Something’s different about the island.
Zack’s been coming here since first grade. It’s always had a specific vibe. Calm, lazy. Like a 3-D tourist brochure.
Not today, though. Today there’s a static electricity in the air, like before a storm or a riot. As soon as Zack gets off the ferry, he feels as if someone is pinching each of his veins with a pair of tweezers. He glances at his dad, at his younger brother and sister. They don’t seem to be picking up on the tension. Maybe they’re all too distracted. Ben’s arguing with Leah about what to do first tomorrow: hike to Moray Hill or go whale watching. And Dad is looking at his phone. Work stuff, of course.
Zack tightens his grip on his duffel bag. He leads the way from the ferry’s landing point to the shoreline road. The Halwins’ bed and breakfast is just a few blocks away. Zack could find it with his eyes closed. But he’s not going to try that. He’s keeping his eyes wide open.
Everything looks the same as it did last year. The intense blue of the Pacific water—the kind of blue that makes your eyes ache. The marina, full of sleek boats with names like Paradise and The Dreamer. The perky little buildings, mostly white with red roofs, clustered along the shore like a welcoming party. The sloping hills crammed with fir trees, just beyond the town. Even the sun. There’s sun here, off the coast of Washington state. Back home in Seattle, it’s raining, as usual. The weather is half the reason Wardwell Island has always seemed so cheerful. Almost magical.
Except right now. Zack can’t shake the feeling. Something’s more than different. Something’s wrong.
One obvious red flag: the emptiness. The marina should be crowded on a day like this. But hardly anyone is out here. And the handful of people Zack does see—they look the way he feels. As if they’re carrying grenades in their pockets.
“Fine,” sighs Ben. “Moray Hill first. But whale watching right after.” For a nine-year-old, he can sound like a weary old man when he wants to. Must’ve picked it up from Dad.
“Deal,” says Leah. Zack doesn’t turn around to look, but he suspects Leah is shaking Ben’s hand. She’s a year younger than Ben, almost seven years younger than Zack. But she likes to pretend she’s the mature one.
Dad swears under his breath. “Then run a correction, you idiot,” he mutters at his phone screen.
“Problems at work?” Zack asks. Still without turning around. What’s the point?
Dad doesn’t exactly answer. But he keeps muttering, which tells Zack all he needs to know. “I’m gone for one day and people forget how to fact-check. I should just fire Amber. This is a business, for the love of . . . When you’re not sure about a date, you can’t just make one up . . .”
This is Dad. Constant work mode. Even at the start of a five-day vacation, the only vacation he takes all year. The only time he really spends with Zack, Ben, and Leah. They’ll be at the top of Moray Hill, or out in a boat looking for orcas, and Dad will still be editing BehindTheCurtain.com.
Zack glances out at the water. The ferry’s already pulling away from shore. They were the last passengers. Everyone else got off at the other islands farther north. Wardwell is small compared to the other San Juan islands. It’s also cheaper, less choked with tourists. And at the moment, it’s making Zack’s skin crawl, for reasons he still can’t pin down.
The B&B is a gorgeous two-story Victorian house. The sign on the front proudly says Family-owned since 1955. Zack’s family stays here every year. Zack sleeps better here than he does in either of his beds in Seattle. He always wakes up hungry and leaves the breakfast buffet with a goofy smile. Maybe once they’re inside, whatever’s crawling up and down his spine will leave him alone.
No dice. The lobby hits him in the face with tension. In a way, the feeling is familiar. It reminds him of times before his parents’ divorce, moments when they wanted to argue but didn’t.
And yet this runs deeper than anything he’s used to. Bigger than the feelings of a few people. It’s a pent-up panic infesting the walls like mold.
Zack is not a fan.
Mrs. Halwin is at the front desk, the landline phone pressed to her ear. A man and a woman, both in their twenties, hover in front of the desk. Off to the side, another young woman sits in one of the lobby’s chairs, crying.
Mrs. Halwin sees Zack and his family come in. Holds up a finger. “. . . All right. Thank you, Officer.” She hangs up and says something to the two guests. Zack tries to listen in but can’t overhear anything.
The man and woman both nod, jaws clenched. They thank Mrs. Halwin and turn to the woman in the chair. “Come on, Steph,” the guy says to her. “Nothing we can do right now except wait . . .”
“But it doesn’t make sense!” she wails. “He’d been sailing all his life! He knew what he was doing! He wouldn’t—he couldn’t have just—” That’s as far as she gets before the sobs crowd out the words.
While the crying woman’s friends half-carry her out of the lobby, Mrs. Halwin lets out a huge, shaky sigh. She adjusts her necklace, a silver chain with a small wheel-shaped charm hanging from it. Then she tries to smile at Zack. It’s painful, watching her mouth twist so unnaturally.
“Welcome back! Right on time for check-in, as usual. I’ve got your room keys right here, Mr. Silver. Ben, Leah, would you like to sign the guestbook?”
Dad swaps his credit card for the keys and chats with Mrs. Halwin about the ferry trip. Ben and Leah take turns scribbling in the notebook on the desk. Zack waits for an opening. When Dad runs out of things to say, Zack asks, “Mrs. Halwin, is everything okay?”
The same fake smile. “Of course, Zack. It’s great to have you back. How’s school? Junior year, right?”
So much for that. “Uh, yeah. It’s good. I have homework over break, but not much.” Enough filler talk. New tactic: “Is Nola around?”
“She’s getting some rooms ready. Her shift’s over soon, though.”
“Cool, I’ll just text her. Thanks, Mrs. Halwin.”
He trails behind his dad and siblings. Halfway up the stairs, he looks back.
The smile’s gone from Mrs. Halwin’s face. Replaced by a look Zack doesn’t have a word for. The closest one he can find is terror.
***
Hey, we just got here. Your mom put us in 4 and 5. You up for hanging out when you’re done working?
Zack fires off the text to Nola, then starts unpacking. He has Room 4 to himself. Dad, Ben, and Leah have the bigger room across the hall. One of the perks of coming here in April, before peak tourist season. They get to spread out at least a little.
His phone buzzes. Just Mom, checking that they got here safely. Of course Dad forgot to text her. Zack has just replied, with an emoji to make her feel better, when someone knocks on his door.
“Come in.”
By the time Zack looks up from his phone, Nola’s shutting the door behind her. “Hey, Zack.”
“Hey. You look awful.”
They’ve known each other since they were six, so she won’t take that comment the wrong way. She’ll know he’s not insulting her new super-short haircut or the touristy Wardwell Island T-shirt she wears while she’s “on duty” at the B&B. She’ll know he just means her expression.
“What’s wrong?”
Nola runs a hand through her hair, making it briefly stand on end. Zack notices her thick silver earrings, the same wheel shape as her mom’s necklace. She’s had those for ages. He just doesn’t remember them being so polished before. They seem to suck up all the stray light in the room and reflect it back in narrow, blinding glints.
She takes a deep breath.
“One of the guests has gone missing.”