The Pennypackers Go on Vacation

by Lisa Doan

  “Dad.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll show it to you later,” Mr. Pennypacker said.

  “First,” Charlie continued, “we’ve all noticed that something is not exactly right on this boat. In fact, pretty much everything is not right. Number one: this Disney-like cruise is terrible. The characters aren’t good, they don’t enjoy their jobs, there’s no waterslide, and we have had way too many eggs.”

  “Eggs are my jam,” Mickey Mouser said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “People love my eggs.”

  There were various no-we-don’ts muttered and Olive shouted, “Baby bird killer!”

  Charlie waved the crowd back to silence.

  “What I’m saying is that even if a Disney-like cruise was ever going to be a good idea, which it never was,” Charlie said, “the execution is lacking.”

  “I’ll say it’s lacking.”

  “Lacking is an understatement.”

  “Another thing for the lawsuit! Execution is lacking!”

  “And number two, you have nobody to blame but yourselves,” Charlie said.

  “Excuse me?” Mrs. Jenkins said.

  “We haven’t done anything wrong!” Mr. Jenkins said, putting an arm around his wife’s shoulders.

  “Why can’t we blame the captain?” the twins’ mom asked.

  “Because,” Charlie said, ready to deliver the final blow, “you were the ones who decided to go on the cheap. You were the ones who decided not to go on a real Disney cruise. You sold out your kids’ childhood dream vacation to save a couple of bucks.”

  Charlie had expected various arguments about how they couldn’t have known it would be so bad or that they kept an eye on value so their kids could go to college or that they’d thought it was a real Disney cruise and had been totally tricked. Instead, nobody said a word. Not even Mr. Pennypacker, who was diligently avoiding his wife’s eye.

  “Which brings me to number three,” Charlie continued. “Those men in suits are Manthi and Flynn. They’re Disney lawyers. Manthi and Flynn don’t appreciate Disney-like cruises and the people who go on them. They might as well be Jafar and Maleficent. They will chase us to the ends of the earth. And don’t think the captain is the only one on the hook. You are all accessories to his crime. If the captain goes down, so do you.”

  “When you say ‘go down,’” Mr. Pennypacker said, “would you be referring to any kind of civil judgment that might demand a person’s hard-won cash?”

  “That’s what I’m referring to, Dad.”

  Mr. Pennypacker staggered and his wife had to hold him upright.

  Now that Charlie had brought them low, it was time to lift them up.

  “But all is not lost!” he said. “We can still salvage this cruise and help ourselves out of the trouble we’ve gotten ourselves into. We’ve got to turn this boat from Disney-like to pirate-like before we dock at the DR—which is Dominican Republic for all you landlubbers. We’ve got to erase this Disney-like idea from the face of the earth so that those lawyers can’t drag us all in front of a judge. Here’s the plan.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Charlie laid out what everybody had to do. Olive protested against painting over her Dalmatian, until Charlie pointed out that she had been complaining about it the whole time. Cinderalla commented that she really would turn into Cinderella with all the sewing she had to do. The twins mainly complained in Cucuchara, so Charlie didn’t know the details, but it involved a lot of pointing at him.

  Mr. Pennypacker was not initially enthusiastic about helping the captain. He was too busy writing a list about why none of it was his fault, which he planned to submit in court. Charlie sat down next to him and said, “The captain promised that if we can get him out of this mess, we can have free vacations for life. Free, Dad. As in, no money to be paid.”

  “That kind of free?” Mr. Pennypacker said, looking intrigued.

  “You know as well as I do that mom is never going to let you return to the backyard vacations. She’s going to be planning actual vacations from now on.”

  Mr. Pennypacker paled. “It’ll be the salon all over again. She goes once to get her hair done for our class reunion and all of the sudden it’s every six weeks for the rest of our lives!”

  “So the choice is fix the captain’s problems and get free vacations for life, or don’t fix them and pay cold, hard cash for vacations for life,” Charlie said. “Of course, that’s assuming the Disney lawyers have left you with any cold, hard cash. It’s up to you, Dad.”

