The Mystery of the Screech Owl

  James Alden stopped to speak briefly with Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Then he put a sack of groceries in the trunk and got into the car.

  Shaking his head, he said, “That’s too bad about the Andersons. They are anxious to buy the camp and now there’s a delay with the paperwork.”

  “Can you help them?” Benny wanted to know.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” said Grandfather as they drove toward Broken Moon Pond.

  Back at the camp, the kids put away the groceries.

  Jessie retrieved the field journal from her dresser, then made sure everyone had sweaters in case it became chilly again.

  They ran outside and down to the pond. The sun was out, dappling the water with golden sparkles.

  Patty, Aaron, and Jacob were waiting by the dock.

  “Emma’s taking a nap,” Patty said. “She’s a good kid, but she’s too little to hang out with us. Is that the journal?”

  Jessie held it out. “Be careful. It’s really old.”

  Patty took the book and slowly turned the pages. “Wow. This kid was a good artist. Look at that owl. It looks real.”

  The owl picture was Benny’s favorite, too. The artist had drawn the owl flying against a full moon. The bird seemed as if it were swooping off the page.

  At the top, a wing feather had been sketched in detail. Beneath the feather was a single word. Benny was about to ask what the word was when Patty turned the page.

  The next drawing showed a wildcat with long, thick fur and tufted ears.

  “What is that?” asked Violet, trying to read upside down. “A lynx? I’ve never heard of it.”

  Henry nodded. “I have. It’s related to the bobcat, only more rare. People used to hunt them for their fur. I wonder if the kid who drew this actually saw one.”

  “He must have,” said Violet. “This drawing wasn’t made from a photograph. It was done fast, as if he were watching the cat from someplace high. See the angle?”

  Now that Violet pointed it out, Jessie could see the cat was sketched quickly but expertly. Still, the energy of the cat came through in only a few pencil strokes.

  “Let’s take a hike,” suggested Jacob. “We haven’t done much walking since we got here.”

  “We haven’t, either,” said Henry. “Excellent idea.”

  Jessie tucked the field notebook in her pocket and they walked around the pond and onto a path just beyond the camp.

  “Boy, it’s creepy in here,” Benny remarked as they entered the woods.

  “Canadian forests are pretty dense,” Aaron said. “The evergreen trees make it dark in here.”

  Just then something rustled in a nearby shrub.

  “Look!” Patty cried.

  A brown animal with a white stomach, long ears, and huge feet bounded out of the brush.

  “That’s the biggest bunny I’ve ever seen!” Benny exclaimed.

  Henry chuckled. “It wasn’t a bunny, Benny. That was a snowshoe hare.”

  “Hair?” Puzzled, Benny tugged at his own bangs.

  “No, a hare,” Henry explained. “It’s related to the rabbit, but different. The babies are born with fur and their eyes open. Baby rabbits are born without fur and their eyes shut.”

  “There’s a picture in the journal,” said Jessie, pulling the notebook from her pocket. “Here it is. You’re right, Henry. That was a snowshoe hare. The artist drew it in its spring phase, it says. Brown and white. In the winter, it would be all white, to blend in with the snow. And in the summer, it’s brown.”

  “This notebook is great,” Aaron remarked. “I never knew so much about animals before.”

  As they walked on, they made other discoveries. Violet spotted the tiny tracks of a deer mouse on a snowy bank. They knew the tracks were made by a deer mouse because the artist had drawn them in the notebook.

  “I wish we knew who this person was,” Jessie said wistfully. “I feel like we know him, through his drawings.”

  “How come you say ‘he’?” asked Patty. “It could be a ‘she.’”

  “I don’t think so,” said Jessie. “I don’t know why, but I feel like the person who kept this notebook was a boy.”

  Violet was watching a flock of geese fly overhead, heading north. Has there ever been a prettier sight? she wondered. It was so peaceful in the woods, with birds and animals around.

  Then she had a thought.

  “I think the person was here,” she said suddenly.

  “Where?” Henry asked.

