Episode 4... In which our heroes turn corners and consider new recruits...

To Lucy and Seven, it is clear that Mona must have been kidnapped by someone close to Cecilia … but why? With their list of suspects in hand, their quest for truth and justice begins.

I am your host, and the dude who discovered this mysterious book of unknown origin, Oosh Sinclair.

While I have yet to learn more about who wrote these pages, I am hoping we can all figure it out together as this story unfolds. 

I’m excited to read with you chapters 16-20… they are some of my favorites. We get to see Lucy and Seven verbally spar with the mean-spirited dinner-guest-suspect Mrs. Houston and the big topic at school on Monday morning is the heroic adventure of Lucy and Seven bringing down the tomato thieves. 

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If you have any information about who wrote this book, please email me at whowroteaugustisland@gmail.com

"I put August Island on for the kids and it's making them shut up and sit still and not need the TV on and stop fighting. So AMAZING for me!"  R. Woodrow (a thankful parent)  -- Brooklyn, NY

"This modern day mythic adventure story captures the joy and wonder of our Jersey Shore Island home beautifully and my kids adore it. It's like a modern fairytale. "  J. Lippart (age 43) -- August Island, NJ 

For more info, email james.oosh.caverly@gmail.com and visit jcaverly.com

Transcript

Chapter 16

The First Interview or The Donut Tussle

            Lucy threw the ball to Buddy, he caught it in his mouth mid-air and brought it back, tail wagging, ready to go again. “Last one, Buddy. I can barely see.” Lucy threw the ball as far as she could. Buddy ran after it, and the remaining bit of sun fell off the horizon and Buddy disappeared into the darkness. “Buddy! Buddy! Where are you!” The dusk rapidly turned to night. Lucy ran into the dunes. Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw a large unidentifiable animal, walking predatorily on its hind legs, holding Buddy in its arms. But as Lucy turned and turned and turned again, the monster holding Buddy could only be seen in the corners of her eyes. Suddenly, the Island became consumed in absolute darkness. Lucy could hear Buddy barking but could not tell from which direction. In an instant, the sun flew above the horizon lighting August Island in a heavenly shine. Lucy’s focus flew to the monster’s large shadow holding Buddy at the edge of the ocean. She ran at them, but Lucy couldn’t run. She fell to the ground, as her muscles stopped working. The monster and Buddy grew smaller and smaller and smaller into the distance until they disappeared. Lucy looked all around her to see that everything that made up August Island was gone. Only sand and water remained.

*          *          *

            Lucy’s alarm screamed out, waking her up from the nightmare. It was 6:30 am on Monday morning, the first day of the last week of school before summer vacation. Sluggish and grumpy, she got herself out of bed and ready for the day. She had difficulty shaking the Buddy dream out of her mind. But no matter; Lucy had work to do and needed to get focused on finding Mona.

As she packed her backpack, Lucy looked out her windows through the haze of a light rain falling. The tide was high, and the waves were a messy three feet. A salty breeze flew in through the window to say good luck as she headed downstairs to the kitchen.

            “You’re up early, Sweetie,” her mom said, as she cut fruit for the morning’s breakfast.

            “We’re going to track down Mrs. Houston before school,” Lucy said without looking at her mother, grabbing a box of cereal. 

            “Yikes,” Hazel said. “I get the feeling that woman hates you because you’re a kid. But I guess after the Sweet Tea Tomato bandits, Mrs. Houston should be easy.”

            “I can’t wait to get her in front of me,” Lucy said with a touch of vengeance in her voice. 

            Head down, Lucy poured milk onto her bowl of cereal at the kitchen counter.

            “You okay?” her mother asked.

            Lucy was about to scoop a spoonful of cereal, but stopped herself and paused. 

             “Did I do enough to find Buddy?”

            Hazel walked over with a loving hug, “Yes, Sweetie,” her mom said, not letting go. “You didn’t have much to go on. You gave it everything you had. And technically there’s still hope someone will find him.” 

            “I could have done more. I could have asked the folks at the harbor if they saw him taken onto the ferry. I could have gone to the pet store to see if any new customers came in with him. Dang it, I should have ridden up and down every single street on this island screaming his name and listening for him to bark back. Why didn’t I do any of that? I missed my chance… it feels  too late now.” 

            “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You asked around, you looked all over… you spent days-”

            Abruptly, Lucy belted out: “Obviously!” She looked at the ceiling, as if talking to it. “We need to do all those things to find Mona.”

            Seven Simon walked into the kitchen. 

            “Good morning,” she said, sitting across from Lucy. “I made a detailed list of some things we can do along with interviewing all the dinner guests.” 

Seven handed Lucy her spiral notebook. Lucy read it aloud: “Ask around at the ferry. Ride all over town calling Mona. Inquire at the local pet store. Put up missing posters.” 

“That sounds like a lot of good fashioned hard work,” Hazel commented as she read over Lucy’s shoulder. “Excellent, you two could use a little hard work under your belts… it’ll make women outta yu!” 