  Mr. Pennypacker considered watching cold, hard cash slip through his fingers. “Well, no use just standing around, then. There are deductions to be discovered, loopholes to slip through, offshore accounts to set up, dummy corporations to form! The sky’s the limit!”

  Charlie watched with satisfaction as Mr. Pennypacker dashed out the door. The captain’s books were about to be massaged, examined with a microscope, raked over the coals, and square danced into a dizzying array of deduction dodges and tax weaves. Let the government keep up as best they could.

  Long into the night, Mr. Pennypacker shouted various news from the bridge.

  “Hold the French toast! The man has never itemized his taxes!”

  “He’s never heard of depreciation—somebody pound on my chest to restart my heart!”

  “Good gravy! He spent thousands on this boat and not a receipt to be found!”

  According to Mr. Pennypacker, the captain’s problems were twofold: he didn’t bring enough money in, but more importantly, he didn’t do a good job keeping it out of the government’s hands. When it came to taxes, Captain Wisner was a freewheeling Santa Claus. What the captain should have been was Ebenezer Scrooge—a skinflint skating to the edge of every deduction.

  Charlie checked on Cinderalla in the dining hall. She had gathered together all the needles and thread meant for repairing cushions and deck chairs, and she’d been shown into Cankelton’s sanctuary to get the black velvet off his couch to make pirate costumes for the crew. So far, she had spent more time smoking than sewing. Charlie stood next to her at a porthole and told her about the pirate Mary Read and her daring exploits and proposed that Cinderalla was much better suited to be an adventurer than a princess. She appeared unmoved, until he mentioned that nobody had ever made a pirate lead a snorkeling trip. Cinderalla threw her cigarette out the porthole and got to work.

  Charlie helpfully left out the part where Mary Read died of fever in prison. Pirating might seem glamorous from afar, but when you read about their actual lives you realized that they pretty much always came to a pathetic end.

  The twins were at another table, painting a strongbox with a skull and crossbones. From here on out, the captain would bury a treasure somewhere on the last island of the cruise for his passengers to find, using the clues and maps they had been working on since the first day. All the other islands would have clues hidden on them that would be necessary to track down along the way. The chest would hold the booty—a hundred dollars in nickels. They were silver, and two thousand of them would look like a really big haul.

  The whole cruise would be one long treasure hunt, and the guests would live like real pirates. That part was crucial for the galley—the chef could serve hardtack biscuits and beef jerky all day long and nobody could really complain about it. Then, when they got an egg casserole, they would be grateful.

  Olive had commandeered another table and had cornered poor little Jimmy Jenkins. She had asked him if he wanted to talk about his hair, but when he hadn’t had anything interesting to say about it she’d run out of patience. He shrank smaller and smaller into his chair while she told him that she was a pirate and ordered him to get married or walk the plank. And that was an order. Also, they were going to find the pirate treasure together and be rich because that was her dream. Mrs. Pennypacker appeared to view this exchange as adorable until she noticed that Jimmy was weeping.

  Charlie briefly spotted Cankelton as he raced past the door clutching his hair. His sanctuary had be
en opened up as a lounge for the guests. Mrs. Pennypacker and Jimmy Jenkins’s mom had gone in there and spruced it up. The signs were down, the shag rug had been rolled up, and it turned out that under the black velvet of the sofa was a nice chintz. It had gone from 1960s dungeon to the place to be.

  Claire acted as a model for Cinderalla. She spun around in a billowy skirt, snapped a selfie, and said, “Hashtag: pretty pirate.”

  Cinderalla held Claire still while she worked on the hem and muttered, “Hashtag: you get on my nerves.”

  Gunter came in to the mess hall. “Every cabin and door has been painted over. All the pictures in frames have been removed and been obliterated in the trash compactor. There’s not a trace of Disney left on this boat.”

  “Perfect,” Charlie said, examining the twins’ handiwork on the strongbox.

  “But what exactly are we supposed to do when Manthi and Flynn catch up to us? They’re not stupid, you know. It will be obvious what we did and they can just tell a judge all about what they saw before we changed it from Disney-like to a pirate ship. They probably even have photos.”

