Jessie came over, too. “But we can’t see the pond from the tree house. There are too many trees in the way.”
“Maybe those trees grew taller after the picture was drawn,” Violet said. “We’ve never tried to see the pond. The journal is pretty old. The tree house may be that old, too.”
“Let’s ask Grandfather,” said Benny.
When supper was ready, they all sat down.
Benny sampled the stew Jessie ladled into his bowl. “This is good, Grandfather. What is it?”
“Pork stew,” replied Grandfather. “I found the recipe in an old cookbook. Because it’s cold here most of the year, you need hearty food. But I made a salad, too.”
Violet broke open a crusty roll and slathered on creamy butter. “Grandfather, when you used to come here, did you ever find a tree house in the woods past the pond?”
“A tree house?” he repeated. “I don’t recall one.”
“A big, fantastic tree house,” Henry added. “You wouldn’t forget it.”
James Alden shook his head. “I never saw a big, fantastic tree house around here. But it sounds like you children have.”
“Yeah!” Benny exclaimed. “We found it on the other side of the pond. It’s really cool.”
While they were having a dessert of blueberry sauce over pound cake, Violet showed Grandfather the field journal.
“When you stayed here, did you ever see this?” she asked. “Did you know the person who made these drawings?”
Grandfather studied the book. “This sketchbook is old,” he pronounced. “But it’s not old enough to be from the time when I was a boy. These drawings are excellent.” He looked up. “You children have been busy making discoveries. A fantastic tree house … this journal …”
As they cleared the table, Violet said, “I have to know for sure. Let’s go to the tree house now and check out that drawing.”
“We’re going out for a walk,” Henry told Grandfather, taking his jacket from the hook by the front door.
“Don’t be long,” Grandfather cautioned. “It’ll be dark soon.”
The chilly air hurried the children down the path past the pond and into the woods. The lingering light over the trees was a hard, bright blue.
The clearing was quiet and still. At the tree house, Benny pulled the owl’s head lever and the rope ladder dropped down.
They quickly climbed up to the catwalk.
“Up here,” Henry said, scaling the small handholds set into the trunk to the balcony above the second level.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this high up in a tree,” said Jessie. Now she knew how Patty felt.
Violet took the field journal from her pocket and opened it to the drawing of Broken Moon Pond. Then she gazed out over the treetops. Just beyond was a shimmering speck — the pond.
“I see it!” she cried. “I was right!”
“Good work,” Henry praised. “Now we know two things. One, the notebook and this tree house were made after Grandfather was here. But both are still old. And two, it’s possible the same person who used this tree house was the artist.”
“How does that help us solve the mystery of the ghost boat?” asked Benny.
“Or the problem the Andersons are having buying the camp?” said Jessie.
“These clues don’t help us yet,” said Henry. “We’d better head back before Grandfather starts to worry.”
At the cabin, the children went to their rooms to get ready for bed.
Benny pulled up the covers, yawning hugely. Grandfather’s pork stew had made him extra sleepy. He drifted off to sleep as soon as Henry switched off the light.
Screech! Scree-eech!
Benny sat up with a start. What was that? he wondered.
CHAPTER 7
The Ghost Boat Returns
“Henry!” Benny whispered. “Do you hear that?”
Henry sat up, too, and listened.
Scree-ee-ee! Scree!
“What is that?” he asked Benny.
“I don’t know.”
Together they rushed to the window. The moon was riding high in a cloudless sky. Nearly full, it looked like a bite had been chewed out on one side.
“Down there!” Benny said, pointing to the pond below.
Henry froze. “Go get Violet and Jessie, please. They should see this.”
Within seconds, Benny was back with his sisters. “Is it still there?” he asked Henry.
Henry nodded, then made room for Jessie and Violet at the window.
Jessie gasped. “It’s the boat—!”
“With nobody rowing it,” Violet finished.
“And we heard a weird sound,” Benny said.
“So did we!” exclaimed Jessie.
“I think that noise is being made by a person,” Henry stated.
“What about the boat?” asked Benny. “I don’t see a person.”
“Benny,” said Henry. “That boat is not being rowed by a ghost.”
“But it’s empty and it’s moving across the water!” His eyes were not fooling him.
“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” Henry said.
But he didn’t know what it could be. This was a baffling mystery. How was the boat moving across the pond? And what was that terrible sound he and Benny had heard?
“We need to find that boat,” said Violet. “Then maybe we’ll find the ghost.” She shivered. She didn’t really want to find the ghost of Broken Moon Pond.
After a breakfast of omelettes, maple-drenched French toast, and link sausages, the Aldens ran down the hill to the pond. The Anderson kids were waiting on the bank.
“You guys are always up early,” Jessie commented.
“Thanks to Emma,” said Patty with a grin.
“Yeah,” added Aaron. “Try sleeping with a two-year-old around. Did you find out anything about our case?”
Jessie told them about the empty boat they had seen moving across the water and the strange sounds they had all heard.
“A ghost boat!” said Jacob. “Maybe our ghost likes to fish.”
