14

We’re gathered in Dominic’s room, since his parents are gone for the day. It’s littered with boxes, the bed’s unmade, the closet door is gaping open, and electronics equipment clutters his desk.

“OMG, my room,” says Ella.

“OMG, my room,” says Zoe.

“Dude, there’s like nowhere to sit in here,” says Ben.

“We’re moving, you weirdos,” Dominic replies. “This is what moving looks like.”

It looks sad to me. I almost relish the chance to go through the case against Restaurant Hubert instead of dwelling on how Dominic’s leaving. “Okay, here’s the deal. We’re stepping up our investigation of Hubert Pivot.”

“Excellent,” Ben says, rubbing his hands together. “What’s the plan?”

I explain: “We are going to break into Hubert’s kitchen tonight and poke around. See what we can find that points to him sabotaging Gusty’s.”

“Are you sure it’s sabotage?” Zoe asks. “I mean, my parents say it’s a bunch of awful coincidences, or maybe poor old Clooney is losing it.”

“I don’t think so,” I say. “She’s barely taller than me, and I couldn’t bump into the temperature dial in that cooler. And besides, she’s loaded that dishwasher a gazillion times. No. It’s not her.”

“I agree with Quinnie,” Ella says. “I’m up for checking out Baldy’s place.”

“So here’s the plan,” says Dominic. “Three of us go in, two of us stand guard. Quinnie, Zoe, and I will be on the inside, and Ben and Ella will hang outside. Sound good?”

“Me? Break into Hubert’s?” Zoe’s getting flustered. “What if we get caught?”

“We won’t get caught,” I say.

“But what if we do?” Zoe says. “And break in? Like break a window!?”

“Bad choice of words,” I say. “No one is breaking any of those shiny new windows. But even though the front of the building has all new windows, the back has the old Loney Lobster Pound ones. I’m betting those don’t even have locks, or if they do, they’re old and rusted.” I’m getting a little frustrated.

“The locks could be rusted shut,” says Zoe.

“Or they could be rusted open,” says Dominic. “It’s the channel side of the building. It takes a beating from the salt air.”

“Hey, if Rubylocks doesn’t want to do it, I will,” Ella says.

Ben and Dominic laugh. Zoe’s cheeks flush almost to the color of her hair, and it looks like she’s going to blow.

“Okay, okay,” I jump in to calm her down. “First of all, Zoe, we love your hair. And Ella, that’s great. If you want to go in, and Zoe, you want to stay outside with Ben, that’s great. It’s all good.”

Zoe’s eyebrows knit together. I know that look. She’s struggling. She doesn’t want to go inside, but also doesn’t want to give it over to Ella. “Whatever. I’ll go in. Somebody just tell me what to do, okay? But I’m not breaking anything.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Good.”

Dominic wipes his forehead and adjusts his cap. “Good. So we’re set for tonight.”

* * *

We gather on the beach behind Zoe’s temporary house at two a.m. The moon’s almost full, so it feels like there’s a spotlight on us. We duck as we walk along the rocks, even though you can’t dodge moonlight. Everyone is dressed in black, except Zoe, who’s wearing a bright yellow hoodie and letting her hair fly like a freak flag. Wild red locks, yellow shirt? Not exactly stealth colors. I pull the scrunchie out of my hair and thrust it at her. I’m a little more nervous than I thought I’d be.

“What?” Zoe says.

“We’re going stealth-style.”

“Oh, sure. Right.” She pauses and scoops the copper colored mass into a low ponytail.

Ella opens a small plastic pot of gray eyeshadow and smudges each of us under the eyes to promote invisibility.

We sneak beside the Maiden Rock Spiritual Center and up the center’s drive. Our plan is to reach Restaurant Hubert from the long way around, past the Maiden Rock historical marker, Ms. Stillford’s, and the bed-and-breakfast.

“Did you bring the flashlight?” I ask Dominic. My gut is knotting up.

“Check,” he says.

“Camera?”

“Check.”

As we’re approach the B&B, which is the building nearest Restaurant Hubert, we hear voices and stop dead in our tracks. The knot tightens. We listen intently and realize it’s summer people, sitting on the porch, chatting into the night. This presents a problem, since we can’t walk past them. We’re forced to plunge into the forested island in the center of Circle Lane, across from the B&B.

We try not to make too much noise as we thrash through the bushes toward Hubert’s. Fortunately, the trees are dense, and the porch people are cheery enough that they don’t notice us. If they had looked across the street, they would have seen a few wiggling balsam firs.

Soon we’re crouched down in the thicket across from Hubert’s. “Ready?” I whisper to Dominic and Zoe.