*          *          *

            Two minutes later Lucy and Seven were on their bikes in search of Mrs. Houston. They had fifty minutes before the school bell rang. 

The rain had stopped. A hot sun was drying the pavement quickly. It smelled like summer. They took their usual route to school, checking out the houses where Mrs. Houston had been seen mowing the grass and trimming the hedges. However, she was nowhere to be found. 

            “What’s an old lady doing all this yard work for anyway?” Seven asked. 

            “Maybe she yelled at all the local landscapers too much and now they hate her,” Lucy suggested.

            “I kinda feel bad for her.”

            “I don’t,” Lucy grunted. “She’s an animal.”

            After striking out at every property they knew to be owned by Mrs. Houston, they talked themselves into heading directly to her home address at 22 Maple Street, as written on Cecilia’s list. They were uneasy about walking into ther snake’s nest, but if they were going to find Mona, they’d have to face uncomfortable situations. 

            Lucy and Seven parked their bikes outside Mrs. Houston’s house. The old white Victorian home sat heavily shaded by overgrown hedges and unpruned trees keeping the house hidden from any passerby. As they walked up its front walkway and into the small jungle, they could see the house was in disrepair. Chipped paint, rotting wood, and a layer of moss covering most of the roof gave the house a haunted quality. 

The sharp contrast of Mrs. Houston’s home to the many beautiful properties she herself maintains to perfection and rents to others was confusing to Lucy and Seven. The fact she couldn’t do the same for her own home cast a dark shadow on the woman’s soul. Lucy started to regret calling her an animal.

They walked onto her property, ducking under branches, and dodging broken planks in the stairs. With their spiral notebooks and pens in hand, they each took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

            Silence. 

They knocked again. 

More silence. 

Just as they started to walk away, the door flew open with a bang. 

            “What do you want?” Mrs. Houston announced. She wore a long dress with a flower print. Her hair had not yet been brushed. She had a hammer in one hand and a toaster in the other. A friendly cat walked through the doorway and affectionately rubbed up against Seven’s leg.

            “Hello Mrs. Houston,” Lucy said. “We are here on behalf of Ms. Cecilia Balsamo. She has hired us to investigate her missing parrot. We’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s okay. Is this a good time?”

“She hired you!?” the cantankerous woman asked insultingly.

            “She did,” Lucy said plainly, trying to not let this person of interest make her lose her cool. “May we come in?”

            “Absolutely not. You’d get your grubby little hands on all my things.” She paused to think. “Well… actually… hold on.” She slammed the door. 

Lucy and Seven waited.

            Eventually the door flew open again. Mrs. Houston walked out with a paper plate filled with donuts. “Let’s talk out on the porch,” she said leading them to a few plastic chairs. “I assume you like donuts, like everyone else on planet earth?” She placed the plate on a thick layer of black dust with a coffee table under it. “Please, take a donut, each of you… take two.”

Lucy and Seven each took a donut and a seat.

“Thank you,” they said, surprised at her friendly gesture. 

“I heard about Mona,” Mrs. Houston began. “Very sad. She probably flew away. I hope they find her. Cecilia is a very old friend. So, if she hired you,” she paused and chuckled to herself, “well then, for her, I will talk to you.”

            Lucy started the questioning as she chewed a donut: “You were at Cecilia’s dinner party on Saturday night, correct?”

            “Yes.”

            “Who else was there?”

            “It was our bi-yearly meeting, so everyone was there. Cecilia of course, Tippytoe, Bartholomew, Stetson, and Clutterbuck.”

            Seven chimed in. “So, it wasn’t as much a dinner party as it was a meeting? What was this meeting about?”

            “I can’t tell you that.”

            “Why not?”

            “I can’t tell you that either.”

            “Why not?”

            Mrs. Houston stared at Seven, put her hands up, and shrugged.

            “Did something bad happen at this meeting?” Lucy asked on a hunch.

            “Please, have another donut,” Mrs. Houston dodged. She picked up the plate of donuts and shoved it near their faces. Lucy found the gesture patronizing this time, though she took a donut anyway.

            “When you say ‘bi-yearly meeting,’ what exactly do you mean?” Seven asked while chewing a chocolate glazed. “Is this a club? Or a social group of some kind?”

            “I’m not at liberty to say.”

            “What are you at liberty to say?” Lucy asked, working hard to hide her distaste for the woman.

            “All I can say is that all of us at the dinner party know each other very well and are as close as a family,” Mrs. Houston said. “Ha! Some of us are family… we are third and fourth cousins. That’s no secret. We’ve been working for the Island for a very long time.”

            “Working to do what?”

            “I’ll keep that part a secret.”
             Lucy’s brain was starting to boil, but she maintained her cool. “Can you think of any reason why someone who attended the dinner party would kidnap Mona? Anyone super mad at Cecilia or the bird?”

            Mrs. Houston thought for a moment. “Before the meeting I would have said ‘no,’ but after the meeting, I’m not so sure.”

            Lucy and Seven glanced at each other.

            “What happened that makes you suspicious?” Lucy asked.

