The Riddler's Fearsome Secret

By Louise Hendricksen

Four cousins visit their grandparent's ancient mansion, learn their grandmother has found old silver coins on the beach...and discover a ship loaded with wealthy passengers had wrecked outside their grandparent's beach. This revelation sends them on a series of perilous adventures that uncovers a dreadful one-hundred-year-old secret.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613091104

Book preview

One

The Stoneridge bus jounced off Highway 101 and turned onto a narrow graveled road edged by wind-twisted spruce. In the back of the bus, thirteen-year-old Ben lifted the bill of his ball cap and glimpsed droplets slithering down the window. Before he could get control, his throat closed up, his lip trembled, and he tasted salt on his tongue. Shee-i-i-t! Why’d they haf to go and screw up everything? Groaning, he slumped down in his seat.

Twenty minutes later, the bus, its radiator puffing steam, topped a rise, crept out onto a broad overlook and pulled to a stop. Below, fortress-like cliffs hemmed-in a long, narrow valley on three sides. At the valley’s mouth, white-capped surf crashed between jutting rocks to form a finger-shaped lagoon.

Ben peered downward, jerked back, and swore under his breath. Great! Just great! We flew all the way from California just to get killed in a Looney Tune bus.

Several rows ahead of him, J.J. bounced three times then stood up.

Glaring at his ten-year-old brother, Ben snapped, J.J.!...raised his hand and jabbed his thumb downward.

Oh ...beans! Tightening his lips, J.J. plopped down on his skinny rump and aimed a kick at the seat of his eight-year-old cousin, Tristan, who sat in front of him. Dad says, me and Ben are gonna have gobs of fun. Ha! Everybody knows kids make old people nervous. Fun? Fat chance! He aimed another kick at Tristan’s seat.

Hunching his shoulders, the bus driver barked, Hang on back there, shifted gears, and eased the bus into the first murky switchback.

As he rounded the third one, J.J. leaped to his feet, and pressed his nose to the window glass to see past wisps of scudding fog. Look! Look! There’s Seacove House!

Clutching the handrail, Tristan knelt on the seat for a better look. Where?

By the bluff... J.J. pointed, ...there hidden among those humongous trees. As he gawked at warped shingles and a shutter swinging from one hinge beside a turret window, a cold blob settled in his stomach. Sure looks wasted. He swallowed to hard. Bet it’s haunted.

Shoving a flap of red hair out of his eyes, Tristan scowled at him. Is not! My Gram and Grampa wouldn’t live in any old haunted house.

Wrong. When Dad took us to Disneyland, I saw a Victorian relic with turrets just like that. Had ghosts, and bats... Twitching his lips into a smile, he flung Tristan a sly sideways glance....and skeletons. Lots of ‘em.

G-ghosts and sk-skeletons? Tristan’s face paled, highlighting his freckles. His bottom lip trembled and he caught it between his teeth. I ...I don’t like scary things like that.

From her seat on the opposite side of the bus, his eleven-year-old sister, Sara, let out a noisy breath, slammed her book shut and focused her hazel-eyed stare at her cousin. Stop teasing, you’re scaring him.

So... J.J. thrust out his chin. You planning to make me?

Jamming on his brakes, the bus driver turned and gave his four young passengers a menacing look, Knock it off! His beetle-brows drew together over his knobby nose. Keep horsing around and I’ll let all of ya walk. Got that?

Ben smacked his jean-clad leg with a rolled comic book. Terrific! Another sourpuss just like Dad. That’s all I need. He smacked his leg again. Ever since Mom moved out, he’s been acting like a warden. Won’t even trust me to take care of J.J. while he’s away at work.

Ben clamped his teeth together so hard his jaw ached. Then he ships us off to Hicksville to spend the whole blasted summer with Gram ‘n Grampa and a couple of dorky little kids I don’t even know. B-o-r-r-ing!

He glared out the window at a crow perched on a dead tree snag. The crow’s hard, black-eyed gaze met his and held until...chilled, his heart fluttering...he turned to gaze at the road ahead.

