The Shirley Link Box Set: A Middle Grade Mystery Series

by Ben Zackheim

  But how could Peter Lock be a close friend of Captain Stringer? One was a pirate and one was in the navy.

  Unless Stringer made peace with the navy.

  Or, unless Peter Lock became a pirate.

  Oh, wow. Could I have a pirate for an ancestor?

  Something else occurs to me, all of a sudden.

  "Wait a second. If his name was Lock, then why are we called Link?"

  Dad answers, even though he's not done chewing. "Our family changed its name to Link when they moved to the Americas. They didn't want people to know they were related to the famous British captain. Colonists and the Queen's Navy weren't exactly friendly with each other back then."

  I smile. "So I could've been named Shirley Lock?"

  My parents laugh.

  "Shirl Lock for short," Mom says, giggling.

  Mom pours Dad and me some iced tea. "Where did you hear his name, sweetie?"

  "A book about treasure." I hold it up to see if they recognize it. "I'm going to do some digging. I may have some surprises about our family soon."

  I smile. But my parents look worried. I put the book back down on the table.

  "Has anyone ever come by or called asking about Lock?" I ask.

  They shake their heads.

  "Haven't heard his name since our wedding," Dad says. "Uncle Bernie wouldn't stop talking about family history."

  I put my dishes in the dishwasher. I can feel their eyes burning into the back of my head. I turn and smile.

  "What?" I ask.

  "No more trouble, Link," Mom says, using her fork as a pointing device.

  ***

  My guess is that the person who wrote my last name in the book found out that the Links used to be the Locks. But whoever it is didn't reach out to my parents. Of course, it could have been scrawled in there fifty years ago. My dad's parents lived here before us. I check in the back of the book to see if someone I know has signed it out of the library.

  But no one has. Ever.

  I look at the word "Link" again. It's in ballpoint pen, so it was likely made in the last sixty-five years, which is when the ballpoint pen came to the United States. Cursive writing. Educated writer. Most likely female, judging by the neatness. I plan on asking our school librarian if she has a record of where she got it.

  Wait a second.

  That 'L' in the note. I saw that particular loopy 'L' earlier.

  On Mrs. Smiley's yard sign. Could this be her copy? She did say she'd gotten rid of hers.

  I have to know. Now.

  I close my eyes. After a minute of listening, I can tell that Mom is doing the laundry in the basement and Dad is in his study. I have an hour before they emerge from their routines.

  I sneak through my own private door to the outside. Otherwise known as my bedroom window.

  ***

  It's not that dark out. Summer is coming and the days are getting longer. Still, I don't pass a soul on my way to Mrs. Smiley's house.

  I love Shelburne Falls. Every season hits us fast. Winter brings mountains of snow. Spring means sheets of rain followed by intense green. Summer is lake weather. And Fall is filled with more colors than the rainbow, as the trees all around us go to sleep until next year.

  The people are kind and strong. They come together in good times and bad times. When Hurricane Irene hit and the rains finally let up, we all went to work putting the town back together. And we did it in record time. We love sports, reading, and going home after long, dangerous adventures. Okay, that last part is just me.

  I see Mrs. Smiley's handwritten sign on her lawn.

  Yup, there it is: the same loopy 'L' from the note in the book. The other letters match perfectly, too. I have Mrs. Smiley's book. She knows I'm related to Lock. And I think she wanted something from me, when she told me the treasure is real.

  One lamp shines in her second story window. She's getting ready to go to sleep, so I won't bug her with questions now.

  Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow I get answers.

  Chapter Five: The Hook

  It's six in the morning. I peek out of my bedroom window and Marie smiles up at me from the street. Her parka is covered with pouches, packs, and pockets. A heavy backpack sits by her feet. I wonder if the crack in the sidewalk was there before she dropped it.

  "Did you remember the bazooka?" I ask as I close the front door behind me. I left another note in the fridge for Mom and Dad.

  "I'll be ready for anything. I don't want any rats crawling up my leg!" She runs her hands over her utility belt, pulls out a Swiss Army knife, and flips it in the air.

