The Case of the Buried Treasure Read online

  “I don’t know, Mila,” I replied. “Were any of those books written by Blackbeard the Pirate?”

  Mila blew hair from her eyes. Her face brightened when she saw Grams. “Hello, Grandma McDermott! How are you today?”

  “Happy as a clam,” Grams replied.

  Mila plopped down on the living room floor, opened a book, and started reading. Every once in a while she’d make a sound, like “hmmmm” or “nahhhh.” But mostly she turned pages and frowned.

  Grams chewed on a cookie thoughtfully. She asked, “Are you certain the riddle said to make your mind as sharp as a diamond?”

  Mila looked up, nodded, and returned to reading.

  “That’s strange,” Grams added. “I think of diamonds as hard, not particularly sharp.”

  “Maybe it’s a clue,” I offered.

  “Maybe you’re right, Jigsaw,” Mila offered. “Riddles usually have a few key words, like clues, inside them.”

  I jotted down some notes:

  KEY WORDS

  Diamond

  Home

  Shovel

  Masked Men

  Bat

  “The riddle said, ‘Bring a shovel, not a bat,’” I noted. “The shovel I understand. We’ll have to dig to find the map. But why even talk about a bat?”

  I thought about the masked men. Eddie figured they were robbers. Danika thought they might be pirates. But when Grams heard the word Pirates, she immediately thought of the baseball team.

  And I suddenly knew the answer.

  I leaned over, gave Grams a big hug, and exclaimed, “Thanks, Grams. You’re awesome!”

  “I am?” she asked.

  “Yep. You just hit a grand slam!”

  Grams chuckled. “What do you know about that?” she said, pleased with herself. “I didn’t even know the bases were loaded.”

  Mila closed her book. “Are you going to tell us or not?”

  “The word diamond was a clue, Mila,” I explained. “But it’s not a diamond ring kind of diamond. It’s a baseball diamond! And the two masked men are the catcher and the umpire. Get it? The riddle began, ‘A man left home…’”

  “Home plate!” Mila yelled, jumping to her feet. “The man was a baseball player running around the bases. He runs. Then he turns left, and left, and left again. That’s the answer!”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I said. “But what do we do now?”

  Mila pulled on her long black hair. “Hodges Field!” she exclaimed. “It’s the baseball field right behind the school.”

  “Mila, call Ralphie and Bigs,” I said. “Tell them to meet us at Hodges Field. I’m going to the garage.”

  “The garage?” Mila and Grams asked.

  “Yeah,” I answered. “That’s where Dad keeps the shovels.”

  Chapter

  7

  Eureka!

  Ralphie and Bigs met us at the field, dressed for Arctic winter.

  “This better be good, Jigsaw,” Bigs demanded. “It’s freezing out here.”

  Ralphie joked through gritted teeth, “I’d agree with Bigs, but my teeth are frozen shut.”

  “Fine,” I replied. “Go home if you want. But I thought you’d like to be around when we dig up the treasure map.”

  That was the end of their complaints.

  I told them about the riddle and the solution. In an instant, Bigs was down on his knees, trying to rip up home plate with his bare hands.

  “Easy, big fella,” I said. I handed him a shovel. “Use this instead.”

  “I don’t know about this…” Mila began. “We’re on school property.”

  “You worry too much, Mila,” Ralphie said. “We’ll put everything back as good as new. Right, Jigsaw?”

  I nodded. Yeah. Right.

  Here’s the thing about digging in January: It’s a lousy idea. The ground was as hard as a surprise math quiz. But not quite as much fun.

  Fortunately, we had Bigs Maloney on our side. There was no way he’d give up without getting that map. Sure, we all took turns digging, but Bigs did most of the work. Grunt, dig. Grunt, groan, dig. Grunt, dig—clink.

  Bigs paused, his body bent over the shovel. He stared at me, eyes wide. “You hear that?”

  I’d heard it. “Don’t stop now, Bigs. You hit something.”

  After a few more minutes, Bigs lifted up a small metal box.

  “Wow,” Ralphie exclaimed.

  Bigs opened the box. Inside, there was a large piece of old, brittle paper, folded several times. A treasure map!

