The Treasure of Maria Mamoun (24 page)

“We'll be okay!” Hattie called to her, waving back.

Maria watched the vehicles disappear down the long clamshell drive. She felt hollow, as if someone had scooped her insides out.

“Do you think he'll be all right?” she asked no one in particular.

“Of course,” said Hattie. “He's just got a little water in him. The meds'll pull it out. You'll see. I bet your mom calls us tonight with good news.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Now you two run along. Paolo—help Maria pack. I'm going to give Frank's room a thorough cleaning while he's gone. That place hasn't been aired out in decades.”

 

30

E
NGAGING
THE
E
NEMY

Paolo said Taylor would be working at the yacht club that afternoon. As soon as they finished packing her stuff, Maria and Paolo headed into town on their bikes. Heat rose in waves off the black asphalt bike path, and sweat plastered their shirts to their backs. Maria would have enjoyed the ride if it were ending at a swimming hole, but she dreaded having to talk to Taylor alone.

“You'll be fine,” Paolo called over his shoulder. “He won't do anything to you where he works.”

“But what if he won't listen to me?” Maria said.

“He wants the Murdefer treasure as much as we do,” Paolo said. “Every kid on the Island has dreamed about that treasure at one time or another.”

They locked their bikes to the rack at the edge of Edgartown, and walked the rest of the way.

The yacht club was a cedar shake structure that loomed out over the bay. It had a dock on the starboard side crowded with catboats like the one Paolo had “borrowed” the day he took Maria sailing. On the port side, a landing with more docks jutted into the bay. Sailboats crowded these docks and more bobbed at their moorings. The whole place bustled with boats coming in and going out.

Just as they approached, a large explosion shook the air. Maria saw a puff of smoke rise into the sky.

“What was that?” Maria asked. “A bomb?”

Paolo shook his head. “Cocktail hour. They fire the cannon at five o'clock so everyone knows it's time to start drinking.”

“Are you serious? A real cannon?”

“It doesn't fire a cannonball.” Paolo shrugged. “But it
is
a real cannon. Rich people are weird. Come on.”

When they got closer he pointed to a motorboat puttering out in the bay with a few passengers. “That's Taylor. He ferries the yachties from the club to their sailboats that are moored out there. When he comes back, tell him we need to speak with him somewhere private. I'll be waiting in the park next to the bookstore.” Paolo looked over his shoulder. “I have to get out of here. I'm not supposed to be on the grounds.”

Maria watched him trot back up the hill toward the center of town. Then she sat on a dockside bench to wait.

Across the bay lay Chappaquiddick, which she'd heard was the even smaller, more exclusive island. A small three-car ferry shuttled back and forth from another nearby dock.

To her left was the fishing pier, and farther along was the lighthouse beach where they'd watched the fireworks. To the right, the yacht club, a fancy water-view restaurant, and expensive homes.

“Hey, Captain Dirt's girlfriend.”

Maria turned and saw Taylor pull his boat neatly alongside the dock and cut the engine.

“He wants to talk to you,” she said. “Privately.”

“I'm working,” Taylor said.

Maria looked behind him. “You don't have any customers right now. And I think you want to hear what he has to say. About …
you know
.”

Taylor climbed out of the boat, came over to where she sat, and looked down at her. He wore a red polo shirt with the yacht club insignia, white shorts, and brown deck shoes. He stood too closely for her to get off the bench without touching him, so she stayed sitting.

“We've been considering your offer,” she said to his tan forearms. Her mouth felt dry after the hot bike ride, and she wished she had a drink. “We'd like to negotiate.”

“Fine. Take me to him.” Taylor went back to his boat and took a wooden sign from under the seat, which he hung around the console:
BACK IN 15 MINUTES.

As Maria led Taylor up the hill to the park, she noticed he did not walk beside her. He probably didn't want anyone to think they were together, but instead of feeling insulted, she smiled to herself. It struck her as funny and slightly pathetic.

Paolo was waiting by the old mill wheel. He'd had time to visit Vineyard Scoops, and he handed a sweating waxed cup to Maria.

