Episode 2... In which our heroes enter the deep dark woods...

To all my friends in listening land, welcome to Episode Two of the August Island Society of Young Detectives, in which our heroes enter the deep dark woods. 

I am your host Oosh Sinclaire. 

In the second installment of this tale, all your questions will be answered regarding those missing Sweet Tea Cherry Tomatoes and the aggressively unapologetic Red Truck that nearly ran into Lucy at top speed. I will tell you, this is only the beginning. Lucy and Seven don’t know the adventures on which they’re about to embark. They may be kids, but like Lucy says, they're not as little as they look.

We will dive into Chapters 6 thru 10 and by the end... well, I'm not gonna give it all away now.

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If you have any information about who wrote this book, please email me at whowroteaugustisland@gmail.com

"It quickly became my favorite bedtime story and mystery novel."  R. Brady (age 10)  -- City Island, NY

"This modern day mythic adventure captures the joy and wonder of our Island home beautifully and my kids adore it. It's like a modern fairytale. "  J. Lippart (age 43) -- August Island, NJ 

For more info, email james.oosh.caverly@gmail.com and visit jcaverly.com

For more info, email james.oosh.caverly@gmail.com and visit jcaverly.com

Transcript

Chapter 6

 Last One or The Ugly Mustache.

Buddy went missing after dinner on a warm spring evening. Lucy walked him down to the beach with a fresh-outta-the-box frisbee in hand. The tide was high and rising, and the waves were rough, but Lucy and Buddy kept clear of the dangerous waters. 

They went back and forth with the new orange disk over and over again. She encouraged him with every throw and raised her hands in victory each time he caught it from the air. 

The beach was peppered with locals and tourists walking along the boardwalk and on the sand, some of whom Lucy recognized. 

Lucy and Buddy played until it became too dark for Lucy to see where her frisbee was landing.  “Last one,” she said. Buddy wagged his tail eagerly. She threw the frisbee extra hard watching the disc turn at an angle and disappear in the late evening darkness. Buddy fetched after it, disappearing with it. Lucy waited for him to return. The pounding waves crashed loudly. She waited a bit longer. And then a bit longer still. 

“Buddy! Where are you? Buddy!” Nothing. “Come on, buddy… where are you?” The waves pounded the sand. “Buddy! Buddy! Please, come out now!” Lucy ran to the dunes and looked in and around the tall grass. Nothing. “Buddy! Come on, buddy!” Nothing. She yelled for him. Nothing. She screamed for him until the moonless night swallowed August Island into a darkness blacker than Lucy had ever felt before. Nothing.

*          *          *

Lucy’s alarm rang out at 6:00 am. It was Saturday morning. 

As she dressed, she practiced in her head exactly what she would say to the police about the red truck. She felt comfort knowing Seven would be there.

By 6:33 am, the morning sun was warm on their backs as Lucy and Seven rode their bikes and sipped their coffee heading west towards the August Island Police Station. Seven was confident the police had already solved the case. Lucy had no idea one way or the other, but she was eager to be a part of it. 

They soon arrived, parking their bikes against the brick wall of August Island’s halls of justice. They stashed their half-drunk cups of coffee on the ground behind their tires. Walking towards the entrance, Seven asked, “Ready?” 

“We’ll find out,” Lucy replied. 

They burst through the double doors. Inside was quiet. Bright florescent lights bounced off white linoleum floors below an old-fashioned white tin ceiling. A sharp smell of lingering bleach was in the air. 

One police officer sat behind a metal desk between two empty ones. The policeman was Officer Sullivan. He was hunched over and focused on a stack of papers that sat next to a large pile of paperclips. 

Officer Sullivan looked up. “Hello ladies,” he said with friendly smile. Lucy and Seven approached. “How are we today?” he asked. “Lucy, how’s your mom? I haven’t seen her in a few weeks. How’s the Inn? A lot of bookings this summer?” Officer Sullivan’s friendly disposition put Lucy and Seven at ease. 

“My mom is well,” Lucy answered. “Lots of bookings. Many guests to attend to.”

“And congrats, I heard you and your mom’s Sidewalk Chalk Convention was voted in at last night’s town meeting,” Officer Sullivan commented.

“It’s all my mom’s idea, but I will be helping to plan, no doubt.”

Officer Sullivan turned to Seven: “And you’re one of the Simon kids, right?” 