  “You did it, Jigsaw! You did it!” Ralphie kept repeating, patting me on the back.

  “Not just me,” I corrected. “Mila, too. With some help from my Grams.”

  Our smiles turned to frowns when we studied the map.

  “This is confusing,” Bigs complained.

  “Yeah, I don’t get it,” Ralphie added.

  They weren’t alone. Mila and I didn’t know what to think, either.

  It was a treasure map and a riddle rolled into one. The picture wasn’t much to look at. It just had a big letter Y and a bunch of dashes.

  “Why a Y?” Mila wondered.

  “Maybe it’s like an X,” Ralphie suggested. “Like X marks the spot. Maybe people in the old days used Y’s instead.”

  “Shhh,” I said. “Listen to this.”

  I read aloud the words that were neatly printed on the bottom of the map:

  SO VERY CLOSE, YET SO FAR.

  NO ONE SAID IT WOULD BE EASY.

  GO TO THE BIG Y

  IN DEEP LEFT FIELD.

  THEN WHEN THE HOUR IS RIGHT

  WALK INTO THE SUN FOR TEN LONG STRIDES. HEAD FOR THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

  AND THE TREASURE IS YOURS.

  NEED ANOTHER HINT?

  OKAY, HERE GOES!

  THREE MEN FELL OUT

  OF A BOAT.

  BUT ONLY TWO GOT THEIR

  HAIR WET.

  WHY?

  “What does it mean, Jigsaw?” Bigs asked.

  I had no idea.

  Mila checked her watch. “I know what it means,” she said.

  “What’s that?” Ralphie eagerly asked.

  “It means I’m late for dinner! Check out the time,” Mila said, holding up her wristwatch.

  “Uh-oh!” Bigs, Ralphie, and I exclaimed. “We’re dead men.”

  We quickly threw dirt into the hole and stuck home plate into the ground. Bigs stomped on it a few times for good measure. We left Hodges Field as good as new.

  Well, sort of.

  Okay, I’ll admit it. We left it a mess.

  Chapter

  8

  Like an Aardvark

  The next morning, Joey Pignattano was waiting at the bus stop when I arrived. “How’re you feeling?” I asked.

  “Like a champ,” Joey answered. He seemed fully recovered. “How’s the treasure hunt going?”

  “It’s going,” I said with a shrug.

  Mila stepped out her front door. She was lucky—the bus stop was right in front of her house. Mila smiled and waved at a passing car. It was our neighbor, Mr. Hitchcock, headed off to work. Joey and I waved, too. All the kids liked Mr. Hitchcock. He always told us scary stories on our neighborhood camping trips—and he was as bald as a bowling ball. I’d seen eggs with better haircuts.

  I stamped my feet on the ground to shake the cold off my toes. “When is that school bus going to come? I’m freezing.”

  “I was wondering,” Joey Pignattano said to me. “What kind of animal do you think January would be?”

  “What?!” I replied.

  “I mean, if January were an animal, what kind of animal would it be?” Joey pondered.

  “Do you understand what he’s talking about, Mila?” I asked. “Because I sure don’t.”

  Mila smiled. At least I think she smiled. There was a big, fluffy scarf wrapped around her head like a hungry boa constrictor. “Maybe Joey is trying to think of a simile,” she offered.

  Joey nodded gratefully. “You know how they
say March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb? Well, I’m thinking that January would be an aardvark.”

  I sighed. “Let me get this straight. March comes in like a lion. So you think January comes in like … an aardvark?”

  “Yes,” Joey answered. “Or do you think maybe it’s more like an American bald eagle?”

  “A woolly mammoth,” Mila stated.

  I turned to her in surprise. “Nuh-uh,” I retorted. “January is definitely a skunk. This weather stinks.”

  And that’s how we killed time until the bus arrived. Playing with similes. Go figure.

  We got as far as August. I was certain that August was a reptile of some kind, perhaps a Gila monster. Mila said August ought to be a colorful bird. Like a toucan or flamingo. And Joey, well, Joey was still holding out for an aardvark.

  “Aardvark has to get its own month,” Joey insisted. “It begins with two A’s. How cool is that?”

  Chapter

  9

  Trouble

  Bigs cornered us the minute Mila and I entered room 201. He looked worried.

