* * *
Maribel was concerned when Luke summoned her, and Detective Miller told them, “We searched all through those mangroves. We didn’t find any shark fins.”
It got worse.
“In fact,” the man explained, “we didn’t find anything your sister described except two empty beer bottles and the wrapper off a cigar. No trash, no cooking fire. I don’t doubt someone was camped there—a path was cut through the mangroves to the water. But here’s the thing—”
The detective spread a nautical chart on the picnic table where Sabina had done a television interview and then disappeared. Maribel didn’t know where her sister was. Maribel had already explained this to a pair of Spanish-speaking police officers and the detective.
The police officers didn’t believe Sabina’s story. Maribel was sure of it. One of them had said to the other as they walked away, “These kids just want attention—shark-tagging team, my butt. What a waste of time.”
Only Detective Miller seemed willing to believe they weren’t liars.
The man leaned over the chart and used a big, thick finger to point. “This is Dinkins Bay. This is the main channel … and we’re here”—he tapped the table—“at the marina.”
His finger moved to a tiny opening on the chart. “This is where we searched—about five acres of swamp and a clearing of high ground. Were we in the right spot?”
The clump of taller mangroves was visible if Maribel looked beyond the docks where boats were moored in a neat line. Luke, sitting to her right, remained silent.
“Fools Cut,” she said. “Yes. That’s where we were anchored this morning when Sabina got out because she … well, my sister needed to use the restroom.”
“Fools Cut,” the man muttered. “Appropriate. Tell me this—did you see any other boats anchored along here?”
His finger traced the shoreline inside the bay.
Luke shook his head. “No, sir. The man and his dog had to have come from the other side of the mangroves.”
The detective said, “The guy with the beard, you’re talking about? Right?”
Luke nodded.
“But you didn’t see him, you said.”
Luke replied, “Just his dog. She was part pit bull, I think. She didn’t want to bite me, but her owner … he must be a real bucket load. When the guy whistled, the dog obeyed right away and took off.”
“Bucket load—what’s that mean?” the detective wanted to know.
The boy replied, “It’s like a, you know, an expression we used on the farm. A bucket load is something you have to scoop up with a shovel. If you call a person a bucket load, I guess it means about the same thing.”
Detective Miller tried not to smile. “Never heard it before. Are you sure it was a female pit bull?”
Again, the boy nodded. “A nice dog, sort of light brown, with pointed ears and a short tail. She had a thick leather collar with silver things on it. Metal. Like spikes, you know?”
The man gave him an odd look. “A nice dog? Let me get this straight. A pit bull attacks you and the little girl, but you liked the dog anyway?”
Luke became defensive. “Of course. It went after Sabina, yeah, then I showed up. You can’t blame a dog for obeying a command. She just wanted to please her owner, even if the guy is a real bucket load.”
Detective Miller cleared his throat as if about to deliver more bad news.
“Here’s the problem,” he said, addressing Maribel. “Whoever camped there wasn’t a poacher—at least, there’s no evidence we could find. And I seriously doubt your sister saw several hundred shark fins drying in the sun. To catch that many sharks, you’d need a fairly large boat, wouldn’t you?”
Maribel felt as if she were walking into a trap, but she had to agree. “Probably … yes. A boat a lot bigger than the one we’ve been using.”
“Then it didn’t happen,” the detective said. “It couldn’t have happened—not the way your sister described it.”
“My sister wouldn’t lie,” Maribel responded. She might have spoken more forcefully if Sabina hadn’t invented so many wild stories in the past.
“I’m not saying she did,” the man assured her. “Where the guy was camped, it’s almost all swamp. It’s easy to get turned around, and for a kid her age to imagine all sorts of things. Take a look—here’s why I’m sure that shark poachers weren’t camped there.”
He tapped the chart and traced the shoreline outside the bay. “Do you see what I’m getting at?”
