Secret of the Time Capsule Read online

  Secret of the Time Capsule

  Casebusters #6

  By Joan Lowery Nixon

  With love to Andrew Thomas Quinlan—

  J. L. N.

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  1

  I’VE GOT EXCITING NEWS for you fourth graders,” Mrs. Jackson said. She looked mysterious. “Soon, you’re going to hear from people from the past.”

  Sean Quinn leaned forward, poking Debbie Jean Parker to be quiet. He knew that Mrs. Jackson wasn’t going to say another word until everyone had settled down.

  The moment the classroom was silent, Mrs. Jackson asked, “How many of you have ever heard of a time capsule?”

  Henry Craft raised his hand. “Does it have something to do with outer space?” he asked.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Debbie Jean interrupted. “A time capsule is a container that holds a whole bunch of things from a certain time. It’s usually buried. Then it’s dug up years and years later and opened.”

  “Why?” Matt Fischer asked.

  “So people can see what life was like way back when.” Debbie Jean wiggled with self-importance.

  “That’s right,” Mrs. Jackson said. “And right here in Redoaks, in the year 1918, a time capsule was buried. It was supposed to be opened in one hundred years.”

  “I know, I know, I know!” Debbie Jean shouted. “The mayor’s secretary, Emma Wegman, lives next door to us, and she told me all about it, and when it’s going to be opened, and there’s going to be a parade and a party, and—”

  “Thank you, Debbie Jean,” Mrs. Jackson said. “Let’s talk about how this class is going to be involved. One of the items in the time capsule was an envelope filled with letters from fourth graders. The letters are addressed to the fourth graders of the future.”

  “If the capsule hasn’t been opened, how do we know it’s got letters in it?” Matt asked.

  Debbie Jean blurted out, “Because Miss Wegman found the list of contents in one of the city hall’s files.”

  Sean did some quick mental arithmetic and said, “Mrs. Jackson, if that time capsule was supposed to be opened in one hundred years, it would be the year 2018, not now.”

  “That’s right, Sean,” Mrs. Jackson said, “but something happened to change things. The capsule was buried during a ceremony to celebrate the fifty years that had passed since the founding of Redoaks. It was buried under the bronze statue of John M. Williford. In 1918, he was the mayor of Redoaks.”

  “I was in the park yesterday,” Jabez Amadi said, “and that big old statue was down and lying on the ground.”

  “The statue had to be taken down,” Mrs. Jackson said. “One side of the hill under the statue eroded so much that the statue began to tilt. There was a danger that at any time it could fall. Someone could have been badly hurt … or even killed. Soon the statue will be moved to a safer place.”

  “Why couldn’t they just move the time capsule with the statue and save it to be opened in 2018?” Sean asked. “Why open it early?”

  “I know! I know why!” Debbie Jean jumped up and down at her desk, waving her hands. “It’s because when Miss Wegman found the list of what was inside the capsule, she showed it to the mayor. He decided that the time capsule should be opened right away.”

  “Maybe it’s like getting a birthday present early, and you can’t wait to open it,” Matt suggested.

  “Settle down, now. We’re getting to the really big news,” Mrs. Jackson said. “The members of this class, just like the fourth graders of 1918, are going to write letters to the kids who’ll be fourth graders one hundred years from now.”

  “How big is this capsule?” Jennifer Doaks asked. “How much will it hold?”

  “I don’t have the exact figures on the size,” Mrs. Jackson said, “but I understand it’s a round, airtight metal tube. It’s about two feet in diameter and about three feet long.”

  Sean looked at the figures he’d been adding and subtracting on a piece of notebook paper. “If those kids were nine in the fourth grade, they would have been born in 1909. But the capsule’s going to be opened early, so they won’t be 109 years old. Some of them may still live in Redoaks. Why don’t we find out and invite them to the party?”

  Mrs. Jackson beamed. “What a wonderful idea, Sean!” she said.

  Debbie Jean shook her head. “No, it isn’t,” she said. “No one will know the names of the kids until the capsule is opened, and then it will be too late to invite anybody.”

