The Shirley Link Box Set: A Middle Grade Mystery Series

by Ben Zackheim

  "Kind of like someone I know," Wylie says, with a sideways glance at Marie.

  "You have got to be kidding me!" Marie yells. "You started it with the ghost comment."

  "And I was right. It wasn't a ghost."

  "So that means you can make fun of me whenever you think I'm wrong? You have a lot to learn about being a friend, you jerk!"

  Marie knows how to cut to the point. She starts to storm off. Then stops, and turns around. "No. Wait. You leave. I want to be with Shirley for a while."

  "So do I!" Wylie yells back.

  "Wait in line then! I got dibs!"

  Okay, this is getting stupid. "Wylie, I'll give you a call later."

  He frowns at me. I think he's going to pull me into this nonsense by saying something lame. Instead, he lets out an exasperated growl and walks away. Marie and I watch him go.

  "It's not like him to be mean," I say. I hoped that would make her settle down. But she walks ahead, expecting me to catch up. I love Marie, but when she loses her temper she always thinks it's up to the rest of the world to dig up her feelings. My patience with this game will not last. I have a woman's future in my hands, and I take my job seriously. "You know I'm right. Maybe you should meet up with him in an hour after everyone calms down."

  "I don't care about stupid Wylie. I want to help Mrs. Smiley. Where are we headed?"

  ***

  We go to the Scriptorium. Yes, it's Saturday but the school library has its own entrance and is open every Saturday of exam month, so students can study. I'm surprised to see about a dozen classmates lounging around, books open.

  Including Jacob Graham, the new friend. Sure, he's the friend who happened to dangle me from a harness over the streets of Shelburne Falls, but he explained to me that it was just his way of saying "let's be buddies."

  Jacob is from an eccentric, wealthy family. Until this year he had been homeschooled by his father, who taught him how to be competitive and ruthless. I'm spending about fifteen percent of my time teaching him how to be smart and kind. He'll be a good person one day. For now, he can be a bit of a basket case.

  "SHIRLEY!" he hollers from the middle of the library. Scarlet Blaylock shrieks from the sudden noise.

  Yes, Jacob has a lot of work to do.

  After a withering glare from Ms. Conway, Jacob wears his meek face, which is about as convincing as my smiling face. He looks like he's sucking on a mouthful of Altoids.

  "What are you up to? I can tell you're up to something," he whispers, as he sits down in my favorite chair before I get to it.

  "We're not up to anything, Jacob. Just here to study."

  "Psh. Yeah, right. You never bring Marie to study. She talks too much."

  Marie makes a fist. I stand between her and Jacob, just in case she boils over.

  "We're doing research."

  He smirks and leans forward. "On Shelburne Falls' underground?"

  Uh oh.

  His smile reminds me of the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland. "Yeah, I saw you two sneaking under the bridge this morning. I jog at sunrise. It helps me stay in shape and discover people's secrets. Did you know that many crimes are committed or covered up at sunrise?"

  "I told you that," I say.

  "Oh, yeah!"

  Now Ms. Conway is walking over. It never takes long to get into trouble when Jacob is around.

  "Do I really need to tell you three to settle down?" she asks, arms on her hips. Even Marie shrinks away from the look the school librarian can give.

  And then, as if to make sure Ms. Conway will never trust us again...

  Buh-bleep.

  We all check our phones, but I know it's mine. I forgot to mute it. It's a text from Wylie. Ms. Conway stands over my shoulder and reads it with me.

  is marie dun being a volcano?

  "I'll take that," Ms. Conway says, snatching the phone from my hand. "You can have it back when you leave." She looks at Jacob. "Which I hope is soon."

  She's about to put the phone in her blouse pocket when she glances at the screen and stops short.

  "Where did you take this photo?" She holds up my iPhone. Wylie's text had popped up over the pic I took of Mrs. Smiley's living room.

  "Francine Smiley's house. Why?"

  "Oh, is she a former dancer?"

  "Uh, I don't think so."