Lurching this way and that, the bus careened down the steep incline. Soon the moaning of a foghorn and roar of pounding surf filled the interior of the bus. Stuffing her book into her backpack, Sara, glanced out at breakers tossing globs of white foam up the sides of limestone rocks the size of a Volkswagen. Gram expects us to swim in that? That’ll be the day.

At last, after swerving around the last tight curve, the bus reached a glen timbered with fir, oaks, and red-barked madronas. Shrieking sea gulls surrounded them as they skirted a finger-shaped lagoon and entered the mist-smudged bottom land.

Settling back, Sara scanned craggy cliffs that loomed over the back of three-story Seacove House. Gigantic moss-festooned oaks shrouded the ancient ravaged dwelling on two sides before sweeping out to cloak a sway-roofed barn.

A flicker of fear welled in her chest and goose bumps bristled her arms. J.J.’s right. The house does look spooky. Shuddering, she twirled a lock of her brown, shoulder-length hair around her finger and stared at the turret’s shadowy windows. Grampa’s great grandmother didn’t like this place. She rubbed the bumps on her arms. So...what makes Mom and Dad think we’d want to spend the summer here with our snooty California cousins, while they go off somewhere ‘to find themselves’. Whatever that means! She let out a disgusted huff. Parents!

As the bus drew closer and began to slow, J.J. leaned forward. Hey, there’s Gram on the porch.

Tristan loosened his white-knuckled grip on the arm of his seat and clutched his stomach. Hope she’s got lunch ready, I’m starved.

The instant the driver opened the door Tristan and J.J. tumbled out and began chasing each other through a tangle of Rose bay bushes. Sara and Ben exited at a more hesitant pace.

Smiling, Katie Holt hurried down veranda steps. Hi kids. Glad you finally got here. I was getting worried. She reached out to hug Tristan and he darted away. J.J. turned out to be equally hard to grasp. Sara and Ben tolerated a brief embrace.

When she released them, Sara and Ben backed off, craned their necks, and peered up at the sprawling dwelling. Holy fuzz balls, Ben breathed, Bet you could bed down a whole football team in there.

And have room left over, Sara added.

A black and white cocker spaniel trotted around the corner of the house, stopped, and raised a paw. All the children, except Ben, rushed over to him.

Katie joined them. This is Duncan MacDougall, the Third, known to his friends as Mac. She rested her hand on the dog’s head. He expects each of you to shake his paw.

Ben yawned and leaned against the gatepost, while Sara, Tristan and J.J. gathered around the dog.

Katie regarded Ben. Not so long ago, you were also interested in animals. Moving past him, she thanked the bus driver and he roared away.

J.J. caught hold of Katie’s hand. May I see the turret rooms? He shifted from one foot to the other. May I please? Huh, may I?

Not before lunch.

J.J. scowled and scrunched his shoulders.

Flushing, Tristan sidled up to her, moistened his lips and whispered. There aren’t any ghosts here, are there?

Katie brushed his cheek. No, dear. Not a single one, She grinned. But don’t be surprised if you happen upon a field mouse now and then. Pushing her fingers through gray, wind-blown hair, she scanned the shifting clouds overhead. Let’s get your luggage inside.

Relieved, Tristan hefted his duffel. Get a move-on, you guys, I’m starving.

Grabbing a ball bat and a couple of mitts, Katie strode up broad wooden steps of a porch that wrapped itself around three sides of the house. Honeysuckle vines climbed white lattice attached to railings. Red geraniums overflowed planter boxes. Padded benches and white wicker chairs with faded green cushions flanked a wooden glider swing.

Spying a piece of bronze statuary attached to the ebony-colored double-entry doors, J.J. blurted, Preemo-reemo,...ran his forefinger over the snarling black panther’s head, and shouted, Hey, Ben, get a load of this.

Ben turned to glance at J.J. and some trick of light caused the animal’s eyes to glow with a green fire that sent a chill through him. What the?... His changing voice squeaked upward and he hauled in a quick breath to lower it. Weird! I thought doors were supposed to welcome people.

