CHAPTER ONE

“A Mystery from Macadamia Street”

By Sherrill Joseph

 

“‘Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest. Yo-ho-ho and a
bottle of’—ketchup!” thirteen-year-old Botanic Hill
detective and foodie, Moki Kalani, sang. He had slightly
changed a pirate’s sea chanty from Robert Louis Stevenson’s
adventure book Treasure Island. “Yeah, ketchup. That’s
what this awesome Captain One-Eyed Jack Cheeseburger
lunch needs! Lanny, please pass the ketchup. I should have
worn a pirate’s eye patch to this cool restaurant. Blimey!”
He threw back his head and guffawed.

Lanny Wyatt, his best friend and brainiac head of their
amateur detective agency, grabbed Moki’s forearm. “Dude!
We are in a restaurant. Cool it.” He glanced around but saw
only customers’ fuzzy shadows in the darkness before
raking back a large lock of curly, dark blond hair that tickled
his forehead. “And here’s the ketchup.”

The indoor eatery on Macadamia Street was purposely
sunless, made to resemble midnight in a pirates’ swampy
hideout. Candles flickered inside small brass lanterns on
each table. Fake fireflies buzzed and blinked around the
perimeter of the place. And pinpoints of twinkling stars on
the ceiling worked hard without success to dispel the
darkness. A recording of croaking frogs, chirping crickets,
water slapping against rowboats, and eerie calls of night
birds played softly in the background. Phew! Maybe no one
noticed Moki, Lanny thought. But I see his point. It’s as if
we’ve been transported to the Pirates of the Caribbean ride
at Disneyland.

“Right. Sorry, bro. I got carried away,” Moki replied.
“But we are at Pirates’ Hideaway Café inside our town’s
awesome Hotel Caribe! And pirates back in the day were a
rowdy bunch.”

“And we know you think you’re one of them,” said
Lexi Wyatt, Lanny’s brunette twin sister and the most
emotional of the four sleuths, all age thirteen. She rolled her
green eyes at the boy, who did not notice in the darkness.

Moki smiled ear to ear where thick strands of his
glossy-black hair were looped. “Yes, I do think that. And
isn’t it appropriate that I ordered a cheeseburger named after
a pirate since everyone knows I’m the Hawaiian version of
Captain Jack Sparrow!”

“Ugh!” said Lexi, cupping her face with her fingertips.
Then, she turned to look at her tablemate, best friend, and
fellow detective, Rani Kumar, who wore a sparkling pink
sari from her native country, India. The two smirked at the
foodie’s comment. The girls had been friends for eight years
since Rani, her parents, and Rani’s grandmother moved to
Oleander Street on Botanic Hill in the twins’ Southern
California coastal resort hometown of Las Palmitas.

“Dude, in your dreams,” replied Lanny. “And where’s
your Jack Sparrow mustache? Even in the dark, I can tell
you don’t have any upper-lip fuzz yet!”

Moki sighed. “And I’ve told you before it’s captain,
Captain Jack Sparrow.”

Lanny and Moki had met five years ago after Moki’s
mother had died in a car accident in Hawaiʻi. The grieving
boy and his police officer father, Dan Kalani, moved from
Oʻahu to California to begin a new life. The Kalanis bought
a house on Palm Street. The gated backyard fence they shared
with the twins’family, who lived around the block on Quince
Street, all but guaranteed the two boys’ quick meeting and
long friendship. Back-to-back properties proved fun and
convenient, especially when the detectives were on a case
and needed to assemble immediately for action.

The detectives’ host, Arthur Lamb, who was visiting
from England, enjoyed the teens’ banter as he sized up the
group from his seat at the head of the table. The man had
invited them to Hotel Caribe for lunch and an exciting
challenge.

Mr. Lamb set his fork down and dabbed his napkin at
his mouth. “You four young people would make quite a
pirate crew, you would. But you’d have to get used to
ingesting mostly spoiled food and contaminated beverages.
Nothing like these meals in front of us.” He glanced at his
plate, brimming with the café’s specialty, Shipwreck Stew,
smothering a mountain of buttery mashed potatoes.

Lexi’s and Rani’s eyes lit up. They had difficulty think-
ing about food while swooning over the man’s irresistible
English accent. That and his height, build, and slightly
graying dark hair reminded them of English-born Dr. Leland
Abbott, director of The Antiquities Research Collective, or
the ARC, headquartered in Las Palmitas’s beautiful Cortez
Park. The twins’ parents worked there, too—Dr. Ian Wyatt,
an archaeologist, and Dr. Rebecca Marlton, an art historian.
Lexi and Rani took every opportunity to visit the large pink
Art Deco-era building that housed world-famous artists and
scientists. The girls would seek out the director and listen to
what they privately called his “yummy voice.” But this
afternoon, Arthur Lamb treated them to his voice plus their
lunches—and a hint of a new adventure!

