The Sherlock Society, page 9
We approached an arched roof that was about twenty feet high and provided shade for a couple of picnic tables.
“This is where the gibbons lived,” Grandpa said. “They were unbelievably loud.”
“I appreciate your walk down memory lane, Grandpa, but lions, tigers, and gibbons aren’t what we’re looking for,” Zoe said. “The map listed bears, monkeys, panthers, and alligators. Where were they?”
“I don’t know that we need to read it that literally,” Grandpa said. “All those animals were at the zoo, but they weren’t next to each other like on the map. It could just be a way of expressing that wild animals were all around. That said, the monkeys were right up here.”
Grandpa pointed toward an old enclosure directly ahead of us. It was circular, with several concrete walls and a ceiling of iron bars. A brightly colored mural was painted on the walls.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Zoe said. “Let’s walk through the clues.”
“We know the treasure is on an island you can get to without a boat and that it is surrounded by wild animals,” I said.
“Check and check,” replied Zoe.
“If the key was the illustration in the book, it should be buried at the base of some palm trees,” Lina said.
“And don’t forget,” Yadi added. “The waiter at Capone’s restaurant said that it was an island on an island.”
“I still don’t get what that means,” I said.
“Me neither,” he replied.
“I think I just might,” Zoe said, a stunned tone to her voice. “Look at that.”
She pointed to a small lake next to the monkey exhibit. In the middle was a small island about half the size of our backyard, with a pair of palm trees growing on it.
“An island on an island!” Yadi said excited. “With palms like in the illustration.”
I turned to Grandpa, and he looked equally spellbound by the possibility.
“Could it be?” I asked.
No words came at first, but he finally managed to utter, “It really could.”
“How deep is that water?” Zoe asked. “Shallow enough for us to wade across?”
“What do you mean? Just go over there and start digging?” Yadi asked.
“Why not?” she answered. “There are three shovels in the trunk of the car.”
“What do you think, Grandpa?” I asked.
“I’m currently torn,” he admitted. “Part of me is a mature, seventy-three-year-old man who thinks the proper thing to do is step back, analyze the situation, and review the appropriate legalities before proceeding.”
“And the other part?” Zoe asked.
“Is going to get those shovels,” he answered as he started back toward the car.
“I’m with that part,” Zoe said.
I couldn’t believe it. We were actually about to dig for buried treasure.
“Wait,” Lina called out. “Don’t get them.”
“Why not?” Zoe asked. “If you’re scared of getting caught, you don’t have to dig. We’ve only got three shovels, and there are five of us.”
“I’m not scared,” she said.
“Then what is it?” Yadi asked.
“The treasure isn’t here,” she said. “It’s not on that island, and it’s not in this park.”
“What makes you say that?” I asked.
“Look at the mural.”
The painting was a tropical scene, with trees, flamingos, peacocks, and iguanas. On one wall was painted Crandon Park 75th Jubilee Celebration.
“Now do the math,” she continued.
“She’s right,” Grandpa said with a moan. “If the park just celebrated its seventy-fifth birthday, it’s not old enough to be on Capone’s map. I didn’t think of that, because it was always here when I was growing up.”
“How could I miss that? The timeline is my responsibility,” Zoe groaned as she checked her phone. “The zoo wasn’t built until 1948, more than a year after Capone died and seventeen years after the money was hidden.”
The realization was heartbreaking. We’d thought we were so close, and just like that we were back at square one.
15 Paella
AFTER OUR DISAPPOINTMENT AT THE old zoo, we returned home, grabbed some drinks out of the fridge, and headed into the living room to regroup and plot our next move. Yadi opened a can of soda and the carbonation made a loud pffft noise.
“Pffft,” Zoe said, mimicking it. “That sounds exactly how I feel. Like the air’s been knocked out of me.”
“Me too,” Yadi replied. “I was sure we had it.” He took a sip of his drink and placed it on the table.
Lina looked at the can, and her eyes opened wide. “Yadi?! What do you think you’re doing?”
