The Mystery of the Screech Owl

  “Jessie!” she whispered. “Nobody is rowing that boat!”

  Jessie looked again. Was it a trick of the moonlight or was the boat actually rowing itself across the pond?

  The boat slid around to the other side of the dock, disappearing from sight. Jessie blinked, but the boat was gone.

  “We must be very tired,” she told Violet. “Maybe the wind pushed the boat away from the dock.”

  “There’s no wind,” Violet observed. “The water is as still as glass. Nothing moved on that pond but the boat. A boat rowed by no one!”

  The girls went back to bed.

  Jessie had trouble falling asleep. She kept picturing the empty boat moving across the dark water. Violet was right — they hadn’t imagined what they had just seen. At last, she fell asleep.

  The next morning, the smell of fried potatoes and sizzling bacon drifted upstairs. The Alden children dressed hurriedly and ran down to the big open kitchen.

  Grandfather stood at the old-fashioned stove, expertly flipping flapjacks onto a castiron griddle.

  “I thought you kids were going to sleep all day,” he said, teasing. “But I figured out a way to get you up.”

  Benny carried the jug of warm maple syrup over to the polished oak table. “I’m starving,” he exclaimed. “Grandfather, may I have a dozen pancakes?”

  Violet laughed. “When aren’t you starving, Benny Alden? And I don’t think even you can eat a dozen of Grandfather’s pancakes.”

  Crispy bacon, home fries, and cold milk rounded out the hearty meal. James Alden’s famous pancakes were so huge, even Henry couldn’t eat a dozen, but everyone gave it a try.

  “There’s frost on the windows,” Jessie observed. “That means it’s really cold. Will it snow?”

  “It could, but the weather report on the radio said it would be sunny today,” said Grandfather. “At least, that’s what I think the radio announcer said. The broadcast was in French.”

  “Then we can go exploring,” Benny said.

  “Of course,” Grandfather said. “Just wear your coats and hats. These cold nights and warm days are perfect conditions for the sap to rise in the sugar bush.”

  Everyone looked puzzled. Grandfather laughed.

  “I’ll take you to the sugar bush this afternoon,” he said. “And you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

  After washing the dishes, the children bundled up in jackets, scarves, and hats.

  As they walked down to the edge of the pond, Violet told the boys about the boat she and Jessie had seen the night before.

  “A boat with nobody rowing it?” Benny exclaimed. “How could that happen? You don’t think there are any ghosts here, do you?”

  “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation,” said Henry. “Let’s look for the boat.”

  Now that it was bright daylight, Jessie could see the camp wore signs of neglect. The cabins around the pond were rundown. The gravel paths sprouted weeds and the lawns had gone to seed.

  Down by the pond, cattails and reeds grew thickly along the shore.

  They walked out on the sagging dock, carefully stepping over missing planks.

  “We saw the boat leave on this side.” Violet pointed. “And then it went around over here. I think I see it!”

  The children hurried back down the dock, then pushed through a thicket of cattails along the shore.

  A rickety rowboat was beached on the muddy bank, hidden by reeds. It had been painted dark green at one time, but the boards were mostly scraped bare. Ghostly orange letters spelled out the boat’s name.

  “Is this the boat?” Henry asked.

  Jessie stared at it. “I think so. What’s that written on the side? The letters are so faded … Orville?”

  “What a funny name for a boat,” Benny commented.

  Henry shook his head. “Are you sure this is the boat? This old thing would sink if you tried to float it in the bathtub!”

  “Well, it was night, so we couldn’t see what color it was,” Jessie said doubtfully. “But it looks like the same boat.”

  Just then they heard laughter and voices on the hill above them.

  “The Andersons are out early, too,” said Jessie, waving.

  “Let’s go meet them!” Benny was already halfway up the path.

  Patty, Aaron, and Jacob ran the rest of the way down the hill when they saw the Aldens.

  “Hi!” said Patty, her blue eyes bright with excitement. “Guess what? We’re going to buy this place!”

  “You’re kidding!” Jessie remarked. “You’re going to buy Broken Moon Pond?”

