The Palmer Creek Mystery

1—Penchant for Trouble

My best friend wanted to stay and fight. I was less willing. In that split-second window of time between one bad choice and another, I managed to convince him to RUN! Where? The first place I thought of—the safety of the dangerous, and totally out-of-bounds—Palmer Creek Canyon.

Our problem? Nothing much, just three bad guys chasing two sixth graders with the goal of getting us out of the way—permanently.

How’d we manage to become their priority?

Easy.

I have a penchant for trouble.

Of course, I really don’t know what penchant means. Mom says it though—so it must be true. “Nicholas Y. Jones, I can’t believe what you just did. You have an absolute penchant for trouble.”

My penchant is like a magnet. Trouble finds me. So it’s not surprising to see me now at the center of a sticky mystery.

But this isn’t your average whodunit. It’s as if everyone in the town decided to participate. Our banker. Our teacher. Our principal. Our farmer. Our Sheriff. Even—well, you’ll find out, there are others. Nevertheless, my penchant lured me, my best friend, and the smartest person I know—Gracie, into the middle of a mixed up treasure hunt and a founder’s riddle. The likes of which three modern Tom Sawyers couldn’t have resisted.

My best friend who wanted to stay and fight—you need to hear more about him. We linked up as buddies last year—fifth grade. His first day of school just happened to land on a substitute teacher’s first day of ever teaching. That kind of thing shouldn’t be allowed.

Miss Rondeau had Ymount standing in front of the classroom to introduce himself—you know, that’s what teachers like to do. I’m not sure why they do that. I suppose they’re taught at Teacher’s School something about how to make a boy feel welcome. It always backfires. I’ve seen it a dozen times. And this time was no different.

“Class, this is Eemount.” That’s how she pronounced it—wrong.

“Whymount.” Ymount corrected her.

Miss Rondeau gave it another try.“Ymount,” she said it correctly this time, “is new. Let’s give him a big Palmer Creek Pirate welcome.”

Then with her newly gained teacher wisdom, she raced right into a disaster. “Class, any questions for Ymount?”

I could see what was coming—I marveled at why Miss Rondeau couldn’t. Immediately up shoots the hand of Mookie Blandings. Rich kid. Dad’s a lawyer—big shot.

“Soooo, Ymount,” Mookie paused, tilted his head to the side, “where’d you get your name? Sounds da-nger-oussss.”

Now Mookie’s one of those guys that you love to not love, if you know what I mean.

Mookie’s gang sniggered on cue. I could feel things heading south.

Ymount got tense—sensed a setup. He curtly answered, “My. Mom. And. My. Dad. named me. That’s where I got it. Want to make something of it?”

I immediately liked Ymount’s style.

Miss Rondeau, not catching on, leaned over to Ymount, put her hand on his back and whispered, “Don’t be shy dear, we’re all friends here.”

I could see Ymount’s back stiffen. Miss Rondeau repeated Mookie’s question out loud and encouraged Ymount to answer.

“Fine! My dad proposed to my mom at a famous Y on a mountain.”

Mookie couldn’t resist. “Y—on a mountain? Was your dad… ?”

We never heard the rest of the question.

Ymount leapt forward. He jumped over the desk of Julie Sweetwater—most annoying girl in class, by the way. He landed on top of Mookie and fists were flying. Ymount was getting the better of him too as Miss Rondeau finally got to them, broke them up, and drew all the wrong conclusions.

“Well… I cannot believe this behavior Ymount! To the office!”

Day One: First visit to the principal’s office by Ymount. I knew he and I would be best friends from then on.

***

Fast-forward to this year—sixth grade.

Friday night football is a big deal in Palmer Creek. Almost everyone goes to the game. I mean, the town nearly empties—a perfect time for villain-work. Ymount and I were heading to the game. Mom had some last minute advice. Something about “not running around town after the game looking for trouble.”

“I would never.”

She had that mother-knows-more-about-you-than-you-know-yourself look, and then said, “Nick, there are always eyes on you.”

I didn’t think anything of that comment. I was just happy to get going. Ymount and I we’re the ball boys, so we have the best seats in the house. Now I have to say, there’s nothing better than beating your arch rival. Palmer Creek Pirates 35 - Terrance Terriers 3! Bragging rights for a year.

“Great job, Nick!” I heard from the quarterback after the game. “Thanks for keeping the ball dry.”

You know, high-fives from all those guys made me feel pretty good about myself. Like, I was part of the team. Like, I was invincible. It was on our twelve block walk home that I learned otherwise. It was really dark. It was really quiet. That wasn’t normal.

We were nearing the city park when Ymount grabbed my arm, stopped me, and said, “You hear that?”

“No—what?”

