The Blue Herring Mystery

By Ellery Queen

An ancient whaling journal sets Djuna on course for buried treasure

When old Captain Beekman was on his deathbed, he turned to his daughter and muttered, “Lift the blue herring.” It’s a cryptic piece of family lore—until the day Djuna pays a visit to the old captain’s house. Inspecting the ship’s log from Captain Beekman’s final sailing voyage, the brilliant young sleuth notices something no one else ever has. A page has been torn out—and it holds the key to an adventure.
 
Could the missing page have to do with a long-buried treasure? Where does the blue herring fit in? With his scrappy terrier, Champ, by his side, Djuna will unravel the mystery and decode the captain’s last words once and for all.
 
Ellery Queen is one of the world’s finest detectives, but his adventures are nothing compared to the Ellery Queen Jr. Mystery Stories. Join Queen’s apprentice, Djuna, and his trusty Scottie, Champ, on adventures filled with danger, suspense, and thrills.
 
The Blue Herring Mystery is the eighth book in the Ellery Queen Jr. Mystery Stories, but you may enjoy reading the series in any order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Media
• Release date: Mar 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504003995

Ellery Queen

Ellery Queen was a pen name created and shared by two cousins, Frederic Dannay (1905–1982) and Manfred B. Lee (1905–1971), as well as the name of their most famous detective. Born in Brooklyn, they spent forty-two years writing, editing, and anthologizing under the name, gaining a reputation as the foremost American authors of the Golden Age “fair play” mystery. Although eventually famous on television and radio, Queen’s first appearance came in 1928, when the cousins won a mystery-writing contest with the book that would eventually be published as The Roman Hat Mystery. Their character was an amateur detective who uses his spare time to assist his police inspector uncle in solving baffling crimes. Besides writing the Queen novels, Dannay and Lee cofounded Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, one of the most influential crime publications of all time. Although Dannay outlived his cousin by nine years, he retired Queen upon Lee’s death.

Book preview

Chapter One

Question: When Is a Red Herring Blue?

THE END of the second week in April had brought some wonderful spring weather, sunny and warm. What would the rest of April bring?

Djuna, turning over in bed in his big attic room in Miss Annie Ellery’s little house in Edenboro, woke up that morning with a start. For a moment he wondered, sleepily, where he was. But then he heard barking, outdoors, almost under the attic window. BARK, BARK, BARK! It was his little black Scottie dog, Champion. Champ had been told, and he hadn’t objected, that as soon as the weather got warm enough he must stay outdoors and sleep in the kennel that old Mr. George Boots had built for him. And now he wanted his breakfast, and he wanted it quick! I guess that’s what woke me up, thought Djuna. I must have heard him barking in my sleep.

And he bounded out of bed and hurried over to the window in his bare feet. Champ stopped barking as soon as he caught sight of Djuna, and he began to wiggle his stumpy little tail and make delighted whining noises.

Oh, take it easy! Djuna called down to him. Don’t you see I’m coming, as fast as I can?

He hurried into his clothes, washed his face, dabbed the brush at his hair, and clattered down the stairs to the kitchen, where Miss Annie Ellery was already getting breakfast ready. She was a little gray-haired old lady, but the heat of the kitchen stove had made her cheeks so rosy that she looked very young. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.

Good morning, Djuna, she said. Put your skis in the corner, and breakfast will be ready in a minute.

Skis? said Djuna, wonderingly. Then he grinned. Oh, you mean the way I came downstairs. Yes, ma’am, I’ll put ’em away. The snow is all gone, anyway, and I guess I won’t need ’em till next winter. He sniffed and said, Gee, something smells awful good. What is it?

Scrambled eggs, said Miss Annie, bending over the stove again, with her back to him. With kippers.

Kippers? exclaimed Djuna. What’s kippers?

Kippered herring, said Miss Annie, without taking her eyes from the frying pan.

What’s kippered herring? persisted Djuna.

Miss Annie was too busy to answer. Djuna waited. But she didn’t turn around. Another grin stole over Djuna’s face.

Be careful, Miss Annie, he said warningly. Don’t step on Champ!