  Bummer! At first, Sean felt the same sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that hit him every time Debbie Jean really bugged him. But as the answer to the problem popped into his mind, he laughed. “Schools keep records,” he said. “We could find the kids’ names that way.”

  “Good thinking,” Mrs. Jackson said. “I’ll volunteer to go through the records. Sean, would you like to trace the names, once I get them, and see how many of these former students you can track down?”

  “I’ll help,” Debbie Jean said. “I was thinking of exactly the same idea. Sean just happened to say it first.”

  Matt slowly raised a hand. “I know someone who was in the fourth grade in 1918. His name’s Mr. Boris Vlado, and he lives on our block with his daughter’s family. A couple of times he’s talked about when he was in school and wrote something for a time capsule. I didn’t pay much attention to what he said because … uh, because …”

  “Because why?” Sean finally asked.

  Matt’s words tumbled out in a rush. “Because Mr. Vlado talks about a lot of strange things. He said there was something dangerous in that capsule. And he’s also said that he’s seen UFOs hovering over the bus terminal. And he knows for a fact that aliens hide out in the basement of the city hall.”

  Sean wanted to laugh until he saw Matt was really afraid.

  “I’d just as soon stay away from Mr. Vlado,” Matt said. “He’s so weird he scares me!”

  2

  THE STORY ABOUT THE time capsule was on the front page of the next morning’s Redoaks News. John Quinn put down his coffee cup and read aloud, “The ceremony will be held on Saturday, complete with a parade and a band concert in the park.”

  “There’ll be speeches, no doubt,” Dianne Quinn said.

  “Speeches? Right,” Mr. Quinn answered. “City Councilman Victor Williford will give a speech about his grandfather, the late John M. Williford, mayor in 1918. And, of course, our mayor, Harry Harlow, plans to give a speech in honor of the occasion.”

  “Maybe there’ll be a speech in honor of Boris Vlado,” Sean added.

  Brian reached across the table for another slice of toast. “Who’s Boris Vlado?” he asked.

  Sean swallowed a long slurp of orange juice, then told his family about the fourth-grade letters and what his class planned to do.

  “What a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Quinn said. “Sean, we’re proud of you for thinking of inviting any former fourth graders who are still living in Redoaks.”

  “This sounds like a good project for the Casebusters,” Mr. Quinn said. “Bring me the list of names, and I’ll show you how you can try to trace them by computer search.”

  “If the women married, they’d have different names than they had at school,” Brian said.

  “That’s right,” Mr. Quinn said. “However, if they were married in the Redoaks area, there’s a county department that will give you information about marriage certificates.”

  Mrs. Quinn looked at her watch and pushed back her chair. “I’ve got to run,” she said. “We’re right in the middle of a big advertising promotion for one of o
ur main accounts.”

  “I’ve got an early meeting, too,” Mr. Quinn said. “You boys have exactly twenty minutes until it’s time to leave for school. Watch your time. Don’t be late.”

  “We won’t,” Brian answered.

  “Listen to this, Bri!” Sean had spread the front section of the newspaper across the table and was leaning on it. “Here’s a list of the stuff that was buried inside the capsule. There’s a copy of the local newspaper from November 30, 1918; a copy of California Pix, a monthly magazine; and an essay written about the armistice that had been signed at the end of World War I on November 11. And there’s a journal with the history of Redoaks written by the members of the Ladies’ Lawn Tennis, Sewing Circle, and Historical Society. I bet Mrs. Helen Hemsley was president, even way back then.”

  Thinking about bossy Mrs. Hemsley, Sean burst out laughing. It took a minute before he could go on. “There’s a letter praising Redoaks’s citizens written by California’s governor in 1918—William D. Stephens—to Mayor Williford. And there are lots of photographs, and the fourth graders’ letters, and something from Mayor Williford that just says, ‘My gift to the city I love.’”

  “What is the gift?” Brian asked.

  “It doesn’t say.”

