Secrets from the deep

Linda A. Fairstein

Book - 2018

While on vacation in Martha's Vineyard, twelve-year-old Devlin Quick discovers a genuine pirate doubloon and investigates its origins.

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Subjects
Genres
Detective and mystery fiction
Mystery fiction
Published
New York, NY : Dial Books for Young Readers [2018]
Language
English
Main Author
Linda A. Fairstein (author)
Physical Description
279 pages : map ; 22 cm
ISBN
9780399186493
Contents unavailable.
Review by Booklist Review

Devlin and her best friend, Booker, get to spend their last two weeks of summer on Martha's Vineyard with Booker's family. It's the perfect place for Dev to complete the first step in her upcoming school science project: taking a water sample from a natural water source so she can determine what species of fish or other life forms live in it. What she, Booker, and his young cousin Zee don't expect is to get a doubloon in their first pail! When Zee excitedly tells the lighthouse keeper what they have, the treasure becomes the bane of their vacation but also the source of their next investigative excursion. It's up to the kids to learn about its origin and owner, but, in solving the mystery, they must deal with all sorts of folks, both helpful and criminal. Fairstein's delightfully brave, inquisitive sleuths are back in their third adventure in the Devlin Quick Mysteries series. This satisfying whodunnit is a fun read that also incorporates long-standing African American life on Martha's Vineyard.--J. B. Petty Copyright 2018 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Horn Book Review

With the discovery of a gold doubloon, twelve-year-old sleuth Devlin Quick (Into the Lion's Den; Digging for Trouble) and her best friend Booker embark on a pirate-treasure adventure during a summer vacation on Martha's Vineyard. To determine the coin's owner, Devlin must once again draw upon her sound detective skills (and access her police-commissioner mother's resources) to solve this satisfying third mystery. (c) Copyright 2019. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

Ahoy! It's pirate treasure for a city sleuth. New York City preteen sleuth Devlin Quick, white, and her African-American best friend, Booker Dibble, are spending part of their summer vacation on Martha's Vineyard at Booker's grandmother's home. They form a threesome with Booker's 8-year-old cousin, Ezekiel. In previous titles Dev and Booker solved the mystery of a missing map at the New York Public Library (Into the Lion's Den, 2016) and mayhem involving dinosaur bones at the Museum of Natural History (Digging for Trouble, 2017). This summer vacation is not all fun and games, though; Dev has a school assignment involving water samples and fish DNA. But then scientific exploration gives way to pirate adventure when Dev finds a gold doubloon. Dev, the daughter of New York's police commissioner, knows how to handle the coin to best preserve any evidence of ownership, and that ownership could go back to a pirate "who buried all his treasureon Martha's Vineyard." Fairstein's narrative is peppered with factoids about the Wampanoags and the history of African-Americans on Martha's Vineyard, book references, gender equality, good detective work, and bullying. Pirates, lost treasure, and pirate descendants round out the tale. Dev stays completely focused on determining proprietorship of the coina whodunit that, back home, takes her and Booker to a coin show at the Chelsea Piers in New York for a splashy finale.Fans of the series will enjoy another outing. (Mystery. 9-12) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

