Andy couldn’t think of a counterargument.
“It’s okay, I’m just saying,” Nate excused her. “I’m in.”
“If we’re trying to retrace our steps,” Kerri argued, “let me point out that we never rowed to the isle until the very last day of the case.”
“We didn’t find a boat until the last day,” Andy said.
“Which in retrospect should’ve been a big red flag,” Nate added.
Tim trotted by, nosing the warped boards, finding the humans in silent deliberation.
“Isn’t it a little late already?” Kerri argued. “It’s like a ten-minute row. And there’s an hour of sunlight left, possibly less. I’d rather pass,” she decided. “It’s okay, you two go. I’ll stay.”
“No, no way,” said Andy. “I’m not leaving you alone.”
“I’ve got Tim.”
“I don’t like splitting up the team,” Andy insisted. “And we can’t afford it anymore. We’d need a fourth man.”
KERRI: Better a fourth woman.
ANDY: Why?
KERRI: Because if it were a fourth man, he and Nate would go, and you’d be all, “Ugh, why do the boys get to explore the isle? I can do anything boys do,” and you’d want to go with them and leave me.
ANDY: I never did that.
KERRI & NATE: Yeah, you did.
Andy tried to think of a comeback and desisted after a second.
“Also,” Peter inserted during the subsequent pause, “what’s with the no-splitting-up policy? It’s a sound strategy; it covers more ground.”
NATE: (Aloud, for the girls.) I agree with Andy, though. We shouldn’t split up.
“Fuck off, Nate,” Peter said. “And by the way,” he continued, stepping into the circle and thumb-pointing Andy, “how is she calling the shots?”
The party had fallen silent.
“Nate? Don’t pretend you can’t hear me; it hurts enough that not even the dog notices me,” Peter complained. “Answer me this: Who died and made her—right, wait, no, let me rephrase that: How are we going to solve this shit if—”
“We are not going to solve it!”
Nate paused, then noticed the furrowed brows on the girls, the eyebrow-raising dog, the startled birds.
“Sorry. That came out wrong. I mean…we are not going to solve this by watching from a distance. It’s no longer about the case; this is about us. Kerri, it won’t help to send anyone ahead. You won’t fix this unless you personally see it through.”
All eyes now fell on Kerri, and she noticed. She felt her pockets, longing for a cigarette to hold on to, then hugged her waist and peeked through the boards under her boots at the gently dancing waters below.
Tim yawned, not at all intending to put pressure on anyone.
“Okay, right. Fuck it,” she capitulated. “Let’s do it.”
—
Kerri had brought along her binoculars. They were the same ones she used to carry as a child for bird spotting, but they were good binoculars that she’d treated with care, and they befitted a grown-up. Same went for her magnifying glass and her compass, both artifacts of beautiful craftsmanship that she had owned since childhood and still suited long-fingered hands. Andy was sure there was a company in England, possibly founded by a society of African explorers in the Victorian era, a bunch of Colonel Mustards with pith helmets and friendly mutton chops, who manufactured this high-tier field equipment especially for kids, aware that young explorers like Kerri must not be patronized with cheap plastic toys, but be offered the best durable tools to encourage their vocation, because those curious children shall be the great discoverers of tomorrow.
Andy, in charge of both oars after having found it too difficult to synchronize with Nate, checked her own freebie Coca-Cola watch and made a mental note to replace it as soon as she could afford it.
The boat’s path had hardly sundered the lake’s surface. Sunshine drew sparkling racing stripes across it. Kerri put down the binoculars, her hair bathed in tangerine solar wind. Her right hand comforted Tim at her feet, who was not as fond of the lake now that he wasn’t a leap from the surface anymore.
“At least the weather’s good,” she granted.
Nate, backlit and squatting on the bow, dipped a finger into the water.
“Maybe it’s not the best time to bring it up, but we didn’t have very bad weather last time.” He allowed a beat for reactions. “I know what the Telegraph said. I’m just saying what I remember. The weather did not knock us over.”
Andy glanced over the bulwark. Nothing could be made out below the surface. “Second-deepest lake after O’Higgins in southern Chile,” she recited.
“Actually, the deep end must be over there,” Kerri said, pointing west, where the lake seemed to expand vastly beyond a cape. “After all, mine tunnels connect the isle and the mainland.”
Andy reckoned the cruise would still take them five minutes. She took a deep breath and went all out to make it four.
“So, what’s the story of the house?” she requested in the meantime.
“You know it as well as I do,” Kerri said.
“Humor me. A fresh briefing before we land.”
Kerri sighed, and her hair shushed and hushed, listening to the very important story to come.
“The house was built by Damian Debo?n, a prospector who came to Blyton Hills during the Gold Rush in the eighteen forties. He had a lucky strike, made a fortune, built the mines, pretty much refounded the town, which was but a small parish at the time. The Debo?ns lived here for a century, until a fire destroyed part of the mansion in nineteen forty-nine.”
“Oh, come on,” Nate protested. “You’re skipping all the juicy bits.”
“Like the bit about him being a pirate?” Andy recalled.
“That one might be true,” Kerri conceded. “There are records of a Captain Debo?n who escaped the gallows in Florida and sailed for the Pacific.”
“Also the part about him being a sorcerer who lived for a hundred and fifty years,” Nate pointed out.
“A sorcerer?” Andy checked both.
“At least, he learned a handful of voodoo tricks while sailing the Caribbean.”
“Funny how only your books mention that part, Nate,” Kerri mocked him.
“Rumors in town said his house used to be filled with mysterious artifacts and potions.”
“Guy was a mining engineer and the townspeople had not seen a chemistry set in their lives.”
“Lived on his secluded island, seldom showed up in town, never went to church.”
“Right, because you never fail to come out of your den for Sunday service.”
“Lived alone, never married or wooed anyone.”
“Nate, stop giving me arguments so easy to fling back at you; I might hurt you.”
“And he didn’t age one bit while he lived here.”
“Which didn’t add up to a hundred and fifty years.”