  “Right here, in these woods,” Violet answered. “I can’t explain it. Like Jessie, it’s just a feeling I have.”

  “Do you think his ghost is here?” Benny asked fearfully.

  Violet patted her little brother’s shoulder. “No, not his ghost. It’s like the feeling we get when we’re in an old house. You can tell it’s been lived in by other people a long time ago. I believe the journal-keeper walked where we are years and years ago.”

  The kids stopped at a fork in the path.

  “Which way?” asked Jacob.

  “Let’s go that way,” said Henry, pointing right.

  He didn’t know why, but he had a feeling that something important was at the end of the trail.

  The path wound around a steep hill. Then the dense woods opened up into a clearing.

  The children pushed brambles away, staring with round eyes.

  In the center of the clearing stood an immense black maple tree with wide-spreading branches.

  And nestled among the sturdy branches was a wondrous sight.

  CHAPTER 5

  The Amazing, Fantastic Tree House!

  Violet gasped. “Wow!”

  “Amazing!” said Aaron, awestruck.

  “Fantastic,” was Jessie’s reaction.

  Benny summed it up. “It’s an amazing, fantastic tree house!”

  And it was. None of the children had ever seen a tree house like this one.

  Sheltered by the welcoming branches of the maple, the tree house had been built on three levels. The main part curved around the trunk, with the tree growing out of the center of the roof. A catwalk surrounded the larger structure on all four sides.

  Above the main section were two smaller additions, one above the other. They were reached by stairs. Each section had a slanted shingled roof and glass windows. A large railed platform topped off the fantastic dwelling.

  “What a neat place!” Benny exclaimed, running to the bottom of the tree. “How do we get up there?”

  Henry glanced around for a ladder or handholds. But nothing was nailed to the bark of the huge maple.

  “I see a hole cut in the platform,” he said, tipping his head back. “But where is the ladder?”

  Violet noticed a wooden stick near the base of the tree. That’s funny, she thought. The branches started way up. Why was one growing so near the roots?

  Then she saw the knobby top of the branch had been carved like an owl’s head.

  “Look,” she said, touching the owl’s head.

  As she did, a ladder dropped from the platform overhead. The ladder was made of thickly woven rope.

  Jessie stared at her sister in astonishment. “How did you do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Violet replied, amazing herself. “All I did was pull this carved thing.”

  Aaron and Henry studied the owl’s-head stick.

  “Pretty cool,” Aaron pronounced. “This is really a lever. A line runs up the side of the tree, but it blends in with the bark so you can barely see it.”

  “When you pulled the stick, it tripped some mechanism on the platform,” Henry added. “And that caused the ladder to fall down.” He pushed the lever backward. The ladder was whisked up and hidden from sight.

  “Cool,” said Benny. “Let me try.” He pulled the lever and the rope ladder fell down again.

  “Who wants to go first?” asked Jacob.

  “Not me,” Patty replied, backing away. “I don’t like heights.”

  “This ladder could be rotten,” H
enry stated. “I’m the heaviest, so I’ll test it.”

  He put one foot in the lowest rung and bounced a little. The ladder held. Then he climbed up cautiously and pulled himself onto the platform.

  With a thumbs-up signal, he said, “Who’s next?”

  Now everyone was eager to climb the ladder, even Patty. When they were all up on the platform, Jessie twisted the knob on the door.

  “It’s not locked,” she remarked.

  “Who would rob a tree house?” asked Benny. “Especially one that you can’t get up into.”

  “Good point.” Jessie pushed hard on the door. The hinges creaked with disuse. One by one, they all stepped inside.

  No one spoke for a minute.

  “This house,” Henry pronounced, “is absolutely perfect.”

  “It’s almost as nice as our boxcar,” Benny said.

  “But our boxcar didn’t have homemade furniture,” said Violet. “This furniture looks like it grew out of the tree.”

  Chairs were made of bent willow saplings. A single slab of cedar formed a table. Shelves had been fashioned from split logs.

