The Treasure of Maria Mamoun (22 page)

But the next day Paolo wasn't in the kitchen with Hattie.

“Where's Paolo?” Maria tried to sound casual, but she felt nervous. Maybe she'd been too weird or something last night. She cringed, remembering the faces she'd made.

“Oh, Harry took him fishing. Pops decided Paolo had too much time on his hands if he was going around stealing boats. It's time he learned a useful trade.”

Maria remembered Paolo saying something about that. How he would have to go fishing as punishment for stealing the yacht club catboat.

Hattie set out a plate with steamed mussels, sliced bread to mop the sauce up with, and an empty bowl for shells. “He certainly isn't going to be a rocket scientist with grades like he got, despite your efforts, Maria. Which I do appreciate.”

“When is he getting back?” Maria asked.

“You won't see him for a couple of days. But he told me to tell you:
You know what to do
.” Hattie turned back to the sink. “Whatever that means. Is it something for school? Because I don't want you doing his schoolwork for him.”

“No. No. We were just, you know, just building something … a clubhouse.” Maria stopped talking by digging into the food.

“Well, I hope you two aren't making a mess. And don't use anything from the shed. Frank says things have been moved around. He still swears someone stole his keys and took the golf cart for a joyride. I just hope it wasn't you two.”

After she was done eating, Maria wandered over to the boat. If Paolo had been with her, they might have taken Brutus along—he liked to swim off the beach—but since he was gone, she figured she'd just hang out belowdecks and read.

But when Maria climbed through the gap between the tarp and the rail, something was wrong. Her foot came down on a round object; it rolled underfoot and she heard the sickening sound of breaking glass. She'd stepped on the glass chimney of a kerosene lamp. The lamps usually hung on the wall of the cabin below. It made no sense that she should have stepped on one up here, on deck.

She looked about. Nothing was where they'd left it. Nothing was the
way
they had left it. The lines had all been pulled from the pulley blocks, and all the pulley blocks lay scattered about. Whatever could be taken apart had been taken apart, and more than a few things looked smashed—as if whoever had done the damage had taken whatever heavy thing lay at hand and banged it about indiscriminately.

Had they secured the boom tent properly after their sail last night? Maria couldn't remember. They'd been having so much fun; maybe they'd been careless. Or maybe someone saw them out sailing; maybe someone saw them come back into the bay. Maybe Taylor.

Maria wandered the deck, stunned and heartsick. The dinghy had a dent, the sails had been unstrung from the stays, and the deck was littered with objects previously stored below. She didn't even want to go into the cabin to see the wreckage there.

But she forced herself down the ladder and gazed, nauseated, at the destruction. All their weeks of work—undone. The drawers had been pulled from the cabinets, upended, and their contents thrown all over. The books pulled down from the shelves lay broken-backed on the floor. Whatever cushions and pillows hadn't been thrown up onto the deck lay trampled and muddy. Someone had even taken the bouquets she had made, torn the petals from the stems, dumped the water, and shattered the vases.

Maria brushed her sleeve across her eyes. She would not cry. She would clean. She had done it once before, she could do it again.

She found the whisk broom and dustpan and began sweeping. It seemed so pointless. They were back to square one. There was no way she could repair all this damage without Paolo's help. And she had no idea when he'd be back.

 

28

F
IRE
E
SCAPE

The morning after the destruction, when Maria walked Brutus on the beach, she felt as she had back in her old neighborhood, walking home from school watching out for Bad Barbies. Afterward, she paid a quick and distracted visit to Mr. Ironwall, in which he'd become frustrated by her “lack of conversational skills” and insisted she needed books, “good books, to improve your mind.” He dismissed her with a cranky wave.

She decided to spend the afternoon repairing what damage she could. When she slipped under the tarp, her heart pounded. What if Taylor and his buddy Josh were back on the boat undoing all the work she'd done the day before? They could come back anytime and wreck everything again. If the boat was trashed, then she and Paolo couldn't use it for the treasure hunt. And they'd have to either forget about it or come crawling to Taylor for his boat.

