The Case of the Buried Treasure Page 3

  He held the scrapbook open for us to see. A newspaper article was taped inside. It read, LIGHTNING STORM HITS HARD: TREES DAMAGED. There was a picture beneath it of a huge tree that had fallen in a field. “Knocked it down flat,” Mr. Copabianco said with admiration. “What a storm.”

  I didn’t understand.

  “The tree,” Mr. Copabianco explained. “All the kids used to call it the Big Y because of the way the branches grew. In the winter, when the leaves had fallen down, it looked like a giant Y.”

  He pulled out another box. “Here’s a picture, must be about forty years old by now. See for yourselves.”

  It was a photograph in a yearbook of some kids playing on Hodges Field. In the background, up on Bald Hill, stood a lone tree. Two branches shot upward diagonally from the trunk, forming the letter Y.

  “That’s it!” I exclaimed. “Thanks, Mr. Copabianco. You’re the best!”

  “I know,” he answered with a wink.

  Mila and I turned to leave. I paused by the door. “Um, Mr. Copabianco?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re not mad? About home plate, I mean.”

  He looked me in the eye. “Not too mad,” he replied. “I’m happier now that you’ve told the truth. That took courage. Besides, I’ll find a way for you to make it up to me. I can always use extra help sweeping the halls.”

  “Yeah, sure, I guess that’s fair,” I said hesitantly. But I didn’t have my heart in it. Sweeping sounded suspiciously like cleaning. And cleaning was a word that gave me the heebie-jeebies.

  Oh, well. I guess I deserved it.

  Still, chin up, I left the room floating on air. The black cloud had passed over my head. It felt good to get back on the right side of Truth. We were one step closer to digging up buried treasure.

  And maybe, who knows, getting filthy, filthy rich.

  Life could be worse.

  Mila sang to herself:

  “Jingle keys, jingle keys,

  Jingle all the way,

  Oh, what fun it is to play

  When Mr. C. saves the day!”

  Chapter

  12

  The Treasure

  We met on Bald Hill on Saturday at high noon. Just me, Mila, Ralphie, and Bigs. We each carried a shovel.

  “It’s around here somewhere,” I said. “Keep looking.”

  “Looking for what?” Bigs asked.

  “Ralphie was wrong,” I replied. “He said there’s only grass and dirt and patches of snow on this hill. But there’s something else. Right here.” I pointed to the ground. And there it was, the dead stump of a great, old tree. The last remains of the Big Y.

  Bigs unfolded the map once more. “‘So very close, yet so far,’” Bigs read aloud. He cast his eyes across the field toward home plate. “I guess that was another clue, huh?”

  Mila nodded. “Yes.”

  “What do you figure this other part means?” Bigs wondered. He read from the riddle, “‘When the hour is right, walk into the sun for ten long strides.’”

  Mila looked into the sky, squinting against the high afternoon sun. “You can’t really walk into the sun, of course,” Mila explained. “But when the hour is right, and the sun is on the horizon, you can walk toward the sun.”

  “Now you’re talking in riddles,” Bigs complained. “What do you mean?”

  “The sun rises in the east,” Mila continued, pointing eastward. “And it sets in the west, over there. At dusk, you can walk into the sun. Sunset is when the hour is right.”

  Bigs shook his head sadly. It was all too complicated for the big lug. I pulled a compass from my pocket. My dad was an old Boy Scout, and he’d shown me how to use it. I stood on the stump of Big Y and studied the compass. I took ten long strides to the west, in the direction where the sun sets. “I’m now walking into the sun,” I told Bigs.

  Bigs pointed skyward. “But the sun’s up there.”

  “Never mind, Bigs,” I explained. “Just trust me.”

  I stopped after ten long strides.

  “Then head for the Center of the Earth,” Mila instructed.

  Bigs brushed me aside and slammed a shovel into the earth. “Even I know how to get there,” he growled. “Straight down!”

  It took a while, but we got there. Not the Center of the Earth, exactly. But about a foot below the ground. Clink. Pay dirt.

  “The treasure!” Bigs exclaimed.

