“You just said you took them. And we saw you giving a container to someone who came to the back door last night,” Jessie said.
Mr. Chatman took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “That was some extra food in that cooler. I give it to the person who runs a homeless shelter on the mainland. The eggs are all here, safe and sound.”
He led the children to a small room full of big coolers.
“I don’t understand,” the ranger said.
“I want to help the turtles,” Mr. Chatman explained. “I took the eggs because your method of trying to save them isn’t good enough. There are still too many that don’t survive once they reach the water. They’re too little. I thought if I raised them in my tank until they were bigger, they might have a better chance of survival.”
“No, Mr. Chatman!” The ranger became very upset. “The turtles won’t know how to survive in the ocean if they spend time in a tank. And even if they do survive, they may not breed as adults. I thought you knew that. What you are doing is hurting the turtles, not helping them.”
Mr. Chatman turned even more pale. Jessie thought he looked like he was going to be sick. “I thought I did know about turtles,” he said. “But I guess I still had some things to learn. I was very careful with the eggs. Do you think they’ll still hatch?”
Ms. Thakur looked into each container. “Since you haven’t had them long, they still have a good chance of survival. But even if they do survive, what you did was very serious. I’m afraid I’m going to have to make a report, and you will have to pay a fine.”
Mr. Chatman hung his head. “I understand,” he said.
“If you will all help me get these eggs loaded into my car, I’ll get to work trying to save them as soon as I get back to the center.”
As soon as all the containers were in Ms. Thakur’s car, she got in. “I hope to see the rest of you tomorrow,” she said. A faint smile appeared on her face. “We do have one good bit of news. Some turtles at the station are hatching right now. We’ll release them bright and early in the morning. Be there at six thirty if you want to watch.”
“We’ll be there!” Jessie said.
The ranger drove off. Mr. Chatman watched her go. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Everything has gone wrong.”
“Why is your restaurant closed, Mr. Chatman?” Jessie asked.
Mr. Chatman looked up at the restaurant building. “I didn’t tell Ms. Thakur this, but I thought having sea turtles in the tank would help bring people to the restaurant. After all, they are what the island is known for. I needed to do something to help the restaurant. I can’t understand why I don’t have more customers.”
“Some people think your restaurant is too fancy,” Benny blurted.
“They do?” Mr. Chatman sounded surprised. “I didn’t know that. What do you mean?”
“We can show you if we go inside,” Violet said. As soon as they were in the dining room, Violet pointed up to the chandeliers. “They are really pretty, but they are also very fancy.”
“It’s so fancy I feel like I have to whisper in here,” Benny said softly.
“I thought having an elegant restaurant would set us apart from the other places to eat around here,” Mr. Chatman said.
“But people don’t want to come here after being on the beach,” Jessie said. “They don’t want to feel like they have to get dressed up.”
Mr. Chatman went over to the front windows and looked out onto the beach. “Maybe that’s why our lunch business is so slow. But I don’t know much about decorating. I only know about food. How could I fix it so people would want to come here? What would attract children your age?” he asked Benny and Violet.
“Keep the little boat baskets,” Benny said. “I like those!”
“You could make it look like more fun to eat here,” Violet said “It’s not very colorful. The fish are colorful, but everything else is just white and gray.”
Martina walked around the restaurant.
“The children are right. It doesn’t seem like a beach restaurant. I have an idea, a trade, you might call it. I’m an artist. I can help you figure out some new colors and how to change the decorations.”
Mr. Chatman held up his hands. “I don’t know. I can’t pay you very much at all.”
“You wouldn’t have to pay me much if you’d let me show and sell some of my artwork in your entry area.”
“Martina makes shell pictures,” Violet said. “The tourists like them.”
Mr. Chatman thought for a moment. “I suppose that might work. Why don’t you bring some in and let me take a look at them?”
“I have another idea that might help you, and Tommy Fischer too,” Henry said.
