by Kristy Tate
“Hi there, I’m Chad McNally.” McNally bounced to Declan’s side, making Declan realize McNally must have been lurking and waiting for an opportunity to pounce.
“Lizbet, this is Nicole Gunner.” Declan pointedly ignored McNally.
“I’m Lizbet...” She smiled at Nicole and took McNally’s outstretched hand.
Declan wondered if she was trying to decide what her last name was. He also wondered when—and if—McNally was going to release her hand.
“Thanks for letting me crash your party,” Lizbet said. “Matías said you wouldn’t mind.”
“The more the merrier, I always say,” McNally put in.
“I’ve never heard you say that,” Declan growled.
“The bigger the better, I always say.” Baxter referred to his size as he wedged himself into the circle.
“Don’t listen to these goons,” Declan said.
“Where are you from?” Nicole asked.
“San Mateo Islands,” Lizbet answered.
“All of them?” Nicole asked.
Declan thought that was a stupid question, which surprised him. Nicole had been in all of his GATE classes since grade school. She rarely got anything wrong. But she clearly wasn’t getting Lizbet.
And, if he could help it, neither was McNally.
“No, it’s just Blackstone is so small not very many people have heard of it.”
“Do you have to take a ferry?” McNally asked.
“She’s not taking you there,” Baxter said.
“Hahaha,” McNally said, jabbing on elbow into Baxter’s side.
Baxter didn’t even flinch.
“Private boat,” Lizbet said, flashing Declan a quick glance. “Unless you catch a ride with the postman.”
McNally and Baxter laughed as if she’d said something worthy of Saturday Night Live. Nicole smiled, while Lizbet looked slightly confused.
Across the room, Matías watched them while a kid from the soccer team talked and waved his hands. After a few minutes, Declan watched Matías excuse himself weave his way through the crowd.
“There you are,” Matías said to Lizbet, placing a territorial hand on her shoulder.
“Matías, you must know Nicole,” Lizbet said, “but do you know the others?”
Matías nodded at them and bumped fists with Baxter.
“I’ve known Declan the longest,” Lizbet said. “We go back.”
“Way back,” Declan corrected her.
“Really?” Baxter and McNally asked at the same time.
Declan shrugged and tried not to look smug.
Lizbet gave him a steady gaze, which he read as who’s the liar now? He flinched and looked away.
The music suddenly stopped and a bell chimed as Mr. Gunner called for everyone’s attention. He was a beige man with thinning hair who tried to look younger than his years. He stood in front of the fireplace and motioned for everyone to quiet down. “Hey, first of all, I want to thank you all for coming tonight, and second, we have an announcement.” He waved for Nicole to join him. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close. “We’re so proud of Nicki! She’s the brightest star in our family, and we’re not surprised that others have recognized her brilliance.” He raised his plastic cup. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Nicole Gunner, soon to be a freshman at Duke University!”
Nicole caught Declan’s gaze as the implications raced through him. They were both going to Duke. Jason, he knew, had a football scholarship to Washington State. Declan and Nicole would be going to Wake Forest, South Carolina, while Jason would be going to Pullman, Washington. Nicole and Jason would be a continent apart.
That should have made Declan happy. He tried to decipher his own feelings—which, he decided, was a Baxter sort of thing to do, and therefore pointless. While everyone around him clapped and looked happy for Nicole—except Jason, who wore a shell-shocked expression and phony smile—Declan excused himself.
#
Outside, away from the crush of bodies, the girls’ perfume, the boys’ cologne, and the steady beat of the strange music, Lizbet sucked in a deep breath of the warm moist night air. Directly outside the glass doors, couples lounged on chaises and against the railing of a deck wrapping around the house. Lizbet found solitude around the corner. Here, the night was darker, the moon lower, and even the stars seemed brighter.
She listened to the sound of nocturnal animals hiding in the forest trees bordering the manicured lawn. An owl hooted at a fox in the underbrush, while an opossum commented on the warm weather and predicted a summer heat wave. Another sound, this time a human one, caught her attention.
