The Treasure of Maria Mamoun Page 15

  Then a policeman straddling a wide motorcycle cleared everyone to the curbs, and as a brass band began playing “Stars and Stripes Forever” a cheer went up from the crowd.

  Paolo looked at his mother. Hattie waved her hand. “Go ahead—we’ll watch from back here.”

  “Come with me.” Paolo dragged Maria by the hand to the sidewalk. “If we stand here, we might get candy.”

  Maria looked back at Celeste, who waved and smiled as if she wasn’t worried about the crowd that separated them at all. She waved back to her mother and sat on the curb beside Paolo.

  The parade was just as wacky and fun as Maria had hoped it would be. When the giant blow-up rat from the exterminating company got caught on a tree and deflated, Paolo high-fived her, and when the campers from Camp Jabberwocky rolled by in their souped-up wheelchairs dressed like gangsters and gun molls, Maria cheered crazily with the rest of the crowd. There were stilt walkers, ballerinas on roller skates, and colonial reenactors firing muskets into the air.

  A team of miniature horses sporting patriotic ribbons was trotting by, much to the delight of the smallest children, when an ugly voice broke through the music.

  “Hey, if it isn’t Captain Dirt!”

  Maria looked up to see Taylor and his friend standing over them. It was the friend who had spoken. They were dressed nearly identically, in white polo shirts and red-and-blue madras shorts.

  “Hi, we weren’t introduced properly when last we met.” Taylor came closer and held his hand out to Maria to shake.

  Maria did not take his hand, but he kept talking in a friendly voice, as if she had.

  “I’m Taylor Bradford, and this is Josh.” He gestured to his sidekick.

  “We saw you fixing up the old man’s sailboat yesterday,” Josh said.

  Just as Paolo said, “What sailboat?” Maria said, “Oh, that was you.”

  “So you are fixing it up!” Josh gloated.

  Paolo glared at Maria.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Maria said, too late.

  “It’s all right,” Taylor said. “We aren’t going to tell.”

  “For a cut,” Josh said.

  “Let’s go,” Maria said to Paolo.

  “Come on, now.” Taylor stepped in front of her and smiled. “Can’t we all just get along?”

  Maria stopped. He looked like an actor from a TV teen drama. Boys didn’t look like him where she came from. Blond and tan with straight white teeth.

  “Listen,” Taylor said to Paolo now. “Josh and I did see you fixing up the old man’s boat yesterday. Don’t bother denying it. I’m guessing those bundles you worked so hard to bring aboard were sails. And your girlfriend just confirmed it.”

  “I’m not his girlfriend,” Maria said.

  Taylor ignored her. “The only reason I can figure you’d risk doing something that crazy is you think you’ve found a real treasure map.”

  “Captain Murdefer’s map,” Josh said.

  “Think what you want. Doesn’t make it true,” Paolo said.

  “Come on now, buddy,” Taylor said. “Everyone on this island knows the old man has a thing for Captain Murdefer.”

  “We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Maria said again, lamely.

  “That’s ’cause you’re a wash-ashore.” Josh snorted dismissively. “But all Islanders know. The old guy made a movie about Murdefer! Doesn’t surprise me he’d have the treasure map, too.”

  “And now you’ve somehow found it,” Taylor said.

  “Probably stole it,” Josh said.

  “But I can’t believe you’d steal another boat.” Taylor put his hand on his chin like a TV detective. “Not after the yacht club incident. You’d be sent to juvie, and we wouldn’t want that.”

  “I was caught ’cause you called security before I got there.”

  “Why would I tell on you?” Taylor spread his hands as if their emptiness proved his innocence. “I don’t want to make trouble for you, buddy. In fact, I want to offer you my services. You have a treasure map; I have a boat. We could do business together.”

  “I wouldn’t do business with you if you had the last boat on the Island,” Paolo said.

  “Come on,” said Taylor. “I can help you.”

  “Yeah, just let us see the map,” Josh said.

  “We don’t have it,” Maria said.