  "You see that symbol there?" Ms. Conway points to the picture on the screen. "The one on the wall. That's Labanotation."

  "Labanotation?" I repeat. "Oh, wait, isn't that this way of writing down all the movements they use in a dance?" I'd read about this man, Laban, over the summer and it was really interesting. You know how a musician uses notes to write music on a page? Well this man figured out how to write down dance moves. What I mean is, he made his own language. Someone else can pick up a piece of paper and know how to do the same dance!

  This was the first time I've ever seen what they call Labanotation.

  The librarian looks at the design again. Her gaze makes me think she's remembering a happy time. "I recognize it from my ballet days," she said. "I took a course in it when I retired from dancing. It's a beautiful language. It was created in the Art Deco period, so it's very symmetrical."

  Bingo!

  The symbols on Mrs. Smiley's wall.

  They may be the clue we're looking for!

  "Ms. Conway? Can you do me a favor?"

  Chapter Nine: Labanotation

  We stand in Mrs. Smiley's living room while our school librarian paces slowly, studying the shapes on the wall and making notes in her binder. She tilts her head to the right the whole time, as if she's reading sideways.

  The suspense sucks all the oxygen out of the room. I can barely take a breath.

  I distract myself with something that Jacob said before we left the library. He wanted to come with us, but I wasn't having it. Instead of fighting me, or following me (badly) as he usually does, he just said, "In victory, defeat."

  With a wink, of course. What would Jacob be without his wink? Oh, he can be so frustrating sometimes! Why does he always turn everything into a game?

  Mrs. Smiley rubs the back of her neck. "You were right, Marie. Frank did make a clue to the clue. I should have known. He had these etched moldings installed forty-five years ago, when we first moved in. He designed them himself, he said, which was not like him at all." She turns to Shirley and adds, "Now you see why I would make a horrible detective."

  I tell her, "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the creator of Sherlock Holmes, said that there's nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact. We all miss the obvious sometimes, Mrs. Smiley."

  Ms. Conway turns to us and flips back to the first page of her notes.

  "Okay. This isn't the way Labanotation is usually written out. It's usually on staffs that go up and down on the page, not on walls from left to right. But if we turn it on end, it's clearly Labanotated movement instructions." She stares at the paper for a few seconds and then asks, "Do you all mind walking outside with me?"

  ***

  In Mrs. Smiley's backyard, we watch our school librarian scootch around the grass on her butt, stand, stick her arms out, and count her steps when she walks. Marie and I don't look at each other or else we'll laugh. She already has a hand over her mouth, and I see her pinch herself hard. I know she's doing this as a distraction so she'll stay in control.

  Ms. Conway goes back to where she started. "Okay. I think these symbols direct you to stand across from your partner, take a one-quarter turn to the left, and then take forward steps. Since the steps are all written out, the number may be important. I count 130. After the steps, you lower yourself to the ground, sit on your, uh, bottom, and make your torso as small as you can. Use your hands and feet to scoot forward five times, then stand up. After that, you take a one-quarter turn to the left, approach the wall until you're an arm's length away, and then..." Suddenly, Ms. Conway lifts her right arm straight in front of her, with her index finger pointing straight ahead, and then loops her finger as if she's holding a p
istol trigger. "If I'm reading this right, the next thing you do is pull on something that looks like a hook. See? There's the hook right there."

  She holds up her folder and shows the copy she made on her lined paper. Outside the bar of notation symbols is a little drawing that does, indeed, look like a hook. I hadn't noticed it before on the wall because I didn't turn my head sideways.

  "And here's something unusual," she says. "This little box at the beginning would usually tell you where on the stage to begin. But it looks like they mean under the stage, or..."

  "Underground," I finish.

  "Well, that could be. But here's the really confusing part. See this line here? And this one here at the end?" She points to a long line that runs off the page. "It implies that while all this is going on, someone else is doing something at the same time. I don't know what it expects your partner to do."

  Loop a finger? Pull on a hook? Underground?

  Marie and I look at each other and grin.

