The Mystery of the Screech Owl (5 page)

“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

“S
ome
thing
?” 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 pulled 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
un
welcome 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.”

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!