1 "Don't go into the ocean, Dev," Booker Dibble shouted to me. "It isn't safe!" "I'm just wading in up to my ankles for now." "But the lifeguard isn't here yet," he said. "If there's a strong riptide, you could get pulled right out to sea." "Three years on the Ditchley swim team," I said, "I think I can hold my own in a couple of feet of water." It was just after nine o'clock on an already hot and humid August morning. Booker and I were on a stretch of beach called the Inkwell, in the town of Oak Bluffs on the island of Martha's Vineyard. "You're way past the ankles. Looks more like your knobby knees are sunk already," Booker said. "Just back up and sit tight for a while. Make a sand castle. A huge one, maybe in the shape of the New York City Public Library." Booker and I had solved our first caper at that great building. But I was ready to move on now. New adventures interested me more than looking back, and the key to our next caper was just ahead of me in the dark waters of the Atlantic Ocean. "Maybe later," I said. "The beach will get too crowded before very long. Now's your chance." There had been a fierce thunderstorm the night before. The sand was churned up in the foamy water that was crashing around me and landing on the beach with more force than usual. I was trying to steady myself, stretching out both arms and balancing the large plastic bucket I was holding in my left hand. "I just need to scoop up my sample," I said, leaning over to run the pail from side to side in the rough surf to gather sixteen ounces of water--and some of the sandy sea bottom--for my fall science project. Everyone in my class had the same summer assignment. We each had to gather a water sample from the sea or a freshwater lake, to prove whether fish left their DNA behind when they swam through the area. "I promise you the ocean is still going to be here when the lifeguard shows up. He's just running late." "I know that. But part of the idea is that I'm going to collect my sample at a specific time every day. Nine o'clock. I don't want my first effort to be out of sync," I said. "I have to be consistent. All good scientists have a firm methodology, don't they?" "Scientists don't take foolish risks," Booker said.  "Benjamin Franklin flew a kite when there was lightning right over his head. In fact, a kite with a silk string and a metal house key attached to it," I said, shaking my head at the mere thought. "That's how he proved that lightning causes an electric charge." "Sounds like risky business," Booker said.  "You're just worried because your grandmother doesn't want anything bad to happen to me while she's in charge of our Vineyard visit. Isn't that right, Zee?" Zee--short for Ezekiel--is Booker's eight-year-old cousin. He was sitting on a towel about ten feet from the shoreline, holding Booker's iPhone in his hands to keep it dry. He was busy playing with some game or app and just shrugged his shoulders. I was so busy trying to show off my science skills to Booker--one of my two best friends--that when I swiveled my head to talk to him, I got knocked over by a gigantic wave. It rolled me around on the ocean floor, and I swallowed a mouthful of salt water as I came up for air. "There's your sample for today, Dev," Booker said, laughing at me. "You've got more H2O and seaweed in your stomach than you have in the bucket. Need a hand?" I stood upright, planted both feet firmly in the shifting sand, and turned my back on Booker and Zee. "Give me one more try," I said. "You could stand right next to me and get your water for the day," Booker said. "Don't make more work for yourself than you need to." "It's about the sand out here. It's been soaking forever, not like that dry stuff on the beach." I was timing the sequence of the waves, sticking my right hand below the water's surface to stay still. Then I dragged the pail deep into the ocean floor and lifted it up, confident that I had collected not only a pint of water, but the muck below it. That stuff was home to snails and crabs and critters--maybe prehistoric ones--I hoped our science teacher had never seen. I swiveled toward Booker and held up the pail in victory. "Doing experiments is awesome," I said. "You were right about that. I feel like I'm on the verge of some really big discovery." I walked toward Booker, almost completely out of the surf, and rested the bucket on a flat piece of sand. Then I backed out again, raised my hands over my head like I was about to dive, and flipped into the water. I held my breath with my head underwater, plowing into the waves and away from the beach. When I had gone twelve or fourteen feet, I lifted my head and stood up--neck deep--then walked toward shore, shaking myself off as I emerged from the water. "You don't need to show off," Booker said. "I was covered in sand," I said. "I had to do that to rinse it out of my bathing suit." That was when I heard Zee call out a name. He was a quiet kid, and I was startled when I heard him yell. "What did you say?" I asked him, cupping my hands around my mouth.  "Gertie!" he yelled again.  Zee had stopped playing with Booker's phone and now had his eyes glued to a spot near the end of the pier where the ferry from the mainland docked. I turned to look in that direction and saw something break the surface of the water. If Gertie was a swimmer in trouble--with no lifeguard in sight--I knew that I could help her. "C'mon, Booker!" I said, jumping into the waves and starting to freestyle my way into deeper water. Out of the corner of my eye, it looked like Booker had followed me in for the rescue, but instead I felt him grab my right foot and tug me back toward the beach. "Get out of the water," he said, with a tight grip on my leg. "Someone needs to help that swimmer," I said, wriggling my body around to break free. But Booker dragged me back out until I sat on the sand like a beached whale.  People were getting out of their cars on the ferry line and snapping pictures of the scene below them, but no one was taking any action to make sure Gertie was okay. "Gertie doesn't need help, Dev," Booker said, huffing and puffing from his battle to pull me onshore. "She's a really strong swimmer." "You know her?" I asked, puzzled by his reaction to the crisis I thought was unfolding in front of our very eyes. "Not personally, but I know who she is," Booker said. "She's a great white." "A what?" I said, looking from his face to Zee's. "She's a great white shark," Booker said. "Best to stay on the beach while she's in Vineyard waters." Excerpted from Secrets from the Deep by Linda Fairstein All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.