  Mila stood by, nervously playing with the ends of her hair. Bigs and I lifted the metal box. I tried to open the lid. “It’s locked,” I groaned.

  “Not for long,” Bigs vowed. “Step back, detectives.” Bigs raised his shovel and brought it down hard on the box. Wham, bam, thank you, Bigs.

  There was a note inside, lying on top of a bunch of stuff—old magazines, old pictures, a rubber-band ball, baseball cards, comic books, dolls, drawings, and even an old-fashioned decoder ring.

  The note was attached to a class photograph. “Look,” Mila observed, reading from the picture, “‘Miss Thompson. Room 201.’ This photo must be really old.”

  I picked up the note and read it:

  CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE FOUND THE BURIED TREASURE. THIS BOX IS OUR TIME CAPSULE. EVERYONE IN ROOM 201 PLACED AN OBJECT IN HERE FOR SOMEONE IN THE FUTURE TO FIND. YOU ARE THAT SOMEONE. WE HOPE YOU ENJOY OUR SMALL TREASURES.

  Bigs picked up a yo-yo and frowned. “Treasures? Treasures?!” he growled, his voice growing louder. “It’s just a bunch of junk!”

  “Not junk,” I said. “It’s a time capsule, Bigs. This stuff was all-important to some kids from a long time ago. Room 201—they were probably second graders like us. The yo-yo, the comic books, the toys and cards and everything. They were treasures to the kids who buried them here.”

  Meanwhile, Mila stared at the class picture. She turned it over, read the names on the back, and looked again at the picture. She tugged me on the arm. “Jigsaw, take a look at this. You’re not going to believe it.”

  “Believe what?” I asked.

  She pointed. “Does this kid look familiar?”

  I followed the tip of Mila’s finger to the boy’s face in the picture. She was right. He did look familiar. He looked almost exactly like me. Like I was staring into a mirror instead of a photograph.

  I finally spoke.

  “It’s … my dad.”

  Chapter

  13

  Dad’s Decoder Ring

  “DAD!” I shouted as I marched through the front door.

  “DAD?! MOM?!! ANYBODY?!!!”

  “They’re upstairs, Worm,” my brother Billy said. I turned to see him lying on the couch, smelly socks hanging over the edge, a bag of pretzels on his chest. He returned his gaze to the flickering television set.

  “Thanks, bro,” I said, and raced up the stairs.

  My mom was repainting our bathroom. My dad was standing behind her, frowning slightly.

  I stood by and listened to them squabble like two clucking hens. “You said yellow,” my dad remarked. “I thought you meant a deep, dark yellow. This … this color … it’s…”

  “It’s called canary yellow,” my mom answered.

  “Canary yellow?!” my dad repeated in disbelief. “What? Were they all out of banana yellow?”

  “Don’t get wise,” my mom replied sharply, her back to the doorway. Still, I could hear the smile in her voice. She enjoyed these little duels with my father.

  “It’s too bright!” my dad said. “We’ll all go blind! Think of the children, my darling. We’ll need sunglasses just to go to the bathroom,” my dad protested.

  “Oh, hush,” my mom replied. And with a neat little twirl, she swiftly turned and dabbed paint on my father’s nose.

  They both laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

  Parents are so weird sometimes.

  Still, ya gotta love ’em, I guess.

  “Jigsaw!” my dad exclaimed. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough,” I answered. “Maybe too long. Anyw
ay, Dad, I have something to show you.”

  And I held out the class picture from room 201—my room 201—but over thirty years ago. The picture with him sitting in the front row, smiling like a goofball.

  “Where did you get this?” he wondered, taking the picture from my hands.

  So I told him the whole story. About halfway through, we moved down to the kitchen table for tall glasses of grape juice.

  My father explained, “It was Miss Thompson’s idea. Of course, we thought a time capsule was a great idea. But then I suppose we forgot all about it.”

  His hand reached into the box, fingering the past treasures. He pulled out an old G.I. Joe toy. “This was Shep McGillicutty’s,” my dad recalled with a soft laugh. “He was a great kid. Shep could make the most amazing monkey sounds in the cafeteria.”