Realizing they were staring at the man, the two girls
felt their faces flush red under cover of darkness. They
quickly turned their attention to their pirate-themed meals.
Rani took a bite of her Blackbeard’s Black Bean Burger with
fries while Lexi stabbed at a chunk of papaya from her
Marooned on a Tropical Island Salad. Lanny lapped spoonfuls
of hot, creamy Davy Jones’ Locker Seafood Chowder. Moki
was already wondering what was for dessert.

As if reading the girls’ minds, Arthur Lamb said,
“Lanyon and Alexia, I had a chance to meet your parents
and their boss, Dr. Abbott, the other day. He served us hot
tea and English biscuits in his office. Such kindness! I had a
favor to ask him concerning some things I brought from
England. I’ll share them and his comments shortly.”

Moki, the tease, loved it when anyone called Lanny
“Lanyon” or Lexi “Alexia” so he could rib them about their
formal-sounding real first names. He suspected it would not
take long for straightforward Lanny to ask Mr. Lamb
politely to use their nicknames.

On cue, Lanny cast a drop-dead look at Moki to shut
down any teasing before turning to their host with a smile.
“That’s great, Mr. Lamb. We like Dr. Abbott, too. He’s so
intelligent, friendly, and very much ‘in’ the twenty-first
century for a man who specializes in the past. We’re looking
forward to what you’ll share with us this afternoon. But
please call my sister Lexi and me Lanny.”

“Yes, please, Mr. Lamb,” Lexi added. “I think many
people in America are less formal than some in the UK [the
United Kingdom, which includes England], especially with
their first names.”

“In that case, please call me Arthur or Art, and my wife
Abigail or Abbie when you come to England and meet her
someday.”

Rani sighed. “Well, I don’t think we can use your first
names, Mr. Lamb. It’s different for adults. Our parents
taught us to call them by their titles and last names. It’s such
a habit with all of us now that I don’t think we could
change—I mean, it wouldn’t sound right!”

“I respect that,” Mr. Lamb replied, then eyed each
detective. “You know, I could tell immediately when I met
you four this afternoon that you were raised with good
manners and a sense of caring. Those are increasingly
important in this world. Being polite, kind, and respectful
can take you far and benefit others.

“Now, I think it’s high time I shared why I asked all of
you here today. But first—shall we order dessert?”

“I like both your ideas!” Moki said more loudly than
he had intended.

Everyone chuckled and passed around the table’s two
little dessert menu cards, each displayed in its upright,
plastic holder. Decisions were quick.

Moki wanted his favorite Keelhauled Pineapple-
Coconut Sherbet topped with grilled pineapple and toasted
Hawaiian macadamia nuts.

Rani’s brown eyes grew huge when she saw the Pirates’
Treasure Overboard Sundae cascading down the sides of its
serving glass and puddling onto the plate.

Lanny could not wait to dive into a large slab of Ships
Ahoy! Chocolate Fudge Cake crowned with a small tooth-
pick Jolly Roger black pirates’ flag. In the center was a white
skull and crossbones.

Lexi chose a piece of No-Scurvy-Knave Lemon Pie to
get her daily Vitamin C. Mr. Lamb ordered The Galley Sink
Cookies, containing a little bit of everything sweet and
crunchy.

As the group oohed and awed over their desserts and
shared bites, Lanny said, “Mr. Lamb, I’m so thrilled that you
and your wife are now neighbors with our grandparents, the
Marltons—in England! How did that happen?”

The man returned half a cookie to his plate and smiled.
“I’m pleased you asked, Lanny. That’s what I was about to
explain since it relates to the purpose of our meetup today.
You see, my wife and I became Roderick and Fiona
Marltons’ solicitors—in America, you say attorneys—many
years ago when we all lived and worked in London. We still
manage their estate and personal finances and remain best
friends. But three years ago, your grandparents decided to
retire to the country. So, as you know, they sold their popular
independent bookshop, Gotcha Covered, and retired to
Penzance, Cornwall. They often talked about wanting to live
where they could breathe the salt air.”

Lexi sighed. “We loved London and our Nana and
Papa Marltons’ bookshop—”

“We visited there a couple of times as little kids,”
Lanny added. “I remember it being large yet cozy with hot
tea brewing for customers, stairs to an upper book loft—”

“Where they kept all the cool mystery and detective
books!” Lexi beamed, high-fiving Rani.