  “There are even pictures on the wall,” Jessie commented. She particularly liked a little sign that said, TREE, SWEET TREE. “That’s supposed to be ‘Home, Sweet Home.’ Somebody has a good sense of humor.”

  “And good building skills.” Henry rapped the sturdy walls. “This place is completely protected from rain and wind.”

  “Who lives here?” Patty wanted to know, picking up a dusty pillow from a rocking chair.

  “Nobody now,” Violet guessed. She pointed to piles of leaves and acorns in the corners. “Squirrels did that. I don’t think they’d make nests if people were around.”

  Benny couldn’t believe anybody would leave such a great place. The tree house was clearly someone’s special hideaway.

  But whose?

  “I suppose we’d better go,” Henry told them. “This place may not be on Broken Moon Pond’s property. We could be trespassing.”

  “Can we come back?” asked Jacob. “Maybe the kid who built it will be here then.”

  Henry nodded. “Sure. But we ought to find out who owns it first.”

  “Maybe when you go back to the real estate agent’s office, you can ask Mr. Cartier,” Jessie suggested. “He might know.”

  They all walked out onto the platform. Henry and Aaron checked the mechanism that drew the ladder up and let it down. Henry tested the bolts the ladder was fastened to and the knots for any signs of fraying.

  “Looks fine,” he said. “I’ll go down first to hold the ladder at the bottom so it won’t sway. Violet, you follow me.”

  When it was Patty’s turn, she said hastily, “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll go last.”

  “No, you won’t,” Benny told her. “I’ll be right behind you so nothing will happen.”

  “Violet and I will tell you exactly where to put your feet,” Henry called up.

  With the Aldens’ encouragement, Patty was on the ground in no time.

  Sighing with relief, she said, “Thanks a lot, you guys.”

  “Next time it’ll be easier,” Jessie said as she climbed down after Patty. “Now that you know you can do it.”

  Henry pushed the lever to make the ladder go up. Then they walked back through the woods the way they had come. This time they were more aware of the birds and the animals around them.

  “You know,” Benny said thoughtfully, “you think you’re all alone in the woods, but you really aren’t. You’ve always got company. Like that bug.”

  “Are you afraid of bugs, Benny?” asked Jacob.

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” Benny declared. Then he added, “Except maybe ghosts.”

  “You know there are no ghosts,” Henry said to him. “You’ve never even seen one.”

  “I might,” Benny said mysteriously. “If we stay here.”

  “Where?” asked Aaron.

  They stopped at Broken Moon Pond. The setting sun cast long shadows over the dark water. Fish jumped, breaking the stillness.

  “Here,” Benny said dramatically. “The waitress at the café told us Broken Moon Pond is haunted.”

  “Really?” Aaron looked excited. “Now I hope we buy this place more than ever!”

  Violet glanced across the pond. “Your dad and our grandfather are on the dock. Maybe they know something.”

  The kids ran around the shoreline and dashed onto the dock.

  “Did we buy the camp?” Patty asked her father.

  Mr. Anderson shook his head sadly. “Not yet. One of the heirs is out of the country. He can’t be contacted.”

  “Where is he?” asked Jacob.

  “Nobody knows,” said Mr. Anderson. “Mr. Cartier says he moves around a lot in his job. It could be weeks before he can be located.”

  The kids left the grown-ups talking and walked up the hill to the main house. They sat down on the porch steps.

  “Weeks!” Patty said gloomily. “We’ll never buy the camp now.”

  Henry looked thoughtful. “You know what?”

  “What?” Aaron asked.

  Henry picked up a pebble and rolled it in his palm. “I think somebody is trying to block the sale of Broken Moon Pond.”

  “Someone — or something,” Benny added ominously.

  CHAPTER 6

  The Unwelcome Mat

  “Something?” Patty echoed. “What do you mean?”

  “What about the boat that was there one minute and gone the next?” Benny insisted. “The waitress said funny things happen here. She’s right.”