  “The reporter should have asked Councilman Williford. His grandfather probably told him what it was.”

  Sean put down the newspaper. “There’s nothing in the story about anything that could be dangerous,” he said.

  Brian turned from the sink. “Dangerous? What are you talking about?”

  “What Boris Vlado told Matt.” Sean went on to recount the conversation he hadn’t remembered to tell earlier.

  “This Mr. Vlado said there was something dangerous in the capsule?” Brian asked. “I wonder if he was talking about explosives.”

  “Matt said Mr. Vlado is scary and talks about a lot of weird stuff, like seeing UFOs,” Sean said, but he surprised himself by shivering. “Bri, what if there really is something dangerous in that capsule?”

  “That’s something we’d better find out before it’s opened,” Brian said.

  “How?”

  Brian dried his hands on the dish towel and reached for his backpack. “Come on. Get your books. Ask Matt where Boris Vlado lives. After school you and I are going to pay him a visit.”

  Sean got Mr. Vlado’s address from Matt and the list of 1918 fourth graders from Mrs. Jackson.

  “Only eight names?” he asked in surprise.

  “Redoaks was a very small community at that time,” Mrs. Jackson said. “Do you think you can track them down?”

  Sean smiled. “One down, seven to go.”

  Debbie Jean could hardly wait until after roll had been taken to make her announcement.

  “My father volunteered to help build one of the floats in the parade,” she said. “He promised to let me ride on it as Miss Fourth-Grade Redoaks! I’ll wear a gorgeous costume and probably a crown, and wave to everyone in the crowd.”

  The other girls in the class started oohing and squealing, but Sean mumbled, “Yuck!” and slid down in his seat. Sometimes girls were weird.

  Matt leaned across the aisle and said, “Sean, if it’s okay with you, Jabez and I won’t go with you and Brian to see Mr. Vlado. The guy’s too creepy.”

  “Huh! You’re some friends,” Sean said.

  “We are friends, and if you had to go alone we’d go with you. Honest. But you said Brian will be there, and he’s thirteen. He’s a lot better protection than we’d be.”

  “Protection from what?” Cold shivers trickled up and down Sean’s backbone.

  “I—I didn’t say that right, I guess.” Matt shook his head. “Mr. Vlado wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. He’ll just tell you some scary stuff. And he looks scary. His eyes are kind of wild and—”

  Mrs. Jackson rapped on her desk. “Come to order, class. I want you to spend some time after school thinking about what you can tell the kids of the future in the letters you’ll be writing. Make a list of things we use in our daily lives, from alarm clocks to computers, and bring it to school tomorrow.” She opened a math book and added, “Right now, let’s see how well you do on a short quiz.”

  Brian and Sean rode their bikes over to Matt’s street and quickly found the house where Boris Vlado lived. It was set back from the street and surrounded by broad-limbed shade trees, but its mustard gold paint had faded and yellowed in streaks. On each side of the front door was a large pot of geraniums, but none of the plants were blooming. They’d been badly choked out by weeds.

  Mr. Vlado answered the door. He had once been a fairly tall man, Brian decided, but now he stood hunched over, scowling up at Sean and Brian from under bushy eyebrows.

  “Go away,” he said. “I don’t talk to salesmen.”

  “We’re not selling anything,” Brian quickly explained. “I’m Brian Quinn. This is my brother, Sean. My brother’s class at school wants to invite you to a party.”

  “Hummph! I don’t go to parties,” Mr. Vlado grumbled.

  “This is a party for the whole city,” Sean explained. “It’s going to be next Saturday when the time capsule is opened.”

  “The time capsule?” For an instant Mr. Vlado’s small, dark eyes opened wider, and he chuckled.

  “We’d like you to come with the fourth grade to the ceremony in the park,” Sean said, “and watch the mayor open the capsule.”

  Again Mr. Vlado chuckled. “Maybe he’d better not open it,” he said.

  Brian stepped forward. “Mr. Vlado, we’d like to ask you some questions about the capsule. Is it okay if we come in?”

