Dora Shoering, a self-proclaimed intellectual who had almost attended Berklard as a student, gave a fascinating, if not entirely accurate, series of talks, but it was that Sunday afternoon’s lecture that sparked most chatter.
“Fascinating,” said Sabina. “I just love the story of the lost treasure of Twinford. Of course, much of it I knew already, because you see it was my ancestor’s treasure that was lost. Did you all know that?”
The others did know this, because Sabina had not stopped repeating it all through the lecture — how her great-great-great-grandmother Eliza Fairbank (she wasn’t sure how many greats) had been lost at sea off Twinford on the way to South America along with all her gems; only her little daughter, Martha, survived.
“Utterly gripping,” said Marjorie Humbert. “Wouldn’t it be divine if it were true?”
“But there is every possibility that it is true,” said Dora. “Though it has never been proved one way or the other.”
“Why did no one look for it?” asked Brant.
“Well, of course they did,” Dora replied. “But they never found a thing. Plus, they had a few other concerns.”
“Such as?” asked Ambassador Crew.
“A giant sea monster,” replied Dora. “It was said it guarded the treasure — sat on it, they say, and no one could ever retrieve the gems from its razor-sharp talons.”
“Talons?” spat the ambassador. “You’re saying that this sea creature was an aquatic eagle?”
Dora looked uneasy: she had made up the bit about the talons. “Or crab claws, no one knows,” she said hurriedly.
Ambassador Crew couldn’t help but display his utter pity for anyone who would believe such total garbage, but the rest of the party was electric with excitement.
“We should search for it!” said Brant. “Imagine — Sabina coming face-to-face with her own ancestor’s jewels.”
“Good luck to you,” said Ambassador Crew. “It would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. You’d have to search the whole ocean floor just to find the wreck, and in these dangerous waters I wouldn’t fancy your chances.”
“Gracious,” said Sabina. “Sounds like quite a quest.”
“Exactly!” said Dora Shoering. “It’s no surprise no one’s ever found it.”
“A nice fairy tale is what it is,” said Ambassador Crew.
“Hey, look at that boat on the horizon.” Barbara Bartholomew was pointing to the southwest. “Doesn’t it look romantic against the setting sun?”
“Yes,” agreed Sabina, looking at the old-fashioned sailing ship. “One could almost imagine oneself back in pirate times.”
THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN RUBY REDFORT turned the corner of Amster Street, she walked on past the bus stop, crossed the road, and headed for the Double Donut Diner. She figured there was plenty of time to grab a shake and still make the school bus.
It wasn’t that the Double Donut Diner particularly specialized in donuts — it was really because Marla, the owner, thought it was a catchy name, and apparently it was, because everyone in Twinford seemed to know the Double Donut.
The diner was popular with all sorts of locals, and Ruby liked to hang out observing the comings and goings of Twinford folk. It also did particularly good French toast — something Ruby’s mother was very much against due to the quantity of maple syrup her daughter drowned it in.
Del and Mouse looked up as she came in. “Hey, Rube, how you doing?”
“Oh, you know, could complain, can’t be bothered.” She looked around. “Clancy not here?”
“He had to leave early,” said Mouse. “Said he had to go and see Principal Levine, on account of flunking French, again — Madame Loup is furieux.”
“How come he didn’t tell me about that last night?” asked Ruby.
“He only just found out. Mrs. Bexenheath actually called the Crew household this morning,” said Del. Del was the only person Ruby knew who could speak while at the very same time suck milk shake up a straw.
Ruby winced. “A little trip to the principal’s office, huh? That’s gonna get old Clancy’s dad in a stew.”
“Lucky for Clance his dad’s off sailing the high seas with your folks,” said Mouse.
Ruby nodded. Clancy’s dad wasn’t in the business of bringing up losers: at least that’s what he was constantly telling his children. Ambassador Crew liked to think of himself as a winner, and that meant having children who were winners. Clancy, in this respect, often let him down.
“Poor old Clance,” said Ruby, signaling to the waitress that she was ready to order.