            Mrs. Houston remained smugly silent, as if to say, Try again.

            “Who are you thinking may have taken Mona?” Lucy pleaded.

            “No one in particular. It’s just a feeling.”

“Just a feeling?” Seven asked for clarification.

“Feeling!” Mrs. Houston spat, “F-E-E-L-I-N-G; emotional reaction, subjective thought, intuition… Look, you’re starting to wear down my patience. I wouldn’t tell you who I thought stole Mona even if I could because I can’t, and even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t tell you, even though I don’t.” 

Lucy and Seven scrunched their faces in puzzlement. Mrs. Houston continued: “Our group is very… We’re bound by something far greater than a parrot.”

Seven wrote that down.

Lucy couldn’t hold her patience any longer: “Where were you the night Mona was kidnapped between 1 and 2 am?”

            “So, I’m a suspect!?” Mrs. Houston retorted with feisty agitation. “I don’t see how or why I would be a suspect. I was here last night at that time. And I live alone, so I have no witnesses. But what are you going to do about it?! You’re kids, so nothing!” Mrs. Houston abruptly changed gears. “No, actually I was with Dr. Bear at the vet office for an emergency visit at around 2 am with my cat Mr. Meowgi. He’s feeling much better, thank you very much.”

            “We didn’t mean to insult you, Mrs. Houston,” Seven said calmly. “It’s customary to ask anyone of interest for an alibi.”

            “You really think you little kids will be able to solve this case?” Mrs. Houston said nastily. “I feel like there is a far greater chance of a hurricane hitting the Island, which of course has never happened and never will, just like you solving this case.” 

            Lucy grabbed another donut from the tray and stuffed it in her mouth to keep herself from screaming.

“Mrs. Houston, please--“ Seven protested.

            “No more questions,” Mrs. Houston said, jumping up from her plastic chair. “And no more donuts!” She snatched what was left of the donut out of Lucy’s mouth and threw it back in the pile. Lucy spitefully snatched a new donut from the plate as Mrs. Houston stomped off into her house. 

The door slammed. 

Lucy and Seven were suddenly alone on the porch. 

            “I think that went surprisingly well considering who we were dealing with,” Lucy remarked calmly, taking a bight of her fourth donut. 

            “You’re handling this well, Lucy. I’ve never seen you so calm around such passionate rudeness.”

            Lucy held up half her glazed pastry, mouth full of yumminess. “Wanna split it?”

            Seven took half of the donut and remarked: “Very interesting… she said ‘We’re bound by something greater than the parrot.’ What does that mean? I bet it’s related to why Cecilia has been so tight-lipped about the dinner party.”

            “And she confirmed something occurred at the dinner party that was a big enough deal for her to think one of the guests may have kidnapped Mona,” Lucy added.

            “Exactly. I think we’re on to something.”

            “I’m thinking we need to talk to Cecilia again.”

            “I’m thinking our client needs to be a lot more open with us.”

            “I’m thinking I agree.”

            They exited Mrs. Houston’s porch without falling through it, hopped on their bikes, and pedaled to school.

Chapter 17

Flattering Whispers or Come to the Storm Doors 

Little time had passed since they had recovered the Sweet Tea Tomatoes, but Lucy and Seven had already shifted gears to tracking down missing Mona. However, by Monday everyone on the Island was talking about the tomato thieves and the heroic exploits of local sleuths Lucy Barlow and Seven Simon. 

As they walked into school, Lucy and Seven suddenly felt famous. Chatter, whispers, pointing, and high fives followed them everywhere. Friends and acquaintances caught up to them to ask questions and give congratulations. Lucy and Seven retold the story more than ten times that day. 

“Psst… Seven,” whispered Dwayne, a friendly and overly energetic boy sitting two rows behind Seven at the start of first period. Seven turned around only slightly so as not to draw attention from the teacher. “Is it true you and Lucy got a $10,000 reward from the city?”

“What? No. Who told you that?” Seven whispered back sharply.

“And did one of the bad guys actually put a knife to Lucy’s throat?”

“That didn’t happen either,” Seven retorted. “They were tomato thieves, not psycho killers.”

            From a couple rows over, Lucy overheard the quick back and forth. She put her face in her shoulder to hide her smile. 

            “Hey Lucy,” said a friendly girl named Fanta who was sitting back a row and to the left. “Did you really escape from handcuffs and then wrestle a machine gun from one of the bad guys? Claire and Caroline both said you did.”

*          *          *

            As the bell rang to end first period, all the kids erupted into the halls. 

            “Lucy, got any new cases you’re working on?” asked Franky, who approached Lucy at her locker. Franky was a seventh grader whose parents owned the local movie theater.

            “That’s confidential,” Lucy stated as she pulled out her science textbook. 

Seven entered the conversation. “Yeah, you know, client-detective privilege…”

            “Absolutely,” Lucy agreed.

            Franky’s friend Alison popped up to say, “Got any room in your little club for new recruits like me?”

            Seven chimed in: “What club? There’s only two of us.” 