Tucked in the shadows, Declan was hunched on a step where the deck met the lawn. She wondered if he wanted to be alone. Her gaze must have drawn his attention, because he turned. His eyes widened when he saw her.
“Are you hiding?” she asked.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said. “How’s your mom?”
“The same. How’s your grandfather?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “He was finally awake, but out of it. Completely delirious. He didn’t know either my mom or me. The next time we went back, he was asleep again.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be. I don’t even know him. That’s weird, right?”
She laughed softly. “I’m beginning to realize that I’m not a good judge of what is and isn’t weird.”
He turned away, hiding his eyes, letting her know that he probably agreed with her. “So how do you know Matías?” he asked, changing the subject.
“He’s my tutor.”
“Ah.”
“Turns out my grandmother is an advocate of formal education.”
“And you’re not?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t had any, so I’m not in a position to say.”
“Wow. What do you want to do with your life?”
“That’s a loaded question.” She sucked in a deep breath and sat beside him on the step. “Right now, all I want to do is find out who beat my mom and why.”
“No clues?”
“Just a man with size-fourteen Wellington boots.”
“How do you know you’re looking for a man?”
She couldn’t very well tell him that the gulls had seen the assailant. “Not very many women have that size of shoe.”
“Maybe it the boot print was a decoy.”
“Maybe...” she said slowly.
“Anyway, you can’t condemn all men with big feet.”
She looked at his really long and skinny feet.
He laughed softly. “Yes...I wear a size-fourteen shoe. But so does Baxter and a couple of other guys on the basketball team.”
She really wished she had gotten a better description of the man from the gulls. Sadly, gulls, despite all their noise, weren’t great conversationalists. They were mostly concerned about their next meal.
She studied him. “You do have the right hair color.”
“How do you know his hair color?”
She scrambled for a lie. “I found a dark strand of hair in the hall.”
“You have dark hair,” he pointed out.
“Yes, but mine’s long and curly. This was short and straight.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re a regular Sherlock.”
“But I don’t smoke a pipe.”
“And you’re better looking than Benedict Cumberbatch”
“Thank you, but who is that?”
He rocked back as if surprised. “You’ve never watched Sherlock?”
“I’ve read most of Conan Doyle’s work.” She shook her head. “But I’ve never watched anything...Matías did introduce me to YouTube today. I love it.”
He stood and took her hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To watch Sherlock, of course.”
She cast a backward glance at the house. “I can’t just leave. I came with Matías. He’s probably wondering where I am.”
“Let’
s go find him. He can come, too.”
“Where are we going?” she repeated.
“To my mom’s house.” He nodded at flickering lights through the trees. “She lives down the street.”
“And you don’t?”
“No. I live with my dad, mostly, but I’m at my mom’s a lot. She won’t mind. In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s not home.”
About ten people ditched Nicole’s party to watch Sherlock. Lizbet sat on the sofa between Declan and Matías trying to enjoy the show, but she found it really hard to concentrate because as they had entered a back door and passed through a small hall she’d spotted a large pair of Wellington boots standing beside an umbrella stand and a giant snoring Husky on the kitchen rug.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"I want to realize brotherhood or identity not merely with the beings called human, but I want to realize identity with all life, even with such things as crawl upon earth."
—Mohandas Gandhi
From Declan’s Research
As Lizbet lay in her bed beneath Elizabeth’s thick quilt, she couldn’t help shivering despite the warmth. Thinking that Declan might be the man responsible for her mom’s coma and Wordsworth’s death left her cold. And worried. And scared.
“You have to take him to the island,” Tennyson said. “The gulls can identify him.”
“How can I do that?” Lizbet pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders, trying to shut out the breeze blowing in through the open window.
“Easy. Tell him you need to pick up a few things and you don’t want to go alone.”
“But why him? Don’t you think he’ll wonder?”
