BOOK #7–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 thinking 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 toothpick 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 Cornwall, 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 surrounding 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.”

Lexi sat 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.”

The End of Chapter One