             “The fact that you called it a ‘little’ club in that tone, drastically reduces your chances of getting in,” Lucy remarked.

            “I didn’t mean anything by it,” Alison defended.

            “What we’re doing ain’t little,” Lucy asserted, “we’re not even a medium sized club or a big club… We’re beyond that. We’re a society.” 

            “I thought it was only the two of you,” Franky retorted.

            “Are you letting people in or not?” prodded Alison.

            “Maybe,” Lucy said with a coy smirk. 

A few other kids overheard and entered the conversation.

            “Oh yeah? Can I join?” a young girl named Beatrice asked.

            “What about me?” a voice was heard, followed by another, “I want to be a detective.” The small group quickly became a crowd, all inquiring over each other as to how someone might join their society of detectives. 

Lucy didn’t want to exclude anybody, but she knew not everyone was cut out for detective work. Lucy stood as tall as her short body allowed and made an announcement: “Everyone! Shut your pie holes and listen up,” she yelled. The crowd quieted down and gave Lucy and Seven some space. “If you want to work hard. If you think you’re smart enough. If you have grit from the tips of your toes to the ends of your hair, then we’d love to consider you for membership into the August Island Society of Young Detectives.” 

Lucy glanced at Seven with a shrug, looking for approval to the name she had spontaneously created for their detective organization. Seven’s giddy smile and quick nods set the name in stone. Lucy continued, “Come to the storm doors of the Flying Cow Inn today at 3:30pm. But please, only serious applicants need apply.”

At Lucy’s last word, Principal Whitlock’s voice blasted onto the school’s loudspeaker with a high-pitched screech. The kids threw their hands over their ears for a moment and the hallway became silent.

            “Students, faculty, support staff… all my friends, it’s your Principal Whitlock here. I’d like to take this joyous moment to recognize the valiant, gallant, courageous, which are, yes you are correct, synonyms for brave… and perceptive, crafty, astute, and clever work of our very own Lucy Barlow and Seven Simon for cracking, unraveling, resolving, and let’s not forget solving the case of the stolen West Side Farm’s missing Sweet Tea Tomatoes.”

            The hallway erupted into cheers and applause. Seven and Lucy blushed with a healthy shade of red, as friends pilled on pats on the back, jostles of the shoulder, and even some aggressive rubs of the head from the older kids. Principal Whitlock continued:

            “We at the August Island Middle School are proud of any student who works for the greater good and overall health of our beloved island community. And when we—” Principal Whitlock abruptly stopped, followed by the sound of an unintelligible conversation and a clearing of the throat. Principal Whitlock came back on air: “Uh, we have Captain Francis Tippytoe, uh… to add something, to… uh… well, here he is.”

            “Captain Tippytoe’s first name is Francis!?” Seven blurted to Lucy. “He seems more like a… a Boris… or a Ceasar…”

            “I always assumed he had no first name,” Lucy stated sincerely. 

            Kids threw their hands to their ears from the piercing crackled of the speakers as Captain Tippytoe took the microphone:

            “Young people of August Island,” he began. “Now I know you feel the behavior of Lucy Barlow and Seven Simon was cool… hipster… or perhaps you’d be bold enough to remark that their detective work was the bee’s knees. Well, I’m here today set it straight… it was foolish and dangerous.” 

Scoffs from kids shot around the hallway and hundreds of eyes rolled in unison. 

The Captain continued: “Don’t even think that you can go exploring on your own looking for danger. Such braggadocious behavior will not be tolerated in this quiet beach community. It is my duty to keep all of you safe and I’d like to make a strong recommendation that everyone go straight home after to school today and then—” 

Like a giant wooden hook removing him off stage, the bell rang, and Deputy Francis Tippytoe’s preventative scolding was cut short. The crowd shuffled along to their next class. 

Chapter 18

I Shouldn’t Tell You This or Taking Shape

            School let out at 3pm. Lucy and Seven raced to Cecilia’s mansion to demand more clarity concerning the dinner party. When they rolled up to her mansion, they found Mr. Boa carrying groceries into the kitchen through the side door. 

            “Hi, Mr. Boa,” Seven called. “We’re here to see Cecilia.” 

            “Let me fetch her,” Mr. Boa obliged pleasantly. 

            Lucy and Seven waited outside. In the distance, Lucy noticed a shovel next to a fresh pile of dirt near two holes. She walked over to the flower patch below the greenhouse window where the bad guy had landed. She saw that the two holes from this morning were now filled in.

            Mr. Boa came back out. “I’m afraid Cecilia is still taking her afternoon nap. I suggest coming back in about an hour.”

            “Thank you,” Seven said, disappointed.

            “Any updates?” Mr. Boa asked.

            “We haven’t found Mona,” Seven explained.

            “Oh, okay. I was hoping you had,” he said.

            “Mr. Boa, do you know anything about the group that Cecilia had over for dinner Saturday night?” Lucy asked. “Do you know what they were meeting about?”