  “Yep.” Aaron grinned. “We like it here so much, our folks decided to buy it.”

  “We’re going to use the cabin you’re in,” added Patty. “And rent out the others. After we fix them up.”

  “My dad called the caretaker,” said Aaron. “He said we wanted to make an offer. The caretaker called the real estate man in town. We’re going to see him now.”

  “He’s the man we picked up our keys from,” Jessie said, nodding. “That’s great news.”

  “We saw you guys staring at something by the pond,” said Aaron. “What were you looking at?”

  “Just an old boat,” said Benny. “We’ll show you.”

  They went back over to the dock.

  “Well?” said Patty. “I don’t see anything.”

  Henry pushed the reeds aside. “Right there —” he began.

  But there was nothing hidden among the reeds.

  The boat was gone.

  CHAPTER 3

  The Sugar Bush

  “It was right here!” cried Jessie. “An old green boat with Orville painted on the side.”

  Patty looked dubious. “Maybe the boat was someplace else and you thought it was here. These reeds are pretty thick.”

  “No, it was here,” Henry insisted. “We all saw it. See the broken cattails?” That gave him an idea. “If the boat had been here, there would be marks in the mud.”

  But before he could look further, Mrs. Anderson appeared at the top of the hill. She was carrying little Emma.

  “Kids!” she called. “We’re leaving!”

  “We’ve got to go,” said Aaron. “We’re going to town to buy the camp!”

  After the Andersons left, the Alden children searched for the vanished rowboat.

  “This is too weird,” said Violet, her shoes squishing as they walked back to the cabin. “How could a boat disappear?”

  “And without us seeing anybody,” Jessie added. She rubbed mud off her shoes on a patch of grass. “Who could have taken the boat?”

  “Maybe the same person who rowed it across the pond last night,” said Benny.

  “But we didn’t see anybody.” Violet stopped. She could guess what Benny was thinking. “Benny, there are no ghosts at Broken Moon Pond.” At least, she didn’t think there were.

  At that moment, Grandfather came out on the porch. “Ready for our trip?”

  The children raced one another to the top of the hill.

  “Where are we going?” Benny wanted to know as he fastened his seat belt in the rental car.

  “Sugar bush country,” was all James Alden would say.

  They drove the short distance to Nibelle, then took a crooked road leading away from the village.

  Deep woods surrounded the road. More snow lay on the ground. Because of the heavy forest, the sun didn’t melt the snow as quickly.

  A sign in French stood next to a rutted lane. Grandfather turned down the lane and stopped at a small shack. A big man in a flannel shirt leaned out the window of the shack.

  “Bonjour,” Grandfather greeted him.

  “Bonjour,” the man grunted.

  Jessie whispered to Benny, “That means, ‘Hello.’” She had looked up the word in her French-English dictionary.

  Now James Alden was asking if they were permitted to visit the sugar bush and if there was a fee.

  The man, whose name tag read ANDRÉ PLESSIS, peered into the car. He
stared at the children, then said, “You are a family of four children?” He looked puzzled.

  Grandfather smiled. “I am lucky enough to have four grandchildren.”

  “That way,” André Plessis said, giving Grandfather a brochure.

  Henry poked Jessie. “I wonder why that guy looks so confused.”

  “It’s like he was expecting some other people or something,” she whispered back.

  They drove through the gate. Benny was the first to notice something odd about the trees.

  “They have buckets on them!” he exclaimed.

  “And faucets!” Violet chimed in.

  Grandfather laughed at their amazement. “That’s how they get sap from maple trees.”

  Grandfather pulled the car into a graveled lot near a long, low building and they got out.

  “Mmmmm!” said Benny, taking a deep breath. “It smells like candy!”

  The air does smell wonderful, Jessie thought. It made her want to eat breakfast again!

  “This is the sugar hut,” explained James Alden. “It’s where the sap is processed into maple syrup. When I came here years ago, the hut really was a hut. Now it’s a modern facility.”