  “Don’t ask,” I said. “We haven’t figured out the riddle yet.”

  “It’s not that,” Bigs said. “I went by Hodges Field this morning. Mr. Copabianco was there—and he didn’t look happy.”

  I gulped. “What do you mean, he was there?”

  “He was there!” Bigs exclaimed. “Fixing home plate.”

  “I knew we shouldn’t have messed around with school property,” Mila commented.

  “We had no choice,” I replied. “There was a mystery to solve. It’s not like we meant to mess anything up.”

  “Yeah, but Mr. Copabianco is the one who had to fix it.” Mila shook her head. “That’s not good, Jigsaw.”

  Mila was right, as usual. I felt lower than an ant doing the limbo. And that’s pretty low. “What can we do about it now?” I asked.

  “We could tell the truth,” Mila stated.

  “Sure,” I muttered. “We could also jump off a bridge wearing polka-dot bathing suits. But I’m not going to do that, either. I’ve got enough trouble without looking for more.”

  Mila scowled in silence.

  I changed the subject. “Let’s see that map again, Bigs.”

  We spread it out on the reading rug. There were still a few minutes before the start of class. A group of kids slowly crowded around us.

  “The Big Y?” Nicole murmured, peering over my shoulder. Her nose twitched like a rabbit’s. “What’s a Big Y?”

  “The YMCA?” Stringbean offered.

  “No, no,” I snapped, irritated. “It’s supposed to be out in left field somewhere.”

  “But there’s nothing out there,” Ralphie responded. “Just grass and dirt and patches of snow.”

  “The riddle said ‘deep in left field,’” Mila reminded us. “Is there anything past the outfield?”

  “Nothing,” Eddie Becker answered. “Just Bald Hill. No trees, no nothing.”

  Bigs stood up angrily. “This map is making me crazy,” he steamed. “Who made this map anyway? How’d it get here?” Bigs turned to Bobby Solofsky and glared. “If this is one of your tricks, Solofsky, it’s clobbering time.”

  “Easy, Bigs,” I soothed. “No one will be clobbering anybody. Let’s take it one piece at a time. We’ll find that treasure. I promise.”

  “You promise?” Bigs said.

  “Er … yeah,” I answered.

  He jabbed a finger into my chest. “A promise is a promise,” he threatened. “I’m going to be real mad if this is some kind of joke. Real, real mad. And that’s my promise to you.”

  Bigs stormed back to his seat.

  A raging rhino might have looked friendlier.

  Yeesh.

  “Good morning, boys and girls!” Ms. Gleason chimed as she walked into the room. “Danika, will you hand out the morning letter? Mila, would you read it aloud to the class, please? Good, let’s get cracking. We’ve got a full day ahead!”

  I glanced over at Bigs Maloney. I had to solve that riddle—or there would be trouble. Bigs trouble.

  Chapter

  10

  Unriddling the Riddle

  Mila slipped me a note later that morning. It was in code.

  Fortunately, Mila and I had read the same book on secret codes—twice. She’d used a telephone code, with phone-y numbers! To solve the code, I drew nine boxes. They looked like the top nine number buttons on a telephone.

  Now came the tricky part. The number four, for example, had the letters GHI above it. To let me know which letter Mila meant, she put a special mark above the number.

  The letter on the left got a – sign.

  In the middle, a zero.

  On the right, a + sign.

  After a few minutes, I caught Mila’s eye. I rubbed my finger across my nose. No, I didn’t have an itch. It was our secret signal. It meant that I understood the message. She had written,

  I solved part of the riddle.

  That made me feel a little better. But I was still troubled by our adventures at home plate. I liked Mr. Copabianco a lot. He was the best janitor I’d ever met. OK, sure, he was the only janitor I’d ever met—but I’m still pretty sure he’d be the best, even if I met a million janitors. First he had to clean up after Joey in the bathroom, then we dug up home plate. Poor Mr. Copabianco was always left to clean up our messes. It wasn’t fair.

  I tried thinking about the map and that crazy riddle, but Ms. Gleason kept on trying to teach us things. It was distracting.

  “Please take out your crayons and a large sheet of construction paper,” Ms. Gleason said. “We’re going to make story maps.”