“I hope you like vanilla. I didn't know what to get,” he said.

“Thanks.” It was the first time a boy had ever bought her a milk shake. Or anything, for that matter. It tasted cold and sweet and felt good going down.

“Hey, when you're done with your girlfriend,” Taylor said. “I don't have a lot of time.”

Paolo went over to the bench and sat on its back, his feet on the seat. “Taylor, we know you trashed the boat”—he held up two shushing fingers against the other boy's protest—“and we know why. You want the map. You thought you might find it, or maybe stop us from going for the treasure on our own.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Taylor said.

Paolo continued as if he hadn't spoken. “We're prepared to make you an offer. As long as you don't trash our boat again, we will include you on the treasure hunt.”

Taylor didn't react. He stood in the center of the path, arms folded. A passing young couple had to unlock hands to fit around him and avoid the flower beds on either side.

“In fact,” Paolo continued, “we'd like to use your boat. You get a one-third cut. But you don't include Josh. 'Cause I'm not dividing the treasure any more ways. Take it or leave it.”

Taylor pretended to think about it, but Maria could tell he would go for it.

“Okay,” Taylor finally said. “When do we go?”

“The night of July seventeenth,” Paolo said.

Taylor squinted as if he was suspicious. “How's it gonna work?”

“We'll meet you at your dock at eleven o'clock sharp. It's up to you to find a way out of your house.” Paolo took a final slurp of his shake and chucked the cup into a garbage can. Then he stood, brushed his hands on his shirt, and said, “Don't keep us waiting.”

“Aye-aye, Captain Dirt,” Taylor said with a smirk, heading back downhill toward the waterfront. His swagger indicated he thought he had put one over on them.

“What if he didn't go for it?” Maria asked. “Did you even have a plan B?”

“I thought maybe I'd have to punch him or something. I don't know.”

Maria laughed and Paolo blushed as they headed back toward their bikes.

 

31

B
ATTEN
D
OWN
THE
H
ATCHES

The next few days passed by in a blur of activity. With Mr. Ironwall in the hospital, Maria and Paolo could devote the entire day to preparations for the treasure hunt. After exercising Brutus, they set about fixing the damage Taylor Bradford had made. While Brutus slept in the cool cabin, they rigged under the hot deck tent. The canvas acted like greenhouse glass, trapping the sun and stale air beneath it. But they didn't dare unlace it from the rail for fear someone would see them, and then all their plans would be ruined again.

Of course, Taylor Bradford already knew what they were up to. But they counted on him to keep up his end of the bargain and not bother them anymore. One day he buzzed by on his jet ski and gave Paolo a mocking salute, but that was it. Since he thought they were partners, he had no reason to bother with them or
The Last Privateer
.

After a long day on the boat, they biked back to Paolo's family compound. Brutus, good dog that he was, trotted alongside. Upon their arrival, Grandma Newcomb insisted on a thorough tick check for them and the dog, then showers, then a half hour of “quiet time” while she and Hattie finished cooking dinner. Quiet time wasn't very quiet; extended family arrived from their various jobs with groceries, news, musical intruments, and all sorts of other distractions. Maria began to figure out who was who, and they all welcomed her to the family easily. This cousin taught her a few chords on his guitar, that in-law passed her a baby to bounce. Hattie gave her small jobs to do: stripping thyme leaves from the twigs, picking dandelion off the back lawn for a salad, or whipping cream and sugar for dessert. When Pops was up and about, he took Maria and Paolo to the garden to weed, pick cucumbers, tie up vines, and whatever other chores involved too much bending for his bad back.

After another gourmet dinner of strange foods, the extended family would disappear to their various homes and the main house would become still and peaceful. Maria thought this time of night felt like the tide going out; all the movement and noise drained away, leaving quiet ripples. She read or played a board game with Paolo and his grandmother while Hattie finished in the kitchen and Pops took a twilight stroll. Sometimes they simply sat on the patio, listening to the peeping frogs Vineyarders called pinkletinks and watching for fireflies and shooting stars. It would have been completely wonderful, except that she was so worried about Mr. Ironwall. Hattie and Grandma tried to reassure her that Mr. Ironwall would get better soon, and her mother would soon come home.

