CHAPTER ONE

“A Mystery from Jacaranda Street”

By Sherrill Joseph

Lexi Wyatt’s brown hair brushed her shoulders as she shook her head and frowned. “Please excuse me, Mr. Kirby, but—well—you don’t look like a Nigel!” She stared at the tall, hefty middle-aged owner of Kirby’s Gazillion Gadgets. The popular hardware store on Jacaranda Street was known for its satisfied customers. Plastic signs hanging by chains from the ceiling directed locals to hand tools, locks and keys, housewares, garden supplies, and other home improvement necessities. Tourists in Lexi’s coastal resort town, Las Palmitas, in Southern California, swarmed the place for souvenirs like keyrings, t-shirts, postcards, and refrigerator magnets.

Nigel Kirby laughed behind the check-out counter, then picked up a nearby heavy brass nameplate. “Hmm. . . yep! It says here I’m Nigel B. Kirby all right,” he teased, returning the item to the countertop with a clunk. “But Lexi, you’ve known me for a long time. Is this the first time you’ve thought that about my name?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Kirby. I’ve thought that ever since my family and I first met you a few years ago. I guess I’m braver and more outspoken now that I’m thirteen.”

“And I suspect it’s also because you’re a famous amateur detective who’s gained confidence by talking to so many people—as have your friends over there.” Mr. Kirby looked up and waved his hand toward Lexi’s twin brother, Lanny, and their two friends, Moki Kalani and Rani Kumar. All four kids had shopping to do in the store that day. Predictably, her brainiac brother—the head of their detective agency— was browsing in Locks and Keys, current objects of fascination. His best friend, Moki, who loved to cook and eat, was in Housewares. Lexi’s best friend, Rani, was collecting color chips in Paint for a new shade to refresh her bedroom walls. Lexi had already purchased a keychain.

Mr. Kirby was correct about their skills. The four thirteen-year-olds were known as the Botanic Hill Detectives, named after their beautiful neighborhood. They had recently solved their fourth case, Saffron Street: Island Danger, while vacationing in Hawaiʻi. Their neighbor, Mr. Yamada, had hired them to find a missing family heirloom that had disappeared on the day Pearl Harbor was bombed in 1941. In addition to learning about the attack, the horrific Japanese internment camps that sprang up afterward, and more about Moki and his birthplace, the Hawaiian island of Oʻahu, the sleuths discovered without doubt that danger often lurks in paradise. They were glad to be safely home.

Lexi twirled her new golden keychain around her index finger and smiled. “It’s true that we’re confident, Mr. Kirby. And we’re fierce in our belief that crime doesn’t pay, we act on it, and we love asking questions—so here’s one. Where did the name Nigel come from? You look more like a Bob or Jim to me.”

Mr. Kirby chuckled and rubbed his thick auburn beard. Then, he put his elbows on the counter, rested his chin on his hands, and met Lexi at eye level. “Well . . .” but his attention quickly shifted to Lanny, who approached the counter to join the discussion.

Lanny scowled at his sister. “I think Nigel’s a cool name—very British,” as he used his fingers to rake back his dark blond curls from his forehead.

“Thanks, Lanny. You’re correct. We Kirbys came from Scotland a few centuries ago. And from Virginia to California over 150 years ago. I was named for the Scottish actor Nigel Bruce, who—”

“Who played Doctor Watson to Basil Rathbone’s Sherlock Holmes in the Hollywood movies of the 1930s and ’40s,” Lanny said. “OMG. That’s even cooler!” He bounced with excitement as if he had met the long-dead actor himself there in the hardware store.

Lexi directed an eye roll at her brother. “Mr. Kirby, you should know that Lanny’s not only a huge fan of Sherlock Holmes stories but also of old movies. A double wow.”

Rani had come over to see why Lanny was practically dancing. “He even uses Sherlock Holmes’s techniques to help us solve our mysteries.” She gave him a wink and a grin as she flicked her thick black braid off her shoulder. Its curly end now tickled her tiny waistline, which was wrapped in a purple sari her grandma had made for her. Rani, her parents, and grandmother had moved to California from India eight years ago.

Moki, wearing his favorite baggy yellow aloha shirt and shorts, joined in. “And I’m guessing your middle initial, ‘B,’stands for—”

“Bruce!” everyone shouted.

“You got it! Nigel Bruce Kirby. That’s me!” Mr. Kirby threw his head back and guffawed. Within seconds, he added, “Speaking of family, how would all of you like to take a crack at solving an old family mystery?”