  “I bet you have it right there.” Taylor smiled at her bag. She’d never seen someone whose smile could mean so many different things.

  “I don’t.”

  She didn’t. It was safe in the cottage. Still, she clutched her backpack to her chest.

  “What are you gonna do?” Paolo said. “Snatch her backpack in front of all these people?”

  Maria looked over her shoulder at their adults. Hattie was eyeing the boys warily and saying something to Frank. Celeste was blissfully ignorant, watching a gaggle of skateboarders doing tricks behind a banner that said MV SKATE CAMP.

  Taylor stepped back. “We’re not here to make trouble.”

  “Yeah, you are,” Paolo said.

  “Just think about our offer.” Taylor directed this at Maria, with another brilliant smile. Then he turned and walked down the street. Josh followed.

  Paolo waited till the two were a block away. “Way to give up our secret, Maria.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” Maria protested. “He saw us with the sails anyhow.”

  “But you didn’t need to confirm it. Now they know the map is real,” Paolo said. “That we’re serious. I bet this isn’t the last we hear from them.”

  Maria watched the retreating boys. “I wonder how long they’ve been spying on us.”

  “Taylor may have been watching us for a while. He lives in the big mansion next to Mr. Ironwall’s.” Paolo looked directly into her eyes. “You have to keep the map safe.”

  Maria thought of the map hidden under her mattress. “He wouldn’t break into the cottage, would he?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what he’d do,” Paolo said. “Let’s go back to the blanket. The last part is all fire engines and it’s too loud by the road.”

  Paolo plopped himself down on the quilt between Hattie and Celeste. Maria sat on the other side of her mother.

  “What happened?” Hattie asked anxiously.

  Paolo shrugged. “Nothing, Mom.”

  “What did they want?”

  “They just wanted to invite me to a sleepover,” Paolo said.

  “They wanted to invite you?” Hattie sounded incredulous.

  “We’re not enemies, Ma. They apologized a long time ago. In fact, we’re starting a sailing club together next year, and they wanted to begin planning for it, so Taylor—the big one? He’s invited me and a few other guys to his house for a birthday sleepover on July sixteenth. I can go, right?”

  Hattie looked surprised. “That’s nearly two weeks from now. We’ll see.”

  Maria leaned behind her mother’s back and glared at Paolo. She understood that he had to lie about the conversation they’d just had. But July 16 was the night they were supposed to sail for the treasure. And he said he didn’t want Taylor’s help. Was he going to do business with Taylor after all?

  She turned her back to him. All around them on the lawn, families sat on picnic blankets, drinking from red plastic cups and chatting. Maria focused on two children, a brother and sister most likely, dressed in matching blue-and-white-striped seersucker. What kind of parents let their kids play on grass in such expensive clothes?

  After the last fire truck had passed, Frank took a twenty from his wallet and handed it to Paolo. “Why don’t you kids go ahead and get some ice cream? We’ll meet you on the beach.”

  “I don’t really like ice cream,” Maria said.

  “Of course you do.” Celeste wore her don’t-argue-with-me face. Maria had no choice but to go with Paolo.

  “They just want to get drinks at the Harborview,” Paolo said once they were out of the adults’ earshot. “They probab
ly won’t even make it down to the beach for the fireworks.”

  Maria trudged along in silence.

  “I think my uncle likes your mom,” Paolo tried. He came around and stood in front of her. She lowered her gaze and he ducked himself down to meet her eyes. “How do you feel about that?”

  “Great,” she said, in her blandest voice.

  “What is your problem?” he asked.

  “You. Having a sleepover with Taylor. On July sixteenth. And you just said you didn’t want his help! How’d you change your mind in thirty seconds like that?”

  She tried to walk away from him, but the lawn was too crowded to satisfactorily storm off. Instead, she found herself tiptoeing around lawn chairs. She made it to the street and stomped across. Then she found herself caught in a stream of revelers headed for the beach and her pace was slowed again.

  Paolo bobbed along beside her, trying to catch her eye. “Will you just stop walking for a second and let me explain?”