  “Story maps?” Helen Zuckerman asked. “What’s that?”

  “We’ve all been a little map crazy lately,” Ms. Gleason explained. “I thought we’d try making our own maps. Everyone, team up with a buddy.”

  We began by talking about all the places included in one of our favorite books, Wolf in the Snow, by Matthew Cordell. Ms. Gleason called them settings. The girl started at home, then walked to school. It had been snowing all day. By the time she left, the snow was so bad, she got lost. The girl walked into the woods, where she met a wolf pup that was also lost. So she picked it up and bravely carried that little pup over a hill to where some other wolves were howling. I won’t give away the ending—but wow! Then we drew story maps. It was great to see all the settings come together in one drawing.

  I’m always happy when I’m drawing pictures. But all the while I kept wondering the same things as Bigs Maloney. Who made our treasure map? How did it get in Bigs Maloney’s chair?

  And why?

  Chapter

  11

  The Big Y

  On the way to the cafeteria, I made sure to walk beside Mila. “I couldn’t have solved the riddle if it wasn’t for Mr. Hitchcock,” she confided.

  “How did he help you?” I asked. “He drove by in a car this morning. That’s not much help.”

  “He’s bald,” Mila answered. “No hair.”

  “Yeah? So?”

  “So … it helped me find the answer,” Mila said mysteriously. “Think about it, Jigsaw. Three men fell out of a boat, but only two got their hair wet.”

  I walked in silence. I thought about Mr. Hitchcock. His scary stories. His easy laugh. And his smooth, round head. “The third man was like Mr. Hitchcock,” I exclaimed. “Bald as an egg!”

  Mila and I high-fived in the hallway. “That’s got to be the answer,” Mila said.

  Now we were getting somewhere. Bald was a clue. But it didn’t completely solve the riddle. Then I remembered what Eddie had said. Bald Hill was the name of the hill beyond left field. Was that where the treasure was buried? “I still don’t understand the big Y. It’s the letter after X, right? If X marks the spot, then what’s with Y? Or should we be trying to think of a word that begins with Y?” I wondered.

  I began going over Y words in my mind. Yak, yahoo, yawn, yellow, yelp, yoo-hoo, yummy …<
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  And right around then, my head started to hurt.

  We came to the cafeteria. I stopped at the doorway.

  “Aren’t you coming?” Mila asked.

  “Later,” I answered. “Ms. Gleason said it was OK. I’ve got to go find Mr. Copabianco.”

  Mila looked at me thoughtfully. “What’s going on, Jigsaw?”

  “I’ve got a crime to confess,” I told her. “What good is a detective who hides from the truth?”

  Mila nodded. “You want me to come with you?”

  “No, thanks,” I replied. “This is something I should do alone.”

  “We’re partners, Jigsaw,” Mila said firmly. “If you go, I go with you. We’re in this together.”

  We found Mr. Copabianco in the janitor’s room. As usual, we could hear him whistling from behind the door. I knocked three times.

  “Come on in,” he shouted. “There’s no one here but us chickens!”

  “Mr. Copabianco,” I said as we stepped inside. “I’ve got a confession to make.”

  He put down his sandwich, dabbed his lips with a handkerchief, and wiped crumbs from his shirt. “Is it about home plate?” he asked.

  You could have knocked me down with a piece of string cheese. “I … er … How did you know?”

  He tapped a finger against his temple. “Mr. C. knows all,” he answered mysteriously. “Besides, a parent saw some kids up to mischief and called the school. I didn’t know who it was until I saw the expression on your face just now. So tell me,” he said, gesturing for us to sit down, “what were you kids doing out there?”

  I explained to him about the treasure. And the riddles. And the map. He listened carefully. A smile slowly crossed his face. “The Big Y,” he whispered. “I haven’t heard that name in years and years.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “You know what it is?”

  “I think so,” Mr. Copabianco said. He rose and began looking through some old boxes in the corner. I watched as he leafed through piles of newspapers and yearbooks. He pulled out an old scrapbook and blew dust off it. “I’m an old pack rat. I save everything. Hold on, it’s in here somewhere,” he said, leafing through the pages. “Aha, here we go.”