“What?” he asked defensively. “I put it on a coaster.”
“Not that. You’re drinking Iron Beer?”
We all laughed.
“It’s not what you think,” Yadi said. “It’s one word, Ee-ron-behr. It’s Cuban soda. Kind of like Dr Pepper, but sweeter. Want to try it?” He offered the can to her.
“Yeah, Yadi, because she really wants to drink your backwash,” Zoe answered. “Besides, Ironbeer’s too sweet. You should try Materva instead.”
“Agreed,” Grandpa said. “I’ve been drinking Materva since I was a kid. It’s the unofficial official beverage of Miami.”
“Ironbeer? Materva?” Lina shook her head. “Even your pop is different here.”
“Pop?” I asked.
Lina sagged. “You don’t call it ‘pop’?”
“We say ‘soft drink’ or ‘soda,’ ” I replied.
“Great, so I don’t fit in and I dashed everyone’s dreams at the zoo. Let’s see what else I can get wrong today.”
“First of all, you totally fit in,” Zoe replied. “Secondly, you didn’t get it wrong at the zoo. You were the only one who got it right.”
“It was our fault for thinking we could solve it in a single day,” I said.
“But we came so close,” Yadi countered. “We’re still close. We’ve got the map and the plant diary. A million dollars is out there waiting to be found. That’s enough money to buy every new sneaker or gaming system for as long as we want.”
“Yes, but does it bother anyone else that the money all came from criminal activity?” I asked. “I hadn’t really thought about that until Ms. Jackson said she was going to give her share to charity. I wonder if she’s doing it because the money’s dirty.”
“Murf the Surf was a criminal,” Yadi said. “How is that different?”
“If we found the Eagle Diamond, we’d give it back to the museum for a reward,” Lina said. “We’d be righting the wrong.”
“You’d have to return the million dollars, too.”
We turned and saw that our mother had entered the room.
Zoe was suddenly on edge. “W-w-what million dollars?”
“Don’t even bother,” Mom said. “I know all about Capone’s buried treasure.”
Zoe shot me an angry look. “You told her?”
“I didn’t know it was a secret. Did you think she wouldn’t notice that her children had suddenly become rich?”
“Let me guess, you’re swooping in to stop us,” Zoe snarked. “Just like you to stop me from doing anything else that is remotely cool or fun.”
Mom let the attitude slide. “Not at all. My issues with your detective agency had to do with you meeting up with strangers, breaking the law, and taking money for services you couldn’t deliver. If you want to try solving an old mystery, I’m fine with that.”
“And, don’t forget, I’m supervising,” Grandpa offered.
“Well, that part worries me,” Mom replied. “But I’m trying not to think about it.”
Grandpa flashed her a smile.
“Why would we have to return the money?” Yadi asked. “Al Capone and everyone involved have been dead for a long time.”
“Florida’s treasure-hunting laws are restrictive,” Mom said. “They’re set up to protect archeological sites and marine habitats around sunken ships, but they would apply to this, too.”
“If you knew we’d have to give it back, then why’d you let us look?” Zoe asked. “Just so you could get our hopes up and dash them?”
“Let me get this straight. Now you’re upset because I didn’t stop you from doing something?” Mom shook her head, exasperated. “I let you look because, if by some miracle, you actually find Al Capone’s buried treasure, your grandfather has been instructed to leave it undisturbed. Then, as your attorney, I’ll negotiate a finder’s fee with either the state or federal government, depending on where it’s located.”
“Leave it undisturbed?” I said, sneaking Grandpa a look. “What about those shovels?”
Grandpa put his finger to his lips and whispered, “I told you I was torn.”
“How much would the finder’s fee be?” Yadi asked.
“There’d be negotiations, but probably between ten and fifteen percent, so about one hundred fifty thousand dollars. After you split that between yourselves and pay taxes, you’d walk away with roughly ten to fifteen thousand dollars each.”
“Wow, that dwindled quickly,” Yadi said, disappointed.
“It could still pay for a lot of sneakers and game consoles,” Mom replied.
