The Friendship Riddle (27 page)

“Boring,” Lucas said.

“Keep going,” Coco said. “At least we know we're going in the right direction.”

So we walked on. Adam started whistling a camp marching song, and Dev joined in. Soon we were all whistling and marching.

“It feels like we stepped into a different time,” Lucas said.

“Time travel is impossible,” Dev told him.

“It's theoretically possible,” Adam countered. “Just not physically possible yet.”

“But if it were ever
going
to be possible, then someone would have come back and—” Dev began.

“That's not what he means,” Coco interrupted. “He means it feels like a real, old-fashioned adventure.”

“A quest,” I said.

“A quest,” Lucas repeated. “Exactly. And you know how quests end? Victory!”

“There it is!” Lena said.

We ran up the slippery path. Lena stumbled and grabbed my arm, so we practically fell on top of the plaque.

Museum on the Street

Lord Whitcomb Vertrand

42

In front of you is the grave of Lord Whitcomb Vertrand, a wealthy gentleman who came to Promise in his later years. He built a grand mansion overlooking the bay, where he entertained guests from all over the world. He claimed he made his fortune in importing and exporting from his native England, where he alleged aristocratic status. It wasn't long after his arrival, though, that another story of his past began to emerge. Lord Whitcomb Vertrand, it was rumored, was actually the dreaded pirate Greenbottom. Greenbottom had stalked the seas between Canada and North Carolina. He earned his name for the vivid green satin breeches that he wore. Legend holds that he buried gold on the coast of the peninsula, but that claim has never been substantiated.

“Huh,” I said.

“What?” Coco asked.

“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “Just in the Harriet Wexler books, the character's last name is Greenbottom, too.”

“It's a good name,” Coco said.

“But where's the clue?” Lucas asked.

“It's got to be hidden on the plaque or stand somewhere.”

Lucas crouched down behind the stand, while Lena ran her hand around the edge, trying to find an opening. The base was iron, while the top was a single, solid piece of wood.

“Maybe the clue is in the words?” Adam said. “Like the gold! The buried gold!”

“I don't think so,” Coco said.

“There was gold in another clue, wasn't there?” Adam pressed. “We
are
on a treasure hunt!”

“No,” I said. “They've all been written down.” We were right. We'd solved the riddle and we were in the right place, I knew it. So where was that sixth clue?

“Look at this,” Coco said. “It says that this was placed here in 2013.” He read, “
 
‘Generous funds from the Promise Historical Society and a grant from the Maine Humanities Council allowed us to replace aging markers on the History Path.'
 
”

“Oh, no,” I moaned. “It's gone.”

“A total dead end,” Lucas said.

“So no gold, and my shoes are going to have salt stains?” Adam asked.

“That's why you should wear boots, nimrod,” Dev said as he pulled his hat back onto his head.

“A nimrod, traditionally, is a skilled hunter,” Lucas told him.

“Ha!” Adam said. “I am Adam the Nimrod, great and skillful hunter.”

“I'm sorry,” Coco said to me. “It's not over yet. We could keep going, follow the later clues you found.”

“If only we had that key,” Lena said.

“What key?” Adam asked.

“The one it talks about in the clue with the maiden on it. The Snow White one. ‘Now you might ask, this little key . . .' Ruthy and I found the post office box, thanks to Adam. And if we had that key, we could get in, and then this day wouldn't be a total bust.”

I felt myself growing hot. How had I not put that together? “Actually,” I said in a soft voice. “Actually, we do have the key.”

We raced back down the hill toward town, slipping and sliding on the icy paths. When we made it to Main Street, we slowed to a walk, but only because we were getting some dirty looks.

The clock tower bells started chiming. One, two, three, four. “Come on!” Lena cried. “Before they close!”

“What time do they close?” Coco asked.

“I don't know. Post offices keep the wackiest hours. Let's go.” She grabbed my arm and tugged.

We all stumbled up the stairs, across the marble floor, and over to the boxes.

Lena hopped from foot to foot and blew on her hands while I dug in the pocket of my jeans for my key.

“I still don't understand what we're doing here,” Adam said.

“That clue you helped me with. The one with the natural twenty, it was actually a code about a post office box, and Ruthy and I found it, but we didn't have the key.”

“But when Charlotte gave me the box with the clues and our—with everything, it had a tiny key in it. I thought it was . . . I thought it was for something else.”

“Charlotte?” Adam asked.

I yanked the key from my pocket. I'd been carrying it with me, wondering if I should give it back to her so all the keys would be together. “Yes, Charlotte.”

“Charlotte Diamond? Popular Charlotte?” he asked.

“Beautiful Charlotte,” Dev teased.

I groaned. Everyone loved Charlotte. Even my own motley crew. “She found some in the library. No big deal. Well, actually . . .” I started to explain my theory that she had sought out one of the clues and found it in the school library.

“Ruthy! The key!”

I passed it over to her. “It has to be the right key, doesn't it?”

“A post office box.” Dev sighed. “What do you think might be in it? People keep all sorts of treasures in a post office box, don't they?”