  ***

  Marie and I got out of there are fast as we could. I told Ms. Conway thank you, and assured Mrs. Smiley we'd be in touch. Knowing her, she's probably offered Ms. Conway a glass of lemonade by now.

  "There must be another hook to pull, further down the tunnel," I tell Marie, hurried.

  "But what could two hooks do to tell us where the treasure is?"

  "Remember, Marie, whatever it tells us will not lead to the treasure. It will only lead to half of the puzzle, or clue, or whatever it is. We still need to find the person in my family who knows the other half."

  "Fine. Then how could two hooks tell us where a clue is?"

  "Two hooks that were placed there up to 200 years ago? I have my suspicions, but we'll see. Let's go to my house. I need some wet gear."

  ***

  Dad is home. He's got his bare feet kicked up on a stool as he reads National Geographic. This is how I'll always remember him when I leave for college. He's either reading that magazine cover-to-cover, or he's on his way out the door to another expedition. He's an archaeologist. He always has his head in the dirt.

  "Hi, Shirley," he calls out. "Hey, Marie! I haven't seen you in a long time."

  "Hi, Mr. Link," Marie says. "How was Egypt?" My dad was in Egypt during my last adventure. He helped me decipher some hieroglyphs that were left for me to find by my new friend, Jacob. The hieroglyphs spelled out Link and Tomb. That Jacob. He's a charmer!

  "It was wonderful," Dad answers. "Parts of the country are frozen in time. It's like going through a time machine and getting glimpses of life a thousand years ago."

  "And how was life a thousand years ago?"

  "Awful, for the most part," he says with a laugh.

  I cut in with "I'll be right back" and let them be chatty as I head up to my room. Once inside, I dump the wet gear out my window. Waterproof camera. Waterproof flashlight. Diving suit. Dad can't know I'm going into the sewers. Actually, he'd probably try to join me. But he'd have to tell Mom, too. Being that she's a police officer, well, that would put an end to this adventure fast.

  I hear Marie downstairs, talking too much. She has Dad going on about his Lock heritage.

  Oh, man. Oh. Marie.

  She's digging for clues to who the Lock family's protector is!

  "So when your uncle spoke to you at your wedding did he mention anything...OW!" I grab her shoulder a little tighter than I'd intended. Still, it did the trick. It got her to stop talking.

  "Gotta go, Dad," I say.

  "Why all the questions about the Locks, Marie?"

  "She's just curious about family trees. School project. Right, Marie?"

  "No."

  Ugh. She's unable to tell even the smallest white lie!

  "See you Dad!" I bump her out the front door with my hips and grab the wet gear from the petunias before he can peek out the window.

  "You hurt my arm, Shirley!"

  "Better than hurting Mrs. Smiley's chances to keep her house, Marie."

  "What's that supposed to mean? I just wanted to see if he knew anything about who kept the secret."

  I stop and turn to face her. "And what if it's him?"

  "Huh? Your dad?"

  "What if he's the protector?"

  She laughs and then sees I'm serious. Then she appears distinctly worried. "I didn't..."

  "You didn't think. Leave the detective work to me from here on, okay?"

  I start walking. It's only when I don't feel my best friend beside me that I wonder if maybe I'd said something harsh. When I turn and see her walking away, I get my answer. "Marie, where are you going?" No, Shirley. Say what you feel! "Marie! I'm sorry!"

  She doesn't stop.

  First Wylie. Now Marie.

  Our trio is down to one.

  Chapter Ten: Bingo!

  The rest of the walk to the waterfall is the loneliest walk ever. How did the most exciting time of my whole life get so messed up?

  If I'd spent some time helping my friends make up with each other, odds are we'd all be together. And if only I'd kept my big, rude mouth shut, Marie would be here with me now. I mean, come on! I might be on the verge of finding a treasure! It's a dream come true.

  I sneak down to the river and scoot to the steel door as fast as I can. It's much tougher to avoid being seen in the middle of the day, but I think I've pulled it off. I slip into the darkness of the tunnel and turn on my flashlight.

