“Really?” said Mackenzie. “That’s great! Way to go, Lucas!”
Lucas gave her a shy smile.
“Take a look at this one,” said Scooter, holding up the first picture for us to see. It was out of focus, but if I squinted I could just make out what was written on the suspect’s baseball cap: DON’T MESS WITH TEXAS.
“Um,” I began as Mackenzie blurted, “That’s our Uncle Rooster!”
Lucas looked crestfallen.
“It’s okay,” she assured him. “It’s still really good detective work.”
Scooter showed us the other two pictures, both taken on the morning of the race. One was of a middle-aged woman wearing a Red Sox baseball cap. She was setting up a lawn chair on the village green and appeared to be all by herself. The other was of a pair of teenage boys about Danny’s age who were lounging on the steps of the gazebo.
“Definitely suspicious,” said Cha Cha.
“That’s what we thought,” said Calhoun. “We’ve asked around a little bit, but so far, nothing.”
“Keep at it,” I told them. “We’re with you in spirit.”
“Talk to you guys again tomorrow night?” asked Scooter, with a hopeful glance at my cousin.
I held up Saga of a Ship. “We might be at a book signing. How about you text us if you get any more new leads or learn anything about our suspects?”
After we hung up, Mackenzie reached over for the book I was still holding. “Can I take a look?”
I passed it to her. Cha Cha scooted closer. Jasmine climbed up onto her bunk and leaned over the edge, her long dark hair trailing down like seaweed.
“Looks kind of interesting,” my cousin said, riffling through the pages.
“It’s long, though,” added Jasmine, yawning. “And there aren’t many pictures.” She reached out and fingered the strand of beads I’d looped around my neck. “Ooo, pretty!”
“Mermaids love bling,” I deadpanned, and they all laughed.
“So are you really going to read a giant book about pirates?” asked Mackenzie.
I shrugged. “They’re more interesting than mermaids. They were real, for one thing.”
I shared my maple sugar candy with them, and the three of us talked for a while, and then it was time for bed.
“Night, Pixie. Night, Nixie!” Mackenzie called softly from across the room. “Night, Grania!”
“Night, Neptunette!” I called back, stifling a giggle.
There was an echoing giggle from Cha Cha’s bunk, which got Jasmine going, and pretty soon we were all giggling.
“It’s not that funny, you guys!” Mackenzie protested, but she was laughing too.
“Yes it is,” I told her, which set us all off again.
Our giggle fit finally subsided, and the room grew quiet. Propping myself up with my pillow, I switched on the flashlight app on my cell phone and opened Saga of a Ship. I leafed through a few pages, then turned to the index and ran my finger idly down the entries. Something caught my eye under the listings for C: Cherry Island, p. 87.
I frowned. There was a Cherry Island on Lake Lovejoy. The book couldn’t be referring to that, though, could it? For one thing, Cherry Island was only our island’s nickname. Its real name, the one that appeared on maps, was MacPherson’s Island. Only locals called it Cherry Island. Curious, I turned to page eighty-seven and hunted until I found the reference: Rumors persisted well into the 1800s about one of the survivors of the Windborne. It was said that he fled with his share of the treasure and buried it in a place called Cherry Island, where it has remained undiscovered to this day.”
I put the book down thoughtfully, then reached for my cell phone. CHERRY ISLAND’S REAL NAME IS MACPHERSON’S ISLAND, RIGHT?
A few seconds later my phone vibrated. PRETTY SURE, Hatcher texted back. WHY ARE YOU STILL UP? MERMAIDS NEED THEIR BEAUTY REST.
I smiled. I’M NOT A MERMAID, I’M GRANIA THE PIRATE.
WHAT?? DID YOU GET A PART??
HUH?
THE PLAY, DUH.
He thought I was talking about The Pirates of Penzance.
NO, I texted back. I DIDN’T TRY OUT, REMEMBER?
“Truly, turn that thing off, you’re keeping us all awake,” Mackenzie mumbled.
GOTTA GO, I texted. SURROUNDED BY CRABBY MERMAIDS. NIGHT!
NIGHT!
I switched off my phone and lay there in my bunk in the dark, staring up at the bottom of Jasmine’s mattress. Saga of a Ship had to be referring to a different Cherry Island. It couldn’t possibly be our Cherry Island.
Pirates in Pumpkin Falls? Preposterous!
CHAPTER 17
I awoke at the crack of dawn the next morning and lay there with my eyes half-shut, listening to the low, soothing coo of a mourning dove. Above it floated the flutelike whistle of a Baltimore oriole, its song punctuated in turn by the insistent call of a cardinal. I smiled. The dawn chorus was in full swing. I heard a robin’s refrain—cheerily, cheer up, cheer up, cheerily, cheer up!—and remembered how, when I was little and Gramps was trying to get me to wake up, he’d fooled me into thinking the bird was actually calling to me: Truly, get up, get up, Truly, get up!
Which I might as well do, I thought, throwing back the covers. There was time to squeeze in a little bird-watching before we left on Sirena’s “mystery trip.” I pulled on my bathing suit, then dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, grabbed my binoculars, and slipped out the cabin door. My flip-flops were where I’d left them on the front steps last night. As I slid my feet into them, I glanced toward the pool. An early-morning mist hovered over the water.
It looked irresistible.
Never swim alone, Sirena had said. It was one of her top ten Mermaid Commandments. I hesitated, torn. It wasn’t like I needed a buddy—I was on swim team, for Pete’s sake. Plus, I could be in and out before anyone else was even up. Nobody would ever know.
A moment later I was skimming over the grass. I couldn’t help myself—the gleaming water drew me like a magnet.
When I reached the edge of the pool, though, I stopped short. Somebody had beaten
