“We need to find out when the hurricane is going to hit,” Ben said. “Hurry up and pick what you want. Then we’ll ask.”

Zoe quickly grabbed fruit, crackers, and bottles of water. Ben pointed to the biggest pastry on display. It was stuffed with chicken and cream cheese.

“Pastelitos,” said the shop owner, as she wrapped two up. “Very good.”

“When is the hurricane coming?” Zoe asked as she paid.

“Hurricane is come . . . is . . .” The woman gave up her attempt at English and led them to the door. She nodded toward a nearby café. There was a terrace outside, where a man was working. All the tables and chairs had been cleared away.

“Good English!” she said, pointing at the café owner as he hung the last shutter. “He tell you.”

They thanked her and dashed for the café. The trees were swaying a little in the breeze, and the sky was blue, but hurricanes weren’t exactly known for coming on slowly.

The café owner smiled as they approached. He was a friendly looking man with brown eyes above a well-groomed moustache.

“Can you help us?” asked Zoe. “We’ve heard there’s a hurricane coming, but the weather looks so calm.”

“We might be at the edge of one,” the man told them. “So we take precautions. The National Hurricane Center’s report said it will pass close by this afternoon, but we need to make sure we are ready just in case.”

“That’s a relief,” said Zoe. “We should be able to get some sailing in this morning, then.”

“You don’t seem too worried about the storm,” said Ben to the café owner.

The man gave a shrug. “We are used to it,” he said. “The storm comes, we close up shop. The storm goes, we open up again. What else can we do?”

At that moment, a man in fisherman’s overalls stuck his head out the door and called out to the owner in Spanish.

Ben and Zoe’s BUGs translated the words. “News just in, Enrico. The hurricane’s heading north. It’s going to miss us this time.”

Enrico told Ben and Zoe the news. “You will be able to enjoy your sailing,” he said. He began to take down the shutters from the window. “And if you see some strange dead fish, do not worry. There is nothing wrong with the water. They were, how do you say . . . thrown out from Mundo Marino.”

“We’ve heard about that,” said Ben, a grim look on his face.

“But be careful of the tame dolphin,” Enrico warned them. “It could tip over a small boat. The fishermen are angry at it.”

“They won’t hurt the dolphin, will they?” said Zoe.

The café owner shrugged. “Making a living is hard enough here,” he said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it ended up getting killed.”

Zoe couldn’t hide the fear in her face. “Don’t worry,” Enrico said. “I’m sure the little fella will find some friends and leave the area soon enough.”

“Gracias,” Zoe said to the café owner. “Thanks for your help.”

The owner smiled, turned, and walked away.

“Poor Fingal,” Zoe said to Ben once the man had left. “All he’s trying to do is survive.”

“And that’s all the fishermen are trying to do,” Ben said. “We have to do something, and soon.”