“Save me?” Luke said. He felt a little dizzy. “What are you doing here?” He held up a warning finger. “Hang on a second.” He scooted along the wall to a broken window and peeked out. “Good. She’s gone. Uh, that was so freaky. She wet-kissed me. Like cows do sometimes?” The boy scratched at his cheek as if trying to remove a stain.
“Hah—don’t change the subject,” Sabina countered. “And don’t think I won’t tell Maribel. I will, and she won’t like it. Personally, I don’t care who you kiss … as long as it’s not me. But you’re supposed to be grinding fish for chum, not flirting with—” The sister stopped, aware that something was missing. “Hey—where’s Marion’s dog?”
“Doc’s dog?” Luke risked another glance out the window. “How the heck would I know? Swimming, probably.” He scratched at his cheek again. “Wow. That girl’s scary—maybe she scared the dog away, too.”
Sabina thought the remark funny until the boy became very serious. “You know why she wanted to take selfies with me? Because she saw my picture in the paper and wanted an autograph.”
“Now you’re making up stories,” the girl scoffed. “Next, cows will be asking for your autograph.”
“Sabina, it’s true about the picture. We’re in trouble. Bad trouble. Detective Miller isn’t going to like it. Doc and my aunt, they’re all going to be mad when they find out.”
“I don’t blame them,” Sabina said, “if they saw you kissing a stranger in the—” Again, she stopped. “What picture? I hate that girl. Why would a pretty girl want your autograph?”
“Because of you. You haven’t seen today’s newspaper?”
“Paper?” the girl asked. “How would I? We can’t afford a newspaper.”
Like a criminal, Luke ducked under the window and moved to the doorway. “This really sucks,” he said. “I didn’t read the story, but I saw it. Your picture’s on the front page, too. Right beside mine.” He tilted his head for a quick look out the door. “Holy moly, those girls are still out there waiting.”
Sabina was stunned by what she had just heard. “Newspaper … Me?”
“Yeah. And your picture’s a lot bigger than mine.”
A slow smile brightened the girl’s face. “On the front page … and it’s even bigger than yours,” she mused.
“You should’ve never talked to that reporter,” Luke said. “This is bad. Strangers from all over the place are going to be stopping us and asking questions. And what if that bearded guy, the shark poacher, sees it?”
“Oh, yes. That would be bad,” Sabina agreed, but she was excited, not upset. “Where can I find this newspaper? I’d like to see the terrible thing I’ve done.”
* * *
When Mrs. Estéban finished reading about her daughters and their friend, Luke, there were tears in the woman’s eyes. She folded the newspaper carefully and said to Maribel, “Take this back to the marina. I’ll give you some money. We’ll want several copies to keep for your scrapbooks. But I’m scared that criminal will see Sabina’s picture. Please don’t tell her that I’m worried.”
“Don’t be, mamá,” Maribel said. “The police will find the man. And who’s going to bother us here? The marina has a gate they lock every night.”
Mrs. Estéban sniffed and went to find her purse. “I’m so proud of my two girls,” she said from the hallway. “Maribel, you especially. I’m glad the reporter didn’t interview you, too. But she should’ve. You were captain of the boat.”
Maribel didn’t want to cause more upset by mentioning the detective’s warning about reporters. “I don’t mind,” the girl said. She stopped at the counter and opened the paper for another look.
On the front page, Sabina’s smile was so broad it revealed the missing front tooth that had yet to grow back. Her sister looked happy and fearless in her dark blue Sharks Incorporated T-shirt.
Sabina looks exactly like herself, Maribel thought fondly. She’s so beautiful but doesn’t know it yet.
The photo of Luke and the dog was different. In person, Luke was an average-looking boy. He had a wide, plain face, reddish hair, and shy, soft eyes. But the camera had sharpened the boy’s features. Somehow the picture made Luke appear larger, more confident. The lens had captured a spark in his bright blue eyes, not shy at all—a little angry, even, at the reporter for taking his photo.