But Mr. Ironwall didn't get better, and her mother didn't come home.

“I
know
it's been three whole days,
chérie
,” Celeste said on the phone. “But he needs someone here to deal with the doctors and nurses. And he's trying to get his affairs in order.”

“What does that even mean?” Maria gripped the only phone in the Newcomb household—an old-fashioned rotary dial that actually had a curly cord connecting the handset to the base, so you couldn't walk around the house and find privacy. All their conversations had to happen right there in the kitchen with Hattie and whatever other Newcombs were home at the moment.

“Just that he has lots of paperwork to do. Legal things.”

“Like his will?” Maria said. “Is he going to die?”

“It's nothing you need to worry about,
ma chère
,” Celeste said. “I'll be home in a couple days.”

“A couple days is what you said a couple days ago.”

“Aren't you having a good time with the Newcombs? Hattie said you and Paolo were building a tree fort and biking all over the Island.”

“It's fine, Ma. But I just want to be back in the cottage, with you.” Maria allowed a little whining to creep into her voice.

“By Saturday, the latest,” Celeste said. “I promise.”

“Why can't Joanne just take over?” Maria asked.

“She is here when she can be. But she has taken another job.”

“She took another job!” Maria said. “That's bad, right?”

“Maria—” Celeste began.

“I know. He's very old, and very sick. I don't want to hear it!” Maria slammed the phone down. Immediately it began ringing.

Hattie gave Maria a meaningful look.

“
You
talk to her!” Maria yelled, and ran out into the garden.

Paolo was helping Pops and Grandma wrap their fruit trees in burlap and twine.

“What are you doing?” Maria asked.

“Battening down the hatches. Nor'easter's coming,” Pops told her. “Expected sometime late Saturday. People are scrambling to get off-island before the ferries stop running.”

“What's a nor'easter?” Maria asked. “And why would the ferries stop running?” If the ferries stopped, her mother couldn't come home.

“High wind and flat-bottomed boats don't mix,” Pops said.

Grandma turned to Maria. “And what did your mother have to say about Mr. Ironwall?”

“She says she'll be home soon.”

“Well, that's good news, isn't it?” Grandma said absently. She'd gone back to untangling the twine.

“I guess.” Maria stared intensely at Paolo, trying to send him a message with her eyes. He bugged his eyes back at her but didn't seem to understand.

“Paolo, I think we better get to the library today,” Maria finally said. “You know that question we had about the constellations? I found some new information you need to learn. You know, now, in case they shut the library in the storm.”

“Oh, yeah.” Paolo finally caught on. He handed the burlap to his grandfather. “Yeah, we should go.”

They grabbed their bikes from the shed and sped down the dirt road. As soon as they reached the bike path Maria pulled up alongside Paolo. “Mr. Ironwall's going to die.”

Paolo slowed. “How do you know?”

“He's writing his will and his night nurse took another job.” Maria panted. The wind off the ocean pushed against her, and she felt as if she were riding up a hill, though the path was flat. “Tonight might be our only chance. 'Cause I'll be going back to the Bronx any day now.”

Paolo pulled ahead and stopped his bike in front of her. Maria was forced to stop also.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked. “I mean, with the old guy dying?”

“Of course I'm not okay!” Hot tears filled her eyes. “But I have to be realistic.”

“But it's not even the right date,” Paolo said.

“That doesn't matter. We don't know the right time anyhow, so we don't know the correct heading. We were always just gonna guess, right?” Maria swiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I mean, that's just movie nonsense—magic doors that open only on one particular day according to the position of the moon or whatever. This is a real-life rock, or hole, or something—we just have to go look for it. I'm going to get the boat ready.” Maria hopped on her bike and took off. She didn't bother to see if Paolo was behind her.