  "What's in the backpack?"

  "Stuff I need," she says.

  "Are you planning on living down there for a while? It's kind of smelly."

  "You're not getting under my skin, Shirley. I'm not as easy as Wylie, you know."

  "Yeah. Poor Wylie."

  "Why poor Wylie? What did he do now?"

  I tell her about the conversation we had with Mrs. Smiley, and how she broke the news that her house is being sold by the bank. Marie has her hand over her mouth by the time I'm done.

  "Poor Mrs. Smiley. Poor Wylie. He so looks up to her."

  "See?"

  "So what are we going to do about it?"

  Uh-oh. I should have seen this coming. Marie isn't only the smartest person I know, outside myself, she's also the most compassionate. She's never met a wrong that wasn't meant to be made right.

  "I have $312.72 stashed away. I don't think the bank will consider that enough."

  "I'm not joking, Shirley. We can't just let the bank take her home!"

  "It happens all the time, Marie."

  "That makes it okay?"

  She's on a roll. There's no stopping her now.

  "I feel the same way," I tell her. "I just don't know what we can do about it."

  "I'm going to talk to the bank."

  I know when to back off. "Okay," I say, hoping that will end the conversation. It does, but Marie scowls for the rest of the walk to the waterfall.

  I hope we don't pass anyone who looks like a banker...

  ***

  "You came in here alone?" We're only five steps into the tunnel under the bridge when Marie turns her camper flashlight onto high beam. She's sticking close. Too close.

  "Marie, I can't walk with you hanging on me."

  "Oh. Sorry." She lets go of my shoulders.

  "There's the hook," I say, pointing my beam at it.

  "Cool." She runs her hand over the brick wall, as if she can get answers by touching it.

  I pull on the hook again, and watch it roll back into its slot. But this time, something's different.

  "Did you hear that?" I ask.

  "Yeah. Sounded like a gear turning."

  "But it came..."

  We both say "...from down there" at the same time and point our beams into the darkness.

  "I'll pull on it again, and you find where the sound is coming from," I say, reaching for the hook.

  "I'll pull the hook, and YOU find where the sound is coming from!"

  "Fine." I walk into the darkness loudly, just to be sure the rats can hear me coming this time. After a few dozen feet, I call back, "Okay, go ahead."

  I hear the hook being pulled and put my ear to the wall.

  I have no idea what I'm listening to. The best picture I can paint in my imagination is one where a chain behind the wall is being pulled back into place slowly by a weighted gear. But in the middle of its journey back home, the chain grinds against something and...what? What is that sound it makes? Maybe falling stones, like pebbles hitting the ground.

  "Anything?" Marie calls.

  "Something."

  And then we hear something terrifying. From the pitch black of the tunnel comes the last thing we ever thought we'd hear.

  A woman's sob.

  Faint, almost hidden from the human ear. But loud enough to make us both look at each other, wide-eyed.

  "Can we go now?" Marie asked.

 
I want to say yes, but I can't let a simple sound scare me. Logic says it came from a living human. If so, she may be in trouble.

  "HELLO?" I holler. My voice echoes off the walls. The sobbing stops immediately. "DO YOU NEED HELP?"

  Silence.

  "Wait here," I say.

  "Nu-uh. No way."

  "Fine. Just keep quiet."

  "You keep quiet!"

  "Marie!"

  "Okay, okay. Let's just get this over with."

  We take two steps when she does the exact opposite of keeping quiet. She mutters, "Better be a nice ghost. I don't want nightmares the rest of my life."

  I turn to her. "Are you done?" No response. "Well?"

  "I'm not sure." She thinks for a second. "I think so."

  "Good."

  We take 112 steps. There's no sign of anyone; not a sound except dripping water. Oh, and scurrying rats.

  Our way is hindered by an old stone block wall. Man-made.

  "Hello?" I call out one more time. Marie and I look at each other, waiting for a response. "Maybe it was just someone on the street above us. The sound could have come down through the gutters."

  "Yeah," Marie says.

