The Mystery at Plymouth Rock

The Mystery
at
Plymouth
Rock
3

First Edition ©2016 Carole Marsh/Gallopade International/Peachtree City, GA
Current Edition ©2016
Ebook edition ©2016
All rights reserved.
Manufactured in Peachtree City, GA
Carole Marsh Mysteries and its skull colophon are the property of Carole Marsh and
Gallopade International.
Published by Gallopade International/Carole Marsh Books. Printed in the United States
of America.
Managing Editor: Janice Baker
Assistant Editor: Susan Walworth
Cover Design: John Hanson
Content Design: Randolyn Friedlander
Gallopade International is introducing SAT words that kids need to know in
each new book that we publish. The SAT words are bold in the story. Look
for this special logo beside each word in the glossary. Happy Learning!
Gallopade is proud to be a member and supporter of these educational
organizations and associations:
American Booksellers Association
American Library Association
International Reading Association
National Association for Gifted Children
The National School Supply and Equipment Association
The National Council for the Social Studies
Museum Store Association
Association of Partners for Public Lands
Association of Booksellers for Children
Association for the Study of African American Life and History
National Alliance of Black School Educators
This book is a complete work of fiction. All events are fictionalized, and although the names
of real people are used, their characterization in this book is fiction. All attractions, product
names, or other works mentioned in this book are trademarks of their respective owners and
the names and images used in this book are strictly for editorial purposes; no commercial
claims to their use is claimed by the author or publisher.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by
any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior
written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means
without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase
only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of
copyrightable materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
4

5

6

7

8

9

10

1
Puzzled in Plymouth
DING! Christina sighed, slipped her
bookmark between the pages of her book,
and picked up her cell phone. It was a text:
WELL B THER SUN.
“Mimi, why are you texting me from the
front seat?” Christina asked. “Wouldn’t it be
easier to just turn around and talk?”
Mimi peered over the rims of her red
sparkly glasses. “You’re so old fashioned to be
a kid,” she said. “Don’t you know this is how
modern grandmothers communicate with
their grandkids? Besides, I need to practice.”
“Yes, you do,” Christina agreed. “For
a famous mystery writer, your spelling is
terrible! And don’t type in all caps. It looks
11

like you’re yelling. And what does this even
mean? Whose ‘sun’ are we going to be?”
Christina’s little brother Grant giggled
from the other side of the backseat. “I thought
I was the son,” he remarked. He reached over
and rubbed his sister’s cheek. “Maybe you
need a shave!”
Christina flicked her long brown hair
behind her shoulders, raised one eyebrow
and glared at Grant. “Maybe you need to
stop rolling your hair,” she said, tousling his
blonde curls.
Grant crossed his arms with a loud
“Humph!” He shook his head. “You know
these are natural!” he exclaimed.
Mimi squinted at her phone. “That’s
enough, you two!” she said. “I meant to text,
‘We’ll be there soon.’ I’m still figuring out this
phone, and the letters are soooo tiny! But
at least our matching cases are super cute,
Christina!”
Christina eyed her new cell phone case
and thought, Carrying this thing around is
like wearing a tacky dress. It’s not that she
12

wasn’t grateful that Mimi had given her a
case. It’s just that she wanted one that was
more her style, maybe seafoam green or a
nice paisley, and less Mimi’s favorite style—
red and bedazzled. She couldn’t imagine what
her friends would say when she went back to
school.
“If you technological wizards are finished
yapping with your machines,” Papa boomed
in his deep cowboy voice, “you might be
interested to know we’re only ten minutes
from Plymouth!”
“It’s about time!” Grant said. “I’m ready
to tear into some turkey and stuffing!”
“Thanksgiving is still a few days away,
Grant,” Mimi warned. “We’ve got lots to see
and do before then.”
Taking trips with Mimi and Papa was
always a fun adventure. But when they
invited Christina and Grant on a trip to
Plymouth, Massachusetts, to experience the
Thanksgiving holiday Pilgrim style, Christina
had mixed feelings. Thanksgiving was a time to
be with family and friends—at home. Besides,
13

who else could cook a feast as good as Mimi’s
turkey, cornbread dressing, and pumpkin pie?
This would be a weird Thanksgiving for sure.
Grant had been even more concerned.
“But didn’t the Pilgrims almost starve?” he
asked. “And didn’t they eat wild berries and
acorns on turkey day? I’ll bet they didn’t even
have whipped cream for their pumpkin pie!”
Christina felt Papa’s SUV slow down
and begin a wide turn through the swirling
fog. “Just like our forefathers almost 400
years ago,” Papa began, “we have landed at
Plymouth!”
“Don’t forget your jackets,” Mimi cautioned.
“It’s a blustery New England afternoon.”
Grant sniffed the air. “Wait a minute,” he
said. “Something’s fishy here!”
“You mean because Mimi said New England
and you thought we were in Massachusetts,”
Christina said, knowing how her brother’s
mind worked. “Massachusetts is in the part
of the East Coast known as New England.”
14