Just then, in stumbled a girl with long copper hair, golden-brown skin, and gray eyes. It was the impossibly pretty but strikingly clumsy Red Monroe.
“Hi, Red. What happened to your leg?” asked Del.
“Oh, yeah,” replied Red, looking down at her scuffed knee. “I tripped over a dog.”
“That reminds me,” said Del. “My uncle Charlie, you know, the one who’s with the coast guard? He was saying how this shipment of dog food ended up in Argentina when it was meant to be delivered to Mexico, and how this shipment of bananas was meant to arrive in San Francisco, but ended up in Chile. I mean how about that!”
“So?” said Mouse. “What’s the big deal? Mix-ups happen.”
“Yeah, but my uncle Charlie was saying it’s been happening a lot, I mean a lot.”
Del tried to emphasize what “a lot” was by leaving her mouth hanging open when she had finished speaking.
“Oh, how interesting,” said Ruby, yawning an exaggerated yawn.
“I’m telling you guys, this is a big deal,” Del insisted.
“Give us some examples then,” said Mouse, who was concentrating hard on her milk shake.
“Like a bunch of sneakers that ended up in Antigua instead of Seattle, and a whole load of corn that showed up in Miami.” She paused before adding, “Uncle Charlie told me a troupe of Indian elephants on their way to Baltimore still hasn’t shown up at all.”
Ruby looked at her with a tired expression. Del had quite a reputation for turning fiction into fact, and this just sounded like the usual garbage that she regularly spouted.
“For a start it isn’t a troupe of elephants; it’s a parade or herd,” said Ruby. “And for seconds that has to be untrue.”
“Ask anyone,” said Del.
Ruby turned to Mouse. “So, Mouse, did you hear about the shipment of elephants that went missing between India and Baltimore?”
“Nope,” said Mouse.
Del sighed. She knew when she was beaten. “Hey, how about some French toast? I mean there’s time, right? We just need to eat quick; we can still make the bus.”
Del Lasco could talk a cow into milking itself, and before they knew it they were all sitting eating a Sunday-style breakfast as if school was not even on the menu. When the hands of the clock got dangerously near pointing out eight o’clock, the friends slipped down off their stools and headed in the direction of Twinford Junior High.
The bus had long gone.
“Late again! What a surprise,” said Mrs. Drisco without one chime of surprise in her voice. “So what was it this time — the cat ate my homework?”
“Oh, we don’t have a cat, Mrs. Drisco,” said Ruby.
The teacher pinched her lips together sourly. “Well, that’s a detention then,” she said, writing a D in the register.
“I have a note,” said Ruby.
“Well, unless it’s from the mayor himself, then I really don’t think I’m interested.”
“Oh, it is,” said Ruby.
She reached down to her satchel, opened it, and rifled through her notes and excuses section. There were notes inside for any occasion, arranged alphabetically. She selected the one she needed.
Pulling out a piece of paper from the bag, Ruby handed it to Mrs. Drisco. Mrs. Drisco looked at the piece of paper most carefully. She put her glasses on and took them off again, then sat down. The note was most definitely signed by the mayor himself. I
t wasn’t a copy.
Just how Ruby Redfort had come by this note is another story, but suffice it to say, Ruby kept a lot of things up her sleeve or, more precisely, in her satchel. Who knew when they might come in handy? The Boy Scouts had it right: be prepared — it was front and center in the Boy Scout handbook, a little bland in its delivery but a good rule. Ruby had chosen it as her RULE 11: EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED AND BE READY FOR ANYTHING.
“SO HOW DID YOU PULL THAT OFF?” asked an impressed Del Lasco at lunch. “You know, the trick with the note.”
“It’s not a trick,” said Ruby.
“So how’d ya get it?” said Del.
“Ah, I have my sources,” replied Ruby.
“Yeah, well, a truly ‘good’ friend would share those sources with her closest and mostest,” said Del.
“If you need me to get you out of a jam sometime Del, all you gotta do is make it worth my while,” Ruby said with a smile.
