chapter 3
Lost and Found
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Maryellen biked to the pier, then took a long walk on the beach to pass the time until she met her friend Davy Fenstermacher at the clock tower. She searched the sand for interesting seashells, but all the shells she spotted were broken. She would have to get to the beach earlier in the day if she ever wanted to beat the tourists, who seemed to claim the prettiest and most colorful shells to take home as souvenirs. As she strolled along, Maryellen found herself scanning the beach for any sign of Mr. Buckley and Pete, and listening carefully for the clicks of their metal detector. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to see them or not.
By the time Maryellen got back to the pier, she guessed it was about time to head over to the plaza to meet up with Davy, who was planning to come straight from a special football practice. She walked her bike up Main Street so she wouldn’t have to pedal uphill—with no gearshift, her bike was no match for hills. As she trudged up the street, she couldn’t help thinking about the first thing she would buy if she were as rich as Mr. Buckley: a bike with three gears.
At the top of Main Street, Maryellen hopped onto her bike and rode along Ocean Avenue. She turned off the road and coasted onto the park-like plaza, marveling at the beautiful wall that surrounded it. Every student in Florida learned about coquina stone, a special kind of rock that was studded with ancient bits of coral and seashells. The wall, the clock tower, and the outside of the band shell had all been built with it. Maryellen could spend hours counting the different shells that stuck up from the bumpy pinkish walls.
The far end of the plaza was framed by the huge band shell. Its wide stage and curving roofline were bookended by two tall towers, and a long parapet bridged the towers high across the top. Maryellen always expected a fairy-tale princess to open one of the tower windows and gaze down upon her subjects strolling below.
The afternoon sun was growing warm, so Maryellen parked her bike and plopped down in the sliver of shade cast by the clock tower. At its very top, there were four clock faces, one on each side. Instead of twelve numbers, each clock face had twelve letters. On the upper half, they arched around from the 9 to the 3 position and spelled D-A-Y-T-O-N-A. On the bottom half, they curved upward to spell B-E-A-C-H. The clock was a town landmark; Maryellen’s mother often sent her parents a postcard of the clock with a funny note that said, “It’s high time you came to Daytona Beach!”
Right now, the big hand on the clock was on the lowest A, and the small hand was at the N, so Maryellen knew it was almost two-thirty. Davy would be along any minute. She leaned over the fountain that burbled into a pool at the base of the clock tower and splashed her hand into the water. Just then, Davy skidded his bike to a stop in front of her.
“Half past N,” Davy said. “I’m right on time—Daytona time, that is.” Maryellen laughed. The clock could be a little confusing, but it was lots more fun than a regular clock.
Like Maryellen, Davy was already in his swimsuit. A towel was rolled up behind his bike seat. “Last one in is a rotten egg,” he said, pedaling off.
Maryellen was eager to swim, too. Although the December air was cool, she knew she would feel warm enough under the water. She hopped on her bike and quickly caught up with Davy. They coasted down Main Street to the beach, then walked under the pier and chained their bikes together against one of the thick wooden posts that supported it. Just before closing the padlock, Maryellen felt for her key, which she kept strung on an old shoelace. She wore the key like a necklace whenever she rode her bike.
She snapped the lock shut. “Now that I keep my key on the string,” she said, “I never lose it. It’s a pretty good idea, if I do say so myself.” Maryellen was not naturally tidy or organized, so she felt happy whenever she came up with a clever solution.
“You’re always coming up with ideas,” Davy said, grinning. “I guess sooner or later, some of them have to be good!”
Maryellen knew Davy was just kidding. They had been friends almost all their lives, and living right next door to each other meant that Davy had been around for most of Maryellen’s Big Ideas—some of which had turned out great and some of which had turned out, well, not so great. It felt nice to know that they were friends either way, and that they liked the same things—or most of them, anyway.
“Are you going to the dance on Saturday night?” Maryellen asked as they carried their beach towels toward a spot near a lifeguard tower.
Davy made a sour face. “I’ll go just to watch,” he said. “Football’s my game—not dancing.”
“I want to dance this year, if I can,” Maryellen said. “Carolyn has been trying to teach me, but I’m terrible at it. The faster the music plays, the quicker I forget the steps. My feet get all tangled.” She pointed toward the end of the wooden pier where a group of brown pelicans were waddling awkwardly, looking for scraps of food dropped by visitors. A few of the birds suddenly took flight, soaring gracefully on currents of air. “See those pelicans? We have a lot in common.”
Davy shot Maryellen a puzzled look, which she ignored. “Right now I look pretty clumsy when I dance, like those birds do when they walk, but once I get better, maybe I’ll be as graceful as a pelican flying across the sky.”
“Sure,” Davy said. “You’ll be gliding on air.”
Maryellen shook her head. “I’ll never be that good,” she said firmly. “I just want to be able to dance without tripping over my own feet. Carolyn said she might dance with me for a song or two, but only if I’m a lot better than I am now. She won’t want to dance with a pelican, that’s for sure.”
When they reached the water’s edge, Maryellen waved up at the lifeguard, who sat on the tower high above them, dabbing a line of white cream on his nose to block the sun. They dropped their towels on the sand. Maryellen pulled off the old shirt of her father’s that she used as a cover-up. Then she and Davy splashed into the waves. Davy dived beneath the surface and came up shaking his head so that his crew cut sent out a wild spray of water. “Race you to the pier,” he shouted.
“Go!” Maryellen called. She swam as fast as she could, legs kicking hard. She just barely beat Davy to the pier, but on the way back, her legs were tired and Davy beat her by a body length. Breathless, Maryellen put her arms down in the shallow water, anchoring them in the muddy sand as she kicked against the waves. She scanned the beach again, half hoping she would see Mr. Buckley just so she could point him out to Davy.
“Too bad you weren’t with me yesterday,” Maryellen said. “I met a man who was hunting for lost treasure on the beach. His name is Atherton Buckley, and he has a special machine that can detect things hidden under the sand.”
Davy listened intently as Maryellen explained how the metal detector worked. Ever since he and Maryellen had seen Treasure Island, they had both been fascinated by the idea of hidden treasure. “Jim Hawkins would have found the treasure a lot faster with that machine,” he speculated. He floated on his stomach like Maryellen, his hands planted in the sand. “Wouldn’t it be nifty if they made a movie like that and set it at Daytona Beach? They could use Mr. Buckley’s detector in it.”
Maryellen thought a movie set in her town would be pretty boring. A movie needed bad guys, and Daytona Beach just didn’t seem like a place that would have any. Jerry’s boss, Tank, was certainly unfriendly, and with his head wrapped in a scarf, he looked a bit like a pirate, but Maryellen couldn’t imagine him as a villain. “The detector would be cool,” she agreed, “but there aren’t any pirates around now to make it interesting.”
“No,” Davy agreed. “But there are sharks! That would make the movie really exciting.” He opened his mouth and snapped his teeth together. “Watch out! I’m a shark!”
Maryellen giggled. “You’re not a very vicious-looking shark,” she said, standing up. Water poured from her bathing suit and dripped