  Neither of us believes that for one second.

  ***

  It's a relief to get back outside. The fresh air and early sunlight wipe away our fear. We've stepped from a darkness that threatened ghosts and rats into a beautiful small-town morning.

  Right when I'm about to break the silence with my logical explanation of why ghosts don't exist, my phone rings. It's Wylie.

  "Shirley, dude, you won't believe what happened!" He's breathing into the phone like he thought it was inflatable or something.

  "Calm down, Wylie. And don't call me dude."

  "Sorry. Listen to me! I'm cleaning Mrs. Smiley's yard and... I found something. Shirley, that treasure you talked about in the library yesterday? The one buried in Massachusetts? I think it's under Mrs. Smiley's house!"

  Chapter Six: One Step Closer

  When we get to the old Victorian house, Wylie is pacing around the back yard. Without a word, he leads us to a stone wall that runs along the back of the property.

  "There it is!" He points to a circular wood door in the ground. It's three feet in diameter and overgrown with grass and weeds, but Wylie has it propped open a little bit. "I was changing the light bulbs in Mrs. S' house. When I was done I came out here to find out what she needed me to do next. I saw her stacking stones on the wall earlier. I didn't find her, but I found this door."

  "Why do you think this leads to treasure?"

  "My gut," he says, and he leaves it at that.

  I look at Marie. She shakes her head.

  "What?" Wylie asks.

  "Is your gut extra-sensitive to treasure?" I ask.

  "I thought it was only sensitive to dairy products," Marie adds.

  "Laugh all you want. You remember what Mrs. Smiley told us yesterday, Shirley. 'The treasure is real.' Right? You take a look down there and tell me it doesn't lead to something secret. "

  "Fine," I say. I pull out my flashlight and get down on my hands and knees. "You might want to stand back, you two." They don't listen to me, as usual.

  Wylie heaves the door all the way open and Marie looks over his shoulder.

  I point the beam down into the darkness.

  SCREEEEEEEEECH

  A bat shoots past us.

  "AAAAAAH!"

  Wylie and Marie scream and fall on their butts, hugging each other. I figured something nocturnal would be down there, which is why I warned them to stand back.

  "Okay. Let's try that again," I say. The two of them let go of each other.

  I squint into the darkness. There are steps carved into the stone wall. They lead down to a small ledge where I can see a ladder descending into the darkness. I have to admit that it is one ancient ladder. I'd guess it's at least a hundred years old, hand-made, with rope lashed around each step to keep it secure.

  "Where's Mrs. Smiley?" I ask Wylie.

  "I don't know. I never found her."

  I'm pretty sure she would not approve of us going down there. It's none of my business what's hidden in her back yard. But sometimes I just can't resist a good mystery. Okay, yes, I'm completely unable to resist a good mystery. In fact, I can barely turn away from a bad mystery. I'll even get excited by a missing sock, as Marie likes to remind me.

  "You two coming?" I ask.

  "Oh yeah," Wylie says, smiling.

  ***

  This is the third time in two days that I find myself standing in the belly of my hometown. Before this week I'd never set foot in Shelburne Falls' underground. Now it's just another neighborhood.

  I go down first, just to be sure the ladder can support us. A couple of rotted rungs whine a bit under my weight, but it's more than strong enough.

  When Wylie is safely down, we take a look around. Like the upper section, the walls are also made of stone blocks.

  The low ceiling proves tough for Wylie and he bumps his head three times before we get ten feet.

  "Here." Marie hands him her flashlight. When it comes down to it, Marie enjoys taking good care of her friends.

  No one says anything as we inch our way forward. We slink along for about five minutes when Marie breaks the silence. "Which direction are we headed?"

  I try to get my bearings. "I'm not sure, but I think south."

  "Toward the river," Marie finishes my thought for me. "I hope we don't hear that creepy sound again."

  "What creepy..."

  But before Wylie can finish his question, we hear the cry. It's closer now. Too close for Marie's comfort. She goes rigid, eyes wide.

  Wylie moves his flashlight around so fast it makes me dizzy. "What was that?" he says.