  Mr. Vlado nodded. Then he slowly turned, leaning on his cane, and led the way into the dimly lit living room. All the shades were down, but Brian and Sean could see that the furniture was heavy and squat. The brown plush on the sofa was so old and stiff that it scratched their arms and backs.

  Brian pulled out his investigator’s notebook and pen. “Why shouldn’t the mayor open the time capsule?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mr. Vlado answered.

  “But you just told us that maybe he shouldn’t open it.”

  Mr. Vlado chuckled again and rested his chin on the head of his cane. “Maybe no one should open it.”

  “Why?” Brian asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Brian and Sean looked at each other while Mr. Vlado watched them carefully, his eyes darting back and forth. Mr. Vlado was aware of something, Brian thought. But how was Brian going to get him to tell them what it was?

  Brian closed his notebook. “Thank you for talking to us,” he said. “You were only nine years old in 1918. We should have realized that you were too young to know anything important about the contents of the time capsule.”

  He began to stand, but Mr. Vlado waved his cane at him.

  “Sit down and pay attention,” he said. “I wasn’t too young to hear things. I heard my father talking to my mother about when the time capsule would be opened. He said, ‘I think they made a bad choice. It could blow up in their faces.’”

  Sean gasped, and Brian asked, “Did he think someone had put explosives in the capsule?”

  “My father wasn’t talking about explosives,” Mr. Vlado said. “If he knew about explosives he would have stopped the mayor from burying the capsule. I think he was talking about some kind of information that’s inside that capsule. Something that’s going to upset somebody.”

  “What?” Sean asked.

  “I told you,” Mr. Vlado said, “I don’t know.”

  Brian stood, and Sean scrambled to get up. “Mr. Vlado, we’ll send you an invitation to come to the park with our class next Saturday for the ceremonies. We hope you’ll change your mind and come.”

  “Maybe I will,” he said. “If something’s going to happen, I want to be there to see it.”

  “Do you know if any of your classmates are still in Redoaks?”

  Mr. Vlado struggled to stand. He leaned into Sean’s face. “
Only four of them,” he said, “and you can count on it. They’ll be on hand.”

  “Great!” Sean said. He pulled the list Mrs. Jackson had given him from the pocket of his jeans. He handed it to Mr. Vlado. “Can you tell us their names and where we can find them?”

  Mr. Vlado jabbed at the paper with one finger, then shoved it at Sean. “They’re long gone from Redoaks except Cropper, Jones, Murphy, and Slade. And they’re all at the same address.”

  “What is it?” Sean asked.

  Mr. Vlado’s eyes bored into Sean’s, and his words came out in a hiss. “The cemetery,” he said.

  3

  ON THE WAY HOME Brian said, “Let’s stop off at the park. I’m curious about that time capsule.”

  Sean pedaled faster to keep up. “There’s no way we can see the capsule. Nobody can see what’s in it. It’s going to stay buried until it’s dug up at the opening ceremony.”

  “Let’s make sure,” Brian said.

  “What are you talking about?” Sean asked.

  But Brian had parked his bike and was already walking across the grass toward the small hill on which the statue of John M. Williford had rested.

  “Look,” Sean said. “It’s just like Jabez said. The statue is down on the ground.”

  “The marble base under the statue has been moved, too,” Brian said. He stared into a large, square hole that was about two feet deep. In the center of the hole the dirt had been brushed away, and he could see the top of a metal container. The rim was sealed shut with red sealing wax.

  A sudden shout made both Brian and Sean jump. A tall park employee, dressed in a work uniform, strode toward them. The top of his bald head gleamed pink in the late afternoon sunshine. “Hey, you kids! Get away from there!” he yelled.

  “It’s okay. We’re not touching anything,” Sean answered.

  “We’re Brian and Sean Quinn,” Brian said. “We just came to see where the time capsule is buried.”

  Sean pointed. “Is that it in there?”

  “Yes, that’s it,” the man said. “It’s part of my job to make sure it stays there.”