  “Explain what? That you’d rather go with that preppy jerk than a loser girl? You don’t need to explain that! It’s very clear.” She wished she could get away from him.

  “No!” Paolo grabbed her elbow. “That’s not it at all.”

  She stopped and someone bumped her from behind.

  “It’s like a stampede. Keep going or you’ll be trampled,” the person behind her said.

  Paolo and Maria were swept along with the crowd till they reached the beach and the people fanned out. Suddenly there was space. Paolo led her to an empty spot and sat down facing the ocean. She stood beside him, her arms crossed.

  “We were supposed to get ice cream,” he said.

  “You had the money,” she said back.

  “It was too crowded,” Paolo said. “Sorry. Do you want me to go back for it?”

  “No.” She looked across the dense sea of people. “How are we going to find our moms and Frank?”

  “We can meet them in the parking lot at the truck.” He pulled her shirttail. “Will you just sit down and listen to me?”

  Maria sat, but she did not look at him. She looked out at the ocean instead. It was nearly black, and the sky overhead held only the faintest gray light. Kids danced around, twirling neon glow sticks.

  “I just said I was sleeping over at his house to give me an alibi,” Paolo said. “You know, to explain why I’m not home that night. But I won’t be with them—I’ll be with you. We’re still going on the boat just like we planned. Together. Us. You and me.”

  “Oh.” Now she felt like a jerk. “So you still want to sail with me?”

  “Of course.” He looked steadily at her until she felt a blush creep over her face. She was grateful it was dark.

  “Why would I want to sail with anyone else?” he said. “That’s our treasure.”

  A small smile tickled the corners of her mouth. Then she remembered. “But what’s my alibi?”

  “We still have to work on that,” Paolo said. “But don’t worry. We’ll come up with something.”

  Maria looked at the lighthouse. She’d been inside it—Frank had taken her and her mother up for the view. A long spiral ladder wound to the viewing platform, very like her own spiral staircase to the attic. But at the bottom of her stairs slept her mother. No way could she sneak through the living room.

  “If only I had a fire escape,” Maria said.

  “A what?”

  “It’s this kind of metal staircase on the outside of apartment buildings in the city, so you can escape through the window if there’s a fire and you can’t get out the door.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Paolo said. “That would be great.”

  Suddenly the first firework shot into the air, exploded, and a hundred tiny sparks fell like silver rain.

  25

  TUNING THE RIG

  The Fourth of July seemed to mark the true beginning of summer. After each ferry arrival, cars stuffed with families and beach equipment joined a long line of other cars stuffed with families and beach equipment, heading toward weeklong rentals, summer homes, hotels, and friends’ houses. Maria felt a local’s superiority, zipping by on her bicycle while frustrated tourist kids sat red-faced and bored in the back seats of minivans. She and Paolo went everywhere on the wonderful bike paths. He had a bicycle even older than hers—a rusty beach cruiser that rattled over bumps. She insisted they go to the library at least an hour every day—Paolo had to start passing his exams. While he struggled through his summer assignments, Maria read up on navigation. She found star charts for July 16 on the Internet and located the position of Cassiopeia at each hour of the night.

  “Why do you need so many?” Paolo asked.

  “The problem,” she explained, “is that depending on what time of night it is, the position of her feet changes. According to the legend, the god of the sea, Poseidon, got mad at her for boasting that she was more beautiful than the sea nymphs. So to punish her he threw her into the sky and made her spend half her time in an upside-down position—to make her look stupid or something.”

  Maria drew a W on a scrap of paper.

  “So even though you said Cassiopeia was a W, throughout the night she could be an E, an M, or a 3 depending on which way she’s rotated.” Maria drew three figures:

  “Okay—let’s say the night of the sixteenth starts at midnight,” she continued. “So at midnight, this part is her head.” Maria pointed to the top of the 3. “And this is her feet, at the bottom. But she circles counterclockwise around this star, Polaris, throughout the night. So by four a.m. the 3 is now nearly an M.” She pointed to the M. “Then the feet are totally in another direction. And we have to consider that the ‘night’ of July sixteenth is really two of our nights.”