Clancy arrived at the lunch table, his tray teetering with high-calorie food. He was looking to put on a little weight, but the effort would no doubt prove fruitless, for it seemed no matter how much he ate, Clancy never got wider than a string bean.
“So, Clance, you gonna watch the swimathon on Saturday?” asked Del.
Clancy shivered. “No siree. I’ve got no interest in watching kids from Twinford Junior High get devoured by oversize fish.”
Del looked at him like he had lost a few marbles. She turned to Ruby.
“What’s with him?” she said, pointing her thumb in his direction.
“You know Clance, a boy with a fearful persecution complex — thinks the whole of marine life’s out to get him,” said Ruby.
Del punched him on the arm. “Get a grip, Crew. Nothin’s gonna bother taking a bite out of your shrimpy body.” She took a big chomp out of her sandwich and continued to talk. “I wish it was our grade taking part in the swimathon; too bad only the kids in ninth grade get to swim.” Del was captain of the eighth-grade swim team, and she relished any chance she got to compete.
The ninth grade had been training for this for the past few months and, as a team-building exercise, Coach Newhart was taking them for a seafood cookout — not that he touched mollusks or crustaceans himself. Coach Newhart only ate “real food” and to him that meant food that walked on all fours on dry land — no fins, no feelers.
Elliot came and joined them. “Hey, where’re Mouse and Red?” he asked, looking around as if they might be under the table.
“Chess club,” said Del.
“Red plays chess?” he said.
“She’s good actually,” said Del. “Well, when she’s not knocking the pieces all over the board, she tends to win.”
Elliot nodded, surprised but impressed. “So, Rube, how was your vacation?”
“You know, good,” she replied.
“So what did you do?” he asked.
“Swim,” said Ruby.
“Anything else?” he inquired.
“Cleaned the bathroom a few times,” she said.
“Well, thank you for that detailed account of your spring break,” said Elliot. “That all sounds really interesting.” He turned to Clancy. “So what did you do?”
“Hung out mainly — with my sisters,” replied Clancy through mouthfuls of fries. “My dad’s taking this Historical Society cruise; left on Friday, so he didn’t have time for us all to go away on a family vacation before — too busy.”
“What’s the deal with that?” asked Del. “He gets a vacation and you don’t?”
“My dad says it’s not really a vacation; they’re learning about the legends and history of the Twinford coast. He says it’s good for the ambassador to be seen on a trip like this,” said Clancy. “Ruby’s mom and dad are on it too.”
“Sounds like a riot,” yawned Del.
“Actually, the Sibling treasure legend is pretty interesting,” said Ruby. “You should read up about it; as legends go, it’s a good one. Besides, it involves one of my ancestors.”
“You’re kidding,” said Clancy.
“No way!” said Elliot.
“I don’t think you ever mentioned that before,” said Del. “Well, maybe once or twice or perhaps three million times!”
“Oh, ha-ha,” said Ruby flatly. “You guys just wish you had some kinda historical intrigue in your families; ain’t my fault that you got nothing to talk about.”
The details of the legend were roughly this: Ruby’s great-great-great-great-grandmother, Eliza, was sailing to South America on the family ship, the Seahorse, with all her worldly goods (very valuable ones by all accounts), when the boat was attacked by pirates who slaughtered all on board. However, Eliza’s four-year-old daughter, Martha, who was a smart child, the smartest anyone could remember, escaped death by hiding in a barrel of apples.
When the pirates had finished raiding and murdering, they began collecting the spoils from the Seahorse. But unfortunately for them, they hadn’t quite murdered everyone on board. A few of the Seahorse crew who were still belowdecks took the remaining pirates by surprise, and a violent battle broke out. Most of the pirates had already returned to their galleon, but those who were left fought to the death until the Seahorse, engulfed in flames, sank below the waves.
Miraculously, the child, Martha, managed to escape by floating in the apple barrel before eventually washing up in Twinford.
The whole story sounded very far-fetched to Ruby, but she couldn’t deny its appeal. One intriguing part centered around something little Martha claimed to have seen. She was quite convinced of the fact that she had watched her mother being carried from the boat by the pirates, kicking and screaming. Martha would not be dissuaded on this point. She was sure that her mother was still alive, although no one else believed it.