“I know this is NEW England and the
Pilgrims left the OLD England!” Grant shot
back. “I mean it really smells FISHY!”
Papa slicked back his gray hair and
positioned his black cowboy hat on his head.
“This is Plymouth Harbor, Grant. It’s where
the Pilgrims parked the Mayflower after
crossing the Atlantic Ocean. There are lots of
fish in that water.”
“And the boats to catch them,” Mimi
added, pointing to the colorful boats bobbing
like bathtub toys in the choppy water.
But Grant, stopped dead in his tracks,
wasn’t interested in the fishing boats.
Something far down the shoreline had
hooked his attention. He peered through the
creeping fog, his expression quickly changing
from puzzled to terrified. Seeming to appear
and then disappear was the bony outline of a
wooden ship.
Grant’s voice trembled. “Is th-th-that a
g-g-ghost ship?” he asked.
15

16

2
Jailhouse Rock
When Christina spotted the eerie ship,
she had the same reaction as Grant. “That
is so weird,” she remarked, before snapping a
few pictures of it with her camera.
“Don’t worry,” Mimi said. “If I’m not
mistaken, that’s the Mayflower II, a re-creation
of the real Mayflower. We’ll tour it while we’re
visiting Plymouth.”
“But one minute it looks like it’s there and
the next minute it’s disappeared,” Grant said.
“How can you tour something like that?”
“The foggy afternoon light will play tricks
on you,” said a raspy voice behind them.
All four of them whirled around, half
expecting to see a ghost sailor. Instead, an old
17

man was shuffling by. With gray hair and a gray
sweater, he was well camouflaged in the fog.
“If you want to see ghosts, they’re up
there,” the old man offered, throwing his
thumb over his shoulder. “That’s Burial Hill.
Some of the Pilgrims are resting up there.”
He winked at Christina and Grant. “Of course,
they come out for a stroll every now and then.
“Now, if you’re looking for something rock
solid,” he continued, “I’d recommend you
head down there to the water’s edge.”
Papa tipped his hat at the man. “Thank
you, sir,” he said.
“I don’t know about anyone else,” Grant
said, after the man had passed by, “but I’m all
for something solid. I’m too hungry to tangle
with any musty old ghosts!”
At the water’s edge, a structure with large,
white columns glowed like a skeleton through
the gloom. “Is that a Pilgrim house?” Grant
asked innocently.
“Sure, Grant,” Christina said, rolling her
eyes. “Mansions were waiting for the Pilgrims
when they arrived.”
18

Grant was embarrassed and annoyed.
“You know I haven’t learned as much history
as you!” he exclaimed.
“That’s why we’re here!” Mimi chirped.
“I’m sure there’s plenty for all of us to learn.”
She shot Christina a ‘be nice to your brother’
look and added, “Even Christina.”
Grant’s ‘mansion’ was actually a pavilion.
Underneath, scattered groups of people
leaned over a square of black metal railing,
staring and pointing at something.
“Let’s go see what the ballyhoo is about,”
Papa said.
Grant scampered to the railing with
anticipation, but his excitement was short
lived. “Is that all it is?” he exclaimed. His
comment echoed around the pavilion and
joined with the grumblings of others.
“See, that young man agrees with me,”
one man said. “I told you this wasn’t worth
the drive.”
“Yeah,” another woman agreed. “I could’ve
seen that in my own back yard!”
19

Christina peered over the railing. Several
feet below them lay a boulder on a bed of
sand. It was as gray as the weather, and the
only thing that distinguished it from any other
rock were the numbers 1620 engraved on it.
It seemed to stare longingly at the harbor
through an arched opening covered with
metal bars.
Christina sighed. She usually loved
visiting historical sights, but she had to agree
with Grant on this one. Seeing the famous
Plymouth Rock, no matter how historically
significant, wasn’t particularly exciting. She
pulled out her phone, carefully shielding
its gaudy case with her jacket, and checked
for messages from her friends enjoying the
Thanksgiving break back home.
Mimi noticed her grandchildren’s
disappointment. “That’s not just any rock,
you know,” she chastised. “Legend has it that
the Pilgrims’ first step on the new continent
was on that rock. That would almost be like
us stepping out of a spaceship onto an alien
planet.”
20

