Hugo is in total panic mode.

‘B-b-but what about Euro-fishin?’ I squeak. ‘We can’t do it without Gnash!’

‘You mean I dyed my fringe for nothing?’ wails Gill. Gilleon’s fringe is a total icon; it’s in the Fin-nes World Records and everything:

‘I dunno,’ says Hunter, looking unconvinced. ‘Are we sure Gnash didn’t just get lost on the way to the toilet or something?’

I shake my head. Gnash might not be so good with directions. Or doors labelled Push and Pull. Or following instructions like don’t eat the sandpit. But he’s never missed a show, ever. ‘No way,’ I say. ‘Something fishy is going on. Gnash wouldn’t let us down like this.’

‘You’re right, Finley,’ says Hugo. ‘This is serious. Poor Mr and Mrs Pointer are beside themselves.’

‘Beside themselves?’ I ask, scratching my head. ‘Like on the couch?’

‘It means they’re upset,’ Hunter explains. Along with having good (and bad) ideas, Hunter is super smart. She was even chess champion at school...until she ate all the chess pieces (tiger sharks will eat ANYTHING).

‘The contest starts in two days,’ says Hugo. ‘That gives us forty-eight hours to find Gnash and get you all to Shell-bania.’

‘Then what are we waiting for?’ says Gilleon. ‘Let’s go!’

We squish into Hugo’s sub and zoom over to Gnash’s house on Deep Side.

‘See?’ I whisper to Hunter as we swim inside. ‘Gnash’s parents are beside themselves.’

Hugo tries to console Mr and Mrs Pointer. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’ he asks gently.

Mrs Pointer dabs her eye with a tissue. ‘Gn-Gn-Gnash was packing his suitcase upstairs,’ she says.

‘I went to make him a chum sandwich, and when I came back, he was g-g-gone!’

‘Have you called the police?’ asks Hugo.

‘W-w-we can’t,’ wails Mr Pointer. ‘We’re too upset!’

‘There, there,’ says Hugo, patting Mr Pointer on the back so hard his false teeth fly out. ‘Leave it to me.’

Hugo whips out his shell-phone and calls triple zero. ‘Hello? Police? This is Hugo Hefty, band manager for JAWSOME. Our drummer, Gnarly Gnelson, is missing!’

There’s a crackly voice on the other end.

‘What?’ bellows Hugo. ‘This isn’t a hoax! Gnarly Gnelson is really missing!’

More crackles.

‘Wasting your time? Right! That’s it!’ Then he uses some words that aren’t allowed in kid’s books and hangs up.

Mr and Mrs Pointer cry even harder. Hugo barrels off to make them a cup of chum-o-mile tea.

‘Come on,’ says Hunter, edging her way towards the stairs. ‘Let’s go check out Gnash’s room.’ ‘What for?’ I ask.

‘To look for clues, of course,’ says Hunter. ‘If we want to find Gnash, we’re going to have to do it ourselves.’