“Tommy Fischer! Why would I want to help him?” Mr. Chatman frowned.
“He’s having a hard time with his business too. The people he takes fishing have to bring their own food. He’s not allowed to provide it, but they don’t like it when they run out. You could make picnic lunches for people to pick up before they go fishing or before they spend the day on the beach. Tommy could send them here to order.”
Mr. Chatman sat down at a table. “You know, that’s a very good idea. I could do that. I make some amazing sandwiches, if I do say so for myself.”
“What kind?” Benny asked. He realized he was getting very hungry.
“Well, since you are here and the restaurant isn’t open, let me make you some. If you like them, I’ll add them to the menu.”
The sandwiches were very good. When the children were finished, Martina took them back to the beach. The Aldens spent the rest of the afternoon there. In the evening, Grandfather joined them for a final cookout, but they went to bed early so they could wake up for the turtle release.
The next morning the sun had just risen when the Aldens headed for the ranger station.
Park rangers were roping off a narrow strip of sand and putting netting up above it. When the children reached the site, a ranger directed them to a spot behind a rope.
“Hatchlings use the moon or sunlight shining on the water and the white foam of the waves to help them find their way,” the ranger said. “White clothing or shoes can confuse them. Those who are wearing white, please move back to stand behind the others.”
Benny looked down at his shirt. It was blue, and he was happy he didn’t have the move. Henry’s shoes were white, so he stood behind Jessie and Violet.
Two park rangers walked into the water. Both were carrying long poles with fake owls on the ends of them.
“The netting and the plastic owls are to keep away the gulls,” one of the rangers explained. “They try to dive down to get the turtles and eat them.”
Ms. Thakur arrived. A helper set a big box down on the sand. The ranger spoke to the crowd. “The eggs have to incubate for about fifty days, so the turtles we are releasing today were collected a couple of months ago.” She opened the lid.
Violet held her breath. She could hardly wait to see. Ms. Thakur took a hatchling out of the box and set it down in the sand. Then she reached for another. Violet couldn’t believe how small the turtles were. Each one was only a little bigger than a quarter. Soon there were dozens of little hatchlings pulling themselves toward the surf.
“They are so cute!” Violet said. Jessie began to take pictures.
“They don’t look like the adults,” Henry said. “The babies are a lot darker gray.”
“Normally, these turtles hatch at night, so being dark gray is an advantage,” one of the other rangers said. “They can make their way to the water in the dark, and it’s more difficult for the predators to see them.”
“Why don’t you just carry them to the water?” Benny asked Ms. Thakur. “It’s a long way for a little turtle.”
“It is hard for them, but it’s necessary. Time spent crawling on the beach is important. These turtles do something called imprinting. We don’t understand exactly how it works, but somehow crawling on this beach when they hatch does something to the turtles’ brains. Year
s from now, the female sea turtles that may have traveled thousands of miles away from here will return to the same beaches where they hatched and lay their own eggs.”
“That’s amazing!” Violet said. She and Benny followed the turtles along the roped-off area toward the water.
The first few turtles reached the water. The waves toppled them over and some of the crowd gasped.
“They can’t swim!” a girl cried.
“Just watch,” the ranger said. The little turtles struggled, but within a very short time, they figured out how to move their flippers in the water and made their way out to sea.
When the last turtle disappeared into the water, the crowd cheered.
Jessie looked out at the water. She imagined the baby turtles swimming on the underwater currents. “It would be fun to be a ranger here,” she said to Violet. “I’d like to see the turtles come back year after year.”
“Yes,” Violet agreed. “When we get home, I’m going to go to the library and check out some books on sea turtles.”
The rangers began to take down the netting and the ropes. The crowd moved away.
“Grandfather will be here soon to pick us up,” Henry said. “We need to pack.”
They said good-bye to Ms. Thakur, then went back to the campsite. Jessie and Henry took down the tent while Benny and Violet gathered up their gear.
