bracelet, and a wedding ring.”
Maryellen leaned forward to see the dial on the machine.
“Of course,” Mr. Buckley went on, “I’ve turned in the items that people might be looking for—especially the wedding ring. So I’m embarrassed to say I’ve only earned thirty-seven cents this week!” After a moment, he leaned in and lowered his voice. “But just between us, I’m hoping to find far more interesting things. Who knows what treasures lie buried beneath the sand?”
At the word “treasure,” Maryellen felt a little flush of excitement. “Ooh,” she said. “Buried treasure, like in the movies!” When the movie Treasure Island came to their town a few months earlier, she and her friend Davy, who lived next door, had gone to see it three times. Then they’d borrowed the book from the school library and read it to each other, acting out their favorite parts. Just thinking about buried treasure brought back the magical way she’d felt sitting in the darkened theater, nibbling on popcorn, completely lost in the adventures of a young boy, Jim Hawkins, as he battled pirates on his search for hidden treasure. What Maryellen had loved best was that Jim had been no older than Maryellen or Davy, but he was the hero of the story, and everyone listened to his ideas. That was just how Maryellen wanted to be: a hero with ideas that everyone agreed were good. For a long time after the movie left town, she and Davy had talked about it, and Maryellen couldn’t stop imagining herself in the scenes.
“Well, almost,” Mr. Buckley said, smiling.
Maryellen wished she could follow the men and their machine to see what else they might discover, but the weight of the bucket in her hand reminded her of why she’d walked toward the pier. “Thanks for showing me your metal detector,” she said. “But I really need to get this bucket over to my brother-in-law.” She lifted the pail and gestured toward the dinghy where Jerry and the two other men were standing.
Buckley and Pete looked at the dinghy with interest. “I noticed there’s been a dive boat trolling out there for a few weeks,” Mr. Buckley said. “What ever are they doing?”
Maryellen stood up straighter, glad that she knew the answer. “They’re studying fish for the university.”
“Fascinating,” Mr. Buckley said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Then he let out a laugh. “I just hope they aren’t studying sharks! There are plenty of those out there.”
“I sure hope they don’t see any,” Maryellen said. “Even more, I hope no sharks see them! Well, I’d better go. Good luck with your treasure hunting.”
chapter 2
A Strange Warning
MARYELLEN RAN ALONG the water’s edge towards the dinghy, which had been pulled onto the damp sand near the pier. Jerry, Skip, and a third man wearing dark sunglasses and a blue-and-white bandanna were bent over a large sheet of paper spread on the wooden seat of the small boat. As she got closer, Maryellen could see that the paper was some kind of map, and that Jerry was writing notes on it.
Maryellen loved maps, and geography was one of her best subjects at school. She dashed up to get a better look, but what she was able to see over Jerry’s shoulder seemed nothing like the maps in her fifth-grade classroom. This map was blue and covered with shapes like wavy circles, one inside the next. There were red dots in various spots, each with a scribbled note in handwriting too tiny to make out. For a moment, Maryellen forgot about the bucket in her hand.
“What kind of map is that, Jerry?” she asked.
Jerry looked up. “What?” he asked, seeming startled. “Oh, it’s just a navigational map for sailors. It helps us see where we are when we’re out on the ocean, and how deep the water is in different places.”
“What do the circles—” Maryellen began.
Before she could finish her question, the man wearing sunglasses stood and gathered up the map. Maryellen could see that he was older than Jerry and Skip, and seemed to be in charge. “Well,” he said briskly, “we ought to get back out on the water.” He rolled the map up with a few quick twists of his wrists and slipped it into a storage tube.
Maryellen remembered the bucket and held it out to Jerry. “You forgot this at Sandy’s.”
“Thanks, Ellie,” Jerry said, taking the pail from her. He reached over and tugged her ponytail. “Now I owe you a favor.”
Maryellen shaded her eyes from the sun’s glare and looked toward the large boat bobbing at anchor. Going out on the boat would be even better than riding in a convertible. “Any chance you might take me for a ride?” she asked. “That would—”
The third man interrupted. “Sorry, kiddo, but that’s a working boat,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “It’s not for joyrides.”
Maryellen studied his face to see if perhaps he was teasing, but she didn’t see a hint of a smile.
“This is Tank,” Jerry told Maryellen. “Tank, this is my sister-in-law, Maryellen.”
“Nice to meet you,” Tank responded, but he had already turned away and was tucking the map tube under a seat in the dinghy. He looked toward Jerry and made a curt waving motion with his hand. “Let’s get going.”
Maryellen couldn’t help feeling a little put out. Even when Jerry and Joan were working, they at least had time to be friendly. She was about to say good-bye and head back to her bike when she saw Tank zero in on something farther up the beach.
“What do we have here?” he muttered to Skip and Jerry. He removed his sunglasses and squinted.
Maryellen turned to see what had gotten Tank’s attention. Then she smiled. “That’s Mr. Atherton Buckley and his helper, Pete Jones. I just met them on my way over here,” Maryellen said, pleased to have a way to feel helpful again.
Tank’s gaze followed the two men as they zigzagged along the beach. “What are they doing nosing around?”
“They’ve got a metal detector that finds things hidden under the sand,” Maryellen explained. “When they find something, the machine clicks like crazy.” She made rapid clicking noises with her tongue. “Then they start digging. They already found a wedding ring and a silver bracelet and some loose change.”
“I’ve read about that technology,” Tank mused. “I didn’t know any of the machines were light enough to carry around.” His eyes narrowed. “If anyone could afford equipment like that, it would have to be Atherton Buckley. “
“Do you know him?” Jerry asked.
“I sure know about him,” Tank said. “He lives in a stone mansion on Halifax Avenue. You know the one with the ship’s cannon on the front lawn? That’s his place. It backs up to the river. He’s even got his own dock.”
“I’ve biked past that a hundred times,” Maryellen said. “I never imagined I’d meet the person who lives there. He must be really rich!”
Skip gave a low whistle. “I think everyone who lives on Halifax made a mint in some big industry.”
“Buckley made his money in railroads,” Tank said. “He spends a fortune collecting things salvaged from shipwrecks—like the cannon.”
“Why’s