Luke understood. “The chart says the water’s too shallow there for a big boat to get in. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Too shallow even for a small boat,” the man said. “If someone anchored on that side of the mangroves, they had to be in a canoe. A kayak, maybe. Every fishing guide I spoke with agrees.
“There’s a big sandbar close to the trees,” he continued. “We didn’t find any footprints in the sand, nothing to indicate that poachers anchored in deeper water and waded ashore. Can you imagine trying to swim carrying a table and a hundred pounds of shark fins?”
For the first time, Maribel began to doubt her sister’s story.
Luke did not. “That man was poaching sharks,” he insisted softly. “If Sabina hadn’t seen a table full of fins, the man wouldn’t have told his dog to attack her.”
“You have a point … but I think you’re wrong,” Detective Miller said. He was folding the chart, done with questions. “Just in case, whatever you do, don’t talk to any reporters. Okay?”
Maribel came close to confessing that Sabina already had spoken to a reporter. But instead she asked, “Why not?”
The detective explained, “For your own safety. The bearded guy was probably just camping, but … well, if Luke’s right, you don’t want a band of poachers to see your pictures in the paper. And you certainly don’t want them to read your names or find out where you live.”
“A band of poachers,” Luke said. “You mean, like a whole gang?”
“We’ve been after them for almost a month,” the detective said. “They’ve been operating between Tampa Bay and Marco Island, and it’s always the same. We’ll find a bunch of dead sharks, their fins cut off, so we send out patrol boats, even helicopters. Day and night, we’ve searched for this gang. But we’ve yet to even see them, let alone arrest them.”
The man sighed with frustration. “Kids, it’s a mystery to me. These poachers are smart—and that’s exactly why I don’t want you talking to reporters. Criminals can be bullies. Sneaky, too. Sometimes they’ll confront a witness, thinking it’ll keep them out of jail.”
“Confront how?” Maribel asked.
The detective didn’t answer. But the way he shook his head warned, You don’t want to find out. “Stay close to the marina,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere without an adult along. I’ve got a business card here somewhere.” He fumbled for an inside pocket. “That’s my cell number. Call me if you need something.”
Maribel fretted about the warning. She was also worried about the TV interview that Sabina had done. When the detective was gone, she tried to reassure herself by discussing it with Luke. “The police don’t believe Sabina, so why would a TV reporter believe her? They can’t run a story without proof, can they?”
Luke’s attention had turned inward. “Instead of talking you into fishing Fools Cut, I should have talked you out of it,” he said. “It’s my fault. I knew something bad would happen if we went there.”
“That’s just silly,” Maribel said. “There’s no way you could’ve known that Sabina would wander off and get lost. What I think is”—she reached as if to touch the boy’s arm but didn’t—“you’re even worse than me when it comes to blaming yourself. And I … well, I think you’re one of the nicest boys I’ve ever met.”
“But I did know,” Luke insisted, his voice soft.
Towering clouds in the east provided a thoughtful silence. A smoky haze beyond the mangroves was rain. The sky throbbed with colors, green and purple. C
louds lit the bay with a sudden, silent bolt of distant lightning.
The boy began tugging at the fingers of his right hand to remove the glove. “Maribel … there’s something I should have told you. And showed you. Sabina tried to trick me into doing it, but I wouldn’t.”
The girl watched in silence as Luke paused, unsure. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “There’s nothing you can’t tell me. Luke, don’t you feel like you and I are”—the girl sensed her face reddening—“well, that we’re…” She couldn’t say what she wanted to say, so she finished shyly, “After all, we’re teammates, aren’t we?”
Luke hated discussing anything personal. “I’d better get going,” he decided, no longer tugging at the glove. “Doc’s got some heavy boxes he needs moved.”
The boy whistled for the dog and walked away.
FOURTEEN
NO NEWS IS GOOD NEWS
Sabina had gone to a lot of trouble to watch the six o’clock news after Kathy, the news reporter, and the TV van packed up and left. That’s why the girl was close to tears when she returned to the marina on a bicycle that wasn’t hers to use, or even borrow.