“Probably. But he might also be flattered.”
“Oh.” The realization that he might think of her that way paralyzed her. But why not? He was a boy. She was a girl. She thought back on how it had felt to be sitting beside him on the back deck. She’d liked it. But she’d liked it a whole lot less when they’d sat side by side on the couch after she‘d seen the boots and her suspicions had soured her mood. “How can I go alone? What if he’s the murderer?”
“Invite Matías, too.”
She snorted. “I can’t do that.” There had been an undercurrent that she couldn’t define running between the two boys. “I know, I’ll ask Elizabeth to come. She said she wanted to see the island.”
“Won’t Declan wonder why you invited him?” Tennyson asked.
“Yes. Probably.” Lizbet settled back against the pillows. “Maybe I’ll think of something in the morning.” She tried to sleep, but all her thoughts were grim. When she finally did sleep, her dreams were darker than her thoughts.
#
Gloria raised her eyebrows the next morning when Declan stumbled into the kitchen.
“You don’t mind that I stayed here last night, right?” Declan mumbled, trying to wake up.
“No, of course not.” Gloria smiled as she raised her coffee mug. “Does this mean you’ll be coming to church with us?”
Again? Inwardly, Declan groaned. He plucked a muffin off the counter, dropped into a kitchen chair, and wondered about his stepfather. The thought of Godwin in his mother’s bed made him sick. He picked the raisins out of his muffin and collected them onto a napkin, feeling less hungry than he had when he’d sat down.
His mom’s phone rang and she glanced at the screen. “It’s Mrs. Westmoor,” she said, sounding surprised.
He half listened to his mom’s side of the conversation. “I think he’d be happy to,” Gloria said, looking pointedly at Declan.
He frowned, trying to read her.
“You don’t need to rent a boat. We have one. Yes, Declan can drive. He’s insured.” Gloria paused and put her hand over the receiver. “Do you have plans today?” she whispered.
“Why?” he mouthed back, but, by this point he had a guess.
“I think this just might be his ticket to avoiding church,” Gloria said into the phone.
Declan smiled and picked up his muffin, his appetite returning as he thought about spending a day with Lizbet, a boat, and an island.
#
Declan’s shoes were the first thing she looked at. Sandals. Brown. Leather. Not Wellington boots. They’d met at the marina. The gulls flying overhead jabbered about a box of donuts someone had left unattended near the gear shack. Of course these gulls didn’t know her, her mom, or Wordsworth.
Declan shook Elizabeth’s hand and grinned at Lizbet.
Please don’t let him be the murderer, she thought.
Lizbet scanned the air, searching for a familiar seagull or pelican. A few sea lions lounged on a rock protruding from the glassy Sound. They lifted their heads and waved their fins as Declan, Elizabeth, and Lizbet passed, but Lizbet didn’t recognize them. Of course the animals outnumbered the people close to two to one. That number would skyrocket if one included the insects. But no one ever included insects, and very few people even counted the animals.
Declan’s dad’s speedboat was small and dingy-white with a bright yellow cover canopy—nothing like the monster yacht the murderer had sailed to Blackstone Island.
Elizabeth took the chair beside the driver’s seat while Lizbet took the backbench. Homesickness washed over her as they moved through the harbor toward the Haradan Strait. As the boat picked up speed, water sprayed through the air, and Lizbet held onto her hat.
Gulls wheeled overhead, calling out greetings. A pod of dolphins cut through the water. Lizbet recognized them immediately. They often hung around Blackstone Island and had frequently brought her news of the local goings-on. Dolphins, unlike most animals, loved gossip. The pod chattered around them, easily matching the speedboat’s pace.
“Have you seen a boat as fine as this?” Lizbet asked Doggie, one of the brighter dolphins. What she really was asking was, Have you seen this boat before, but that wasn’t something she could ask in front of Declan.
Often enough. Doggie chattered beside the boat’s prow. “The owner likes to fish. He leaves our herring and squid alone, though.