“I’m Seven.”

The officer served Seven a funny look.

“I mean my name is Seven. Obviously, I’m not seven years old.”

“So… what brings you two in today?” Officer Sullivan asked with a smile.

Lucy dove in: “I have information regarding the Sweet Tea Cherry Tomato robbery. If the case is still open, my information could be extremely valuable to locating the stolen property and bringing the culprits to justice.”

Seven’s eyebrows shot up. She was impressed with Lucy’s vocabulary and concise description of the situation at hand. 

Officer Sullivan’s smile dropped. His face grew stern. He nervously turned around in his chair to look down a bright long hallway leading to an open door at the very end.

“Um,” he began. The officer scratched his forehead nervously. “I can’t talk to you about that.”

“Why?” Seven asked.

“I was given explicit instructions that if anyone should inquire about the Sweet Tea Tomato case, that I send them directly to the Captain.”

“Okay,” Lucy said. “Can we see him? Is he here?”

“Well,” Officer Sullivan said, stammering and scrunching his face. “Yes you can… he’s in his office, but…”

“But what?” Seven asked. 

“Sullivan!” echoed an enraged voice coming the end of the bright hallway. “Come here!”

Officer Sullivan sighed and dropped his shoulders. He stood up slowly and shuffled down the hallway towards the source of the angry voice. He soon disappeared into a room. Lucy and Seven could hear two people talking but could not understand what they were saying. 

Moments later, Officer Sullivan remerged, walking back with his head down and his shoulders slunk. “The Captain is available to see you now,” he said. “The open door on the right.”

Lucy and Seven looked at each other and walked down the hallway towards the office of the August Island Police Captain, Captain Tippytoe. 

Lucy had met with Captain Tippytoe a few weeks before to request the police’s help to find Buddy. At their first encounter, the Captain acted hopeful and helpful. Though he didn’t let her put up any missing posters in the police station, the Captain did assure Lucy that Buddy would soon be found. However, when she followed-up a few days later, the Captain’s demeanor had flipped. He acted inconvenienced and told Lucy that Buddy had probably found another family to live with.

Lucy was not excited to see the Captain again, but she was prepared to act professional in order to help the Fandango family locate their tomatoes. 

Lucy and Seven entered the Captain’s office. Its design was in sharp contrast from the rest of the police headquarters. Its walls were adorned in fake wood wallpaper. Its floor was covered in a bright orange carpet. The Captain’s desk was made of dark wood and trimmed with hand-crafted carvings. There was a large map of August Island on the left side of the room, and on the right side, a poster of a blind-folded ninja in a fighting pose with the caption, “If you don’t see it, it’s not there.” 

Captain Tippytoe was a familiar face to Lucy and Seven. They often saw him working town events. He was a prickly fellow who appeared committed to never smiling while in uniform. In addition, he maintained a thick head of dyed black hair, while sporting a well-groomed mustache in his natural color of bright red sitting in the middle of a face covered in freckles. 

The funny-looking Captain did not look up at Lucy and Seven as they approached his desk. He was focused on a coloring book. He was halfway done filling in a muscular and shirtless warrior riding a unicorn and holding a massive sword. Crayons were spread out all over his desk.

“Good morning, Captain Tippytoe,” Lucy said. The Captain remained focused on his coloring. “Any updates on the West Side Sweet Tea Tomato Farm burglary?”

Captain Tippytoe finally looked up. His lips tightened. His brow wrinkled. He didn’t say a word. He just stared.

Lucy broke the awkward silence. “Do you know if they caught the perpetrator?”

The Captain continued to stare. His red mustache snarled. He finally spoke. 

“That’s a private matter,” he said to Lucy. 

“I have information that may be valuable and time sensitive.”

“We have the case under control.”

“So, you found the tomatoes?”

“Like I said, we have it under control.”

Lucy shook her head and rolled her eyes, rapidly growing impatient and annoyed by the circles in which the conversation was traveling. Seven jumped in to maintain a calm discourse. 

“What exactly do you mean by ‘under control’?” Seven asked politely.

“I mean exactly what I mean.”

“Which is?”

“Under… control.” 

            Lucy couldn’t help herself, “Did you find the dang tomatoes and the thieves or not?!” 

             The Captain continued his stare. “Not yet,” he replied, then looked back down to his coloring book. 

