Malone. That’s where he put the map directions, longitude and latitude numbers that we found. In the locket.”

Malone took the locket out of his coat pocket and handed it to Jack. Inside was a painting of a beautiful woman and a gentleman on the other. “That’s Lady Dorchester and her husband William,” whispered Malone, as he stared down at the locket. “Malcolm inherited that from Lady Dorchester, or Sarah. I was startled by that darned owl when I opened up the locket. I guess the scrap of paper with those numbers fell out at that moment and I never noticed it.

“Emily told me it had numbers written on it, in Malcolm’s handwriting. I didn’t know what those numbers meant at first. But when Emily said that her sister figured they were map directions, I realized those numbers zeroed in on this lighthouse. Did you know that Hilda actually operated this lighthouse until 1965, inheriting the position from Malcolm? When the lighthouse became automated, she moved to French River. Imagine! Great-grandfather Malcolm hid those papers here, right under Hilda’s nose. And she died without ever knowing about it.”

“So poor Hilda knew of the inheritance, but could never prove it because she couldn’t figure out the clues her father left her,” finished Hannah. “She didn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle.”

“And that’s why she was always grumpy,” added Emily.

Malone nodded in agreement. “I guess I was a bit grumpy too. I was so close to solving Malcolm’s puzzle, but I hit a dead end. I saw the name of Silas in the journal, but I didn’t know why it was important until I got that letter from Simpson.

“But what makes you think you can inherit the estate after all these years?” asked Hannah. “There still must be cousins and half-cousins and quarter-cousins that will fight you for it.”

“I’ve been following all news that has anything to do with the ownership of the estate. Remember, I’m an historian. It’s my business to keep track of things like this, especially when they are in my interest. A few years ago the last relative living in Castle Loch Moreland died without leaving an heir. Right away I filed my claim. My case has been in the courts since then. And now I have the proof! Thanks to Emily”

All eyes turned to Emily.

“I found the papers,” she said, proudly puffing out her chest. “The wallpaper in the kitchen just behind the old stove was peeling and you know me and paper. I love tearing things apart. So when I saw the paper here, I just grabbed and pulled. Underneath was a small door. Mr. Malone pried it off and voila! The papers were inside. I screamed when I saw them – they were covered in cobwebs! Yuck!”

“So you weren’t screaming because you were being kidnapped?” asked Lucy.

“Get real!” Emily waved off that suggestion. “That only happens on TV.”

“By the way, we asked you this already, but are you related in any way to the Silas Malone we found in Yankee Hill cemetery?” asked Jack.

“No, ummm, actually….” Malone stuttered and then cleared his throat. “In a way I guess I pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes. My name’s not Malone but Mackenzie. Didn’t want to use my real name, in case of complications, or things….”

The super sleuths exchanged surprised looks.

“So the Malone in the cemetery was just a plain old coincidence?” asked Emily.

“Well, in a way,” replied Bill Mackenzie. “I knew about Yankee Hill from a long while back and that tombstone always bothered me from the first time I found it. You know, the way it was positioned. Way back in 1978, when I was researching some of PEI’s more obscure graveyards, I uncovered it and made a note of the name. Just one of those trivial facts I keep remembering. I used his name as my cover.”

“So if you can prove your claim now that you have the papers, you will become the new Lord of Loch Moreland,” reasoned Hannah. “Wow. We’ll know someone of royal blood. Cool!”

“And you’ll be rich too,” said Jack. “And can afford to give us a nice reward for helping you find the final clues.”

Mackenzie laughed. “I’m not sure about the money. A lot of it has gone towards taxes and maintaining the castle. You know, it’s expensive to keep it from falling apart. I might end up quite poor. But at least the estate is now back where it belongs; with a direct descendant of Lady Dorchester. Me! And if any of you kids decide to fly over to Scotland, I’ll let you hang out at the castle for free!”

Suddenly Emily jumped to her feet and loudly proclaimed “I’m hungry!”

“What else is new?” muttered her sister. “I guess we should be heading back. Mom and Dad will be worried sick –”

“Not to mention KILL US!” And with that said Emily dragged her sister and friends to the pickup, impatiently tapping her tiny foot and urging the others into quicker, Emily-like action. “What are you waiting for … summer to end?”

Hannah laughed. Summer was still stretching ahead of them, and with the mystery solved, a well-earned break was not such a bad idea after all, she thought. Nodding to the others, the kids filed into Mackenzie’s pickup and headed home. Tomorrow’s forecast was promising mega waves!

Acknowledgements

Many thanks go out to everyone. First and foremost, to my daughters Kira and Emmalyn, who were the inspirations for Mosquitoes of Summer. Their zany antics, as well as those of my husband Daniel, and parrot Mr. Bean, had to be immortalized in print. I’ve been told that memory tends to go after the age of 40, so I had no choice but to write it all down. Little did they suspect that their escapades would become publicized. Their equally quirky friend, Jenevra Wetmore, along with her wonderful parents Tom and Heidi, and sister Ada, make up the crucial Vermont element in the novel. Thank you for deciding to talk to us on the beach. To my parents, Zoltan and Margit, for always believing in me and desperately waiting for that first book. Thank you also to my sister Catherine, brother-in-law Patrick, and niece and nephew Andrea and Max. Thank you to Stephanie Cur for being the first to read the initial chapters when I was still doubtful. Your positive reaction meant full-speed ahead. And finally a thank you to my colleagues at LTM High School: Kim White, who took my supermodel photo for the back cover, and Alison Hurst, a no-nonsense proofreader (back cover). Because of your enthusiastic input, your names have now been immortalized in print!