"Weird? Now there’s an apt word, Katie said as she wandered over to them. You’ll find this house has more than its share of weird. She jerked her head toward the statue. We tried saws, chisels and hammers, before we learned that dreadful thing’s welded to the confounded metal door."

She ushered the children into a scuffed, dark oak vestibule. Straight ahead, at the end of a soaring entrance hall, a grand staircase with twisted balusters swept upward to the second floor.

That’s the living room, she said, waving her hand toward an archway on her left.

Ben peered into a large, high ceilinged room with gold colored walls and glimpsed a burgundy rug that looked as if it might have come over on the Mayflower. In the shadows, a faded moss green sofa and a number of overstuffed chairs with sagging seats, clustered around a marble fireplace as if for warmth. Cheesh, he said. Looks like an antique store.

That’s not very nice. Sara paused to gaze inside. Maybe they like old things.

Katie snorted. What we like or dislike has little to do with our present decor. When Sam learned he’d inherited this property, we drove down from Seattle, liked the area, and decided to spend the summer.

She grimaced. Place had been vacant for God knows how long. Had an outdated water system and lights that went on and off for no reason Sam could find. Wagging her head, she went on. Getting the utilities upgraded made such a hole in our savings, we decided these furnishings would have to do for the time being.

J.J. peered around the door jam and frowned. Where’s the TV?

There isn’t one.

No, TV! The children wailed.

Sorry, Katie said. There’s no TV tower and that’s just one of the many drawbacks to our location. The telephone service is expensive. And the electric power is not only expensive, it has alternating current.

Tristan frowned. What’s alternating current?

Kate blew out her breath. Sometimes the lights burn bright like they should, then they go dim. She threw up her hands. I don’t know why except it raises heck with anything electrical.

J.J. and the others turned to stare at her. But...can’t you get a dish or...or something?

We priced the possible solutions. All of them cost an arm and a leg. We decided a phone was more important.

Bummer! J.J. glared about him. Sure glad I brought my Game Boy.

Ben pulled his cell phone from his pants pocket. He’d nagged his father for one for weeks and finally wore him down. Will my phone work?

Katie eyed the cliffs surrounding them and shrugged. Don’t know much about cells, except the gripes I’ve heard from the folks in town.

Mighta known it, Ben growled his stomach knotting. He’d told the guys he’d call every day.

Striding to the foot of the stairway, Katie set down the bat and mitts. Leave your things here. We’ll take them up later. When the clatter subsided, she pushed open a door on the left and ushered them into a wood-paneled room. This is our study, she said, gesturing to floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with books.

A dark oak, roll-top desk and a grouping of easy chairs stood nearby. In the west wall, a deep-set window provided a view of the plants on the veranda and glimpses of the ocean in the distance. A brick fireplace with wrought iron candle sconces on either side of the mantel dominated the north wall.

Wandering across the room, Ben looped his arm through a library ladder and gazed out the window at birds skittering across the dunes on pipe stem legs. Yep, Dad, we sure are gonna have a barrel of fun.

Wow! Tristan cried, dashing to the cushioned window-seat where a mottled beige and brown cat lay. Look, Sara. He’s huge.

Eyeing the children, the Manx rose to his feet and stretched his compact body. Light from a nearby lamp, glistened on his short, thick coat of glossy hair.

Sara ran her hand over the cat’s back. He’s beautiful.

Too true. J.J. strolled over to join them. I’ve never seen a house cat that ge-normous. He stared at the animal’s rear-end. Nor one with only a fuzzy stub for a tail.

Taking Ben’s arm, Katie dragged him over to join the others. His name is Simon and he’s a Manx. Some people call them ‘dog cats’ because they’ll come when you whistle and fetch things you throw.

Simon jumped down from his seat and bumped his head against Ben’s leg. He likes people. She elbowed Ben. Even those who act uppity. Pausing, she surveyed the group. Simon loves to play, but has developed an annoying habit. He likes to leap down on you from high places. And twelve pounds of cat can knock you flat if you aren’t expecting it.

Kneeling, she scratched behind the tabby’s ears. I learned that from personal experience, didn’t I, Simon? She glanced up at the children. Just before he leaps, he gives a soft chirp or trill. So, when you’re outside, keep your ears perked.