Declan looked over his should. “It’s like you’re conversing.”
“The dolphins are more gossips than conversationalists.” Lizbet laughed while she spoke, trusting that Declan wouldn’t take her seriously.
The wind ruffled through Declan’s hair, making him look even younger and more carefree. His lips twitched. “They’re gossips, huh? What do they tell you about me?”
Lizbet sucked in a deep breath and rose to the challenge. Leaning over the side of the boat, she called out, “So Doggie, what can you tell me about Declan?”
Declan’s eyebrows shot up as he threw her a grin. “His name is Doggie?”
Doggie jabbered a long-winded response.
Lizbet interpreted. “He says you’ve been coming here since you were little.”
Declan’s expression clouded. “Wait. What? He didn’t really say that, right?”
Lizbet laughed again as she pressed her back against the seat. “What do you think?”
The ride to the island was shorter than Lizbet remembered. Her trip to Queen Anne with Leonard had seemed an eternity, but now when worry and fear no longer hounded her, the boat skimmed through the calm Sound and it seemed as if they pulled into familiar waters in a short time. Although, she’d only been away a few days, Lizbet’s heart warmed as she guided Declan toward the cove.
The gulls called out a welcome. She smiled and waved at them, trying to look natural. While Declan was preoccupied with tying up the boat, Lizbet pulled out the piece of bread she’d tucked in her bag. Before jumping off the boat, she showed it to the gulls. They eagerly followed her to a thicket of woods. While tearing the bread to bits, she asked the gathered gulls in a hushed tone, “Tell me quickly, is this the man who beat my mother and killed Wordsworth?”
“Lizbet!” Elizabeth’s voice floated through the trees. “Now where did that girl go?”
Lizbet couldn’t hear Declan’s response.
“Coming!” Lizbet called back. “Quick! I nee
d to know,” Lizbet whispered to the gulls.
“It’s really hard to distinguish human faces,” Gilbert said.
“You know mine,” Lizbet hissed.
“But we’ve known you for years,” Goosey complained.
“He does have dark hair,” Gilbert said.
“But this time he didn’t bring that large creature.”
That’s right, there had been a dog. Someone had called the dog “wolfish.” Her thoughts went back to the husky at Declan’s mom’s house.
“Just tell me it’s not him,” Lizbet whisper-yelled.
“Okay, it’s not him,” Gilbert said.
“Is it really not him, or are you just saying that?” Lizbet demanded.
“There’s no pleasing you,” Gilbert complained. “You tell me what to say, I do so, and now you’re angry.”
Lizbet took a deep breath and fought to keep her voice steady. “I’m not angry.”
“Then why aren’t you feeding us?” Goosy asked.
Lizbet looked down at her hand and realized that she had stopped divvying out the bread. The gulls flapped around her as she ripped it into pieces.
Gilbert gobbled up a piece. “You know, I don’t think it was him.”
Goosy bobbed her head. “I can’t be sure, but maybe I’d know if there was more bread.”
Lizbet threw the remaining crumbs on the ground and stomped away, thinking that the whole trip had been a waste. She changed her mind as soon as she spotted Declan. He stood at the water’s edge, the light reflecting off his dark hair, his bright blue eyes searching for her, and his smile warming her when he caught her gaze.
“Where’d you go?” Elizabeth demanded.
“My dog. I buried him just over there. I wasn’t able to shovel a very deep hole and I’ve been worried about animals digging him up. I know it sounds gruesome, but...”
Compassion flooded Elizabeth’s expression.
“I just had to check,” Lizbet added.
“Is everything okay?” Declan asked.
She nodded. “The grave looks exactly as I left it. No one’s been here, as far as I can tell.” She gestured toward the house. “We lived just over that hill. Come on, I’ll show you the cottage.”
Declan took Elizabeth’s elbow and guided her up the path while Lizbet followed. Mice skittered through the tall grass.