“What do you mean by ‘legend has it’?”
Grant said. “No one knows for sure?”
Before Mimi could answer, the old man
who had spoken to them earlier trudged by,
carrying a bucket and a stick for spearing
trash. He paused to answer Grant’s question.
“The Pilgrims never mentioned the rock
in their writings,” he explained. “But a man
named Thomas Faunce, who had personally
known the Pilgrims, identified this rock as
the one where the Pilgrims stepped onto
this continent.” He winked at Grant and
added, “There’s more to this old rock than
meets the eye.”
“It must have gotten into a lot of trouble,”
Grant quipped, struggling to stifle a chuckle.
The old man looked puzzled.
“That rock is in jail!” Grant said between
giggles. “You could call it ‘the jailhouse rock’!”
The old man managed a weak smile and
continued to spear bits of trash.
“The rock is not in jail, Grant,” Mimi
explained. “Those bars allow the water to
21

come in and wash over the rock during high
tide and go back out during low tide.”
As Mimi and Papa walked down the sidewalk
to the water’s edge, Grant slid around the rail
to study the rock from a different angle. “Look
at that,” he remarked, leaning over so far that
Christina worried he might topple onto the
sand below. “One of those Pilgrims must’ve
had a weight problem.”
Christina scooted to join her brother
in case he started to fall. “You said earlier
that you thought they were starving,” she
reminded him. “And now you think they were
overweight. Make up your mind!”
“How else can you explain this big crack
in the rock?” Grant asked. “I think a chunky
Pilgrim stepped on it and broke it!”
“I doubt that’s what happened,” Christina
replied. “But at least somebody patched it
up with some cement.” Christina pulled her
camera to her eye to snap a few pictures.
“Why don’t you just take pictures with
your phone?” Grant asked. “Nobody carries
around a camera anymore.”
22

“Sleuths who want to capture every little
detail still do,” Christina replied. “This zoom
lens lets me see things that my phone doesn’t.”
As she focused, she noticed the neat rows
left by a rake as well as coins tossed on and
around the Plymouth Rock for good luck. But
then she saw something so strange that she
let the camera dangle on its strap and rubbed
her eyes vigorously. “No way!” she exclaimed.
23

24

3
Footprints and Flame
“What?!” Grant asked. “What is it? Another
crack? I figured if there was one fat Pilgrim,
there were probably two. Poor old rock!”
“It’s not a crack,” Christina said.
“What then?” Grant begged.
“I’m not sure,” Christina said. “Probably
my eyes playing tricks on me, or lizard tracks
or something.” She pulled her camera back to
her eyes and scanned the sand bed again. But
there was no mistaking what she saw. They
were footprints—but not just any footprints.
These footprints didn’t look like any feet
she’d ever seen. They were about the size
of a newborn baby’s feet, skinny at the heel
and wide at the three toes. The footprints
marched in a straight line from the edge of
25

the rock’s enclosure and disappeared at the
rock itself.
“Let me see!” Grant said, snatching his
sister’s camera for a better look. “Do you
mean those weird tracks?” he asked. “Any
chance they’re baby Pilgrim tracks?”
Christina rolled her eyes. “And how many
baby Pilgrims do you see walking around
here?” she asked. “Plus, there are only three
toes. Another weird thing is that there are
tracks to the rock, but none moving away
from it. It’s like whoever or whatever made
those tracks walked to the rock and then
disappeared into thin—”
POP! POP! PIF! A bright orange
flame flashed above the rock before Christina
could finish her sentence.
Grant, with the camera still to his eye, saw
it too. “Yipes!” he yelled.
Stunned, Christina and Grant stared at
each other in disbelief. “You d-d-did s-s-see
that d-d-didn’t you?” Grant stuttered.
“Uh-huh,” Christina said, with a slow,
trembling nod.
26

Christina and Grant had traveled the world
and visited many fascinating and mysterious
places. Although Mimi was the one who
solved mysteries in the pages of her books,
Christina and Grant always managed to get
tangled up in mysteries of their own. Despite
Papa’s warnings to leave the mystery-solving
to their grandmother, they had a pretty good
success rate of solving them. But who could
have imagined they would find mystery at a
plain, old rock on a gray day in New England?
Christina was beyond baffled. She thought,
Will this be the first mystery we can’t solve?
27