            “I don’t know… I don’t know any of them,” Mr. Boa explained. “I’ve only lived on the Island for a couple of months. And I was at my sister’s house the night of the dinner party if you remember.”

            “Yes, we remember,” Seven confirmed. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Boa.”

Lucy and Seven started to leave.

            “Well, there is one thing that might be of value,” Mr. Boa said. He moved in close to talk quietly. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you, but I overheard Cecilia talking on the phone about a man named Stetson who she is having a big problem with, or perhaps, he has a problem with her.”

            “What sort of problem?” asked Lucy, knowing the man he was referring to was Stetson Albany, one of the dinner guest suspects.

            “I don’t know the details. She was just very distraught. Please don’t tell her I told you this. It’s none of my business. But she was so upset.”

“We won’t mention your name to Cecilia,” Seven assured.

            They thanked Mr. Boa for his time and then walked across the street to their basement detective headquarters. They first, however, grabbed a couple cups of coffee and a handful of chocolate chip cookies from the sunroom of the Flying Cow Inn.

            Down in HQ Lucy and Seven munched on cookies at their make-shift desks. It was 3:16. Lucy put her feet up. Seven looked down at her notes.

            “So, Mrs. Houston says that before the dinner party she wouldn’t have suspected any of the guests to have stolen Mona,” Seven reviewed. “But after the dinner party, she would suspect one of them probably did it. Something clearly happened at that part, and it was bad, or dramatic, or something.”

            “And Mr. Boa says Stetson Albany and Cecilia were in a big fight,” Lucy added. “Does Mrs. Houston believe Stetson took Mona?”

            Seven stood up and pinned a piece of note paper to the cork board. It read: 

-Mrs. Houston: confirmed she was at the dinner party. She said they are a tight group who works for August Island in some way. Admitted something dramatic occurred at the dinner party. She now suspects someone from group may have taken Mona. She has alibi to be confirmed with the local vet.

-Stetson Albany: He made Cecilia very upset, but what about?

             “This is starting to take shape,” Seven said, smiling.

            Lucy nodded in agreement. 

            Bang! Bang! Bang!

Lucy and Seven jumped from a loud knock on the metal storm doors.

            Seven walked up the concrete steps and lifted open the doors above her head. Afternoon sun poured into the basement. It was a friendly fifth grader named Ravi.

            “Hi Seven,” he announced from above. “I hear you guys are interviewing new members for your detective society. I’d like to apply.”

            Seven checked her watch. “It’s only 3:20. We said 3:30.” 

            “Oh ok. I always keep my watch ten minutes fast so I’m never late.” Seven could see he wasn’t wearing a watch. “Sounds good, Seven. Cool lookin’ place you got down there, Seven. I’ll be waiting right here patiently.” 

Seven closed the doors.

Ravi took a seat on the grass. It wasn’t long before a few more kids walked along the side of the Flying Cow Inn to get in line. 

“They told me it might be a while,” Ravi announced.

Chapter 19

So, You Want to Be a Detective, Huh? or Who Brings the Snacks?

            Down in HQ Lucy and Seven took in the reality that someone had just showed up to interview for membership of their “little club.”

            “I guess Ravi could be like a Jr. Detective,” Lucy suggested.  

            “We do have a lot of grunt work to get through,” Seven said. “Like staplin’ up flyers around town.”

            “True. If he wants to ride around calling for Mona, he’s in.”

*          *          *

            Up above, a group of third graders got in line. “Hey Tom, hey Ty,” Ravi said. “You too, huh, Maria?”

*          *          *

Down in HQ Seven and Lucy discussed the strong possibility of other dinner party guest suspects not wanting to talk.

“If they all refuse to talk to us, what do we do?” Seven asked. “Maybe we bug them so much they talk to us just so we go away. But that approach may not bring us quality information.”

            “What if we can dangle a little carrot cake in front of ‘em,” Lucy suggested. 

            “What do you mean?”

            “Okay… so we need to get the full story, right? And we know some of it so far, so if we need clarification, have a hunch, or need to confirm a detail, we say something like, ‘I already know about the dinner party fight,’ then if the suspect doesn’t correct us, it’s as if they are confirming there was a fight. But if they do correct us, they’ll probably explain what really happened just to set the record straight…  adults love to hear themselves talk.”

            “Dude, that’s genius,” Seven said.

*          *          *

            Up above, the line of kids was growing impatient. 

            “Yo Ravi, knock on the door again,” Franky badgered. 

Ravi refused with a slow and steady shake of the head. “They said 3:30.”

            “What time is it?” some yelled out. 

            “3:26!” someone responded.

            A few more kids strolled up on their bikes. 

From the Inn’s porch, a Flying Cow Inn guest put down his newspaper and afternoon tea: “What are y’all in line for?” he asked a group of kids.

            “We’re all trying to join the Society of Young Detectives, sir,” answered Mary Simon, Seven’s five-year-old sister. The Inn’s guest appeared a little more confused.

*          *          *

            Down below, Lucy and Seven were coming up with the order in which to conduct the questioning of Cecilia’s remaining dinner guests. 