She resented cleaning and fixing things a second time, but mostly she resented the creepy feeling she now had. It was as if she'd had something special, something she'd worked really hard on and felt really good about, and Taylor Bradford had snatched it from her and thrown it in the mud. The boat had been her chance to change her future. With it, she could get the treasure, buy a house, and never have to move back to the Bronx. They could stay on Martha's Vineyard forever. Without it, what could she really do?

Be realistic
, her mother would say.

Maria did her best to put aside her worries and concentrate on fixing things. Cleaning below and putting things back in their proper spots—that wasn't so hard. It was just like the work she'd done before. But the rigging! She consulted the mildewed books she'd brought up from below. Whatever she didn't understand, she left for Paolo's return.

She tied the tarp tightly and hoped it would stay tied till she returned the next day.

Maria kicked at clamshells as she walked home. It was now July 10—just days before they had to sail. And still Paolo was not back. And the boat was not finished. And she still didn't know what time the Queen would tread upon the door, so she had no idea which island the treasure was on, or whether they should leave early in the morning on the sixteenth or late at night. And she was no closer to figuring out how she'd sneak past her mother.

She entered the cottage and sighed. There was just one door, and that was so close to the sofa where Celeste slept; there was no way Maria could slip out without waking her mom. It was hopeless.

Maria gave up and went to the kitchen for some dinner. As usual, the refrigerator was full of gourmet leftovers Hattie had cooked far too much of. She helped herself to some chicken pie, and was working on a slice of zucchini bread when her mother burst through the door, talking as if she and Maria were already in mid-conversation.

“Mr. Ironwall says you have a real interest in history.” Celeste dumped a cardboard box on the table. “Apparently you are the only one who appreciates Ironwall Estate and all it has to offer. He wants to know if you would like to borrow some old books he has.”

Maria opened the box. A plume of dust wafted up and made her sneeze. The top book had a gray bloom of mildew on its plain maroon cover.
Prominent Island Families, 1500–1900.
She looked at the books beneath—a history of the Wampanoag tribe, a book on
Historic Vessels and Their Captains
, a glossy compendium of the films of
Hollywood's Golden Age
, and a thesaurus.

“Frank spent all afternoon in the library, finding them. Mr. Ironwall's library, not the town's. He has an entire room filled with books!” Celeste stripped off her scrubs and changed into sweats as she spoke. “Pretend you like them, even if they are really boring.”

A knock on the door interrupted Celeste. She looked at Maria with raised eyebrows. Maria shrugged. She hadn't expected any visitors. Her mother opened the door and there stood Paolo, holding a big canvas rucksack and a large dead fish wrapped in wax paper.

“You better get this on ice,” he said, handing the fish to Celeste. She looked at the wet package for a moment and then dumped it in the kitchen sink. Then she looked at her hands and excused herself to the bathroom.

“You've been gone for two days!” Maria told him.

“I couldn't help it,” Paolo said.

“I've got to show you something,” Maria said. She meant the boat. Though it wasn't as bad as it had been at first, he had to see, as soon as possible, all the work that remained.

“I got to show you something first.” He swung the rucksack to the floor.

“Do you want some zucchini bread?” Celeste came back in, wiping her hands. “Your mother made it, it's very good.”

“No, thanks, Ms. Mamoun. Frank's waiting for me in the truck.”

“Invite him in, too.”

“No, we've got to be going. Gram's expecting us. I just wanted to drop this off for Maria.” Paolo nodded at the rucksack.

“What is it?” Celeste asked warily. “Not more fish, I hope.”

“Just books,” Paolo said. “You know—summer school?”

“Oh yes, how is it going?” Celeste moved to the sink, stared at the fish, and then turned her back to it.

“Really well.” Paolo smiled. “We're doing a social studies project on the history of fire escapes.” He winked in a way that only Maria could see.

Maria grabbed the bag. It didn't feel or look at all like books. It was so heavy she almost dropped it.

