“Whatever,” said Phil. “He was nice to me. He gave me . . . Well, it’s none of your business.”
“Nice to you?” snapped Ollie. “He’s the one that turned you into a scarecrow, Phil.”
Phil shot backward, dropping his sandwich. The PB&J fell splat to the deck. “No he didn’t! That didn’t even happen! It was a hallucination!”
“We were all there,” said Coco gently.
“Shut up!” Phil snapped. “Just shut up! It didn’t happen!” He was backing away as he spoke. Suddenly he spun and hurried away down the ladder. As he did, a sudden squall of misty rain blatted down out of nowhere, brief but intense, wetting the deck, wreathing them in a soaking-wet cloud. Coco yelped, and there was a splash. They all dived for the sandwiches, to keep them dry.
In the second of confusion that followed, they heard Mr. Dimmonds’s voice from the wheel. “Wow, take a look at that island!” he said. “And—I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I have no idea which island it is. Man, the ole brain box must be going.”
6
THE SQUALL OF misty rain lifted as fast as it had come, and the Cassandra sailed on under an untroubled sky. Coco, dead white, was staring over the rail of the boat. “Coco,” said Ollie. “Where’s your notebook?”
Coco’s breathing was not quite steady. “I threw it in,” she said. “My picture, of the smiling man—I could have sworn—I could have been wrong, but . . .”
“What?” said Brian.
“It winked at me,” whispered Coco.
They stared at each other. “We have to go after Phil,” said Ollie instantly. “Figure out what he knows.”
“Wait,” said Coco, looking shaken. “We can’t just all stampede after him. Brian should go. They’re like hockey bros together.”
“This is not the time to be delicate! What did the smiling man tell him?” said Ollie. “It’s important! Maybe really important!”
Mr. Dimmonds’s voice broke in again. “Man, kids,” he said again. “Get a look at this island!”
This time the three of them turned around. Coco’s mom and Ollie’s dad were standing at the boat’s railing, staring. Mr. Dimmonds tied the wheel and went to join them. “Beats me,” he said. “I can’t for the life of me figure out which one it is. We’re well south of Grand Isle, and the heading’s wrong for South Hero. It’s not on my chart. A mystery island!” Enthusiasm flushed his face. “Let’s check it out.”
“Wait,” said Ollie sharply. “Mr. Dimmonds, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
Brian had been thinking the same thing. It was a Saturday in May, the smiling man had been lurking around Evansburg, they had just passed through a freak rainstorm, and the mist of it still clung to their hair. Brian wanted no part of a mysterious island.
“Seriously,” said Brian, improvising fast. “It might have shoals, right? Shallow water. I don’t see any buoys, Mr. Dimmonds.”
“That’s true, son,” said Mr. Dimmonds. But he looked eaten up by curiosity.
“Hey,” said Mr. Adler. “The kids are right. I’d rather you not risk shoal water, Dane.” Ollie shot her dad a grateful look
.
“Oh, all right,” said Mr. Dimmonds, looking grumpy at having to agree. “Mutiny, is it? Can’t kill me, though, no one’s given me the black spot, have they? Have they?” He creaked out a laugh at his own joke and went to drop the anchor.
“Wait,” said Ollie slowly. “Did you say black spot?”
“Well, yep,” said Mr. Dimmonds, looking a little taken aback at whatever he saw on Ollie’s face. “Old pirate custom. Giving someone a black spot.”
Brian, Ollie, and Coco all exchanged glances. “What does it mean,” Brian asked, “when you give someone a black spot?”
“Well,” said Mr. Dimmonds. “Generally speaking, it means death. To the person who gets it.”
Brian’s breath hitched. Ollie, very slowly, put down her sandwich. A line appeared between Coco’s eyebrows. Mr. Dimmonds didn’t notice. He’d headed back to the stern of the boat, whistling. The wind brought a springtime earth smell from the land. The island had a rocky top and a fringe of trees around the sides, like an old, bald man. Brian hardly noticed.
Death . . .
“Death?” whispered Coco. “A threat? Or just another stupid game?” Her hands were trembling. “What did he tell Phil? What did he give Phil?”