The spark was unusually bright. Maribel wondered if using a magnifying glass to look at the picture would confirm that it resembled a lightning bolt.
“Buy at least five copies,” her mother said, and handed over a ten-dollar bill. She put her arm around the girl, and they both gazed at the front page. “What worries me is this part. What if that terrible man sees it?” The woman circled a paragraph with her finger. It was midway down in the story.
The paragraph read:
Sabina Estéban, the youngest of the three team members, feels confident she can identify the shark poacher. She described him to police in detail, as well as the man’s trained pit bull. The girl claims the dog attacked her. She says it might have bit her had it not been for the bravery of her fellow shark tagger, Lucas O. Jones.
Lucas was unavailable for comment …
“My English isn’t as good as yours,” her mother said. “I’m not sure I understand what some of those words mean.”
Inside the houseboat they spoke Spanish, so Maribel translated the paragraph line by line.
“That Sabina.” Her mother smiled. “She’s not afraid of anything. Even as a baby she was … different. Born old, the women in white used to say of her in Cuba. And the women in white are very wise. Yes … your sister worries me most of all.”
Maribel thought, Me too.
She gave her mother a hug and said, “I’ll be back with the newspapers and your change.”
Outside, she noticed Luke. The boy was peering through a hole in the fence that separated the parking lot from a junky area where there were broken engines and a machine shed.
“Where’s my sister?” Maribel asked.
“Went to buy a newspaper at the general store,” Luke replied. “I told her not to go alone.”
“Why shouldn’t she go alone?” To Maribel, Sanibel Island felt like the safest place in the world. At this time of day, they were allowed to roam freely. And Bailey’s General Store was only a few hundred yards from the shell road that led to the marina. It was an easy walk.
Luke replied, “For the same reason Detective Miller told us not to talk to reporters.”
A stricken look crossed Maribel’s face but quickly faded. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. There are always people on the bike path between here and Bailey’s.”
Luke had another reason for being concerned. He pointed to the parking lot. “Ever see that van before? It pulled in just before your sister left. Now it’s … yeah, looks like they’re leaving. I’ve got a weird feeling about the driver.”
He was referring to a beat-up old black van with black tinted windows. Exhaust spewed from its tailpipe as the vehicle pulled away.
Maribel began to worry again. “Is Sabina walking, or did she borrow someone’s bike?”
“Walking,” Luke said. He touched the girl’s elbow. “Come on. Let’s go find her.” In the parking lot, he stopped again. “Hold on. That darn bus is still here.”
Now the boy was concerned about a yellow school bus with Everglades Sea Camp on the side.
Maribel gave him a quizzical look. “What’s wrong with you? Why were you peeking through the fence like a criminal a little bit ago?”
She figured it out when a tall, pretty girl and several other kids exited the marina office and came toward them. They grinned and waved while the tall girl yelled, “Come on, Luke, hang for a while. Seriously, like, everyone on the bus wants a selfie with you.”
FIFTEEN
MIRRORS AND THE BLACK VAN
Sabina didn’t notice the black van when it passed by. She was preoccupied. It wasn’t easy to walk and read a newspaper at the same time. The excitement of seeing h
er own smiling face on the front page made her giddy.
I look sort of pretty, she thought. Prettier than I look in the mirrors at home.
Could this be possible? The girl stopped on the bike path to study the photograph. Yes … it was true. And if the reporter with the pink lipstick, Kathy, hadn’t been so stingy about sharing makeup, the photo might have been even more glamorous.
Sabina searched her own dark eyes. She liked the simple eloquence of her braided hair in the photo. Her blue-black braids framed what she deemed to be a friendly, confident smile. The only small flaw was her missing front tooth, knocked out by a baseball.
So what? The tooth would grow back, Sabina hoped, in time for the attractive and successful woman that the photo promised she would one day become.
I like photographs better than mirrors, she decided. I will never trust a mirror again.
The girl continued walking. Behind her on the road, a black van with black tinted windows slowed, then crept past.