“Can you help me carry it upstairs?” she said to Paolo. “It's really heavy—”

Paolo grabbed one end and she followed with the other. They dumped it on the floor beside her bed.

“What the heck is this?” She opened it up and brought out a handful of rope.

“Shh! Your fire escape. I kept thinking about it while I was fishing. It was a great idea you had. See?” He pulled out a bit more to show her.

“It's a rope ladder,” Maria whispered.

“Yeah! I made it. You can tie it to your bed—as long as you put your bed right up against the wall under the window—and climb down!”

“Oh,” Maria said.

“You don't seem very excited,” Paolo said. “I worked really hard on it.”

“It's not that,” Maria said. “It's the boat. Someone trashed it. I think Taylor.”

Paolo's face reddened. “What do you mean trashed it? Can it still sail? Did he mess with the hull?”

“The hull is fine. He didn't sink it or anything. But he undid all the rigging and messed with everything else.” Maria felt tears prick her eyes. She shook her head. “I've been working on it the whole time you've been gone … but I don't know if we'll be ready.”

“We have to be.”

“How? You haven't seen it. It's awful.”

“We'll just work till it's done. I'll get started tomorrow while you're walking Brutus.”

Maria shook her head. “And what if he comes back and tears it all up again, right before we go? I'm such an idiot. I can't believe I gave away our secret to him.”

Paolo put his hands awkwardly on her shoulders and bent a little so he was looking directly into her eyes. “You're not an idiot. You're the smartest girl I know. And the nicest. The only thing wrong with you is that you just didn't realize what a jerk that guy could be.” He paused and stared over her shoulder. “But that gives me an idea.”

“What?”

“Maybe if we tell him he can come, he'll stop messing with us.”

“But we aren't going to let him, are we?” Maria asked. “I mean, you said—”

Celeste popped her head into the attic and interrupted. “Frank's cleaning the fish after all.”

Paolo and Maria turned at the same time, and he dropped his hands from her shoulders.

*   *   *

After Frank and Paolo left, Celeste and Maria sat on the sofa eating
bizir
, salted pumpkin seeds, sent by Tante.

Frank had taken care of the bluefish for Celeste, and now it sat chilling in the freezer, safely wrapped in cellophane. He'd even taken the head and tail away and left a recipe Celeste could use if Hattie ever stopped cooking for them.

“Let us play Go Fish.” Celeste dealt hands for the game. “In honor of our first bluefish.”

Maria sat on the opposite end and took up her cards.

Celeste took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled slowly as she did when she had something important to say.

“What?” Maria started putting her cards into pairs.

“I don't want to worry you,” Celeste finally said, “but Mr. Ironwall is not doing as well as you hoped.”

“He didn't seem sick when I visited him this morning.” Maria kept her eyes carefully on her cards. But he had been unusually cranky.

“He didn't want to worry you,” Celeste said. “And sometimes it happens fast.”

“
Quickly
. Mr. Ironwall says it's the adverb.
Fast
is an adjective.” Maria put down a pair of twos. She could feel her mother looking at her, but she didn't look back.

“Fine, Maria. It happened quickly. Right now, his ankles are swollen and his breathing sounds bad. We've got him on diuretics, but if they don't work by tomorrow, I can make no promises.”

Swollen ankles. Bad breathing. Diuretics. Her mother had told her about these symptoms before, with other patients. Something to do with the heart not pumping hard enough.

“Is he going to be okay?” Maria met her mother's eyes.

“Well,
chérie
, we're doing the best we can.” Celeste folded her cards into her lap. “I don't like that he's giving things away, though. Like the books he sent you.”

“Why don't you just take him to the hospital?” Maria asked. “Tonight. Call an ambulance.”

“Joanne thinks the one on the mainland is better. The emergency room here, at least in the summer, is overrun with tourists. The only thing is, we need to decide before he gets too bad—”

“Then why don't you just take him now? Isn't there some kind of rescue helicopter or something? Why are you waiting?” Maria felt her face getting hot.