  “What?” Paolo frowned as if completely confused.

  Maria drew two crude clocks:

  “Well, it could mean the second part of the night that begins on July fifteenth. The night of July sixteenth officially starts at midnight on that night and continues to sunrise at about five a.m.—that’s one. But then we have to consider the night that begins with sunset on July sixteenth and ends at midnight. So what we really need to know is what time Captain Murdefer meant. Not just the date.”

  “He probably didn’t want to make it easy,” Paolo said. “In case the chart got into the wrong hands.”

  “I just wonder if there’s something we’re missing,” Maria said. “Like maybe these other illustrations have something to do with it?” She pulled the chart from her backpack and examined the sea monsters and the compass drawing. But no matter how closely she looked, she didn’t find any clues as to the time the Queen would tread on the door.

  “Maybe you should just print all those star charts, in case,” Paolo said. “And then if you figure it out, you won’t have to look all this up again.”

  Maria hit the print icon. “You know, you are pretty smart after all.”

  * * *

  After their required time in the library, Paolo often took Maria swimming. Though they could have swum off Ironwall beach, Paolo insisted they ride their bikes to all the different public beaches so Maria could get a real feel for the island. Then he showed her the secret swim spots in kettle ponds visited only by Islanders. But what Maria loved best was their visits to the towns. Every store was open and packed with beautiful, useless things. The ice-cream shops had lines out the door, and the smell of fried clams and hot dogs filled the air. Using her dog-walking money, Maria and Paolo splurged on all the arcade games, all the different flavors of fudge, all the matinee movies, and anything else that struck their fancy.

  But their favorite stop was the marine supply store. They browsed the aisles and bought grommets, seine twine, canvas for patching the sails, and rope for rigging. This came in large spools that they balanced precariously on the back racks of both their bicycles—then they walked their bikes side by side, sharing the load between. The one drawback to bikes was their inability to carry much in one trip, so they found themselves returning to the marine su
pply again and again, nearly every day, much to the shopkeeper’s amusement. When he questioned whether they were building a boat from scratch, Paolo mumbled something about a tree house.

  The one dark spot in Maria’s otherwise sunny summer was Mr. Ironwall’s health. Though he sat on the patio with her each morning, he seemed thinner, paler, and more tired each day.

  “It’s my legs,” he told her. “It is as if they are perpetually cold.”

  She tucked the wool blanket tighter around his bony knees. “Have you told my mother? Or Joanne?”

  “I don’t want to worry them. And I forbid you to worry them, also.” He smiled at her. “It is not unusual to have poor circulation at my age. Don’t fret.”

  But Maria did fret. She tried to keep him warm with extra blankets and hot water bottles. But despite her efforts, he did not improve.

  Paolo was no comfort, saying only, “He’s old, what do you expect?”

  Maria did not know what she expected, but she knew what she wanted. She wanted him to get better.

  They had made great progress with the boat. They’d repaired the mainsail and the jib and attached them to the mast and jib stay. They rigged all the various lines and halyards, and oiled all the blocks so the lines ran easily. Still, at the end of every day, the new sails and rigging had to stay carefully hidden under the covering tarp, so that no one else would know The Last Privateer was ready to sail.

  “I wish we could do a shakedown sail,” Paolo said when he’d coiled the last line. “Just to make sure we rigged it right.”

  “What’s a shakedown sail?” Maria asked. They were sitting on the deck of the Privateer, the morning sun already blazing hot. Brutus worried the tennis ball, tearing at the green fur with his teeth. He could denude a ball in ten minutes flat if they didn’t pay attention, and then he pooped neon-green tennis ball fuzz for days after.

  “Kind of like a practice,” Paolo said. “If we weren’t trying to hide it, we’d take her out in the bay and sail around a little to see that everything runs right. But I can’t figure out how to do that without getting us caught.”