Miss Annie gave a little jump and squealed. Mercy on us! she exclaimed, and turned around. All she saw was Djuna, grinning.

April Fool, Miss Annie! he chanted. April Fool!

Miss Annie wiped her forehead weakly. Great glittering glories of Golconda! she gasped. April Fool’s Day has been over for two weeks.

But don’t you remember you fooled me on April Fool’s Day and I wasn’t able to fool you, so you said I could have until the middle of the month to do it? Now I’m even!

He looked so radiant that Miss Annie couldn’t help smiling.

Well, it serves me right, she said good-naturedly. "I should have known better. I should have remembered Champ was out in the yard, because, land’s sakes, he’s certainly been barking plenty. But I’m not going to have him indoors as long as the ground is muddy, getting his dirty paw marks over everything, not in my clean kitchen!"

Yes, ma’am, said Djuna meekly. I mean no, ma’am.

Miss Annie took the frying pan from the stove and put its contents on their hot plates.

Well, there you are, she said. There’s your kippered herring.

It not only smelled delicious, it tasted delicious. Djuna not only finished off every morsel on his plate, but also three hot muffins, fresh from the oven, with grape jelly. Oh, boy, that sure was good! he sighed contentedly, as he pushed back his chair. Now may I go out, please, and give Champ his breakfast?

My goodness, I fed that dog long ago, said Miss Annie. "I forgot to tell you, I’ve been so busy. But go on out for a minute, so that he won’t feel so lonesome, while I do the dishes, and then come back and help me move that extra cot around in the attic, so I can get it ready for Bobby Herrick. I’m glad you reminded me that tomorrow is the fifteenth of April — his train will get in this afternoon, you remember. Or have you been so busy thinking up ways to get even with me for my April Fool joke that you don’t remember?"

"Of course I remember! said Djuna. I haven’t thought about anything else, hardly, since I woke up. Oh, boy, won’t it be swell to see Bobby again! And, gee, isn’t it lucky we’ve got vacation all this week! He can only stay a week, you know."

Perhaps it’s just as well, observed Miss Annie, a little grimly. "You two and Tommy Williams had enough excitement down there in Florida to last a lifetime, I should say.* I hope you and Bobby will never get mixed up in anything like that again! Just you mind your P’s and Q’s while he’s here, do you hear?"

Oh, for goodness’ sakes, Miss Annie! said Djuna. What could possibly happen here? Nothing like what happened in Dolphin Beach could ever happen in a little bit of a place like Edenboro!

Miss Annie sniffed. I’ve heard different, she said.

But an hour later, when they had got the spare cot out of its storage place at the far end of the attic and had put a mattress on it, and Miss Annie had tucked clean sheets on it, and everything was ready for Bobby Herrick’s arrival from Florida, Miss Annie suddenly remembered something else to do.

Oh, dear! she exclaimed. I’ve just remembered that I’m clean out of cinnamon and nutmeg, and I’ve been planning to make an apple pie for you two boys for supper! Wouldn’t think of making an apple pie without them. And Mr. Pindler is out of cinnamon at the store, too! Well, I know what I’ll do — I’ll go over to Aunt Candy Barnes’s and borrow some from her. We’ve got almost the whole morning ahead of us — want to come along with me?

Sure! exclaimed Djuna, eagerly. Can we take Champ with us?

I don’t see why not, replied Miss Annie. "But he’s not to go into her house when we get there, mind. She doesn’t want any muddied-up floors, any more than I do!"

Oh, I won’t let him go in, Djuna promised.

It’s a right nice morning for a walk, too, observed Miss Annie as they set off, with the little black Scottie frisking ahead. Seems as though spring was really in the air. Does a body good, to get outdoors on a day like this!

Djuna agreed. I’ve never been in Aunt Candy’s house, he remarked, when they had gone a little way. That’s a funny name, though, isn’t it? Candy, I mean. Did her mother name her that because she was sweet?

Miss Annie chuckled. No, but she’s plenty sweet enough, she said. It’s from the old Latin language. Candidissima, that’s what they named her. Candidissima.

Djuna whistled. Whew! he said. What does it mean?