“Would we? You betcha!” shouted Lanny. “New mysteries snap us out of our depression that comes on between cases.” His excitement about the old-time Hollywood actor was still at a high peak, but his love of mysteries always shot him to the moon. And he knew all the kids’ parents liked and trusted Mr. Kirby, so they would probably give two thumbs up to the detectives heading off on a new adventure from him.

“I’ll second that acceptance,” Moki added. “This is the best news I’ve had all day, especially for Rani and me. It means we don’t have to go back to Las Palmitas Middle School right away. Instead, we can get lessons from Bruce Wilding, the twins’ tutor. He teaches us whenever we’re on a case in town or on the road.”

Mr. Kirby stood tall with his hands on his hips. “Well, what do you know? Another Bruce. Ha!” Then he smirked. “He must be a great guy!”

Rani smiled. “He is. We call him a computer with legs. He’s brilliant and a certificated teacher with a master’s degree.”

Lexi added, “We’re lucky to have him. He’s an amazing teacher who presents fun lessons in ways that help us remember the material. He lives on the third floor of our house on Quince Street. Our parents created a cool classroom in a spare room up there. And our house’s Wi-Fi is so good that it reaches there as well as to our Botanic Hill Detectives’ Agency office way up in the attic.”

Nigel Kirby nodded. “Well, you’re all famous, as I’ve often read about you in our local newspaper and on social media. I’ve enjoyed studying your cases and learning about the wonderful charitable acts you performed while you solved your mysteries.”

Lanny had returned to earth and showed the man his professional face. “Thanks so much, Mr. Kirby. We like to be helpful and pay it forward. But what can we Botanic Hill detectives do for you?”

There were no other customers in the store, making it a perfect time for the owner to share the mystery. He cleared his throat. “Thursday afternoons tend to be slow around here. Let’s get comfortable in the garden section. There are some patio chairs we can use. I think you’ll agree I have quite a story to tell you.”

The kids raced to the chairs, eager for their new case. Lanny glanced toward the shop’s front door, saw few passersby, and gave a fist pump. He hoped that they would, indeed, be uninterrupted while Mr. Kirby shared the case’s mysterious details.

Once the owner took his chair, the detectives pulled in, closing the circle.

Nigel Kirby was met with four pairs of wide-open eyes. “Well, I really hadn’t planned to provide you with a new mystery when you walked into the store today, but you reminded me of my Scottish heritage,” he began. “And that made me think about a distant relative of mine. Her name was Lenore Kirby—Lenore V. Kirby, to be more accurate. She moved here in the mid-1800s from Richmond, Virginia. The house she lived in is nearby, ten miles outside of town in—wait for it—Kirbyville. Yes, named after my family. I own the house now and spend most weekends there, mowing the lawn and keeping the old place in good repair. Cousin Lenore named the big old place Ravenswood since there were—and still are—many ravens nesting in the trees on the estate. There’s something about that gloomy spot that continues to attract those birds.”

Rani looked far away. “Maybe it’s the quiet there that makes them feel safe.” Then, she snapped back to the present. “But Mr. Kirby, what does your cousin Lenore’s middle initial stand for? I think you said it’s a ‘V’?”

“Right. Valentine. That was her maiden name. She married my wealthy relative Josiah Kirby sometime in the early 1850s. Soon after their wedding, they came to California—which had newly been granted statehood. Supposedly, Lenore had asthma and needed a warmer climate. Shortly after moving here, the two built Ravenswood. But, sadly, about five years later, Cousin Josiah died after a short illness. The family story goes that Lenore was heartbroken. She never remarried, and there were no children. She died at Ravenswood at the age of sixty-seven in 1897. I don’t know much else.”

“That’s so sad,” Lexi replied with a catch in her voice. She was the most emotional of the detectives. Her friends were ever watchful to help her deal with her feelings and rivers of tears. “What did she do, all alone in that house for many years?”

Mr. Kirby looked at the floor and sighed before answering. “Well, kids, now the information is scarce. You see, my family and I weren’t close. I had no brothers or sisters, and my parents were busy making a living, so I was left to entertain myself once I was old enough. I never really knew my grandparents, and Cousins Josiah and Lenore died long before I was born. After I finished college back East, I moved to California to enjoy the year-round sunshine and take care of Ravenswood. That big house and its extensive grounds, this hardware store, and my small apartment above the shop”—he pointed upward—“have kept me plenty busy.”

Moki glanced around. “Well, this is one cool store. You have the best kitchen gadgets. A foodie’s paradise!”

Lanny laughed. “That’s right, Mr. Kirby. Moki doesn’t miss a meal.”