            “I say we do the toy shop owner next,” Seven suggested, referring to Bartholomew Cornucopia. “He’s the friendliest. And a talker. I think he’ll require less grease than the others.”

*          *          *

            Up above, Ravi was getting nervous as his competition continued to grow. “I assume they only have a few spots available,” Ravi remarked to a fifth grader named Max.

            “I’ll probably get in,” said a girl named Rylee. “I’m in eighth grade. They could use a big kid like me.”

            “I’m like invisible when I hide in the bushes,” boasted Jason, an outgoing second grader. 

“I’m very accomplished with puzzles, mazes, and word searches,” said a fourth grader named Brielle. “So, I’ll probably be good at solving mysteries too.” 

            “I can write my name in Morris Code,” said Charley, a first grader. 

            “I brought my binoculars,” said Marley, another first grader. She proudly pulled them out of her backpack to show some of the other kids in line. 

*          *          *

            Down below in HQ, Lucy and Seven saw it was 3:30 and quickly considered what questions to ask Ravi. 

            “How about,” Lucy began, “we ask him questions like ‘What are your plans this summer? Are you allowed to go out at night alone? How good are you at talking to adults?’”

Bang! Bang! Bang! 

They were again startled. Lucy and Seven opened the doors. They poked their heads out. Amid chatter and many greetings, Lucy and Seven discovered a line of eager kids that extended down the side of the Flying Cow Inn, onto the sidewalk, and around the front of the building. 

“What the h-e-double hockey stick,” Lucy muttered to herself. Seven placed both her hands on the top of her head in bafflement.

“Hi Lucy. Hi Seven.” Ravi said politely. “Just so you know, that wasn’t me who banged on the door so rudely like.” Ravi got close to Lucy and snitched out a seventh-grade girl in overalls. “It was Marley. I don’t think she has the patience or the people skills to join your detective society. And I saw a few kids cut the line too. Not a good quality.”

Seven turned to Lucy. “What are we going to do with all these people?” 

            Lucy stood onto the side of the storm doors and yelled an announcement, “Okay everyone, listen up!” All eyes landed on Lucy. “We’re going to do three kids at a time. We’ll tell you what sort of work you’ll have to do, ask you some questions, and then we’ll see if this is a good fit.”

            “I gotta get to baseball practice in ten minutes, can I go first?” yelled someone from way in the back. 

            “Nope!” Lucy answered. 

            “Do you have anything to eat? I’m starvin’!” said another voice. 

            “I have to pee really bad… can I use your bathroom!” a voice was heard.

            “How much do you pay?” asked the one high school kid in attendance.

            “How long is this gonna take?”

            “Guys… guys… GUYS! SHUT YOU’RE YAPPERS,” Lucy announced both sternly and playfully. 

            “You, you, and you, let’s go,” Seven said, pointing to Ravi and the two kids behind him.

            For the next hour, Lucy and Seven explained to fifty-three applicants what would be required of any member of the August Island Society of Young Detectives. This included, but was not limited to, an open summer schedule, morning to night availability, a bike, and freedom to go anywhere on the Island without a parent or guardian.

If any candidate passed that round, they would then be asked if they were comfortable with the following: talking to adults, sitting and waiting for long periods of time, being in tight spaces, and getting in and out of awkward or intense situation. 

If anyone was okay with that, Seven was prepared to wing a test on their logical thinking skills and quick-witted conversational ability, but they were nearing the end of the line, and nobody had been able to get very far:

            “My mom has me in ballet four times a week and twice on Saturdays, can you work around that?” asked Coco, a happy-go-lucky fourth grader. 

            “I’m going to have a babysitter all summer, so she’ll need to come with us,” explained Ian, a smart, but too young second grader. 

“If we’re on a stakeout, will you be providing snacks?” asked Levi, a seventh-grade boy. 

Reluctantly though politely, Ravi pulled himself out of the running after learning he may need to start detective work before 8 am.

“I’ll think about it guys,” Ravi said. “But I gotta be honest… I didn’t bust my butt all school year to have something else cut into my cartoon time.” 

When Seven’s five-year-old sister Mary came in, Seven leaned in and said, “Sweetie, you’re a little too young. But you can hang out.” This made Mary’s day. “Hold this clipboard,” Seven handed her a pencil and a brown clipboard stocked with blank paper. “Draw anything you find interesting about the remaining applicants.”

Mary went wide eyed with honor. Seven gave her sister a fist bump and the interviews continued.

            “Is it too much to ask if you called me when you’re going to chase a bad guy?” asked Kylina, a fifth grader and old friend to Lucy and Seven. “You guys know how fast I can run.”

            “You mean, just go up and talk to them? Adults? By myself!?” asked Quincy., a shy sixth grader. 

            With the line down to its last applicants, everyone so far had declined to join the Society voluntarily, due to scheduling conflicts or the dreaded idea of any sort of hard work during summer vacation. 

Lucy poked her head through the storm doors to see who was left. Two brothers were waiting patiently. One of them was juggling pine cones. “Come on down boys,” Lucy instructed. The two brothers followed her and took a seat, saying hi to Seven and to Mary, who was ready to draw up some more notes.