The postscript to the story was also intriguing since it became a tale told to children all over the region. It was said that not so long after the Seahorse was wrecked and plundered, a beautiful woman was seen aboard a pirate vessel, raiding any ships that dared to sail in pirate waters. Some said they had seen her brandishing a cutlass and slitting men’s throats, others that she was held captive, destined never to tread dry land again.
Clancy’s day was marred by his extra French tutoring and, just to add insult to the occasion, a nasty run-in with his two least favorite Twinford Junior High pupils.
“Oh, look who it is! Nancy Drew, Redridingfort’s little helper! Look, he’s just been to his ‘French for duh brains’ tutorial.”
The girl jeering at him was Vapona Begwell (or Bugwart, as she was known by most of the school), one of the few kids who did not like Ruby. But then Vapona didn’t particularly like anyone. Vapona Begwell was an unfortunate-looking girl, sour-faced and mean with it. Tall but strangely lumpy with a sort of leery stoop that made her look very much like a cartoon bully — which was sort of what she was. She hung out with Gemma Melamare, a total viper with cute blue eyes and a snub nose, who lurked at Vapona’s side and leaked poison into the schoolyard, spreading rumors and setting friends against friends. It never worked on Clancy and Ruby; they were wise to the Melamare menace.
“So, Clancy, I notice you and Ruby haven’t been hanging out so much lately. Was it because she said that thing about you being too dumb to be seen with?”
Clancy looked at Gemma blankly.
“Oh, you didn’t know?” said Gemma, her sugary voice feigning apology.
He smiled as he pulled his bike from the bike stand; saying nothing was his secret weapon; he knew it made Gemma Melamare crazy. Still smiling, he headed off toward the torture that was an hour’s violin lesson, his face not for one second belying the hell he was about to endure or how much he wanted to sock Gemma with the aforementioned instrument.
When Ruby arrived home from school, she found Mrs. Digby singing along to the radio, which was tuned to Chime Melody. Chime Melody was her favorite station for tunes, Twinford Talk Radio for talking. Talk radio she loved, but Chime Melody was her guilty pleasure. It play
ed the old tunes, and Mrs. Digby adored the old tunes. And what’s more, she seemed to know every one of them.
She always said, “If I hadn’ta been so busy cooking you Redforts your every morsel, I would have sung for my supper and made a bundle on Broadway.”
“Anything happen while I was busy learning stuff?” asked Ruby, opening the refrigerator.
“Only that the fish store was all out of fish. I ask you, we live practically in an ocean, but I swear there’s not one single sprat for sale. In my day, fishermen knew how to fish. They could catch a catfish in a rain puddle.”
“Don’t sweat it,” said Ruby. “I’m not in a fishy frame of mind tonight.”
“I don’t care what frame of mind you’re in, child. It’s what you need that counts, and you need fish or that little brain of yours is going to shrivel up like a raisin.” Mrs. Digby was a great believer in fish oil.
“So what are we having instead?” asked Ruby.
“You will be having a spoonful of cod-liver oil and some cabbage soup,” said the housekeeper firmly.
“You have to be kidding!” said Ruby.
“Your mother’s orders,” said Mrs. Digby, her hands on her hips, prepared for the inevitable argument. “Your ma said fish or cabbage and I gotta abide by her rules.”
“But what you are actually saying is fish and cabbage — that’s not the deal,” said Ruby.
“I’ll grant you that.” Mrs. Digby nodded. “Cabbage it is. Cod-liver oil will have to wait.”
Mrs. Digby was a stickler for abiding by Sabina Redfort’s dietary rules, so there was no getting away from it: cabbage was on the menu and that was that.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Mrs. Digby. “That Elaine Lemon stopped by wondering if you’d like to babysit Archie.”
Ruby made a face. “No way, no day,” she said firmly. “Uh-uh.”
Mrs. Digby chuckled and started chopping cabbage.