“I’m glad you’re still here!” a voice called. It was Martina. She hurried toward them, carrying her usual bags and struggling to hold on to Sandy’s leash. “Sandy and I wanted to say good-bye.”
Violet was happy to see Martina. “I was afraid you’d be angry at us because we thought you and Sandy had been digging up the turtle eggs.”
Martina set down the bags. “I understand why you suspected us. I should have just told the ranger what I was trying to do. It’s all right though. No harm done.”
She reached into one of the bags and took out four little turtles made of seashells. “These are for you, so you can remember Padre Island.”
“Thank you!” Jessie said. “This has been such a good trip we won’t ever forget it.”
“I hope you’ll come back sometime,” Martina said. “And when you do, maybe you’d like to come on a bird-watching trip with me. Tommy Fischer is doing bird-watching tours now in addition to fishing trips. He’s going to hire me to lead some. Between that and selling my shell pictures at The Laughing Gull, Sandy and I should be able to spend plenty of time at the beach.”
Jessie got her camera. “Let’s get a picture of all of us together, so we have something to remember.”
Everyone gathered together for a picture. Jessie held up the camera in front of them. “Say cheese,” she said.
“No, say turtle!” Benny said.
“Turtle!”
Turn the page to read a sneak preview of
THE HUNDRED-YEAR MYSTERY
the next
Boxcar Children mystery!
Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts. Will there be ghosts? Six-year-old Benny Alden biked far behind his brother and sisters. Usually he pedaled the fastest, leading the way. Not today. Not where they were going.
Benny could see the others far ahead. Fourteen-year-old Henry was in front. Twelve-year-old Jessie and ten-year-old Violet biked close behind. The curvy bike path led away from Greenfield. The Aldens had never followed this path before. They never had a reason to go this way. Until now.
Will there be ghosts? Benny shivered. He fell farther and farther behind. Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts. That’s all he’d thought about since breakfast—since what Grandfather had said.
This morning at breakfast, Benny had talked and talked and talked about his hundred-day project. Everyone at Benny’s school needed to collect one hundred of something, or make one hundred of something, or do one hundred somethings. But Benny couldn’t think of one hundred of anything that wasn’t boring.
He’d tried a bunch of things. Gluing one hundred pennies on ping-pong paddles? Bor-ing. Stringing one hundred pieces of popcorn? Bor-ing. Bending one hundred pipe cleaners into animal shapes? Bor-ing. His best idea had been to collect one hundred worms. For two days he dug all around the backyard. But he only found ten worms. He set them free.
Then, at breakfast, Grandfather had asked, “How would the four of you like to take a tour of Wintham Manor?”
“Isn’t that the giant gray house on the hill?” Jessie asked.
“That’s Wintham Manor, all right,” said Grandfather. “No one’s lived there for a hundred years.”
“Why not?” Benny asked.
Grandfather wiggled his eyebrows and said, “That is one of the many mysteries of Wintham Manor. My friend Ella leads tours there and said you’re welcome to come. She told me the Manor will be one hundred years old next month.” Grandfather smiled at Benny. “With all your talk of one hundred this and one hundred that, I think a hundred-year-old house is a perfect place to visit.”
“But,” Benny said, “I can’t carry a whole house to school for my project.”
Grandfather had laughed. “No, I expect not. But Wintham Manor might give you a helpful idea or two. Besides, the four of you have been wanting to bike to someplace you’ve never been before. Today seems a perfect day for a new adventure.”
Henry, Jessie, and Violet had all liked Grandfather’s suggestion. So now the children were biking to visit the mysterious old house. What bothered Benny was why no one had lived in Wintham Manor for a hundred years. He could think of only one good reason. Ghosts. People were afraid to live in Wintham Manor…because it was haunted!