The two brothers were inseparable “Irish twins” who went by the names Corndog and H.W. They had moved to August Island only three years prior from Austin, TX. They were both in the fifth grade, though Corndog was twelve and H.W. was eleven. They both had faces full of black freckles under a head of black hair, and their ears stuck out like a couple of taxi cabs driving down the road with the doors wide open. Lucy and Seven were fond of them. 

            With a grin, Lucy said: “I was wondering if you two were gonna show up.” 

Chapter 20

The Brothers Pleasant or Owning it

“We love what you did with the Sweet Tea Tomato case,” said H.W., as he and Corndog took a seat across from Lucy and Seven. 

Corndog leaned in close to his brother and mumbled quietly. H.W. spoke for him: “Corndog says he’s excited to see what you two do next, and we’d like to be a part of it.”

Corndog had a debilitating speech impediment. H.W. understood every word from his slightly older brother, while others heard what was often rudely described as muttering gibberish. H.W. was happy to act as translator.

“Before we fill you in on our next case, let’s talk turkey,” Lucy said. 

            “What sort of non-school activities do you do?” asked Seven, even though she sort of knew the answer. “And will they conflict with any potential detective work this summer?” 

            “Lately, I’ve been working on breaking the under eighteen World Record for balancing a gallon of milk on my chin, which is currently set at two hours and twenty-eight minutes from some kid down south.” said H.W. proudly pointing to a rough patch of red on his chin. “Check out this sweet chin callus I got goin’ on.”

“Nice,” Seven commented.

HW continued. “And Corndog is training for the fastest mile run while balancing a football on his head, which is currently set at nine minutes fifty-seven seconds.”

            Corndog muttered to his brother with excitement. 

“Yeah, you did!” H.W. said, giving him a high five. “Corndog did it in 10:19 yesterday.”

Corndog spoke again. “For sure,” H.W. replied to his brother, then turned to Lucy and Seven. “But, as my brother said, we’d be happy to set aside both projects to work on any cases with you two. We find sticking it to the man to be irresistible.” Lucy and Seven smiled.

“You two are only fifth graders, what’s your curfew?” Seven asked. “And any restrictions on where you can go on the island?”

“Are you kidding me?” H.W. answered. “Our parents are a couple of hippies. We can do whatever we want whenever we want.”

Corndog mumbled something to his brother. “Corndog says he often yearns for a strict 7 pm bedtime, chores, speaking only when spoken to, and a stern father who withholds love regularly and makes us call him sir.”

“You do, Corndog?” Lucy asked with concern.

“No,” said H.W., “He’s joking.” Corndog and H.W. laughed real hard.

“Okay okay… no conflicts this summer, no curfew, a deep desire to stick it to the man, and lots of special skills,” Lucy read from her notes. “Splendiferous.”

Along with the balancing of milk jugs and footballs, the special skills Seven was referring to were a number of obscure talents that the brothers had acquired over years of consistent and diligent training in the attempt beat records found in the Guinness Book or create records of their own. The brothers were exceptional skateboarders, jugglers, and frisbee throwers. Most importantly, they were hard working and goal oriented. 

In their short lives, Corndog had already acquired two World Records and H.W. had one under his belt. Corndog held the record for balancing a wooden baseball bat on two of his fingers, which he did at age nine for 18 hours, 11 minutes and 43.1 seconds. He also held the under-18 record for walking the furthest while holding a brick in one hand without letting it go. He broke that record this past autumn hiking 19.2 miles all over the Island. It took him just over seven hours and he didn’t get feeling back in his hand until the following day. H.W. holds the record for an individual juggling five apples while eating them one bite at a time without stopping until nothing is left. Not even the apple core. The August Island Gazette had referred to the brothers as “local legends” in two articles. 

“Out of curiosity,” Seven began, “how long do you plan on sticking with your nicknames?”

             “Forever,” H.W. said emphatically. 

“They’re not nicknames,” Corndog mumbled.

“He says, they’re not nicknames,” H.W. translated. “They are our real names. Not on paper, but spiritually speaking.”

*          *          *

            As you may have guessed, Corndog and H.W. are not their real names. In fact, H.W. was a compromise to those who didn’t want to call him his full original, potentially crass nickname of Heinousweiner. 

            Corndog and Heinousweiner were given their names by a nasty pack of seventh grade bullies at the beginning of the school year. Out for emotional blood, the big bad tormenters went after the two brothers on the school’s crowded four-square courts over a blue bouncy four-square ball. Maybe the bullies went after them because of their oversized clothes or homemade haircuts. Maybe it was the way Corndog talked. Maybe it was because the bullies considered the brothers to be outsiders, having only lived on August Island for three years. 

After a tussle with the stolen four-square ball, there was some back and forth arguing. A crowd began to form, until the bullies announced for all to hear that these two brothers looked like a couple of hot dogs and should now be called Corndog and Heinousweiner. However, the bullies did not understand exactly who they were dealing with.

