to open on Halloween every one hundred years,” Dreyfuss began, “and the first time that it was opened was when the witch stopped the King’s demendents …”
“You mean descendants,” Jasper cut in, “and that was on October thirty-first, nineteen-thirteen.”
“Then the second hundred years would be one hundred years from nineteen-thirteen,” Dreyfuss went on. “So that’s …”
“Halloween this year, I know,” Jasper said.
“What about Halloween this year?” Joel’s voice startled the boys from their study.
“Joel, come look at this,” Jasper said, “It’s all about that pirate, Sebastian Silverbeard.”
“Are you guys still on about that treasure map thing?” Joel asked.
“It’s more than just a map, Joel, there’s a whole story behind it,” Jasper replied.
“And it’s epic, too!” Dreyfuss added.
“Look,” Joel said, “I don’t think you guys should get your hopes up about that map. Even if it is real, what makes you think that there will still be a treasure? And if there is, it probably won’t be worth anything. Treasures don’t usually just sit for one hundred years—somebody, sometime before then, would find it. Remember all that excitement and energy over that dead gangster’s safe? Once they opened it up, it turned out there was nothing in there but some lint and rust.”
“You never know, stranger things have happened,” Jasper returned weakly.
“Jasper, you’re not going to become super-duper rich off of some old treasure map,” Joel shot back. “Dad always used to say that nothing worthwhile in life comes easy—and if it does, don’t trust it!”
A knock came at the door and Joel rose to open it for Ellis. “What’s up, El?” Joel greeted his best friend.
“I don’t know, what’s up with you, Jo-el?” Ellis loved to emphasize the last syllable in Joel’s name. “You took off mighty quick after last period.”
“I told you I was interviewing for a job this afternoon,” Joel said.
“And he got it, too.” Joel’s mother came flurrying into the room wearing her outer coat and carrying a heavy bag.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Franklin,” Ellis smiled sweetly.
“Ellis, why do you always remind me of Eddie Haskell?” she asked.
“Who?” Ellis asked.
“Skip it,” Joel’s mother smiled and then turned to Joel. “Joel, I’m off to the church. You boys have plenty to eat in the refrigerator. Keep things quiet around here and stay inside until I get back.”
“Yes Ma,” Joel said.
“No other guests, Joel, am I understood?” Joel’s mother asked.
“Yes Ma,” Joel said, “all we’re doing is video games and pizza.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Franklin,” Ellis chimed in, “I’ll make sure the young’uns act proper.”
“Yes,” she said, “thank you, Ellis. How’s your mother?”
“Oh, just fine,” Ellis said, “I’m sure you’ll see her this evening at church.”
“Good enough,” she said, heading to the door. “Lock the door behind me, Joel.”
“Goodbye, Ma,” Joel said, closing the door behind her.
“So you’re a working man now?” Ellis asked Joel.
“Something like that,” Joel said. “Did you bring the game?”
“Of course,” Ellis said, producing the small square box from his jacket.
“Let’s get it set up,” Joel said. While the older boys busied themselves setting up the video game in the front room, Jasper and Dreyfuss fielded another video/instant message from Renee Atherton.
“Well?” she began.
“Well what, Atherton?” Jasper said.
“Well, did you find out anything about Scroggins?” she asked.
“No,” Dreyfuss answered, “I didn’t know we were supposed to be looking!”
“What kind of detectives are you two?” Renee wondered. “It’s a good thing I’m here to tend to things!”
“She needs to get a life,” Dreyfuss said.
“I heard that,” Renee said, “but what I found out was that there was a pirate named Sebastian Silverbeard …”
“We’re ahead of you, Atherton, we’ve gone through the whole story,” Jasper said.
“Have you connected the dots yet?” she asked.
“What dots? What is she talking about?” Dreyfuss said.
“I can hear you, you know,” Renee said. “You don’t have to keep talking about me in the third person.”
“Look, Atherton, if you have information …” Jasper said.
“I do,” Renee said. “It turns out that our Mr. Scroggins has a very interesting genealogy.”
“What’d she say? What’s a genie … whatever?” Dreyfuss asked.
“Genealogy,” Jasper translated, “it means his family history. All right, Atherton, what’s up with Scroggins’s family tree?”
“Mr. Scroggins is a direct descendant of one Dudley Sylvester Townsend,” Renee said triumphantly.
Dreyfuss and Jasper exchanged confused glances. “Who’s Dudley Sylvester Townsend?” Jasper asked.
“Dudley Sylvester Townsend was Elvira Hanson’s butler,” Renee replied. “Elvira Hanson is the name on the bottom of the map that you all found in the lost and found.”
“It is?” Jasper asked. Turning to Dreyfuss, he said, ”Check it.” Dreyfuss scurried to unroll the document and the two boys looked over the parchment together. ”There it is,” Jasper said, pointing to the bottom of the map where, sure enough, in small script it said, Written and notarized this day 31 October 1913 for Mrs. Elvira Hanson. “She’s right.”
“Good eyes, Atherton,” Jasper beamed.
“How’d we miss that?” Dreyfuss asked.
“Only I’m not sure what that means,” Jasper went on.
“Me either, and I’ll admit that at first I thought your map was a fake but then things started to get interesting,” Renee continued, “but it’s odd, don’t you think? Mr. Scroggins’s