Mr. Lamb’s eyebrows hiked. “Well, Lexi, you’ll be
happy to know most of those books from the upper loft are
in their new—rather, new-to-them—two-hundred-year-old
cottage.”

Moki frowned. “But how can a little cottage hold all
those books?”

Mr. Lamb laughed. “You see, Moki, in the UK, we
often call country houses cottages. The Marltons’ charming
cottage is a spacious, three-story home on the stunning
Cornish cliffs above the town of Penzance. Surely, you’d
love it. Its name is Sea Mist Cottage. We British tend to
name our country cottages and manor homes.”

“I do love it,” Rani replied, “and look forward to
seeing Sea Mist Cottage and Cornwall someday. But what
about your house? You live next door to them, right?”

“In a way, Rani,” the man replied. “Our homes are
separated by a large field on my wife’s and my new property.
We recently moved into a Georgian house about a ten-
minute walk from the Marltons’ home. Our place is called
Crow’s Nest Grange.”

“Ooh, I love the name!” said Lexi. “And the crow’s
nest part makes it sound like a sailing ship for the old-timey
days—when sailors would climb up to the crow’s nest to
watch for land and other ships.”

Moki’s brown eyes danced. “Yeah. Like on pirate
ships!”

“Well, Crow’s Nest Grange does have a crow’s nest of
sorts on top of the roof,” their host replied, pointing upward.
“For a house with that name, it makes total sense,”
Lanny said.

Moki asked, “So, what’s a grange?—oof!” No sooner
were the words spoken than his hands covered his mouth.
He realized he had accidentally requested a word’s
definition. Lanny loved improving the squad’s vocabulary
daily, and Moki feared he had just triggered a lesson. But
Mr. Lamb beat “Lanny the Lexicon” to it.

“An English grange refers to a large house in the
countryside with farm buildings and fields. Indeed, we have
a small stable of horses and are raising vegetables and
flowers to sell in town and at our home’s produce stand.”

Rani replied, “Cool. You also said ‘Georgian.’ What’s
that, and how does a grange compare in size to a cottage?”
She shot Lanny a warning look to let Mr. Lamb answer.

“Georgian refers to the style of architecture popular
during the reign of English kings named George in the
eighteenth century. Crow’s Nest Grange was built in 1720
when King George the First reigned—”

Lexi whistled. “Wowzers! A spooky three-hundred-
year-old house with winding hallways and rooms
everywhere, I bet. Like in so many cool English novels I’ve
read: Jane Eyre, Rebecca, The Secret Garden, Pride and
Prejudice—so many more.”

“Let me guess, Mr. Lamb,” Moki said. “Your house is
huge, right? Much bigger than a cottage. I’m thinking
mansion-size.”

Their host grinned. “Right, you are, Moki. To help you
visualize it, I would compare Crow’s Nest Grange’s main
structure to your country’s White House in size and looks
but with slightly more land at about twenty acres. It’s
considered a manor house—a large home in the countryside.”

“And twenty acres are like”—Lanny calculated in his
head—“about fifteen of our American football fields put
side by side, including endzones!”

“Whoa!” shouted Rani. “A real, honest-to-goodness
manor house. That would be something to see!”

The other detectives agreed.

“It’s still rather overwhelming for my wife and me.
You see, we inherited Crow’s Nest Grange a few months ago
from the former owner, Lord Percival Ainsley. He was the
Tenth Earl of Stowesbury. We were his solicitors for many
years—and like family to him since he had no living
relatives and few friends surviving when he died at the age
of ninety-six. The Stowesbury line is now extinct, meaning
dead, due to no living blood relations. So, the property could
pass to commoners like us.”

Lanny scratched his head. “But the town of Stowesbury
is in northern England. Why did the earl live in Cornwall—
in England’s West Country—hundreds of miles away?”

“Spot-on question, Lanny, and it might be part of the
mystery that brings us here today,” Arthur Lamb replied.
“For a long time now, members of the nobility—like dukes
and earls—haven’t necessarily had to live in the district that
bears their name. Somehow, the Ainsleys ended up in
Cornwall around 1723, right after the house was built.
Jonathan Ainsley, the Second Earl of Stowesbury, is believed
to be the family member who moved his earldom to Corn-
wall, making him the first nobleman to live in Crow’s Nest
Grange.”

“Did he name the property Crow’s Nest Grange?”
Lanny asked.