  A tour guide met them at the door. Her name tag read MARIE-LOUISE. Jessie thought Marie-Louise was very pretty, with her long red hair and green eyes.

  Marie-Louise spoke very good English. “Welcome to cabane du sucre, or sugar hut, as you would say. Some syrup operations use tubes to collect the sap from the trees, but here in Nibelle, we still use buckets. I will show you.”

  Outside again, she walked over to a large tree that had a bucket hanging from the trunk.

  “The best trees are sugar maples or black maples,” she explained. “Sap starts to run when the temperature is above freezing for a few days but still cold at night. We’ve had very good weather this year.”

  “Do you just stick that thing in the tree and turn it on like a faucet?” Violet asked.

  “Almost,” Marie-Louise replied with a smile. “First, we drill a small hole into the tree. It does not harm the tree, by the way. These trees have been tapped year after year. Next we drive in a spile, which allows the sap to flow through the spout on the end. The bucket hangs from this hook and the sap drips into it.”

  Henry looked around. “Do you have to carry all the buckets back to the building?”

  “No,” said Marie-Louise. “We collect the sap in a gathering tank and drive back to the cabane. But the sap must be processed immediately. That is why our operation runs day and night during sugaring season.”

  She led the way back to the facility. Inside, people worked over metal tubs, checking thermometers that they dipped into the vats.

  Marie-Louise walked over to one of the tubs. “This is an evaporator,” she said, lifting the lid. “The lid keeps the syrup clean. This pipe carries the steam outside. That is why a sugar camp smells so good!”

  “How does the sap turn into syrup?” asked Jessie.

  “The evaporator boils away the water,” explained Marie-Louise. “See the channels at the bottom of the pan? They allow the sap to move up and down, which concentrates the syrup.”

  “How long does it take?” Grandfather wanted to know. “I worked here when I was a boy, but the operations weren’t modernized.”

  “Generally, it takes a few hours to reach sugar stage,” Marie-Louise replied. “When the temperature reaches 218 degrees, the syrup is ready. But very quickly, the syrup can burn, so timing is critical.”

  “Grandfather, I didn’t know you made syrup,” said Violet.

  He winked at her. “I’ve had a lot of jobs in my long life.”

  Marie-Louise turned to Benny. “How would you like to make tire sur la neige?”

  “I don’t know,” he said hesitantly. “Will I like it?”

  Their guide laughed. “I think you will!”

  Marie-Louise placed some of the dark, sweet liquid into a small tray. Then she led them outside once more. There, she poured the syrup in stripes on a hard-packed snowbank.

  Instantly the golden syrup turned into sugar strips.

  “That is sugar-on-snow candy,” she told them. “Try it!” From her pocket, she pulled out plastic forks.

  Benny used his fork to pick up the maple taffy. “Yummy!” he said approvingly. “When I grow up, I’m going to be a syrup-maker.”

  Marie-Louise laughed again, then said, “Be sure to stop at the café. They serve a very good lunch.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” said Grandfather. “Thank you for showing us around.”

  They walked down the path to the cedar log building. Inside, a fire crackled in the raised brick fireplace. Red-checked curtains hung at the windows. Hand-carved wooden spiles and buckets decorated the walls.

  The waitress was all smiles when they first walked in, but then she frowned and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “What’s with her?” Violet whispered to Jessie. “She acts like she doesn’t want us to come in.”

  “I don’t know,” Jessie said. “It’s not like it’s crowded or anything.” An older couple occupied a table by the fireplace, but the restaurant was otherwise empty.

  With a grudging wave, the waitress signaled the Aldens to sit at a cramped table in a far corner.

  “Perhaps we could sit over there by the window?” Grandfather said politely. “Since there are five of us.”

  “Suit yourself,” grumbled the waitress, whose name tag read BERTHILDE. She threw down a sheaf of menus written in French.

  “She’s not very friendly,” Henry remarked.

  “Maybe she’s having a bad day,” said Violet. “How do we know what to order?”

  “We’ll get the special and hope for the best,” said Grandfather. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  After a long wait, Berthilde brought them five plates of maple-baked beans, pancakes with maple syrup, and maple tarts.