“Someone screamed.”

“Let’s get out of here!” Mom’s advice still fresh in my mind.

“Too late, someone’s in trouble. We gotta help.”

Before I knew it, we were plunging straight into the park ducking and dodging, using a few big oaks for cover. Then I heard it too. A big, shrill, squealing scream. We picked up our pace, working our way to the center of those screams.

We paused a second, crouched down so as not to be seen.

Ymount whispered, “There!”

“Where?” I asked—but too late. He had already taken off. My only choice? Follow.

We were closing in on the old civil war blockhouse fort located in the middle of the park. It was always locked up tight. I had to wonder for the millionth time, why was it there?

The truth was, nobody knew. I mean, Palmer Creek, Oregon never fought in the civil war, and yet this fort was the centerpiece of our park. But, as you’ll soon hear, stranger things than that existed in this little town.

We rounded the fort, using it for cover, when we heard yet another scream. But that wasn’t the worst of it—three men were huddled around an extra-large pillowcase stuffing someone inside.

We tried to sneak away—maybe get to the sheriff or something. But we were spotted. What’d we do? Well, I’ll put it to you this way—once I heard “LET’S GET ‘EM!” I wasn’t exactly fond of waiting around to learn more. I grabbed Ymount’s arm—pulled hard. We put it into high gear and ran for our lives.

Those bad guys were fast.

We were faster—barely.

2-The Hourglass Log

Running through the Palmer Creek Canyon in the dark is fool’s errand, that is, unless you’re two twelve-year olds running for your life. The good news—we had the light of the full moon to help. The bad news—so did they.

What made the Palmer Creek Canyon so dangerous? Rumors mostly. But they were rumors good enough to believe—and I did.

For instance, there was the time our city manager said she saw a bear, “It was there, then it wasn’t, but I tell you there was a bear.”

Or the time one of our more colorful citizens, Orville Pinter, said he saw a pig chasing a cougar, right through the canyon. Nobody believed—except me.

And then, there was also the time our Principal made a morning announcement over the intercom directed to each student, though most looked at me as he said it, “Stay out of the canyon—it’s full of snakes.”

So Ymount and I climbed the chainlink fence guarding the main canyon entrance and leapt over it. We took off in a sprint. Unfortunately, we didn’t get more than 30 feet before we both tripped over a tree branch that wasn’t there, and then it was.

We picked ourselves up and started to move forward when we heard other bodies hitting the chainlink fence, climbing up and over—three of them.

A big fellow went first. He struggled I could tell. His two accomplices braced him from behind. He made it to the top of the fence. But then one of the others pushed a little too hard and he fell right over on the other side. He got to his feet, turned and shouted, “Idiot!” Then turned towards where we were now hiding and said, “Which way’d they go Cleatus.”

By then Cleatus was at the top of the fence. “Boss—them kids went that way.” As he pointed, he too lost his balance, and instead of falling, managed to sort of leap out and landed right on the back of the big fellow—piggy back style.

The big fellow turned swinging, but everywhere he swung there was nobody to hit. Cleatus clung tightly to his back—sort of like holding a tiger by the tail I guess.

The third fellow—quiet type. Seemed to slither right up that fence, stand on top with perfect balance, jump, and land on his feet without a problem. He didn’t say anything. Just laughed. And not a good laugh either.

“Quiet.” The big fellow commanded.

Cleatus managed to safely dismount, and the three of them scanned the trails. There were two possibilities. One trail took off to the left, and I knew from experience it did nothing more than skirt the perimeter of the canyon. The trail on the right—the one we had taken—led to the mysterious log.

Cleatus said, “Boss, to the left, that’s the way.” And the three of them took off in a gentle trot.

I felt relief. I waved for Ymount to follow me. Unfortunately within another thirty feet a tree root, that wasn’t there before, reached up and grabbed my shoe. Down I went, and down Ymount went on top of me. We made enough noise to help those bad guys realize they’d taken the wrong trail.

“This way!” The big guy shouted.

They came after us.

We ran hard.

They fell about every thirty-to-fifty feet.

We fell about every thirty-to-fifty feet.

But you know, “fortune favors the brave.” It’s a saying Mrs. Calderón has. She’s our reading teacher—we get her an hour every day. Other than recess, it’s the best part of the day. Funny how I thought about her just then. I guess it was that fortune and brave thing that was happening. Every time they fell, that Cleatus fellow would say, “Boss—come on, let’s get outta here. Them kids didn’t see nothin’.

They’d then argue for a few minutes.

“Ye coward.” The big fellow would say.

Then all three would take off again in our direction.

Those few minutes though were valuable—gave us just enough time to create the separation we needed to get ahead, and to be the first to find the old mark. The hourglass symbol that would lead to our log, and to our safety.