  “I doubt there is a ghost,” Henry said. “But we’ve noticed funny things besides the mysterious boat.”

  Aaron stared at him. “Are you guys some kind of detectives?”

  “Yes,” Benny answered proudly. “We’ve solved lots of mysteries, all over the country.”

  Jessie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’re not real detectives,” she said modestly.

  “But we have solved some mystery cases,” Violet said. “Would you like us to try to solve yours?”

  “Yes!” Patty said emphatically. “We need help.”

  “What are you going to do first?” Jacob wanted to know.

  “Look for clues,” said Jessie.

  “We’ll start when we go to Nibelle tomorrow,” Henry said.

  Although their cabin had a refrigerator and other modern appliances, Grandfather liked to buy fresh produce every day. Nibelle had a greengrocer, a store that sold nothing but fruits and vegetables.

  When they went to the village the next day, Grandfather went into the greengrocer, while the children wandered around the square.

  “There’s a general store,” said Violet. “Let’s go inside. It probably has everything.”

  The shelves were stacked with canned goods, long underwear, mousetraps, lanterns, flyswatters, maple candy, shower caps, and jars of baby food.

  Benny was fascinated by a tiny leather box. When he pulled off the lid, a thimble, needle, miniature scissors, and a coil of thread rolled out.

  “I wonder how much this is,” he said, checking the box for a price sticker.

  “Ask the clerk,” Jessie told him.

  The clerk had been eyeing the children ever since they walked into the shop. He watched every move they made, Jessie noticed, as if he didn’t trust them.

  Now Benny approached the high counter. “Excuse me,” he said, holding up the sewing kit. “How much is this?”

  The clerk shrugged. “Non Anglais.”

  “What did he say?” Benny asked Jessie.

  “He said he doesn’t speak English.” She was surprised. Throughout Quebec and even in the village of Nibelle, most French-speaking people knew some English.

  “Oh.” Disappointed, Benny put the kit back on the shelf. He had wanted to buy it for Mrs. McGregor.

  The kids left the shop. The wind had risen, blowing briskly through the square.

  Jessie reached into her pocket and pul
led out a single red-striped mitten.

  “Uh-oh,” she commented. “I must have dropped the other one inside the store.”

  She went back inside and found the mitten near a rack of magazines. Bending over to retrieve it, she heard a conversation in English. The store clerk was chatting with a man in a beige sweater. They were both speaking perfect English!

  When she straightened up, the clerk saw her. Hastily, he muttered something to the other man in French.

  Jessie wondered where she had seen the man in the beige sweater before. But she couldn’t get a better look, since he stormed out of the store, never glancing in Jessie’s direction.

  Jessie hurried outside again.

  “Guess what?” she said. “I heard the clerk speaking English to the man who just came out!”

  “You mean the one who ran into me?” Henry countered. “He bumped my shoulder and didn’t even say he was sorry — in French or English!”

  “Why would the clerk pretend not to speak English?” Jessie wanted to know. “And I’m sure I’ve seen that man in the sweater somewhere!”

  “I remember!” Violet said suddenly. “That was André Plessis! He was the guy in the sugar bush. The one at the gate who acted funny when he saw us.”

  “Nobody seems to like us in this town,” Benny observed soberly.

  “You’re right, Benny,” Violet agreed. “You know the welcome mat by our front door at home? Well, they put out the unwelcome mat here.”

  That evening, Grandfather and Henry built a fire in the stone fireplace while Jessie and Benny put supper on the table. Violet had volunteered to wash the dishes after supper so the others could read or take a hot bath.

  While she waited for Jessie to call them to eat, she studied the field journal. These drawings are so good, she thought enviously.

  One in particular caught her attention. The drawing of Broken Moon Pond appeared to be sketched from a great height.

  She drew in her breath. “I bet the artist was in the tree house when he drew this!”

  “What did you say?” Henry asked, coming over. Grandfather had gone outside for more wood.

  “Look at this picture,” Violet said. “See how tiny the pond is? I think the artist was up in the tree house.”