Chapter 1: A Vacation Turns Mysterious

Elizabeth Pollack, ace detective, woke up on a summer morning in Maine and discovered . . . the world had disappeared. She hopped out of bed and squinted through the window. Never in her life had she seen such a fog. It pressed against the glass, thick and ghostly pale. The beach, the islands, the open sea – everything was lost in a dreary mist.

The moan of a fog horn drew Elizabeth closer to the window. Maybe today would be –

“GRASSHOPPER PECAN PIE!”

Kid brother alert! Elizabeth jumped back into bed and pulled the covers over her chin. She squeezed her eyes shut as she heard footsteps clatter up the spiral staircase. She didn’t have to look to know who was hovering over her bed. Jonathan would be there, grinning over a fat book in his hands. It wasn't fair, thought Elizabeth. No eleven-year-old girl should have a kid brother whose best friend is The Encyclopedia of the Totally Disgusting. In the three endless days of their drive to Maine, he had worked his way up to the letter R – Revolting Recipes.

“Add one cup chopped grasshopper to three cups roasted pecans.”

Keep your eyes shut, Elizabeth told herself. Breathe deep and slow. He might go away if he thinks he can’t annoy you. But it was hard pretending to sleep. She knew her brother was staring at her face, probably only inches away.

“Hey, Elizabeth. I know about the Baker Street Girls.”

“What?” Elizabeth shot up in bed. “You’re not supposed to be snooping around in my room!”

“I wasn’t snooping. I saw a note right there on your night table. And it says Baker Street Girls.” He picked up a small piece of white paper.

Elizabeth grabbed it out of his hands and put on her glasses. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“Okay.” Jonathan looked at his book. “Pour nuts and grasshopper pieces into a piecrust and add . . .”

“But I’ll let you look now.” Elizabeth leaned over and shut Jonathan’s book. “I found the note yesterday when I was in town with Dad. It was on the sidewalk right in front of the library. I guess someone dropped it.”

She handed the paper back to Jonathan. Scrawled across the top in bold red ink were the words Baker Street Girls, underlined twice. Jonathan read the note out loud. “Chinese scroll -- stolen 1890. Never found. THE MYSTERY MAN. WHO IS THE MYSTERY MAN?”

He looked up. “Wait a minute! Baker Street. That’s where Sherlock Holmes lived.”

“I know,” said Elizabeth. “So there must be some kids in town who call themselves the Baker Street Girls. I think they’re detectives. And they’re looking for a stolen scroll. You know, some kind of paper that’s rolled up.”

“Maybe,” said Jonathan. He put down the note. “But I bet they’re just pretending. Like we used to do.”

“I’m not sure,” said Elizabeth, “but I don’t think it’s pretend.”

“Yeah? How do you know?”

Elizabeth didn’t answer. Jonathan would think she was weird. But hadn’t he noticed how something had changed in their lives? How mysteries just seemed to come to them, like metal to a magnet. The village of Stone Harbor was just a speck on the curlicue coast of Maine, but even sleepy little towns have their secrets. She looked down at the words streaming across the crumpled paper. WHO IS THE MYSTERY MAN?

“I’m gonna go eat breakfast,” said Jonathan. “It smells like . . .” He closed his eyes and sniffed deeply. “Mealy bug fritters with maple syrup.” His voice trailed off as he hurried down the stairs. “I want to be finished before Peter gets here.”

“Oh . . . right. Peter.” Elizabeth took a long, deep breath. Peter Hoffmann was exactly her age, but he certainly wasn’t like any other eleven-year-old she knew. She and Jonathan had met him in Germany, while working on one of their most exciting mysteries. She wondered if the State of Maine would be ready for their German friend. A restless mind. A detective kit the size of a small suitcase. And non-stop ideas that could lead to triumph . . . or trouble. Peter would love to have a mystery ready and waiting. All they needed to do was find out if it was real or just pretend.

When Elizabeth shuffled down the spiral staircase, she found Jonathan in the living room eating breakfast with their parents. Usually the wall of windows made the room seem as big as the sky. But now, with a dull curtain of fog, the house felt lonely and small.

“French Toes.” Jonathan dangled a strip of French toast in the air before stuffing it in his mouth. Elizabeth ignored him.

“I hope Peter’s family doesn’t have trouble finding us in all this fog.” Mrs. Pollack stood in front of the window warming her hands on a cup of coffee. “That would be something. They come all the way from Germany and have trouble going the last few miles.”

Mr. Pollack peered out the window. “Oh, I think they’ll be all right. This looks to me like an ocean fog. It’s likely the roads are clear inland.” He turned around. “By the way, I assume you know what causes fog.” Elizabeth nodded her head vigorously. Both her parents were teachers, and the price of not knowing something was a long lecture.

“Well, anyway,” said Mrs. Pollack, “if I know Peter, he’ll talk the fog into disappearing.” Elizabeth saw her mother’s lips tighten. It wasn’t that Mrs. Pollack disliked Peter. She had come up with the idea herself. They would rent a house in Maine, and Peter would stay with them while his parents took a special tour of New England for librarians. But now that the moment was near, Elizabeth could read her mother’s mind. Fourteen days of Peter – the thought was a little scary, somewhere between going to the dentist and being out in a hailstorm.