“The boat was here,” Jessie concluded. “This is near where we found the boat the first time.”
“A ghost wouldn’t be strong enough to shove a boat away from the shore,” Violet added. “But a person could.”
“Like who?” asked Patty.
Henry straightened up. “Like somebody who wants people to believe Broken Moon Pond is haunted.”
“Why would they do that?” Jacob wanted to know.
Jessie thought she knew the answer. “To scare off anybody who wants to buy the camp.”
“It still doesn’t make sense,” said Patty, frowning. “The owners want to sell this place.”
“How many owners are there?” asked Violet.
“I think four,” replied Aaron. “Counting the guy they can’t find.”
“Maybe not all of the owners really want to sell Broken Moon Pond,” said Violet.
Henry looked at his sister with admiration. “I think you’re on to something, Violet. Now if we can just figure out which one may want to block the sale.”
“There’s Grandfather,” said Jessie, looking up at their driveway. “He’s signaling for us to come. We’re going into Nibelle again. Maybe we’ll find out more.”
Yellow banners decorated with red maple leaves swayed over Main Street. All the store windows wore signs announcing the maple sugar festival, now only two days away.
In the square, the kids stopped to read a poster.
“‘Pancake flipping contest, hayrides, a pancake breakfast, and much more,’” read Jessie. “Sounds like fun. We’re going, aren’t we, Grandfather?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said James Alden. “I’ll be just a few minutes in the courthouse.”
The children wandered to the other side of the street. One store displayed a pyramid of maple syrup tins to advertise the festival.
Benny licked his lips. “A whole day eating pancakes.” He could hardly wait until Saturday.
> Violet was looking at some stationery in the window next door. “These notebooks are a lot like the one Jessie found. Wouldn’t it be neat if we started nature journals?”
“But we can’t draw as well as you can, Violet,” Jessie said.
“Artists always say talent doesn’t matter,” Violet assured her. “Anyway, we’ll be doing just as much writing.”
“The important thing is to record our observations about nature,” said Henry. “Let’s go inside. I have enough money for all of us.”
They each purchased an unlined spiral notebook and a box of pencils. Then they sat on benches by the fountain. The sun felt as warm as melted butter. The trees around the square were barely beginning to bud.
“How do we start?” Benny asked Violet. “I’m not a good artist or writer.”
Violet opened his notebook to the first blank page. “You draw just fine, Benny Alden. We’ll help you with the writing part. Look at that tree. What’s on the end of the branches?”
Benny squinted to see better. “Little tiny leaves.”
“That’s an observation of nature,” Henry told him. “Now try drawing a picture of the tree with those little leaves.”
Soon they were all drawing and writing about the trees and birds around them.
A shadow fell over Jessie’s notebook. Someone was standing behind her. She jumped, nearly dropping her pencil.
“I’m sorry,” said a man’s voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The man stood behind the bench. He wore an old sweatshirt, faded jeans with holes in the knees, and wire-framed glasses held together with tape. His shaggy gray beard needed trimming.
Benny twisted to stare at him. “Are you a hobo?” he asked.
“Benny!” Jessie smiled apologetically at the stranger. “Please excuse our little brother. We once lived in a boxcar and we’ve heard stories about how people used to ride on trains and go from place to place.”
The man laughed. “Well, I go from place to place, though not by boxcar. Sounds like you children have had an exciting life.”
“Now we live with our grandfather,” Benny told him. “And we solve mysteries.”
“Really? Are you on a case at the moment?” asked the man.
“Kind of,” said Jessie. “But we’re taking a break now and putting entries into our nature journals.”
The stranger nodded approvingly. “You have made a fine start. Remember to really see what you’re looking at. That is the key to understanding nature. To train your eyes.”
“That’s what artists say,” Violet agreed. “That looking and seeing aren’t the same thing. Are you an art teacher?”
But when she turned around, the man had vanished.
“Where did he go?” she asked.
The square was crowded with noonday shoppers and people going to lunch. The bearded stranger had disappeared as if by magic.
“Weird,” said Henry. “This whole village is just plain weird!”
That afternoon, the Alden children met the Andersons down by the pond.
“Grandfather tried to find the property deed,” said Jessie. “But they told him it’s been misplaced!”
Patty shook her head. “I think our folks might be changing their minds about buying the camp.”
“I hope not,” said Aaron. “I really like it here.”
“Let’s go back to the tree house,” Benny suggested.
“We didn’t find out if the tree house is on this property,” Henry reminded them.
“But we may find another clue,” said Violet. “I still think the old journal and the tree house are tied to this mystery somehow.”
“I’ll bring the journal along,” said Jessie.
At the tree house, Henry had trouble with the owl’s-head lever that released the rope ladder.
“It seems jammed,” he said, pushing on it. At last, he pushed hard enough and the ladder fell down.
“Maybe the cold weather we had last night made the lever stick,” said Aaron.
When they were assembled on the catwalk above, Jessie pushed open the front door and went inside.
Instantly she saw something was different.