“That's a safe-deposit box,” Adam replied. I think he was a little happy to be able to get back at Dev for teasing him about Charlotte. Did Adam really like her? I imagined boys all over Frontenac Consolidated swooning over her, dreaming of her at night.

Lena jiggled the key. I bit my lip. It was the wrong key. But then, no, it slipped in. It was like we had all been holding our breath, and let it out in one big whoosh of a sigh.

Lena turned the key.

The box was jammed full of flyers and circulars—the kind of stuff addressed to Current Resident. She pulled everything out and let it fall right onto the floor.

“Lena!” Coco said. We both crouched down and began picking up the fallen mail.

“There!” Lucas said. His hand shot into the box and pulled out a tiny envelope. It was green with silver stars like nighttime on some foreign planet. He handed it to me. The paper rustled as I opened the flap and pulled out the note.

There was the red seal with the bird staring at me. I
unfolded it to find a picture of a science-class-type flask bubbling over with a greenish-brown liquid. The border looked like an old picture frame, and in each corner was a tiny insect. Before I started reading, I noted the nine little stars on the bottom of the clue.

“Who's Mr. Douglas?” Lucas asked. We all looked at each other, but no one had the answer.

“I guess that's our next mystery to solve,” I said.

“The quest continues!” Adam cried out.

“The quest!” Coco agreed.

And then, as if we had planned it, we all yelled in unison, “The quest!”

The old postmistress narrowed her eyes at us and shook her head, but as we ran giggling out of the post office, we yelled it again, over and over: “The quest! The quest! The quest!”

Lena wanted to make me a special dinner and dessert to get ready for the bee. She asked to do it the night before, but Mom swore Mum would be home by then—it was still almost a week away. So, after we burst out of the post office yelling about the quest, the boys were picked up by their parents, and Lena and I walked down to her house. I sat at the kitchen table while Lena worked, chopping mushrooms and peppers.

I had the clues laid out in front of me, all in order. There were seven of them. We were still missing the very first clue and the sixth one—the one that should have been on the History Path. “Do you think they found it when they took down the old sign?” I asked.

“The clue? Maybe. It depends on who took it down. A lot of the grounds guys come to the shack. If they work like they eat, most of them wouldn't notice. I saw Burt Wildwood take down a full-belly clam sandwich in two bites once. He washed it all down with Mountain Dew. It was the most disgusting and impressive thing I have ever seen in my life.”

“They probably wouldn't have realized how important it was, anyway.”

Lena started peeling potatoes. “Do you want some help?” I asked.

“Nope. This is your special meal.”

“Speaking of special meals, my mum told me to pick a restaurant in Portland for us for my birthday dinner.”

“Really? Man, there are so many places I would like to try. Fore Street, Salt Exchange, Duckfat.”

“But I was thinking maybe, I don't know, maybe I do want a party, after all.”

“Yeah?” she asked. She didn't sound disappointed. “Like what kind of a party?”

“A boy-girl party, I guess.”

“Sure, of course. We'll invite the guys. But what kind of a party?”

“Like a theme?”

She laughed as she tossed the potatoes in salt. “No, no. Unless, of course, you want to do a pirate theme and we can all talk like pirates.
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!
That would be cool.”

“I don't think so.”

“I mean, like, will it be at night or in the daytime? Are we going to play games or watch a movie or stuff our faces with pizza or what?”

“I hadn't really thought that far. I haven't even talked to my moms about it yet.”

“Don't you think you should soon? Your birthday's a week from Saturday, right?”

I picked up the last clue. Maybe dinner was the best idea, after all. I read the clue again to myself, then said, “Mr. Douglas, Mr. Douglas, Mr. Douglas.”

“Ugh, why are you talking about him?” It was Lucia, passing through the kitchen and trying to steal Lena's peppers.

“You know him?”

“Sure. He's a science teacher at the high school. In between classes, he stands out in the hall and just glares at all of us like we are all up to no good.”

“You probably are up to no good,” Lena said.

“Not me,” Lucia said. She snagged another pepper and said, “Lucky me, I had Ms. Hensworth for ninth grade. Maybe you'll get stuck with him.”

“What's so bad about him?” I asked.

“Besides the glare? Well, he's tough, especially on kids that usually do well in school. Margaret Nixon got transferred out of his class because her parents thought he would ruin her GPA. And you can hear him yelling at his class
from halfway down the hall. And his classroom is full of dead animals. I mean full.”

Lena and I exchanged a look. “Does he like to listen to the radio?” I asked.

“All the time,” she said. “He has a little one playing in his back room. Classic rock. That was a weird question.”

“You're weird,” Lena said.

Lucia responded by taking another pepper and biting her thumb.

“Do you bite your thumb at me?” Lena asked.

“I do bite my thumb, sir,” Lucia responded.

“Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?”

“No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I do bite my thumb.”

They were laughing now, and it seemed like they were speaking another language. Lucia still smiled as she left the room.

“
Romeo and Juliet
,” Lena explained. “My parents are a little Shakespeare-obsessed. I'm named after Rosaline, who, by the way, is the girl Romeo supposedly liked before Juliet came along and swept him off his feet. Who names a girl that? That's why I go by Lena.”