Well, Miss Annie said, Candy told me once that it means ‘white’ or ‘pure’ or ‘honest’ — any of those nice meanings. Folks used to give their children names like that in the old days. She is a good deal older than I am, you know. But I think it was a very nice custom. I used to know a girl named Diodata, a real pretty name to my way of thinking. ‘God’s gift’ is what it means. And she was, too!

I’ll just say ‘Aunt Candy,’ Djuna decided. That’s easier.

By this time they had turned to the left, on the road that kept alongside the north branch of Miller’s Brook, and had come in sight of Aunt Candy’s house. It was a fine old farmhouse, at least twice as big as Miss Annie’s little cottage, and it stood quite near a pretty large pond. The pond apparently wasn’t very deep. Tall cattails and bulrushes grew thickly from the bottom; and in them and over them were dozens of blackbirds with bright red and yellow shoulder spots on their wings. They were flying around and making a tremendous chattering and gurgling, all of them excited over their return from the South.

Red-winged blackbirds! exclaimed Miss Annie. "Now I know that spring is here! That’s where they make their nests every year. Aren’t they a sight? You can tell your friend Bobby Herrick when he gets here from Florida that they beat him here. But then I guess they started sooner than he did!"

They watched the chattering flocks of blackbirds for a while. Before they went on, Miss Annie called Djuna’s attention to several large square blocks of stone that lay scattered among the dry meadow grass at the nearest end of the pond.

Do you see those stones? she asked. They are all that are left of the dam that was built across this end of the pond, a hundred years ago, I guess, to make the water deeper. Then the man who built it — I forgot his name — built a mill wheel beside it, and the wheel was turned by the water spilling over the dam, and that would turn the machinery for a cider mill. There used to be apple orchards all around here, and the mill was used to make cider from the apples. That’s why this stream was named Miller’s Brook. But when the miller got too old to manage the business, he sold the whole place to Aunt Candy’s great-grandfather and moved away somewhere. The old mill was torn down. Most of the stones that made the dam were used to build stone walls, around pastures, and everybody has forgotten that there ever was a miller here, once upon a time, but they still call this Miller’s Brook. Queer, isn’t it?

Djuna stared at the water of the brook, hurrying past them.

Where does it go from here? he asked curiously.

Why, don’t you know? asked Miss Annie. It flows off to the west about three miles, and empties itself into the North River, just a little way from the railroad station at Beekman’s Landing, where you’re going to meet Bobby. I’m sure you’ve crossed it on the bridge, north of the village. Don’t you remember?

Oh, sure! exclaimed Djuna. Is that Miller’s Brook, too? It’s much bigger there than it is here. I thought it was some other brook.

No, it’s the very same one, Miss Annie assured him. Of course, another, bigger stream, from up in the hills, feeds into it before it reaches the bridge. Or you might say Miller’s Brook feeds into the bigger stream. It just gets bigger as it goes along. That’s really how the village got its name — Brookville.

I’ll ask Mr. Boots to take us around that way after we meet Bobby, said Djuna excitedly. I’ll show it to Bobby and tell him we live at this end of it!

By this time they had reached Aunt Candy Barnes’s house, which was surrounded by a neat white picket fence. Inside the front gate, Djuna tied Champ’s leash to one of the pickets, snapped the leash to his collar, and asked him to be patient while they went in to see Aunt Candy. Then they went up the walk and Miss Annie knocked with the big brass knocker fastened to the front door.

She’s a widow, you know, Miss Annie whispered, as they waited. Her husband, Mr. Barnes, died years ago. So don’t ask any — oh, good morning, Aunt Candy!

The door had opened and Aunt Candy stood there, smiling at them. She was a very old lady, heavily built, with snow-white hair and rosy cheeks. Little Miss Annie Ellery hardly came up to her shoulder.

Oh, come in, come in, Miss Annie! Aunt Candy exclaimed, beaming. Mighty glad to see you! And you, too, Djuna! Come in, both of you!

She led them into the big front room, in which a cheerful log fire was burning in a wide stone fireplace, and pointed to two chairs by the fire.

