Let’s get naked!”

Nish was at the open window, ducking low to stare up into a soft blue sky. The sun had been out all morning, and the air pouring in was warm and filled with the promise of summer.

Nish was in his boxer shorts, visible to anyone in the parking lot who happened to pass by.

“Let’s just get to the rink,” Travis said. “You do what you want later–by yourself!”

“I think you should go see a psychiatrist,” said Lars, flossing his teeth as he walked out of the bathroom.

“You can talk!” Nish barked back. “Only a nut would floss when there’s no one to make him. I don’t even brush my teeth when I’m on the road!”

“Or shower!” shouted Andy, who was just coming in from the hallway.

“Or use deodorant!” called out Wilson, right behind Andy.

Nish drew himself up and puffed out his chest. “That’s because I believe in the cleansing power of nature. You see, I am a nudist!”

“You’re a nudist and a nut,” said Travis, surprising himself by saying so. “Now let’s get dressed and get out of here. We want to see Gordie’s group up against that team from California, don’t we?”

“I’d rather see Wreck Beach!” protested Nish.

“You’re pathetic!” said Andy.

The Owls had almost reached the little 3-on-3 rink when Travis, slightly ahead of the rest and helping push Data along, saw the quick flash of a Screech Owls sweater as someone ducked around the far corner of the arena, where the Zamboni came out to dump the snow.

“They’re out back,” Travis announced, turning and walking backwards as he informed the others.

With Travis and Data leading the way, the group headed down the side of the arena and around the corner to the rear of the building. Travis expected to find all four of the Owls who would playing that afternoon–Fahd, Andy, Sam, and, in goal, Jenny–but when he turned the corner he realized there was only the one.

Sam…smoking.

She turned when she heard them and coughed out a lungful of cigarette smoke. Travis could see she was trying to hide the burning cigarette behind her back, but then, realizing it was only the boys, she slyly drew her hand forward and attempted to look natural.

But it didn’t look natural at all. It looked ridiculous. Especially with her dressed for a game of hockey.

“You’ll stunt your growth,” Data said.

“Mind your own business,” said Sam.

Travis winced. He hadn’t expected such a sharp response to Data’s comment. He watched her face as she dragged deep on the cigarette. Her eyes were red; she looked like she might be on the verge of tears.

Was it the smoke? Or the murders? None of the Screech Owls had seemed as caught up in and upset about the murders as Sam had. Each morning she was up at dawn to grab the early papers. She listened to the newscasts. She had even phoned the Aquarium to see if there was any more information on the death of the dolphin. Twice she had exploded at teammates for talking about the “murder,” as if the word could only apply to people. She referred to the “murders,” and she grieved as much for the poor dolphin as she did for Brad Cummings.

Sam flicked the still-burning cigarette away. She coughed once but then held the smoke for some time before expelling it in a long, elegant plume that rose over her head and vanished into the air.

“Muck catches you, you’re dead meat,” said Nish.

“Muck catches me, I’ll know who told,” she said, and stomped in through the Zamboni doors towards the dressing room.

“What’s with her?” Nish asked.

“She’s upset,” said Andy. “She’s been like that ever since the whale watching.”

“What can we do about it?” said Wilson. “The police are working on it.”

“They’re not getting anywhere,” said Andy. “I think that’s what’s wrong with Sam. No one seems to care about the dolphin, and no one seems to be getting anywhere on the murder.”

“Murders,” corrected Data.

“Murders,” agreed Andy.

“We better get inside,” said Travis. He started to turn Data’s chair around, but Data held up his hand for Travis to stop.

“Just leave me here,” Data said. “I can get in the Zamboni entrance easier than the front.”

“You’re sure?” asked Travis.

“I’m sure. I want to check out something anyway.”

Travis shrugged. He knew better than to hound Data about what he was up to. If Data wanted him to know, he would have said.

“Suit yourself,” Travis said. “You know where we’ll be.”