Maribel was waiting on the lower deck of their houseboat.
“What’s wrong, dear?” she asked.
“Leave me alone,” the younger sister snapped.
“Sabina, please, at least listen! The detective had more questions. There were a couple of Spanish-speaking officers, too. We looked all over for you—and there’s a storm coming. What if Detective Miller finds out you left on a stolen bicycle?”
“I bet that would make you happy!” Sabina responded. “Put me in jail, where I belong. Leave me all alone with rats and no food. Soon I’ll be so old I won’t care anymore about owning a television or a bicycle. Or even my own cell phone.”
The girl pushed past her sister. She went into her closet-sized room and slammed the door.
Maribel had weathered these tantrums before.
On the stove, beans simmered. The older girl went back to work, draining the rice and setting it aside to cool. Captain Hannah had provided four nice sea trout fillets for dinner. The fillets were thin and white as piecrust. They would take only a few minutes to cook.
Their mother, who was convinced her daughters were being hailed as heroes, not liars, was working and wouldn’t be home until late. On the phone, Mrs. Estéban had promised to return with a surprise of some sort—probably carrot cake, their favorite dessert.
But making tonight’s dinner, and keeping her sister out of trouble, was still Maribel’s responsibility.
The houseboat was like an oversized dollhouse with miniature appliances. There was a two-burner stove and a minifridge that fit under the counter. The refrigerator was small but never empty. Maribel loaded a plate with mango cobbler and tapped on Sabina’s door.
“Go away!” the girl yelled from inside. “I’m trying to finish a poem before the police handcuff me.”
The older sister opened the door just wide enough to stick her arm in. The plate of cobbler was snatched from her hand. As she walked away, the door banged shut, then opened again. “Where’s the milk?” Sabina hollered down the hall. “Don’t tell me we can’t afford milk, either!”
Maribel returned with a glass of milk. She tapped twice and then left it outside the door.
Thunder rumbled across the bay while the girl set the table. It was raining, almost dark, when she lit a burner and found a pan for the sea trout.
The phone on the wall rang. Their mother always called just before dinner if the girls were home alone.
“Everything’s fine, mamá,” Maribel said, as she always did—no matter what small calamity had occurred. Why upset their mother when she had enough problems to deal with? Through the phone Maribel heard the background sounds of laughter and clattering plates in a restaurant. The place was always crowded with customers who liked to sit and watch a dozen big-screen TVs on the walls.
Maribel and her mother talked for a while in Spanish before their mother mentioned Sabina. “Your sister was here earlier,” Mrs. Estéban said. “I saw her peeking through the window. I think Sabina came to watch the six o’clock news. Is she okay?”
“She’s in her room writing poetry,” Maribel replied. “I figured that’s where she went. She was crying when she got home, but she’s fine now. She ate a plate of cobbler and asked for a glass of milk.”
“That poor sweet child,” their mother said. “I wish I could have given her a hug, but I was busy with my tables. Did she tell you? That TV reporter didn’t use her interview. Your sister waited and waited, then finally gave up. I know she’s disappointed.”
Maribel, with a gentle smile, said, “I figured that out, too.”
“It makes me sick to think about that bad man and dog chasing her,” their mother continued. “Honestly? I’m glad Sabina wasn’t on the news tonight. Who knows what that criminal would do if he saw her.”
In the background, above the noise of clattering plates, a voice called her mother’s name. “I’ve got to go,” Mrs. Estéban said, then added in a sweet way, “You and Sabina will always be heroes to me—mi pequeña general.”
* * *
The next morning, a Friday, Luke wondered why there was a school bus in the marina parking lot. During summer vacation? That made no sense.
He and the dog continued walking toward the lab. When he got closer, he saw Everglades Sea Camp written on the side of the bus. So maybe it did make sense. Luke had never attended a summer camp. How could he, with so many chores to do on the farm? But he had read about summer camps, which is why he found the presence of the bus interesting. He stopped to watch.
