Ollie and the Science of Treasure Hunting (14 Day Mysteries) - Hardcover

Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

Erin Dionne is the author of Models Don't Eat Chocolate Cookies, The Total Tragedy of a Girl Named Hamlet,  Notes from an Accidental Band Geek, and Moxie and the Art of Rule Breaking, which was nominated for an Edgar award. Erin writes about the miseries, mysteries, and magic of middle school, and teaches liberal arts at a small college north of Boston. She lives with her family in Framingham, Massachusetts.

Erin Dionne is the author of Models Don't Eat Chocolate Cookies, The Total Tragedy of a Girl Named Hamlet,Notes from an Accidental Band Geek, and Moxie and the Art of Rule Breaking, which was nominated for an Edgar award. Erin writes about the miseries, mysteries, and magic of middle school, and teaches liberal arts at a small college north of Boston. She lives with her family in Framingham, Massachusetts.

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“Stay out of trouble.”

Kids hear that all the time, and most of the time we barely pay attention.

But when an FBI agent says it, and it’s the fourth time in two weeks that you’ve been to the federal building in Boston? You listen.

Or try to.

My mom, Agent Goh, and the lawyer who my dad insisted be present after our second trip—but who didn’t seem to do anything other than drink more cups of coffee than was humanly possible—were in Conference Room B, the same one I’d been in the other three times I’d been “debriefed.” That was a nice way of saying “questioned until I couldn’t remember my name anymore.”

Agent Goh leaned across the table, his gelled spiky black hair glittering in the overhead light.

“Stay out of trouble for me, okay?” he repeated, but this time with less of an “I’m an FBI agent” serious ring to it and more like the tired way my homeroom teacher last year would say it, when she’d get a headache and pinch the bridge of her nose.

“Stay out of trouble, lay low. And have fun.” He leaned back in his chair. “Geocache. Hang out by the campfire. Swim.” Then he turned his gaze to my mom. “Mrs. Truong, thank you for being so understanding. We believe this is the best course of action for Oliver. It will keep him out of the spotlight and let us wrap up the case against James O’Sullivan.”

My mom, whose hands were folded together so tightly the knuckles were white, gave a curt nod, like her neck was wound too tight and it hurt her to move it. “Of course. He loves camp. It just seems so soon . . .” She trailed off and took a minute to sweep a stray piece of sandy hair behind her ear. My mom’s had the same hairstyle ever since I can remember—and has swept the same piece of hair back forever—but today the gesture revealed how tired she was. And for the four thousandth time since all of this started, I felt bad. I hadn’t understood what solving one of the biggest crimes in Boston would do to my family. Everyone was stressed. News vans and reporters had been camped out in front of our house for days. This morning, Mom and I had to leave through the back door and cut through our neighbor’s yard to get out without them seeing us. My dad had taken two weeks out of work—weeks he’d been saving so we could go to Vietnam and visit my grandmother in the fall. That trip would be rescheduled. Even my little sister, LeeLee, was freaked out. She’d wet the bed three times last week, and she hadn’t done that in over a year.

“You’re not in any danger, and neither is Ollie,” Agent Goh said. “We’re confident that Sully and his daughter were working alone. We just need to keep Ollie out of the media spotlight so we can do our jobs. The media glut has been a bit . . . distracting.”

Their “jobs” were collecting evidence from the three historical landmarks my best friend Moxie and I had broken in to or defaced in our quest to find over $500 million in art stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum—which we’d found, and returned, and were each $2.5 million richer because of it. Or we would be, when they finished verifying the paintings’ authenticity. But thanks to some guy who worked in the restoration department at the museum and had visions of being a TV star, our names had been splashed all over the media—a “distraction” for the FBI, but miserable for me, Moxie, and our families.

Mom sighed, and I felt lower than a snail’s butt. Staying out of trouble had always been pretty easy for me. When you’re short, a mix of Caucasian/Vietnamese, asthmatic, overweight, and look a little too much like the kid in that animated movie about the old guy who floats his house away with a zillion balloons, there isn’t much trouble to get into. I played video games, geocached, and hung out with my friend Moxie—who was already on her way to New Hampshire with her mom and her mom’s boyfriend (that was their solution to the “lay low for a couple of weeks” directive).

My parents couldn’t get more time off work, so I’d be heading to Wilderness Scout camp on the Boston Harbor Islands. My troop was scheduled to go in August, but the FBI wouldn’t let me wait that long—so I was going with another troop from Boston, with a bunch of guys I didn’t know. Not that I cared much. After spending two weeks either dodging reporters or in Conference Room B, I was ready to get outside and away from this stuff.

Staying out of trouble? No problem.

Riiiighhhht. . . .

WILDERNESS SCOUTS TROOP 7

Harbor Islands Camping Trip Roster—July 18–August 1

To: All Troop 7 Scouts attending the BHI Camping Trip

From: Scoutmaster Fuentes

Subject: Orienteering Challenge

To kick off our 2 weeks of summer camp, we’re beginning with the annual Orienteering Challenge/Scavenger Hunt. Below are a series of coordinates and clues that you must navigate to find our departure point. Our boat leaves promptly at 2 pm; the challenge begins at 1pm.

Good luck!

1 pm: Begin at N42 21.60384 W71 3.37272

• Find the statue of someone named Red. What’s he holding?

• Cross the Greenway, but instead of an X, these “rings” mark a spot. How many are there, and what is it?

• Who barks at N42 21 32.87 W71 2 58.79?

• Not a rose, but close! We salute you.

• End coordinates: N42.3564864 W -71.049773

DAY 1

1

Here’s how you get into trouble trying to find a boat:

Get there first.

* * *

“Not a rose, but close . . . Not a rose, but close . . .” I squinted at the clue again. I was standing just past the New England Aquarium, the sea lions in their outdoor tank barking for more tiny fish from the handlers. The first of Scoutmaster Fuentes’s riddles were really easy for me to solve: the Red Aubach statue in Faneuil Hall, the Rings Fountain on the Greenway, and the aquarium’s sea lions. But the rose one? This was tough.

I closed my eyes, turned the riddle over in my head:

Not a rose, but close.

Where were there roses in Boston?

That’s when I realized I was “distracted by the shiny,” as Moxie says. Sometimes, when you’re trying to find something, it’s actually right in front of you—you just can’t see it because you’re looking at something else bigger and shinier. The word rose was a distraction—the crux of the clue was “We salute you.” What do we salute?

The flag.

That was it! There was a giant flag in downtown Boston—at Rowes Wharf!

I headed down Atlantic Avenue, the aquarium behind me, dodging tourists and people dressed for work, and soon came to the giant rotunda at the Boston Harbor Hotel. The flag that waved in the wind there was taller than my house.

I stood underneath it and typed the final set of coordinates in my handheld GPS, then took off.

The traffic on Atlantic Avenue struggled past, the cars’ exhaust adding to the heat of the morning. I swiped my forearm across my brow—a Wilderness Scout no-no; we were supposed to use a handkerchief when in uniform—but the sweat came right back.

The GPS chimed. I glanced down. Direction shift. East.

I turned left, onto the Harbor Walk—this cool paved path that had been built along Boston’s waterfront, behind all the hotels, restaurants, and...