This time the girl did notice. The engine made a clunky metallic sound and spit gray exhaust. The odor tainted the fresh, tangy morning air.
This reminded her of Cuba, and the old, brightly colored American cars that stank up the streets of Havana.
Use a bicycle, she advised the driver silently. Stop polluting our air.
Her attention returned to the newspaper. The article was in English, of course. People in Florida—kids at school, especially—didn’t realize it took time to understand a new language. There was a difference between learning a language and understanding it. There was also a difference between speaking a language and being able to read it without having to squint, and think, and sometimes feel stupid.
Sabina was reading the story when the van reappeared. This time, instead of passing by, the vehicle pulled off the road and stopped next to her.
A front window glided down. The woman at the wheel said, “Hey, you’re the little girl in the newspaper, aren’t you? We were just talking about you.” After looking the girl up and down, she added, “My gracious. You’re even prettier in person.”
The woman had nice hair and a waxy red smile.
“I think so, too,” Sabina replied in a friendly way.
“Do you live nearby?” the driver asked.
The girl pointed at the shell road that led to the marina. “On a houseboat,” she said. “Uh, do you mind if I ask you something? Where you live, why do they allow junky cars that stink up the air with pollution?”
The woman didn’t understand. She spoke to someone in the back seat, asking for the newspaper and a pen. “I’d love to have your autograph,” she said to Sabina. “I bet you’re tired of folks telling you how brave you are to stand up to those criminals. Weren’t you scared?”
Sabina shrugged as if it was no big deal. “I hate anyone who kills sharks for no reason. I’m a member of a shark-tagging team—it’s probably in the story you read about me. I haven’t gotten that far yet because it’s hard to walk and read at the same time.” With a regal nod, the girl added, “After I autograph your newspaper, you may take my picture if you want.”
The van’s windows were tinted black. Sabina couldn’t tell how many passengers were seated behind the woman. Soon the woman’s copy of the newspaper was provided from the back seat by a man’s large, hairy hand.
“I bet you’re tired of signing autographs, too,” the woman said. She held out the newspaper for the girl to take.
Sabina walked closer to the van and extended her hand. “I’ll never get tired of signing autographs.”
The newspaper was already folded to the front page. Concentrating, tongue pressed between her teeth, the girl signed the photo with a flourish. This was something that Sabina had practiced many times in her room alone. She also granted the woman a patient smile, which she had seen in magazines. Movie stars did this to prove they were nice people even though they were rich.
“Thank you,” she said to the woman, and got up on her toes to return the newspaper. As she did, the girl got a quick glimpse of the passenger in the back seat.
It was a big, thick-faced man with a short dark beard.
There was a dog there, too. Sabina couldn’t see the dog, but its low rumbling growl sounded familiar. The stink of cigar smoke escaped from inside. That was familiar, too.
Sabina backed away.
“What’s wrong?” the woman asked.
The girl suddenly found it hard to breathe. She spun and almost ran in the wrong direction. But then she saw her sister and Luke coming toward her from the road to the marina.
Concerned, the woman opened the car door. “What about our picture together?” she wanted to know. “Honey … you’re as white as a sheet. Is something wrong?”
Sabina started running. She didn’t stop until she was at Maribel’s side. “It’s him … It’s the shark poacher,” she stammered, out of breath.
Maribel’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?” she asked, aware that the van was pulling away. Not fast, but cautiously, as if not to attract attention.
“He had a beard, and his dog growled at me,” Sabina stammered. “We’ve got to call the police before he gets away.”
Luke covered his eyes against the sun’s glare. “Don’t worry, I can see the license plate.”
“From here?” Maribel asked. It shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. Luke, the boy with the bionic eyes. “Then we need to write the number down before you forget.”
Luke didn’t need to write it down. The license plate had become a photograph in his head.
He turned to Sabina. “Are you sure it’s the same guy? What about the dog? Did you get a good look at the dog?”