  “Don’t worry,” Charlie said. “I have a secret weapon. I’ll launch it when the time comes.”

  Though Charlie had a secret weapon to defeat Manthi and Flynn, he didn’t want to say what it was. He thought the element of surprise would be crucial—not even the secret weapon knew it was a secret weapon.

  “Maybe I have my own secret weapon,” Gunter said.

  “Okay, good.”

  “It’s a secret.”

  “I totally get that.”

  Gunter spent the rest of the evening trying to figure out Charlie’s secret weapon. As it happened, the secret weapon was hiding in plain sight.

  * * *

  At ten the next morning, the Captain Kidding tied up at the marina at Luperón, Dominican Republic. When Manthi and Flynn eventually turned up, and Charlie knew they would, they’d be faced with a boat that looked nothing like they remembered. He wasn’t under any illusion that the lawyers would give up easily and go away, but Charlie was ready for the fight.

  The captain hoisted a flag and radioed in to immigration and customs. Charlie and Gunter casually took up their posts at bow and stern, keeping an eye out for Manthi and Flynn.

  Señor Morales, the official who boarded the boat to check the passports and confirm that the captain was not a smuggler of goods, stared at the captain’s dazed passengers arranged across the deck. Mr. Pennypacker was draped over a deck chair, softly whispering about accrual basis versus cash basis. The twins were having a disagreement in Cucuchara that had descended into hair pulling, which might not have been so unusual except they were each pulling their own hair. Jimmy Jenkins ran to Señor Morales and hid behind his legs. Olive dragged Mrs. Pennypacker by the hand, shouting, “Where is he? I just saw him!” Mickey Mouser came up from below and said loudly, “Don’t pretend you don’t know breakfast is ready. It’s been ready for two hours and, that’s right, it’s eggs.” Claire caught Señor Morales’s eye, waved her arm across the deck, and said, “Hashtag: no sleep.”

  Señor Morales turned to the captain. “What is going on?”

  Ten minutes later, Señor Morales had been informed of how deep the ocean was at various points in their journey, how low the pay was for the Coast Guard, how the captain wouldn’t stand for cholera or military coups as a matter of principal, the fact that the chances of the immigration official being attacked by a shark were extremely low, and a description of the new pirate adventure the captain was planning.

  Señor Morales hurried to complete the paperwork, shook Jimmy Jenkins off his leg, and jumped down to the dock. The captain grabbed a backpack and followed him off the boat to bury the treasure. Charlie watched Señor Morales break into a run to avoid having another conversation with the captain.

  The captain was back from hiding the treasure within a half hour. Charlie thought that was a clue in and of itself. He’d seen the captain attempt to jog at Turks and Caicos and was sure he couldn’t keep that sort of thing going for long. That meant the treasure could not be too far away.

  That was a good thing—Charlie wanted to stay in the vicinity of the boat so he could spot Manthi and Flynn when they arrived. If the timing worked out the way he hoped, Charlie could find the treasure and then be kicking back with his one hundred dollars when the lawyers tried to board.

  The loudspeaker crackled. “Ahoy, mateys! And notice I address you as ‘mateys,’ now that you are pirates! And ahoy means ‘hello’! All hands on deck as we commence our exciting adventure into the world of pirating! Buccaneers—meaning crew—get thee below and heave ho yourselves into your costumes! Captain Kidd’s Authentic Pirate Experience is set to launch! Thar she blows and over and out.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, the captain came on deck dressed in a long, black velvet coat and breeches and a white shirt with a necktie long enough to be a scarf. His boat shoes were the only thing that didn’t match up, but that could be fixed some other day.

  Cinderalla, now known as Mary Read, had sewn herself a full skirt of white sheets and a black velvet tight-fitting top. She had found a pipe somewhere, and now she smoked a cigarette with her right hand and the pipe with her left hand. She was a hazy figure, enveloped in smoke, as if she were a ghost pirate.

  Mickey Mouser, now forever known as Kill Devil Ned, wore a white shirt with billowing sleeves, black pantaloons, and a broad black sash. He defiantly ate from a plate of scrambled eggs.