Draw them chairs up closer to the fire, she urged them, and make yourselves comfortable! Weather’s a mite chilly still. I was just a-settin’ here, knittin’ another pair of socks for my boys. This pair is for Olin. Already finished a pair for Dolan. If it t’aint one, it’s t’uther!

You know, I’m ashamed of myself, Aunt Candy, said Miss Annie. I mean, I’m mixing business with pleasure this time, and that’s no way to visit. But a friend of Djuna’s is coming to visit him, all the way from Florida, and I thought I’d make an apple pie for the boys. And now I find that I’ve run all out of cinnamon and nutmeg! And I know Mr. Pindler hasn’t any on hand at his store. Could I just beg, borrow, or steal a little from you?

Why, of course, said Aunt Candy. I’ll just go and git it now, and then we can settle down for a good talk. Just you set down, and I’ll be right back!

She bustled off to the kitchen, and Miss Annie gave a sigh of relief. Aunt Candy was back in a jiffy. Miss Annie thanked her, and then asked politely if Aunt Candy’s two sons were at home.

No, sighed Aunt Candy, settling herself in her armchair. "They’ve gone over to Brookville. Said they had some business to tend to at Beekman’s Landin’, but I know they’re only draggin’ a red herrin’ over their own trail. What they’ve reelly gone over to Brookville for is to watch some sort of foolishness on that there tellyvision set in the hotel over there. They can’t fool me!"

Djuna looked startled. Excuse me, Aunt Candy, he said, "did you say a red herring? We had herring for breakfast, but they weren’t red. They were brown!"

Aunt Candy chuckled. Of course, she agreed. "What I said about a red herrin’ is just a old sayin’. Near as I can explain it, draggin’ a red herrin’ over somebody’s trail just means tryin’ to trick somebody — for instance, when one of them magicians in a theayter tells everybody to be sure to keep watchin’ his right hand, chances are he’s goin’ to do some trick with his left hand, and he don’t want you should watch it. A red herrin’ is just suthin’ to fool people with."

"But why does it have to be a red herring? Djuna persisted. And how could you drag a little fish like that?"

I’m sure I don’t know, said Miss Annie. Just as Aunt Candy says, it’s a very, very old saying, or expression. Maybe it goes back, hundreds of years, to the days when people in England first began hunting foxes with a pack of hound dogs. Of course, the dogs used to follow the fox by the scent he left behind him, and when the dogs lost the track somebody would say that a red herring must have been dragged across the trail, so that the dogs were tricked into going off on a wrong scent. Perhaps a red herring smells fishy enough to drown out any other smell there is. And there’s another old saying, you know — when you say something ‘smells fishy’ you mean there’s something crooked or tricky about it. But I don’t really know why.

Are some herrings red? asked Djuna. I mean, not brown, like ours were?

Not to begin with, said Aunt Candy, smiling at his persistence. There used to be a kind of herrin’ that everyone ate around here that was called red herrin’. They was herrin’ that was smoked and then dried.

Jeepers! exclaimed Djuna, looking puzzled. You mean you smoke ’em like a cigar?

My goodness, no! Aunt Candy laughed. After you catch ’em you put ’em down in brine — that’s water with lots of salt in it, you know — to keep ’em. Then, when you’re ready, you take ’em out an’ soak the brine out of ’em for two or three, or mebbe four days. Then you put ’em in a mixture of molasses and bay leaves an’ other things and then you put ’em in a smokehouse an’ smoke ’em for a couple of days. That’s what turns ’em red, or sort of, inside.

Djuna thought this over in silence — for about two seconds.

Then what color are they before they are smoked? he demanded.

Blue! replied Aunt Candy, firmly. A kinda dark blue. Almost black-blue, reelly. On the back, at least. Lower down their sides, they’re sort o’ yellowish, in spots, and then they’re white. On their stummicks, I mean. Like silver, almost.

She thought for a moment. No, she said at last, "there ain’t no sech thing as a red herrin’ — leastways, I’ve never seen one."

Djuna thought this over. But while he did so, and in fact ever since he had entered the room, he kept staring at some long poles hanging on the side wall opposite him. They were resting on pegs fastened to the wall. One of them was nearly twenty feet long. Others were shorter. Some were tipped with