  And on and on he talked, remembering things he’d long ago forgotten. “And this ring?” I said, holding up the plastic decoder ring.

  My father smiled. He took it and tried to slip it on his finger, but the ring was too small. “This,” he said fondly, “was mine.”

  Chapter

  14

  Pizza Party

  By the end of the following week, we were ready. One by one, the kids in Ms. Gleason’s class walked up to her desk. Each one of us held up a single object—a picture, a toy, whatever. We told the class about the object and then, with a mixture of pride and regret, placed it into a strong metal box. Then we handed Ms. Gleason an index card, where we’d written something about our treasure. She gathered the cards in a plastic baggie. This, too, would go into room 201’s new time capsule.

  Eddie Becker put in an issue of his favorite magazine, Sports Illustrated for Kids. Kim Lewis offered up a pair of worn-out ballet slippers. Bigs Maloney contributed an honest-to-goodness shark’s tooth. “My mother bought it for me in Key West, Florida,” he explained.

  Finally, it was my turn. I said, “Thirty-four years ago, in this same classroom, my father put a decoder ring into a time capsule. He told me that he liked playing detective when he was a kid.” I shrugged. “I guess it runs in the family.”

  I pulled a baggie from my backpack. It held the pieces of a simple jigsaw puzzle. “I’m putting in this puzzle, because it is the first one I can remember solving all by myself. It’s an easy puzzle, just a kitten with a ball of red yarn. But,” I said, “I guess it’s my treasure.”

  Ms. Gleason smiled broadly. “Nice job, Jigsaw. Nice job, everyone. Now I’ll just add a copy of our class picture and lock the box. We’ll still need to write new riddles and draw new maps. We’ll bury our time capsule on school grounds sometime in the spring—with Mr. Copabianco’s help.”

  Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

  “Yippee! The pizza’s here!” Bobby Solofsky and Geetha Nair cheered.

  My father entered the room with an armload of pizza boxes. Ms. Gleason had invited him as “our honored guest.” He promised to tell us stories about “the old days.” At least, that’s what he called them.

  I called them ancient history.

  And that’s how we celebrated our time capsule. We ate pizza, and laughed, and listened to music. It was fun.

  In a quiet moment, I thought about the case. It was weird and cool and amazing that my own dad, years ago, had sat in this same room with a different teacher. We all loved looking at the stuff in that box of theirs, imagining what boys and girls were like that long ago.

  Pretty much the same, I guess.

  “Great party, huh, detective?” Mila said to me.

  I looked around the room. Danika Starling and Lucy Hiller were showing Ms. Gleason dance steps to a popular new song. Joey Pignattano was attempting to eat a slice of pizza in one enormous bite. And everybody else seemed to be having a great time.

  “Yeah,” I answered Mila. “It is a great party. It’s like, um…” I paused, trying to think of a good simile. “It’s like sliding down a rainbow into a pot of gold.”

  “You’re funny, Jigsaw,” Mila said.

  My eyes narrowed. “Funny weird? Or funny ha-ha?”

  “Both,” she answered. “Don’t ever change.”

  I pointed across the room. My dad was scratching his head and armpits. “Oo-ooh-ooh, ah-aah-AH!” he cried. It was a pretty good imitation of a monkey. Ms. Gleason and a few other kids watched him, laughing.

  “Shep McGillicutty,” I murmured.

  “Who?” Mila asked.

  “Oh, just an old friend from my dad’s second-grade class,” I replied. “He specialized in monkey noises.”

  “I guess you always remember your best friends, right, Jigsaw?” Mila said.

  I looked Mila in the eyes. “Right,” I answered. And I swiped a finger across my nose. It was our secret signal.

  It meant I got the message.

  Don’t miss this special sneak peek at a brand-new, never-before-published JIGSAW JONES MYSTERY:

  The Case from Outer Space

  “Highly recommended.”—School Library Journal

  When Joey and Danika find a mysterious note tucked inside a book, all signs point to a visitor from outer space. Yikes! Can Jigsaw solve this case, when the clues are out of this world?