“Uh-oh.” She dropped the journal on the floor with a thud. “Somebody is living here!”
CHAPTER 8
The Missing Page
“Someone’s been here?” asked Aaron, his voice shaking. “How do you know?”
Jessie walked over to the pantry shelf. “These cans of food weren’t here the other day. And the shelf is dusty. The cans are perfectly clean.”
Violet nodded. “Someone brought food.”
“He also left his coat.” Benny pointed out a man’s denim jacket hanging on a peg.
“We must be on private property,” said Henry. “We’d better leave.”
The children filed out of the tree house. Henry closed the door behind him.
They were halfway back to the pond when Jessie clapped her hand to her mouth.
“The journal! I dropped it in the tree house!”
“Should we go back and get it?” Jacob wondered.
“It belongs to the cabin,” said Jessie. “We have to.”
They hurried back to the clearing and climbed the ladder once more. Henry came up last.
“I thought you shut the door,” Violet said to him.
“I did.” He tested the knob. The door pushed open easily. “Maybe the wind blew it open.”
But it’s not windy today, he thought.
“Here it is,” Jessie said, quickly fetching the notebook off the table. “Let’s get out of here. This place is giving me the creeps.”
It wasn’t until after lunch that Jessie remembered something else. She had dropped the journal on the floor. How did it get on the table? Leafing through the journal, she made a startling discovery.
“There’s a page missing,” she declared.
The others gathered around her chair.
“See?” Jessie pointed to a ragged strip of paper near the back. “Somebody ripped out that page.”
“Why would he tear out one page?” asked Violet.
“The question is,” said Jessie, “where was he?”
Henry was wondering about that, too. “The person must have been in the tree house between the time we left and the time we went back for the notebook. That’s when he ripped out the page.”
“Where could he have been?” Violet asked.
“Maybe in the high part of the tree house,” suggested Benny.
The children exchanged uneasy glances. Someone must have been watching them while they entered the tree house the first time.
“Are you sure this page wasn’t missing before?” Violet asked Jessie.
“Positive,” Jessie said firmly. “I would remember the torn pieces. I wish I knew what was on that page.” She tapped the leather cover as if trying to jog her memory.
“I know what was on it,” Benny stated.
“What?” asked Jessie.
“A picture of an owl,” he replied. “It had a word beside it, but I couldn’t read it.”
Violet nodded. “I remember that picture, too. It was flying across the moon. I don’t remember the word, though.”
Jessie flipped through the journal. “No owl picture. That must be the missing page. Now we have to figure out why someone stole that page.”
“And who did it,” Henry said solemnly. “We saw a man’s jacket in the tree house. But that doesn’t mean our mystery person is a man.”
“Everything is so confusing,” said Jessie. “First there’s the disappearing boat. Then there are those unfriendly people in the village.”
“Don’t forget the Andersons’ problem,” Violet added. “And now the stranger in the tree house.”
“There’s only one thing we can do,” Benny said.
“What?” the others chorused.
“Go outside and play!” was his answer.
Henry patted his brother on the back. “Excellent idea!”
Outside, the Aldens sorted the jumble of sports equipment on the big porch.
“Snowshoes, ice skates, cross-country skis, sleds,” said Grandfather. “We used all of these things when I came here as a boy.”
Benny strapped on the snowshoes. He stood up and stumbled.
“How do people ever walk in these?” he asked.
Grandfather laughed. “You’re supposed to wear them in the snow. I think you might get your chance to try out this equipment. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Snow?” said Jessie.
“It isn’t unusual to have a big snow in the spring in Canada,” said Grandfather. “It could be a problem, though, with the maple syrup production.”
“They won’t cancel the party, will they?” Benny asked.
“They’ll have the festival no matter what,” James Alden reassured them. “But if there’s a storm, they may not be able to finish the sugar run.”
“We’d better play outdoors while we can,” said Henry.
“And I should drive to town for extra groceries,” Grandfather said. “Just in case.”
“We’ll stay here,” Jessie said. “I see the Anderson kids at the pond, and Mr. and Mrs. Anderson are here.”
After Grandfather drove off, the Aldens walked down to the pond. Aaron and Jacob had made a model sailboat from a kit. They were launching it from the shore, while Patty gave them orders.
A small breeze lifted the sail and scooted it sideways across the water. The boat disappeared in the reeds.
“I told you not to let it go there,” Patty said to her brothers.
“I’ll get it,” Benny volunteered. He was closest to that side of the pond.
Benny stepped carefully through the muck at the edge of the waterline. The boat was bobbing just out of reach. He found a stick and prodded it loose. The boat caught the breeze again and sailed across the ruffled pond.
As he turned to leave, he saw something in the thick reeds. Another boat, much bigger than the toy boat.
“Come see what I found!” he cried.
In a flash, the others joined him.
Jessie drew in a breath. “It’s the boat Violet and I saw the first night we were here.”
“Henry and I saw it, too,” Benny put in. “It’s the ghost boat!”
“That old thing?” questioned Aaron. “I bet it leaks.”