In the distance, Henry and the girls biked up a hill past a group of tall rocks. Benny shuddered. The rocks looked like giant fingers reaching up out of the ground. A few minutes later he got to the rocks and stopped. They didn’t look as scary close up. Benny noticed something strange on the tallest finger. Someone had carved marks near the bottom. The markings were old and worn. They sort of looked like words, but different.
What if it’s a warning? Benny wondered. What if it means “danger”? Benny jumped on his bike, pedaling as fast as he could until he caught up with the others.
As the sun moved higher in the sky, the bike path took a sharp curve along a creek. That’s when the children saw the manor. The dirty stone building stood like a castle on the next hill. Henry stuck his right arm out and down. It was their signal to stop. The Aldens stared at the giant house. A dark cloud passed over it. Benny’s heart thumped as the house fell into the shadow of the cloud.
One corner of Wintham Manor was a huge stone tower. Violet pointed to the top. “Look at that big window,” she said. “It’s like the tower where Rapunzel let down her hair.”
“The whole house looks like something out of a fairy tale,” said Jessie.
“Or a scary movie,” said Benny, “with ghosts.”
“Wintham Manor is not scary,” said Jessie. “It’s just old.”
“How do you know?” Benny asked.
“Because,” said Jessie, “Grandfather would never send us anyplace like that.”
Henry smiled. “I wouldn’t let anything hurt my favorite little brother. Not even some old ghost.”
Jessie knew how to move Benny’s mind away from ghosts. “I could use some water and a snack before we bike up that hill,” she said.
“Me too!” said Benny, opening his backpack. He still wasn’t sure about ghosts, but he was sure he was hungry. Benny unwrapped a fig bar and started talking about his hundred-day project…again.
Jessie sighed. “Benny, you’re really going to have to choose a project soon.” She tore open a small bag of pretzels. “Maybe it won’t be perfect, but it has to be something.”
Benny stuck out his jaw. “It’s not my fault I was sick when the hundred-day project started,” he said. “By the time I got back to school, all the good ideas were taken.” Benny folded the entire cookie into his mouth.
“I tried to give you one hundred buttons,” said Jessie, “and Violet offered a hundred colored pencils
, and Henry said you could pick out a hundred nails.”
“Mgshwidlfhst.” Benny tried to speak, but his mouth was too full.
Henry laughed. “What did you say?”
“Benny,” whispered Violet, “you should finish chewing before you talk.”
Benny chewed and chewed. Then he swallowed. “I want my project to be something really, really different,” he said finally.
The children ate their snacks in silence. This was going to be one project Benny would have to figure out for himself. When they finished, Jessie collected their garbage into a bag to throw away later. She looked around at the blue creek and the green trees and the big manor on the next hill. It gave her an idea. “If we have time,” she said, “I’d like Violet to take a few photos for my blog.”
Jessie’s blog was called Where in Greenfield? Every week she posted a photo of something around town—a tree house, a playground, a statue. Her readers sent in guesses about where in Greenfield the photo was taken. The next week, Jessie blogged the answer and posted a new photo. She thought the creek would be the perfect place for this week’s entry.
Henry checked his watch and said, “Okay, let’s meet back here in fifteen minutes.”
Violet pulled her camera from her bike basket. Jessie took out the notebook and pen she always carried in her pocket. As the girls went exploring, the boys took off their shoes and socks and waded into the creek. A swarm of tadpoles darted away. “I could bring one hundred tadpoles for my project,” said Benny.
Henry laughed. “You would have to catch them first.” He picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the water. The stone skipped five times. He found another stone for Benny. “Hold it sideways, like this,” said Henry. He moved Benny’s fingers around the edges. Benny’s first stone sank. But after a few tries, Benny could skip a stone two and three times.
For a while, Benny forgot about the project. But when they stopped skipping stones, the thoughts came back. “I’ll never have a good idea,” he said. “Never, ever, ever.”
“Sometimes,” said Henry, “when I have a problem I can’t solve, I just stop thinking about it.”
The Sea Turtle Mystery Page 6