  "Ghost," Marie whimpers.

  "Don't be stupid," Wiley grunts.

  Uh-oh.

  "Don't call me stupid, Wylie."

  "There's no such thing as ghosts. You sound stupid."

  Double uh-oh.

  "Guys..." I start.

  "This coming from a guy who smells treasure with his belly button."

  "I don't smell anything. I just have a feeling."

  "No, I don't think you have any feeling."

  "You two can argue while I go see if this person is okay. They might be hurt." I leave them behind. They don't say a word. They usually joke around a lot but this feels like a real argument. My worry is drowned out by a thought...

  We must be near the sewer tunnel under the waterfall. We heard the same person wailing fifteen minutes ago, so the two tunnels connect somewhere in that pitch darkness ahead of me.

  That's when my flashlight's beam hits a door in the wall.

  It's open. Slightly. I hear someone breathing on the other side of it. Hard. As if she's been crying and is trying to catch her breath.

  "Hello?" I say, softly.

  "EEEEK!" The shriek slams against the walls and echoes for what seems like forever.

  The door squeaks open.

  "Who's there?" Mrs. Smiley peeks around the edge.

  Phew!

  "It's Shirley, Mrs. Smiley. I'm with Marie and Wylie."

  "You scared the dickens out of me, girl!"

  "Sorry, ma'am. We heard crying and wanted to help. Are you okay?"

  "You shouldn't be down here, Shirley Link! This is no place for a child."

  I steel myself for a tongue-lashing. It's kind of an art form in my town. Adults enjoy taking down the kids a few notches when we get out of line.

  "It's my fault, Mrs. Smiley," Wylie says. He must have left Marie behind because I don't see her. "I found the door in the ground, and talked her into exploring."

  All of the fight leaves Mrs. Smiley instantly. It's like she suddenly realized she doesn't have the energy for this discussion.

  "Oh, it's okay, kids. I'm just..."

  She's trying not to cry again.

  "Um... Mrs. Smiley. Can we help you with something?"

  "Shirley,"
she pauses and glances down. She's getting ready to lie to me. But then she makes eye contact. Here comes the truth. "I do think you can. But I don't want you to. I'm so sorry..." Her voice trails off and she moves toward me. I put my arms around her. No, it's not my style, but I can tell when someone needs to talk. This woman needs to talk.

  She squeezes me in return. Poor Mrs. Smiley. I wish I could help her keep her home.

  Suddenly, I take the leap. I ask her the silliest question I've ever asked with a straight face.

  "Does this have to do with the pirate's treasure?"

  She pulls away and rubs her face, staring at the wet, stone floor as if she's hoping it will tell her what to say.

  Her eyes lock with mine. Tears run from her silver eyes.

  "Yes, sweetheart."

  Chapter Seven: Captain Lock vs. Captain Stringer

  The wait is killing me. We just climbed the ladder and walked all the way to Mrs. Smiley's living room in silence. When Wylie opened the door for her, she nodded to him. It was a normal moment, but somehow it seemed ridiculous to me. A part of me wanted to yell out my forty-seven questions, one after the other until I was out of breath. Instead, I keep up appearances and keep my mouth shut like everyone else.

  Now, we're twiddling our thumbs impatiently because Mrs. Smiley's going to tell us what's going on when she's good and ready. My heart is pumping in my throat. This is why I love being a sleuth! It's amazing what adventures you can have if you're curious.

  But my excitement is kind of ruined by my friends. Marie and Wylie haven't made up. They're miserable. They sit across from each other in this circle of couches and chairs, arms crossed, in synchronized pouting. I let them stew, while I study the room.

  One thing is clear from spending ten seconds in Mrs. Smiley's home: she likes the Art Deco style. Art Deco is a really cool design style that grew from the Industrial Age. That's when they started building skyscrapers and anything and everything seemed possible. When something's called Art Deco, that means it's very symmetrical, with clean lines and dramatic shapes. Simply put, all of her lamps and chairs would fit just fine in a 1930s Hollywood movie!