  Chapter

  1

  A Knock on the Door

  Call me Jones.

  Jigsaw Jones, private eye.

  I solve mysteries. For a dollar a day, I make problems go away. I’ve found stolen bicycles, lost jewelry, and missing parakeets. I’ve even tangled with dancing ghosts and haunted scarecrows.

  Mysteries can happen anywhere, at any time. One thing I’ve learned in this business is that anyone is a suspect. That includes friends, family, and a little green man from outer space.

  Go figure.

  It was a lazy Sunday morning. Outside my window, it looked like a nice spring day. The sky was blue with wispy clouds that looked like they had been painted by an artist. A swell day for a ball game. Or a mystery. Maybe both if I got lucky.

  I was standing at my dining room table, staring at a 500-piece jigsaw puzzle. It was supposed to be a picture of our solar system. The sun and eight planets. But right now it was a mess. Scattered pieces lay everywhere. I scratched my head and munched on a blueberry Pop-Tart. Not too hot, not too cold. Just right. As a cook, I’m pretty good with a toaster. I began working on the border, grouping all the pieces that had a flat edge. Sooner or later, I’d work my way through the planets. The rust red of Mars. The rings of Saturn. And the green tint of Neptune. I’ve never met a puzzle I couldn’t solve. That’s because I know the secret. The simple trick? Don’t give up.

  Don’t ever give up.

  My dog, Rags, leaped at the door. He barked and barked. A minute later, the doorbell rang. Ding-a-ling, ding-dong. That’s the thing about Rags. He’s faster than a doorbell. People have been coming to our house all his life. But for my dog, it’s always the most exciting thing that ever happened.

  Every single time.

  “Get the door, Worm,” my brother Billy said. He was sprawled on the couch, reading a book. Teenagers, yeesh.

  “Why me?” I complained.

  “Because I’m not doing it.”

  Billy kept reading.

  Rags kept barking.

  And the doorbell kept ringing.

  Somebody was in a hurry.

  I opened the door. Joey Pignattano and Danika Starling were standing on my stoop. We were in the same class together, room 201, with Ms. Gleason.

  “Hey, Jigsaw!” Danika waved. She bounced on her toes. The bright beads in her hair clicked and clacked.

  “Boy, am I glad to see you!” Joey exclaimed. He burst into the room. “Got any water?”

  “I would invite you inside, Joey,” I said, “but you beat me to it.”

  Danika smiled.

  “I ate half a bag of Jolly Ranchers this morning,” Joey announced. “Now my tongue feels super weird!”

  “That’s not good for your teeth,” I said.

  Joey looked worried. “My tongue
isn’t good for my teeth? Are you sure? They both live inside my mouth.”

  “Never mind,” I said.

  “Pipe down, guys!” Billy complained. “I’m reading here.”

  “Come into the kitchen,” I told Joey and Danika. “We’ll get fewer complaints. Besides, I’ve got grape juice. It’s on the house.”

  “On the house?” Joey asked. “Is it safe?”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “You keep grape juice on your roof?” Joey asked.

  Danika gave Joey a friendly shove. “Jigsaw said ‘on the house.’ He means it’s free, Joey,” she said, laughing.

  Joey pushed back his glasses with an index finger. “Free? In that case, I’ll take a big glass.”

  Chapter

  2

  One Small Problem

  I poured three glasses of grape juice.

  “Got any snacks?” Joey asked. “Cookies? Chips? Corn dogs? Crackers?”

  “Corn dogs?” I repeated. “Seriously?”

  “Oh, they are delicious,” Joey said. “I ate six yesterday. Or was that last week? I forget.”

  Danika shook her head and giggled. Joey always made her laugh.

  I set out a bowl of chips.

  Joey pounced like a football player on a fumble. He was a skinny guy, but he ate like a rhinoceros.

  “So what’s up?” I asked.

  “We found a note,” Danika began.

  “Aliens are coming,” Joey interrupted. He chomped on a fistful of potato chips.

  I waited for Joey to stop chewing. It took a while. Hum-dee-dum, dee-dum-dum. I finally asked, “What do you mean, aliens?”