Zoe says, “This is a bad idea.” She pauses, looks at Ella, and adds, “But I’m in.”

“We’ll watch the apartment above the restaurant,” Ella says, “and text you if a light comes on.”

“You mean Hubert lives there?” Zoe asks. “Great.”

“Where else would he be?” Ben says. “Look, the lights are out. He’s got to be snoring away.”

We hunch over and scurry across the road and along the side of the building. The scraping of our shoes against the grit and sand seems like it’s echoing all over town. I try to put less weight on each step.

Our backs are against the building as we scoot toward the kitchen door. Dominic reaches up and tries the knob. He shakes his head. No surprise there.

Zoe whimpers.

My gut knot squeezes in on itself. We’ll have to try a window. We move around the back, the side that hasn’t been remodeled. Another deep breath. I remind myself that I expected it would be a window. I look to the windows on the second floor. Still dark.

Here at the back of the restaurant, they have left the old windows—the crank-out type. We start checking them.

Dominic’s hunch has been proven correct. The back windows technically have locks, but they look like they rusted over in the open position a long time ago. I guess Owen Loney never had to worry much about lobster thieves.

The first window is cranked shut—and tight. The second one is not as tight, but we can’t quite get our fingers in it. Dominic takes a screwdriver out of his pocket—he really thought of everything—and tries to wiggle it under the windowsill. Zoe looks like she’s preparing to throw a hissy fit, so I press her arm and whisper, “Give him a chance.”

There’s a creaky sound, then a slight cracking noise around the edges as the window opens. We have access.

I boost a grumbling Zoe onto the nearest trash bin, and hoist myself up. The bin stinks like dead fish. On the other side of our lucky window, we find a mudroom and broom closet area.

I whisper to Zoe, “Move quickly and carefully. Look for anything that might be incriminating.”

“Like what?” she whispers back.

“I don’t know!” I say. She has no instincts for this stuff. “You just have to look at everything with an eye for a connection to Gusty’s. And if you find anything unusual, call me. Don’t touch it. It could be evidence. Got it?”

She squints. “Not really.”

Dominic is already picking through a broom closet cabinet filled with soaps, detergents, and mops. I tiptoe through the mudroom in search of the pantry or the desk where they pay the bills. Zoe sticks her head into the kitchen.

My breath catches when I find a small office. I carefully move papers around a messy desk, my hands shaking, as I search for anything suspicious. I jump when my pocket vibrates with a text.

Ella: Light on upstairs!

Oh, no. I rush to find Dominic and tell him to hide, then speed to the kitchen to grab Zoe, who is . . . looking at spice bottles in an upper cabinet. And smelling one of them! What the heck is she doing? I pssst to her, and she puts it away and walks over. I pull her down behind the end of a row of cabinets.

A second later, feet thump on the stairs, and a figure saunters into the kitchen. It’s dark but not so dark you can’t make out Hubert. With the moonlight shining through the windows, those ears are a dead giveaway. He makes his way to the refrigerator and yanks open the big door, breaking the suction with a pffft. The fridge’s interior light floods over him, casting a wide beam across his bald head and the prep island behind him. He’s wearing boxer shorts and a stretched out T-shirt. He stares, yawns, and scratches his chest.

Zoe and I squeeze farther back into the shadows. He shouldn’t be able to spot us now—but if the overhead light goes on, we’re busted. I’m worried he can hear my low, slow panting. Zoe is digging her fingertips into my arm.

Hubert reaches into the refrigerator, takes out a large plastic bag filled with crabs, and sets it on the island. Then he reaches for the half gallon of milk behind it. With one hand, he takes off the cap, and with the other he glug-glug-glugs at least a quart of it. There’s milk on his shirt, his face, and the back of his hand when he’s done. The refrigerator’s compressor kicks on, telling Hubert he should shut the door. He does, putting the carton back into the fridge but leaving the crabs on the counter.

Going by moonlight once again, he starts making his way around the kitchen, but this time, he’s heading in an opposite direction—our direction. I don’t know if I’m actually going to spontaneously combust, but it feels like I might. I clamp my hand over Zoe’s mouth and feel her hot breath. We can’t make ourselves any smaller.

Hubert’s halfway around the kitchen island when he stops, grabs a spray bottle, and turns back in the other direction, toward the stairway. Just before he goes upstairs, he pauses in front of a potted herb plant and spritzes it with water.

When the apartment upstairs goes quiet, we beat it out of there.

As we pound down the beach on the way home, I assess what we found out—nothing.

But at least I can call this a clean getaway.