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“Who knows,” said Ollie. “My watch hasn’t said anything. We need to ask him. Now.”
Mr. Dimmonds was flipping furiously through his charts. “I can’t find this sucker anywhere!” he said, with an irritated wave at the island.
Ms. Zintner was shooting pictures of the island, clearly planning her article in her head.
“It’s probably Pine Island, just mislabeled,” Mr. Dimmonds muttered.
Ollie’s dad was peering at the chart too. “Pine Island is three miles east, looks like,” he said.
“Well, what else could it be?” asked Mr. Dimmonds reasonably.
Mr. Adler didn’t have an answer. The seagulls circled, screaming, keen for his ham and Swiss sandwich.
“It’s today,” said Ollie abruptly to Brian and Coco.
They both turned to look at her.
“Has to be,” she added. “Remember the words? Bell, it said. Then, dog saturn day flower moon. Well, today is a Saturday in May. Saturn day flower moon. And black spots—a black spot is something that pirates do—people on boats. Like us. Today. And the smiling man was in Evansburg this week. We have to talk to Phil.”
Her watch beeped softly. They all turned to look. fish, the watch said nonsensically.
“Are we eating fish for lunch?” Coco asked, looking puzzled. “Don’t eat it?”
“No, we aren’t,” said Ollie. Her face was strained. “Is Phil still below?”
In the background, Coco’s mom was talking to Mr. Dimmonds. “So, have you seen the—um—lake monster before?” she asked.
“Three times,” he said. “On’y three, but it’s more than anyone else, I reckon.”
“Can you tell me about those encounters?” asked Coco’s mom.
“Oh, yeah,” said Mr. Dimmonds.
“Hey, guys!” called Ollie’s dad from his seat in the front. “Did you hear the joke about the ducks?”
They didn’t reply.
“You’re right, Ollie,” said Coco. Her face looked strained. “Let’s go talk to him. Right now.”
Mr. Adler said, “What did the farmer say when he let his ducks out?”
They were crossing the deck. “I—don’t know?” said Coco, her voice unsteady.
“Release the quacken!” cried Mr. Adler, and busted up laughing.
Phil wasn’t below deck. He’d come back up in all the confusion, holding a fishing rod, and they found him standing at the back of the boat, casting his hook in the water, attached to a lure that sparkled strangely in the afternoon sun.
“Hey, buddy,” said Brian. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” said Phil, leaning on the back rail, looking elaborately casual. “Fishing. You guys are all acting weird.”
“Well,” Mr. Dimmonds was saying, “I only ever saw her in the mist. On foggy mornings, or mornings with fine rain. Like we just had, lotta squalls work up out here. And this one time, I’m in the boat in the fog—” Mr. Dimmonds paused dramatically. “And I see a shadow.”
“A shadow,” repeated Coco’s mom gravely.
“Yup,” said Mr. Dimmonds. “A twisty shadow. Under the water.”
“And then?” said Ms. Zintner.