Sabina watched the van stop at a stop sign and turn right.
“I think so,” she said. Then decided, “Yes … I’m sure it was the shark poacher. We’ve got to call Detective Miller!”
* * *
Luke said it wasn’t too late in the day to fish, yet he had to admit that Maribel was right: They couldn’t leave the marina until the police had located the black van. It wasn’t safe. Also, once the police did find the van, they might call upon Sabina to identify the passenger as the man who had ordered a pit bull to attack her.
Identifying the dog—if there was a dog—would require Luke to be present, too.
So the boy had some time to waste. He got one of the heavy fishing rods they used, and practiced casting off the dock. Luke seldom gave himself credit for much, but after weeks of practice, even he had to admit that he was getting pretty good. The rod was seven feet long. Despite the heavy line, he could whip a bait with pinpoint accuracy. Casting sticks for the dog had improved his distance, too. On a baseball diamond, Luke could throw from home to second base, no problem. With a fishing rod, he could hurl a weighted line almost twice as far.
Fun.
When he was done, he put the rod away and strolled to the lab. The retriever was swimming beneath the docks when he arrived. The biologist’s boat was gone. This wasn’t unusual. But Luke was surprised when his aunt Hannah told him that Doc had left unexpectedly on a trip.
“I saw that he’d moved his seaplane,” the boy said. “Where’d he go?”
They were in the lab. The room smelled of chemicals and saltwater. Against the wall, the row of aquariums bubbled while ceiling fans stirred a lazy breeze.
Hannah didn’t know. Nor did she know when the biologist was returning.
“It’s the way Doc is,” she explained. “His job comes first. It’s the same with me and my charter business—except for Izaak, of course. Doc and I are both learning to accept the way we are. Sometimes he’s gone for a week or two—or longer. No one knows until he gets back.”
Luke was disappointed. He’d felt a connection with the biologist that, for him, was unusual. He also feared he had let the man down by failing in his duties as “special lookout” for their team. It was his fault they had decided to fish in Fools Cut.
Hannah sensed this. “It’s possible that Doc wouldn’t
have left unless he trusted you to take care of yourself. Ever think of that?”
No … just the opposite. Luke’s stepfather, even his teachers back in Ohio, had criticized almost everything he did. The idea of an adult actually trusting him was still new.
The woman continued, “Something I know for sure is, I wouldn’t let the three of you tag sharks if I didn’t trust you all. But there is something that bothers me.”
Luke expected her to ask yet again why Sabina had been allowed to leave the boat to go to the bathroom rather than use a bucket. Maribel had taken the blame to protect her sister. The boy had backed this white lie because … well, because they really were a team.
Instead, Hannah asked, “Do you think Sabina’s right about who she saw in the van? The police were willing to believe her once. They spent half a day searching those mangroves but didn’t find any evidence of shark poachers. Now Sabina’s doing it again: accusing a man of a serious crime, even though she only got a quick glimpse of the guy. What if they stop the van and she’s wrong?”
Luke understood. “If that happens, the police probably won’t ever believe us again. I see what you’re getting at.”
Hannah was tall, with dark hair and sharp, wise eyes. Fishing guides also had to be tough. Hannah was. “That’s what bothers me. What happens if you and the sisters really do get in trouble? Call for help a third time, the police won’t come running. Honestly, Luke, I wouldn’t blame them.”
His aunt paced awhile to think things through. “That’s bad. It would create a safety risk. Doc and I discussed it before he left. If Sabina has made up another story, and the police prove her wrong, I’m afraid it means the end of Sharks Incorporated. Either that, or you and Maribel have to tell her she can’t fish anymore. Sorry, but that’s the way it has to be.”
“We’re not fishing without Sabina,” Luke replied softly. “Don’t worry about her. She’s telling the truth.”
“You sound sure.”
“I am. Sabina’s sort of weird and all, with her lucky beads and poetry, but she’s no liar. She wouldn’t risk messing up our chance to tag sharks together.”
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