Groaning, she pushed herself to her feet and trudged into the hall. The bathroom’s over there under the stairs.

She shoved open a swinging door and entered a large country kitchen. A round table, covered with a yellow cloth, filled an alcove. Age-darkened cherry wood cabinets lined sage green walls on either side of an old fashioned electric stove with long legs and an oven that sat beside coiled wire burners.

After lunch, I’ll give you a tour of the upstairs. Katie opened the refrigerator and started setting plates of sandwiches and fruit on the counter. Meanwhile, all of you better wash your hands.

An hour later the children did the dishes then gathered in the hall to wait while Gram prepared dinner by tossing meat and vegetables into an iron pot she called a Dutch oven.

Ben pulled a video game from his backpack. Resting his back against the stair’s newel post, he lost himself in the action. Sara and Tristan sat on a wrought iron bench nearby. Shoving a sheaf of blond hair out of his eyes, J.J. leaned down to inspect the Grandfather clock’s huge pendulum, tried to open the door without success, then went to perch on a stair tread. After a minute, he jumped to his feet, dashed up the stairs and slid down the curved banister.

Sara frowned at him. Don’t you ever sit still?

J.J. froze. Does she know what those nosey counselors told Mom and Dad? Swallowing the lump in his throat, he squared his shoulders and fixed her with a narrow-eyed stare. You preparing a doc-u-ment-ary?

Sara held his gaze for a long moment then, her eyes twinkling, she pursed her lips and said, I just might do that.

Katie bustled out of the kitchen, said, Sun’s coming out, and grabbed a suitcase from the pile. Up and at ‘em, crew.

When they reached the second floor, she paused in an area where several halls and entryways branched off in different directions. Over there, she said pointing to the east wall, is a bathroom and linen closet that has a laundry chute. That... She indicated a mahogany door, ...is the master bedroom.

Sara tugged the tail of her grandmother’s blouse. Why didn’t our great, great grandmother like living here?

Well...local folks say Captain Holt used to go off to sea for months at a time leaving the poor woman all alone. And...this old relic creaks and groans at night. During rough weather, you hear all sorts of scary noises. She regarded the children. I get spooked when I hear strange sounds at night, don’t you?

Sara, Tristan, and J.J. nodded. Ben shuffled his feet and avoided his grandmother’s gaze.

Moving down the hall, she entered a room with pale yellow walls. A willow green comforter printed with white daisies lay on a canopied four-poster bed that stood in the room’s center.

I thought you’d like this one, Sara. I call it my afternoon room. Duchess... She pointed to a white, long-haired Persian who sat on a cushioned window seat of moss green velvet, ...and I often sit here and look out at the ocean.

This is nice. Sara set her bag and packsack down and petted Duchess, who gave her a haughty blue-eyed look that seemed to say; maybe we’ll be friends...and maybe we won’t.

Goodness, it’s warm in here. Katie pushed up the sash, and let out a hoarse cry. Just look at that! Those men are anchored off our inlet again.

Who are they? J.J. asked, moving over to her side.

I don’t know. Katie shook her head so hard her sausage-sized curls trembled. But they’ve been showing up every three or four days, and I haven’t seen a single fishing pole.

Maybe they’re marine biologists studying sea life. Sara leaned over to stroke Duchess, who pulled away. Biting her lip, Sara gazed after her.

Could be, but I doubt it. Glowering, Katie let out a noisy huff. I haven’t seen them using scuba gear. And besides I think they’re supposed to get permission before trespassing on a homeowner’s waterfront.

J.J. knelt on the seat and studied the offending charter boat. Wowzer! That’s a Cujo Catfish motor yacht, Gram. Ben and I got to go on one the-the... He swallowed and went on. ...last time we saw Mom. Forty-two feet long. Seats nine. Has teak decks, radar, sound,...the works.

He glanced over his shoulder at his grandmother. So...if they aren’t sportsmen, scuba divers, or marine scientists...who are they, and why are they out there?

Resting her hands on her ample hips, Katie glared out at the intruders. That’s a darned good question.

Two