  “Boy, they sure like syrup around here,” Jessie commented. But the food was delicious, and she ate heartily.

  “I like it,” said Benny. Any place that served nothing but sweets was okay in his book.

  “It is good,” Grandfather agreed. “But we need water or something to drink.” He tried to catch the waitress’s eye, but she avoided him. After a few minutes, he walked over to her and asked for some water.

  Berthilde stomped back, carrying five glasses of water. She set the glasses on the table so hard, water sloshed out.

  Jessie mopped the spilled water with her napkin. “The waitress is as nice as pie to those other customers, but she sure doesn’t like us.”

  “She’s never seen us before,” said Grandfather. “Maybe she’s tired of tourists who don’t talk to her. It’s hard being a waitress.”

  When Berthilde returned to clear their plates, Henry said, “We enjoyed visiting the sugar bush today. We’re staying just outside of Nibelle, at Broken Moon Pond.”

  Berthilde dropped Henry’s plate with a clatter. “Broken Moon Pond! That’s the old Dupré camp, is it not?”

  “Yes,” replied Grandfather. “I used to come here as a boy. Now the camp is for sale.”

  The waitress made a dismissive sound. “No one will buy that place. It’s haunted!”

  CHAPTER 4

  “Do Not Go Back!”

  “Haunted!” Violet cried loudly. “How?”

  Berthilde lowered her voice dramatically. “Strange noises have been heard after dark. And things appear and disappear. It must be the work of a ghost!”

  “There is a ghost!” Benny breathed. “I knew it!”

  “Do not go back to Broken Moon Pond!” Berthilde warned. “Get in your car and drive home.”

  “The camp is not haunted,” Grandfather said reasonably. “You know ghosts aren’t real, Benny. Anyway, we’re staying for the sugar festival.”

  Outside, the children began speaking all at once.

  “Suppose the camp is haunted,” Benny said.

  “We did find a boat,” Violet added. “But wh
en we tried to show it to the Anderson kids, it was gone.”

  In the car, Grandfather spoke firmly, “I’m sure there is a logical explanation for everything.”

  “That’s what I think,” Henry put in. “What was strange was the way that waitress acted.”

  “Henry’s right,” agreed Jessie. “She didn’t want to serve us, that’s for sure. And when she did, she dropped things and forgot our drinks.”

  “Maybe she’s new at that job,” suggested Grandfather as they drove into Nibelle. “I’m going to stop at the market and pick up something for dinner.”

  He parked in front of the real estate agency. The children decided to wait outside.

  “Look,” Benny said, pointing to a blue station wagon next to them. “That’s the Andersons’ car.”

  “And here they come out of the office,” said Violet. “I wonder if they bought Broken Moon Pond. Let’s go talk to them!”

  Patty met them with a glum face. “Hi, guys. We didn’t buy the camp yet.”

  “Why not?” asked Jessie.

  “Mr. Cartier couldn’t find the phone number of one of the guys selling the camp,” Aaron answered.

  Jessie could tell he was disappointed. “Mr. Cartier isn’t very organized,” she said. “He gave us the wrong keys because his assistant is away. His files are a mess, I bet.” If Jessie worked there, she’d be able to find every single piece of paper.

  “I have a weird feeling about all of this,” Patty said.

  “What kind of weird feeling?” Violet asked.

  Patty shrugged. “I’m not sure. But something isn’t right. People in this town treat us like — well, like they don’t want us here.”

  The Alden children looked at one another. Then Henry said, “It’s funny, but we have the same feeling — that people don’t want us here, either.”

  Jessie had been mulling over the events of the last few days. “Strange stuff has been happening ever since we got here. First, we found that notebook —”

  “What notebook?” inquired Jacob.

  “A field journal,” Henry said. “We believe it was kept by a kid years and years ago.”

  “Can we see it?” Aaron asked.

  “Sure,” said Jessie. “When we get back to camp. Here comes Grandfather now. Let’s meet by the dock later.”