Brooke stopped. ‘Okay, so he’snotat the beach, the pub, the bakery, the town hall or the library. Fox Bay is like a ghost town today so we’re running out of options. Where else?’
Ivy bit her lip. ‘He’s thinking about your grandma a lot. Was there anything special they liked to do together?’
Brooke smiled faintly. ‘It’s hard to narrow that down to be honest. Grandma would say yes to literally anything Trip wanted to do. She used to pick him up after school and just drive. No map, no plan. She’d always say that the best days started with a detour—’
‘Ivy! Brooke!’
Old Bill, his flannel shirt flapping in the breeze like a flag, waved them over. He was breathless from walking fast.
‘I heard you were looking for Trip and figured it might be worth my saying,’ he puffed. ‘My boat’s gone.’
Brookeblinked. ‘Gone? As in … it’s been stolen? Don’t tell me Fox Bay has actualcrime.’
‘Borrowed,’ Bill corrected, wheezing as he got his breath back. ‘Sometimes things get borrowed. And I’m pretty sure whoever borrowed my boat was Trip.’
Ivy’s eyes widened. ‘Trip? Why do you think that?’
‘Well, I told him he could take it out whenever he wanted, you see,’ said Bill. ‘And I saw him walking along the harbour earlier. Seemed quiet. Not his usual self.’
Brooke groaned. ‘He borrowed aboat? Why on earth …?’
Ivy’s gaze drifted out over the water, towards the curve of the bay where the small, green, tree-covered islands rose from the sea.
‘Where do you think he went?’ she asked. ‘Did he go back to Seal Island for some reason?’
‘Nothing much out there apart from that,’ said Bill. ‘Aside from Mystery Island, of course.’
Ivy said slowly, ‘Mystery Island.’ She turned to Brooke. ‘Trip and your grandma loved adventures, right? Well, what could be more adventurous than an excursion to Mystery Island?’
‘But it doesn’t exist, right?’ Brooke said, looking confused. ‘It’s just another one of Bill’s stories.’
Bill chuckled behind them. ‘Oh, it exists all right.’ He squinted at the late-afternoon sun. ‘But if you want to get to Mystery Island, you’d better start now.’
‘How come?’ Ivy said.
‘It only appears at low tide.’
Brooke spluttered indignantly, pulling up her iPhone notes. ‘But – but you told Kate it’s a ghost isle that only appears at the full moon, for other ghostly smugglers to hide their whisky, if they chant the name of Davy Jones! And now you’re saying you can get there in the middle of the day? By regular boat?’
Bill looked sheepish. ‘Well. I may have embroidered the truth a little. It’s not even really an island, to be honest.’ He shrugged. ‘Just a promontory round the southwest side of Seal Island. It’s rarely above water, which is why it’s hidden – but it would be about now.’
‘Did you happen to tell Trip any of this?’ Ivy pressed.
‘Hm.’ Bill considered. ‘May have given him a little hint. He was always asking a lot of questions.’
Ivy looked back at the water. Trip was hurting, she was sure of it. He was alone. And he couldn’t miss the show he’d worked so hard on.
‘Brooke, are you up for a sail?’
Brooke exhaled. ‘Fine. If you really think Trip’s out there – and let’s face it, taking an impromptu trip to a hidden island soundsexactlylike the sort of thing he’d do – then yeah. Let’s go get him.’
Ivy turned to Bill. ‘Can we borrow your back-up boat?’
Bill grinned. ‘Thought you’d never ask.’
They dragged the spare boat, a marginally more modern vessel than Bill’s old one, out to sea, Ivy’s teeth chattering as theywaded into the icy water. Brooke hopped in elegantly, then held out a manicured hand to Ivy, hauling her into the boat.
‘You’re rowing, by the way,’ Ivy said. ‘One of us works out and it’s not me.’