No one would have blamed the two brothers if they had grown embarrassed and angry. But instead, they responded to the bullies by expressing how much they loved their new names, zealously thanking them for such a gift. Owning the insult, they got in the bullies’ faces and demanded their unwavering commitment to calling them Corndog and Heinousweiner for the rest of their lives. Such a response stunned the bullies, and they didn’t know how to react.

The brothers didn’t stop there, stating that if any of the bullies failed to call them Corndog and Heinousweiner there would be aggressive consequences. The two brothers then climbed to the top of the highest jungle gym and gathered the attention of everyone on the playground. H.W. announced that “these wonderful bullies” had given them “beautiful new names”, and formally requested that, “from this moment forward, please do us the pleasure of calling me Heinousweiner and my brother Corndog.” 

The sarcasm was not lost on the audience of enthusiastic juveniles, and everyone laughed at the bullies for such a sad attempt at being cruel. 

The brothers didn’t stop there. For the rest of the year, any time they saw one of the bullies in the halls, H.W. reminded them, with brash intensity, to call them by their new names: “You’ll keep calling us that, right? Right!? Please do. Will you? I want you to… forever.” 

Seeing one of the bullies around town with a parent was particularly satisfying for Corndog and Heinousweiner, as they compellingly thanked them for their new names then walked away, leaving the bully to explain their evil deed to their mommy or daddy. As a result, the bullies now do everything they can to avoid Corndog and Heinousweiner, and the brothers carry their given names as badges of honor and a warning to anyone who wishes to cast stones.

*          *          *

            “Well okay then,” Lucy said to the brothers.

“Next question,” Seven said. “What’s heavier, a pound of feathers or a pound of bricks?”

Corndog answered. H.W. interpreted, “He asks are the feathers are still attached to the chickens?”

“Uuuh, no.”

Corndog again leaned into his brother’s ear.

“He asks if the feathers or the bricks are in any sort of box or bag and if so, what does said container weigh?”

“They’re not in anything.”

“What about the scale?” H.W. asked on his own. “Has it been calibrated recently? Or certified by the Office of Weights and Measures?”

“Sure... if that helps you,” Seven answered. 

“Okay, okay…” Lucy said, cutting to the chase. “A bad guy steals a precious artifact from a third story building. There is an open window and a recently broken trellis going from the windowsill down to a patch of mud. There is no mud inside the room from which the precious artifact was stolen. What are your thoughts?”

            The brothers thought for a moment. 

“Well,” H.W. began. “I would assume they exited from the window but came in a different way.” 

            Corndog leaned towards his brother and muttered something. H.W. spoke for him: “He asks if you checked for footprints in the mud below?” 

            “Very good,” Seven commented.

            Corndog muttered more. “He says you probably want to figure out how the perpetrator got into the third-floor room, and if so, is the obvious way through the front door out of the question?”

            “It is not, but let’s say a front door entrance would be difficult to navigate,” Lucy explained.

            H.W. and Corndog conversed briefly. “Is there any secret way into the third floor?”

            “There’s a dumbwaiter,” Lucy said with a smile. The brothers were passing phase three. 

            “Inside the dumbwaiter… were there any footprints? Any clues?”

            “Crud,” Lucy said, looking at Seven. “We never looked inside the dumbwaiter.”

            “Mary, what’s your take on these two?” Seven asked her little sister, who had been observing quietly the entire time.

            “I got a good feeling about them,” she said in her squeaky voices. 

            “Last question,” Seven announced. “Why do you want to join the August Island Society of Young Detectives?”

            Corndog and H.W. looked at each other, then both said, “Adventure.”

Then Corndog leaned over to his brother to give a longer answer. H.W. translated: “Over the last year, we’ve noticed a poverty of the spirit among August Island residents… Corndog calls it a fog of pessimism. But he swears that fog was lifted a bit when you saved the Fandango’s Sweet Tea cherry tomato farm.” H.W. put his arm around his brother and said to him, “It did, didn’t it Corny… good call.”

Lucy and Seven excused themselves and walked to the other side of the basement for a private conference on whether to invite the brothers into the society. 

            When they came back, Lucy explained to Corndog and H.W. the basics of the case of missing Mona. She told them the areas for which they needed help, including interviewing the crew at the ferry, following up with alibis, putting up fliers, and the grueling work of riding around town calling for Mona. The brothers were eager and ready.

Lucy gave the formal invite: “On behalf of the August Island Society of Young Detectives, we’d like to invite you two to join. What do you say?”

Corndog spoke first. They understood him: “Yes, please.” 

“Absolutely,” H.W. agreed. “Let’s find this parrot.”

            They all stood up and shook hands. They smiled wide from the exciting anticipation of attacking the Case of Missing Mona together, and although they didn’t know it at the time, they were forging friendships and a bond that would continue for the rest of their lives. 

            “Corndog asks if you have some sort of detective’s pledge we can recite,” translated H.W.

            Seven motioned to Mary, “Write that down… we need a pledge.”