“Or summer camp tuition,” Zoe said pointedly.
Mom gave her a look. “Barely.” She went to say something else, but stopped.
“What? Want to yell at me in front of my friends again? It’s been two days.”
There was a tense silence, but luckily, Dad walked in before it escalated. “Dinner’s ready.” He looked at Yadi and Lina. “You’re welcome to join us if you’d like. I made paella.”
“Yes, please!” Yadi said.
Lina nodded. “Sounds good… but what’s paella?”
“It’s a Spanish dish with a lot of Latin and Caribbean variations,” Dad said. “My version is basically yellow rice, vegetables, seafood, and spices.”
“It’s delicious,” I promised.
Lina smiled. “I’d love that.”
As we walked toward the dining room, I whispered to Zoe. “You know, you don’t have to push every one of Mom’s buttons. Maybe you could try to get along. At least during dinner.”
I expected her to snap back at me, but instead she nodded and softly said, “Okay.”
We had to squeeze in to fit more people at the table, and I was happy to see Zoe sit next to Mom. Neither said anything about it, but Mom definitely noticed. She shared a look with Dad, and they smiled. My parents were good like that, communicating with little looks and reactions.
At first glance, they might not seem like a natural match. Mom ran half marathons, and Dad loved cheeseburgers. She always looked polished and went to work in a business suit. He had shaggy hair and went to work in a wet suit. But they made a great team. They filled each other’s gaps. For example, she hated cooking and he loved it. Paella was just one of his many specialties, as Lina quickly discovered.
“Okay, I have been missing out,” she said after savoring her first bite. “This is delicious.”
“I like her!” Dad joked. “We haven’t officially met yet. What’s your name?”
“Lina, with an I.”
“Nice to meet you, Lina with an I. You have excellent taste in food. Where are you from that you’ve never been exposed to paella?”
“Or sweet tea, Ironbeer, or Materva,” I added.
Lina blushed, and I couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed by the attention or enjoyed it. “Evanston, Wyoming. We moved here in December.”
“Wyoming to Miami, that must be quite a culture shock,” Mom said.
“You’re not kidding,” Lina replied.
“Apparently, Wyoming culture involves belt buckles,” Zoe said.
“Why’d you move?” asked Yadi.
“My parents got divorced, and my mom wanted to get as far from Evanston as she possibly could. I guess it was either Maine or Miami.”
“I hope we’re not keeping you away from dinner with her,” Dad said.
“No, she works nights,” Lina said. “She’s a shift nurse at Mercy Hospital.”
“Zoe and Alex were both born at Mercy,” Mom said. “It’s a great hospital.”
“I once had my left pinky toe reattached at Mercy,” Grandpa said. “They did a heck of a job. It still wiggles and everything.” When he saw our reactions, he added, “Probably not best discussed while eating, though.”
There was an awkward pause, then Dad turned to Lina and said, “My parents got divorced when I was about your age. I didn’t handle it great. I was… ‘rebellious,’ I guess would be the word.”
Lina chuckled. “Did you dye your hair blue like I did?”
“I gave myself a Mohawk,” he replied. “I also started acting up at school, getting in trouble. Eventually, my mom had enough and sent me to live with my father. He was no fun-loving teddy bear like this guy.” Dad nodded toward Grandpa. “But he was fair. Probably what I needed. He worked on a fishing boat, and when I wasn’t in school, I was either fishing or surfing. Somehow, my rebellion turned into passion, and I got my act together. Saved by the ocean.”
“And now you’re a marine biologist?” she said.
He smiled. “And now I’m a marine biologist.”
“Well, I’ve done the hair thing and moved,” she joked. “Maybe next I’ll find my passion.”
“It could be mysteries,” Yadi suggested. “You could become a finder of lost treasure.”
“Speaking of which, what should we do next to find ours?” Zoe asked.
“I think we should look for other locations in the plant diary,” I said. “And maybe compare the treasure map to maps of islands along the Florida coast.”