There was one other really dangerous thing about our canyon. Poison oak was everywhere. If you didn’t know what you were doing, you’d get it bad. Now, poison oak by itself isn’t dangerous. It’s what it reveals that can hurt you. It’s often a sure sign you’ve been where you shouldn’t. Trust me, people notice.

By now we’d descended quite a ways. I could hear the creek and that told me I was close. We sped up, getting more accustomed to the tricky trees our fall rate slowed down. We reached the bottom where the creek flowed steady. We followed the creek a little farther and I found the first signs of what I was looking for. Logs seemed to be randomly stretched across the creek bed. I could hear the men coming up from behind.

“It’s here somewhere, it’s got to be.” I have a habit of talking to myself when stressed. Then I saw it, a log that looked a little unnatural to me. I jumped on top, got down on my knees, and searched with my hands. In no time at all, I found it. The hourglass symbol—about 6 inches tall, 2 inches wide, and etched into the side of the log.

“Ymount—found it!” I was excited. But there was no answer.

“Ymount?” I called.

He was no longer behind me. I turned around in a panic. “Ymount.” I repeated a little louder. That’s when I heard the clicking sound of Ymount’s knife. And if I’d heard it, I knew the bad guys heard it too.

I retraced my steps and found Ymount. He was standing on an old dead stump. He had taken out his dad’s pocketknife—a gift. Opened the main blade, and was pointing it at the bad guys. He looked like he was getting ready to make a cavalry charge.

“Ymount, over here.” I finally got his attention.

“Go, Nick. I’ll hold them off.” Classic Ymount.

I ran to him, grabbed his arm, and pulled.

“I found it.”

He looked at me. “You sure?”

“Yep, follow me. This way.”

“My dad,” Ymount said.

“What?” I asked.

“I felt him with me.”

I didn’t really know what to say. “Oh. Follow me, okay?”

Here’s the problem—when I said ‘follow me,’ I think that big man thought I was talking to him. He pointed at me and said, “There they be. Get’em!”

Ever notice how a second feels like an eternity? Or at least like a whole minute? Anyway, during that time between ‘Get’em’ and me ‘getting,’ we caught a pretty good look at each other. The big fellow—tall, bald, and his head was bleeding. Looked like the canyon was getting the best of him.

Now it was Ymount’s turn to urge me to run. “Go! Go!”

We did. He followed me to that log with the hourglass symbol on it. We scooted across it in no time. We had to jump in the middle of briar bushes that were at least eight feet tall. In the past when I would enter the hideout, I could take my time and move those thorns around with a stick to get in. Not this time. Our clothes were shredded and we had a few scars that would prove where we’d been.

Covering the end of the log was a thick mossy webbing. We moved it to the side, and then crawled into the log. It was a tight squeeze. But we made it. Truth was, we probably had enough room for one more person, but I was glad it was just us. We each curled up into a tight ball, stopped breathing as much as possible, and waited—inside the log. The strange log that never decayed. The one marked by the hourglass. If you knew what you were looking for, it meant safety.

Shortly after settling in—we both heard it. The invitation.

It’s hard to describe the voice. It was deep, gravely, and raw. And, it boomed through the night.

“You boys ok?”

Then, after a brief pause. “We could sure use a little help, we’re kind of lost.”

A long uncomfortable silence followed. Nothing was moving, nothing was making a noise, not even the crickets who were notoriously loud that time of year. Everything was completely still.

The next invitation eventually followed.

“You good boys be willing to come and lend a shipmate a hand?” That was the big man. I nicknamed him—Gravel.

“We won’t harm you.” That was Cleatus.

“Fair is fair, we’ll trade your freedom for ours.” Gravel.

We knew it was a lie.

“He he he.” That was the other man. I didn’t like him the most.

Ymount and I were shoulder-to-shoulder. He was on my right. I managed a quick peek at him. He was working his hand back into his pocket—to get to his knife again.

I wasn’t sure what to do. I was afraid of what he might do with that knife—this was no time to attack. I gently grabbed his arm and lowered it.

We were actually pretty lucky. There was a beam of moonlight that somehow made it through the canyon treetops and filtered into a few cracks on our log. Made me feel better.

Ymount mouthed, “Let’s fight.”

I mouthed, “Not yet.”

Then, the moonlight that was filtering in—disappeared. Someone was sitting on the log, covering the cracks. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The cap I wore to hide my crazy curly unruly hair—that all important cap was no longer on my head. I just realized it was stuck on those thorn bushes covering the entrance to our log. And remember that guy—the one who never said anything, just laughed? Well, he finally spoke, “Boss—look.”