Lexi was on her feet, giving a football time-out signal. “Whoa! Wait one minute, everybody! I couldn’t help but notice. Ravens, Ravenswood, Lenore. All those words make me think of Edgar Allan Poe, the American writer who, like Lenore Kirby, lived in the nineteenth century and in Richmond, Virginia!”

“Huh?” Moki asked. “I know you love literature, but I don’t get what you mean.”

Lexi replied, “I’ll explain. Edgar Allan Poe mainly wrote haunting poetry and some gruesome short stories during his short life—he died mysteriously when he was only forty years old. Anyway, in 1845, he wrote an incredible poem called ‘The Raven,’ which many consider one of his finest works. In the poem, he mentions missing his lost love, Lenore. Lenore was one of his favorite dead-heroine names. Another was Helen.”

“So, BFF, are you suggesting there’s a connection between Edgar Allan Poe and Lenore Valentine Kirby?” Rani asked.

Lexi smiled. “Maybe. If not, it’s an interesting set of coincidences.”

“And I don’t usually believe in coincidences,” Lanny said. “Is such a possible connection—between Lenore Kirby and Edgar Poe—part of the mystery, Mr. K?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. But a particular bird—maybe a raven—figures into it. You see, on Cousin Lenore’s gravestone, there’s an image of a bird. And the bird is holding something in its beak. Plus, there are two groups of letters on it that don’t spell any words. These symbols clearly mean something, but no one has discovered what that might be. So, there you have the family mystery as I know it. Want to try solving it?”

Lexi’s green eyes sparkled. “Wowzers. That certainly sounds like a job for us Botanic Hill detectives. And it doesn’t sound as urgent as some of our past cases.”

“More relaxing!” Moki said. “Mr. K, do you have a picture of her gravestone?”

“I can go you one better. She’s buried right here in Las Palmitas—in the old Pioneer Park Cemetery off Acacia Street. Wanna see it for yourselves?”

Lanny rubbed his hands together. “Yes! But since she’s been buried there for over a century, it’s strange no one’s figured out her gravestone image or the letters yet.”

“Well, the gravestone was somewhat hidden to begin with,” the man said. “The cemetery fell into disrepair many decades ago. You probably know that no one is allowed to be buried there anymore. It was the only cemetery in Las Palmitas back then, so it’s historical, where the town’s founders were laid to rest. My understanding is that the local descendants of the famous old families rarely visit there nowadays. Time marches on.”

Rani stood with her arms akimbo. “And no one has ever asked you about your cousin Lenore, her gravestone’s image, or those strange groups of letters?”

“Umm . . . no.” Within seconds, however, Mr. Kirby sat bolt upright. “Wait—I think so! Yes. About a year ago, a professor from the university here came into the store. He asked me something about Cousin Lenore. I don’t remember what. But if I’m not mistaken, he did mention Edgar Allan Poe!”

Lexi’s smile now stretched ear to ear. “Double wowzers! What did he say?”

“That he had information for me about Cousin Lenore. Then, I think he implied a connection between her and the writer. Since I was too busy with customers to talk with him, he gave me his business card and invited me to contact him if I was interested.”

Moki jutted his upper body forward. “Did you?”

“Well, uh, no, I never did. Guess I got busier. Then, it slipped my mind until today—now hold on! Before I need to grab a broom to sweep your fallen faces off the floor, let me go look for his card. I’m sure it’s still in my desk drawer.”

When Mr. Kirby disappeared to search, Lanny turned to the squad. “We’ll find the guy, with or without the card. He’s got to be a professor of literature. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find one who specializes in Poe and came into this store.”

Each of the other detectives gave two thumbs up.

Mr. Kirby returned and happily handed a slightly bent card to Lanny, who thanked him and read it out loud: “‘Dr. Julius Bromley, Department of American Literature, Las Palmitas University.’ And his email address is included. Perfect, Mr. K.”

Lexi looked at her brother. “All four of us detectives have met Dr. Bromley before. He attended a lecture Mom and Dad gave at the university last year, remember? And I recall Bruce mentioning he took some classes from the professor.”

Lanny cocked his head and nodded. “Oh, yeah. Dr. Bromley’s a very nice guy.”

Moki and Rani nodded their agreement.

Mr. Kirby looked at his wristwatch and grinned. “And to make up for my previous lack of family interest, how would you four like me to take you to see Cousin Lenore’s gravestone right now? The store closes in a few minutes— four o’clock on Thursdays.”

Lanny beamed. “No time like the present.”

“Or like the past,” athletic Rani added and was the first one to the front door.

End of Chapter One