The bus doors folded open. A bunch of kids filed off, all wearing the same green summer camp T-shirts. There was a mix of girls and boys. They looked to be a little older than Luke, probably thirteen years old.
“Hey … there he is!” a girl shouted. Then, for some mysterious reason, she pointed in Luke’s direction. The girl, he couldn’t help but notice, was tall and sort of pretty. She sounded excited, like she had spotted a celebrity.
Curious, Luke turned a slow circle to see who the girl was talking about. But there was no one else there. Just him.
“He’s the one who scared off the pit bull,” the girl hollered. She held up a newspaper for the other kids to see. “It is him. Look for yourself. Hey,” she called to Luke. “Mind if I get a selfie?”
A taller, older boy, chimed in, “Dude—mind if I get one, too?”
The girl, getting her phone out, loped toward Luke as if she wanted to be the first in line.
Luke felt dazed. It took him a moment to solve this strange mystery. He remembered the TV reporter. He remembered her iPhone camera. Had the woman published a picture of him in the newspaper? No … that wasn’t possible. He had refused to say a word to her or anyone else.
But that’s exactly what had happened.
“Your name’s Luke, isn’t it?” the girl called as she jogged closer. “Says so right here.” She motioned with the newspaper. “Please, just a couple of selfies. And maybe autograph your picture from the newspaper—just for me. Okay?”
Luke tried to get his clumsy feet moving, but they felt mired in glue. “I … I can’t,” he stammered.
Too late. The girl was already there. She threw an arm around the boy’s shoulder and pressed her cheek against his ear.
“Smile, Luke.” She laughed, looking up at her phone. Click, click, click. Several selfies were snapped while Luke stood frozen. Finally, after a very damp kiss on the cheek, the girl pulled away. “If our counselor says it’s okay, could you hang with us for a while? I’d love to hear what it’s like to tag sharks. All we do at this stupid camp is collect starfish and shells—kiddie stuff like that.”
Luke, rubbing his cheek, said, “Uh … I’ve got to go.”
And he did—walking at first. Then began to jog.
* * *
Sabina was still in a foul mood when she left the houseboat that morning. She di
dn’t notice that the air was fresh and tangy after last night’s rain. She didn’t notice when people in neighboring boats smiled and waved at her with new admiration. When a pair of marina employees, Jeth and Figgy, applauded as she walked past, the girl ignored them with a scowl.
It was bad enough to have been scorned by yesterday’s six o’clock news. Now people were making fun of her because she had hoped to become famous but wasn’t.
Sabina’s mood didn’t improve when she spotted Luke in the distance. He was in the parking lot with a bunch of older kids. Among them was a tall, pretty girl. The young pig farmer didn’t seem to mind one bit when the girl hugged him close. Then he stood there like a dumb statue, cheek-to-cheek as if kissing the girl while several selfies were taken. Or did he mind…?
Sabina watched Luke finally pull free of the girl’s arms. For an instant the boy paused with a stupid grin frozen on his face. Then, at a fast pace, he started walking toward a fence at the edge of the parking area. The pretty girl, with her even stupider grin, trotted after him, along with several other kids.
The young pig farmer, Sabina noticed, glanced once over his shoulder. When he realized the girl was following him, he sprinted away as if running for his life.
Sabina knew where the boy was headed—to a shed filled with junk, where he sometimes hid when he didn’t want to talk to anyone. She also knew a shortcut. She bolted past the boat ramp, through a hole in the fence, and was waiting in the shed when Luke arrived.
“Sure, take selfies and kiss strange girls while the rest of us are working,” she sneered from the darkness as the boy entered.
Luke was so startled he stumbled and nearly fell. “Holy moly!” he yelped. “You scared the whiz out of me. I thought you were … that you were…”
“Thought I was that girl with her stupid grin and cell phone?” Sabina demanded. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Have someone pretty take my place on the boat while I’m busy making your gross bologna sandwiches. Maybe next time I won’t save you from a mean dog.”
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