  Since they’d run out of the black velvet material, Cankelton’s only costume was a black eye patch and a black bandanna tied around his head. He looked even shiftier than usual with just one eye showing.

  “Ahoy, mateys,” the captain said to the passengers gathered around him, “which I already said means ‘hello.’ This old sea dog has the clue to the pirate’s booty. Shiver me timbers, am I right?”

  Charlie glanced down the pier. Manthi and Flynn were nowhere in sight. Looking around the deck, he couldn’t say that anybody’s timbers were shivering, but at least everybody looked interested.

  “Now, pirates,” the captain said, “I will post the clue right here on the bulkhead. Whoever finds the treasure chest will find a one-hundred-dollar IOU inside, as I haven’t had time to get my hands on two thousand nickels and I don’t, at this very moment, have a hundred dollars to pay for two thousand nickels. Yo ho ho, right?”

  “Oh, he’s learning and learning fast,” Mr. Pennypacker said, rubbing his hands together. “Every passenger on this boat should be demanding a full refund, and instead he’s making them fight for a hundred dollars. And it’s not even cash, it’s an IOU. A stroke of genius.”

  Charlie raced to the bulkhead. The sheet of paper the captain had taped to it said:

  Pirates seek refuge from storms at sea

  Hiding in coves is where they’ll be

  A lair to lay low

  An oasis to go

  A calm haven of serenity.

  “A limerick?” Gunter asked, coming up behind him.

  The twins were pointing and speaking in rapid Cucuchara.

  Claire snapped a selfie and said, “Hashtag: find me some money.”

  Mrs. Pennypacker held Olive up and read the limerick to her. Olive wriggled out of her mother’s arms. “It’s too hard!” She marched over to Jimmy Jenkins. “Figure it out so we can get married!”

  Jimmy let out a howl like he was being mauled by dogs.

  Mr. Pennypacker elbowed his way to the front of the crowd. “Make way,” he said. “The Pennypackers are on the hunt for profit!”

  Charlie reread the clue. It didn’t say much. The only location it even mentioned was a cove. They were in a cove, but it was a pretty big place. Where were they supposed to start?

  “Hey, Captain,” Charlie said, “are you sure you put enough clues in there?”

  The captain laid his index finger along his nose. “It’s all there, Charlie.”

  Charlie read through it again. �
��Pirates seek refuge from storms at sea, Hiding in coves is where they’ll be, A lair to lay low, An oasis to go, A calm haven of serenity.”

  “It could be anywhere in the cove,” Gunter said. “We’ll be digging for days.”

  “I know,” Charlie said, “and that doesn’t make sense.”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Gunter said. “We saw the captain leave with the booty, we know he wasn’t gone long, so it has to be around this cove somewhere.”

  They both stared at the words. Charlie ignored the twins’ screeching and Claire’s hashtagging and Olive’s dark threats to Jimmy Jenkins. Cove was not enough to go on. There had to be other meanings.

  Hiding, lair, lay low, oasis, haven, serenity.

  Hiding, lair, and lay low were similar. They were all places a person would go if they didn’t want to be seen. Oasis, haven, and serenity were similar—a feeling of safety and comfort. So, a comfortable place where nobody could see you? A safe lair? A comfortable place to lie low?

  A comfortable place to lie low. Of course, that’s what it was.

  He knew what it meant. The treasure was in Cankelton’s old sanctuary.

  Charlie turned toward the steps.

  “Oh, no,” Gunter said.

  “Oh, yes,” Charlie answered, “I’ve figured it out.”

  “Manthi and Flynn,” Gunter said.

  Charlie turned. The lawyers were marching down the dock toward the boat.

  What? Why now? Why did they have to show up now? The treasure was waiting for him downstairs. Somebody else might figure out the clue any minute.

  Cankelton ran and pulled in the gangplank.

  The lawyers were only a hundred yards away. The showdown couldn’t happen without Charlie. He was the only one who knew about the secret weapon or would even know how to activate it. There was no time to get the booty.

  But why shouldn’t he get the hundred dollars? Why should he have to give up the treasure to deal with the captain’s problems?