  When I come to the first hook in the wall, I test it again. It makes that same odd, scraping sound as it slips back into place. The thin chain that the hook is attached to is likely part of some kind of pulley system behind the wall. The second hook does... something. I'll have to see.

  I turn the flashlight toward the darkness ahead of me.

  There's a face in the middle of my light beam.

  I jump back, hand on my pepper spray. In the space of a heartbeat, I realize whose face it is.

  "Wylie! What are you doing here?" I sound as upset as I am. I flash my light back in his face. He squints.

  "Sorry, I just wanted to help and hoped I'd find you here. I heard you come in but I didn't know who it was. I hid around the bend and saw you pull the hook. What do you think it does?"

  "It tells us a secret. Now make yourself useful. Stay here and wait for me to whistle. Then pull on the hook. Gently. Don't get all macho with it, okay?"

  "Okay. Cool. Is Marie still mad?" He says this in one breath, as if his presence here has led to that question. Which it has.

  "Yeah, she's mad at both of us."

  "What did you do?"

  "I turned on my charm."

  "Uh-oh."

  "Yeah." He makes his flashlight beam nervously dance across the ceiling. I can't resist asking him the question. "What were you thinking, Wylie? Why were you so mean to Marie?"

  He sits on a dry patch of stone floor and sighs. "I don't believe in ghosts," he says, simply, as if that's an explanation. When he sees my face, he knows that's not going to cut it. "I did believe in ghosts once, though. I kind of needed to. Really bad."

  I wait for him to clarify. Right when he's about to fess up, I realize where he's going with this. I think I screwed up.

  "When my parents died, I didn't have anyone. You know that."

  "Wylie, it's okay..."

  But he continues. "All I had was memories. So I got into staying up at night, staring at the darkness. I wasn't afraid of seeing a ghost, I was afraid I wouldn't."

  "Wylie..." I say, giving him a chance to stop.

  "And I know I'm not the smartest guy on the planet, but you know how long it took me to stop looking? Two years. I didn't get the hint for two years. So one night I was really sick of it, and I decided this is the last night I'm gonna try. I'm sick of watching horror movies so I can go to bed scared, as if that would make me see them. So tonight's the night. And so I was lying there and there was a second, in the pitch black, where I thought I saw a flicker of something. Like a hand moving over my cheeks, like Dad used to do when I went to bed. I sat up and
this, I don't know... this hope shot through me that made me feel for a second like I did when they were alive. But it was just an illusion. My bunk mate was reading a comic under his sheets. His flashlight bounced off the ceiling weird and played with my head."

  I wait, to see if he wants to keep going. He runs a palm over his forehead, and looks up at me, smiling an empty grin. The kind that's meant to push down tears. He does a good job of it. "You need to talk to her," I say.

  "Yeah I know."

  And we leave it at that. I don't get the feeling he wants me to comfort him. I really want to, though.

  "So should we work our magic on this mystery hook?" he asks with his normal swagger.

  Without comment, I do as Ms. Conway instructed. I face the hook in the wall, turn forty-five degrees to my left and start walking. I count out loud. Wylie watches me like I'm wearing a clown suit, but I try not to let it distract me.

  At 100 steps I can see the wall that Marie and I came across this morning, while we were looking for the crying lady.

  Up to now, I've been sticking to the stone path on the edge of the running water. I've had to leap across the creek from time to time, but now I get to dive right in. Lucky me. The sewer no longer carries human waste, thank goodness, but I still don't look forward to what I might find floating around in here.

  I try to get images of the rats out of my head.

  I slip on the diving suit and mask. I only need to scoot five times, though I'm likely smaller than the person who made the instructions, so it may be up to ten scoots.

  I turn on my waterproof flashlight, take one last look around, along with a deep breath, and then sink into the cold water.

  ***

  The first thing I notice is that there are no rats swimming toward me. Big victory! The water is a gross combination of brown and gray, so I can't make much out. I do see that there's a grate in my way. Lucky for me, it pops right off. I shine the light into the opening.

  Total darkness.

  Now or never.

  Just keep thinking treasure.