“What treasure map?” Mom asked.
“We found a treasure map drawn by Al Capone,” Zoe said, unable to keep a hint of smugness out of her voice. “It was hidden in the spine of a botany book at the home of his gardener. Look.”
Zoe pulled up a picture of the map on her phone and handed it to Mom. I did the same for Dad.
“Al Capone really drew this?” Mom asked, stunned.
“We matched his handwriting,” Lina said.
“And we know that the treasure is hidden on an island and protected by wild animals,” Yadi said. “We thought it might be out on Key Biscayne, where the old zoo used to be. But the dates don’t line up.”
“That’s so cool.” Mom handed the phone back to Zoe, and it almost looked like they smiled at each other. “Really impressive.”
“The old zoo was a good thought,” Dad said. “Did you consider the Lost City?”
“What’s the Lost City?” Yadi asked.
“Capone’s hideout in the Everglades,” Dad answered. “I read an article about it years ago. It’s where he made illegal liquor for his bootlegging operation.”
“That sounds like something we should definitely consider,” Yadi said.
Zoe quickly typed a search into her phone and found something. “ ‘Deep in the Everglades is the Lost City, a place where mobster Al Capone produced moonshine.’ ”
“There you go,” Yadi said.
“What else does it say?” I asked.
Zoe scanned the article and passed along some of the details. “The site began as either a Seminole or Miccosukee village. During the Civil War, Confederate soldiers used it as a hideout. Capone chose it because it was difficult to reach, which made it safe from the police.”
“Which would also make it an excellent place to hide a million dollars,” Yadi offered.
“Except the treasure we’re looking for is hidden on an island, not in a swamp,” I said.
“Swamp?” Dad gave me a disappointed-teacher look. “You know that the Everglades is much more than that. It’s also made up of marsh, pineland, prairies, hummocks, sloughs, wetlands, and lowlands.”
“It also has islands!” Zoe interjected. “Listen to this. ‘Capone’s operation was on an island of higher ground, and the alcohol could have been hauled out on wagons.’ ”
“An island you can reach without a boat,” Lina said.
“In the wilderness,” Yadi added with a grin. “Surrounded by wild animals.”
16 The River of Grass
GRANDPA HAD ONE HARD-AND-FAST RULE for the Sherlock Society. We couldn’t go into the field until we’d done our homework. So the next morning I met up with Zoe, Yadi, and Lina, and we began researching whatever we could find about the Lost City.
“Just to put this in perspective, the Everglades is bigger than Rhode Island and Delaware combined,” I said, spreading a large map of South Florida across the dining room table. “It has one point five million acres of wilderness, and according to that article, only three of them make up the Lost City.”
“So we’re talking tiny needle, giant haystack,” Lina said.
“Don’t be so negative,” Zoe replied. “All we have to do is eliminate the other one million, four hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred ninety-seven acres and we’ve found it.”
Yadi laughed. “Well, when you put it that way, it sounds like a piece of cake.” His eyes lit up. “Ooh, cake sounds good.”
“At nine in the morning?” Zoe asked.
“With baked goods, I’m like 7-Eleven,” he replied. “I’m always open for business.”
“How should we go about this?” Lina asked.
“I think we should stick with our Ws,” I said. “Who, what, when, where.”
“I agree,” Zoe replied.
Yadi flashed a confused look. “At this point, aren’t we only interested in where?”
“Yes, but there are different ways to find it,” I answered. “I’ll go through any articles we can find and look for geographic details. Then I’ll mark those on this map to try to narrow the search.”
“Then what’s my ‘what’?” Yadi asked.
“The plant diary,” Zoe answered. “We took photos of every page. Look through the entries and try to figure out which ones might have been from the Everglades. See if that can point us in the right direction.”
“I like this approach,” Lina said. “I’ve got ‘who.’ I’ll start with the reporter who wrote the article your father mentioned. If he’s at all like your grandfather, he might have saved his notes. Then I’ll look for the people he quoted. The story’s only ten years old. I should be able to find them.”