“Yes, according to the late tenth earl, his many-times
great-grandfather Jonathan reportedly loved the sea sur-
rounding the Cornish peninsula. He spent countless hours
watching the waves crash against the cliffs, scanning the far
horizon from his property.”

“Then, I can see why he named it Crow’s Nest
Grange,” Moki added.

Lexi cocked her head. “Did Jonathan, the second earl,
ever go to sea?”

“I asked Percival Ainsley that,” Mr. Lamb replied. “He
said no. As a child, Viscount [VYE-count] Ainsley often
skipped school. That was Jonathan’s title before becoming
the earl. He loved exploring the rivers, lakes, and ponds in
Stowesbury. ‘Saltwater was in his veins’ was how the tenth
earl described Jonathan!”

Rani had a faraway look. “It fascinates me that some
people like the English can trace their ancestors back
centuries. And think how cool it would be to live in the same
huge house as your many relatives did. That doesn’t happen
very often in the U.S.”

“Quite right,” replied Mr. Lamb. “You might also be
interested to know that some members of the nobility don’t
see themselves as owning their homes or manor houses.
Instead, they become caretakers of the property and its history,
merely ensuring all are intact for future generations.”

“Is Crow’s Nest Grange in good condition, or must
you do tons of work so you can live there safely?” Lexi
asked.

Mr. Lamb’s eyebrows hiked. “Tons with a capital T!
Due to his age and years of poor health, Lord Percival
Ainsley couldn’t keep up with the routine maintenance
work. So now, we must do extensive restorations in many
rooms before the whole place comes tumbling down around
our ears! We’ve started at the top of Crow’s Nest Grange.
Which brings me to why I came to California for a visit.”

The four detectives leaned in and watched Mr. Lamb
slowly pull an envelope from his jacket pocket. Inside was
a folded sheet of paper, which he carefully opened.

The teens left their chairs and gathered behind the
man. He pulled the table’s tiny lantern closer as the others
moved in to see what the flickering firelight revealed. The
sheet held some small bits of paper. Mr. Lamb left the
remnants inside the sheet, confirming their delicacy.

“My wife and I recently found these paper scraps with
some twigs, leaves, and shredded cloth, lining a long-
deserted rat’s nest. These were inside an exposed portion of
one of the Crow’s Nest’s walls. What do you notice about
the scraps?”

The others could make out some poorly penned words
written in faded black ink on one of the bits: “One-Eyed
Jack, Captain,” Lanny read aloud. His eyes grew large.

Moki whistled. “And to think I was just eating his
cheeseburger!”

The second piece showed part of an ink sketch of an
old brigantine—a swift, easily maneuvered sailing ship—
with a black Jolly Roger pirate flag flying from its mast.
Across the vessel’s side was its name, Renegade.

Mr. Lamb said, “Dr. Abbott and his team said these
scraps are over three hundred years old! The ARC historians
confirmed that One-Eyed Jack was, indeed, the captain of
the Renegade—a brigantine pirate ship in the early 1720s.”

Lexisat upright. “Wowzers! I bet those are pieces from
his captain’s log—those journals where ships’ captains
wrote down their adventures. Now, I want to know Captain
One-Eyed Jack’s history—and Moki, I’m not talking about
your cheeseburger!”

“I do, too,” replied Rani before the boy could respond.
“And if the bits are from his captain’s log, how, when, and
why did they and it end up in England in your house?”

• Lanny smirked. “Assuming the bits are from his
  captain’s log—if such a log exists.” As the leader of the
  detective agency, he demanded evidence.

“And who hid it or pieces of it there—besides the rat?”
Moki wanted to know.

Lexi’s palms faced the ceiling. “And if the log exists,
where’s the rest?”

“If it exists,” Lanny repeated. “It could be anywhere,
given how far rats can travel inside walls in search of food
or nesting materials!”

Mr. Lamb looked at each detective and beamed. “Each
of you is already making stunning observations and asking
important questions, just as Roderick and Fiona Marlton
predicted. Answering your questions could certainly help
you solve this mystery. So, what do you say? How about a
trip to Cornwall? And surprise! I have already received all
your parents’ permission. My wife, our Marlton neighbors,
and I would love to entertain you four young visitors. Once
we get to Cornwall, you’ll have the run of Crow’s Nest
Grange. Are you game for the adventure?”

Lanny answered for the squad and was too excited to
care how loud his voice was inside the restaurant. “Boy, are
we!—Cornwall, Nana and Papa, a cottage, a huge manor
house, maybe a pirate captain’s log, and—”

Moki nodded. “Right, bro. We’re way beyond cheeseburgers now.”