            “Well then what the—” Seven tactfully put her arm around Lucy’s shoulders and squeezed tightly, shutting her up and preventing a conversation-ending burst of rudeness.

            “Captain,” Seven began, “Lucy may have seen the thieves last night, and she can give you a description of the vehicle and the direction it was heading.” 

Captain Tippytoe turned to Lucy, crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair, and waited silently for her report.

Lucy took a deep breath and told the whole story: the red truck, the ‘I live for low tide’ bumper sticker, how the truck was going back and forth, its hurried manner, and how it nearly ran her over. She ended with, “And like any true August Island resident, I know a Sweet Tea Tomato the moment it hits my tongue.”

Lucy knew the Captain was a bad-tempered man, but she believed in the power of valuable information. She was ready to learn how she and Seven would be involved in the next steps of the investigation. However, Captain Tippytoe’s lips only got tighter. His brow more wrinkly. 

            “Why were you walking around town at midnight?” burst the Captain. Before Lucy could answer, he continued to bark. “What’s wrong with your mom letting you wander outside in the middle of the night all by your lonesome? ” 

            “I’m not as little as I look,” Lucy affirmed with a sharp glare. 

The Captain dug his heels in deeper: “Frankly, I think you’re making this up. Do you want me to arrest you for lying to a police officer?”

Lucy crossed her arms and staired at the Captain intensely. Her lips tightened and brow furrowed. Seven stood frozen, stunned by the Captain’s explosive reaction to their offer of help. 

“I could start the paperwork right now, Little Missy.” Captain Tippytoe gave no time for a response. “Kids your age should stay safe above all else. Keep to yourself, do your homework, don’t ask questions, and most certainly stay in your bed until the sun comes back up, and even then, I would advise you to stay in your houses so you don’t get a sunburn, or run over by a car.” 

Seven remained unnerved, struggling to offer any kind of defense. Lucy was flabbergasted that he hadn’t stopped yammerin’ yet. 

“Watch TV, play video games, keep quiet, that’s what kids should be doing with their youth,” the Captain continued. “There are plenty of safe things for you to do inside. In fact, I think I’m going to need to call Deputy Sanford on his day off to come in here and give you a ride home, and you’re going to need to wear a helmet in the car and sit in a child seat. If I were making the laws, young ladies wouldn’t be allowed in cars at all, they’re too dangerous, and...” 

As he continued to blather, Lucy casually pulled out a cherry-vanilla lollipop from her back pocket and peeled off the wrapper. She popped it in her mouth and stood up, motioning to Seven it was time to leave. The Captain kept jabber-jawin’, but Lucy acted like he wasn’t in the room. 

“Where do you think you’re going!?” yelled out the Captain. “You come back here! I’m talking to you!” 

Arm and arm, Lucy and Seven walked out of the office and down the hallway. Lucy held her tongue and lollipop tightly between her teeth so not to scream at Tippytoe all the nasty comebacks bouncing around her brain.

“How did it go?” Officer Sullivan asked sheepishly and wide-eyed.

“As one would expect,” Lucy growled.

A yell from Captain Tippytoe echoed through the precinct, “Sullivan! Get your butt in here!” 

“Bye, guys,” Officer Sullivan said as he scurried to the Captain’s office. 

Lucy and Seven exited the police station. 

Lucy’s mind was racing as they walked outside. They were silent and stunned. The stubbornness, ignorance, and the ugly mustache of that stupid man gave Lucy tons of energy she didn’t know what to do with. 

Seven watched as Lucy paced back and forth, teeth grinding in thought. Lucy’s eyes went to the ground, then up to the air, then back to the ground. Her arms folded, then rested at her hips. She looked off in different directions. She shook her head and sighed. 

“I’m sorry, Lucy,” Seven said. “I froze in there. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t think straight. That guy’s a jerk. He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.” 

Lucy crunched down on the last of the lollipop, took a deep breath, and turned to Seven with intensity. 

“You know what that jerkface said to me when I asked him if I could put up a missing Buddy poster in the police station? He said, ‘Sorry little lady, if I let you put up a poster then every kid whose pet goes missing will be in here putting up posters, and then all there’d be is posters, posters, posters in this place. I’d have to move my desk and sit outside just to make room for all the posters, he said.’ Then he gave me a dirty look and said, ‘If your dog is still alive, we’ll find him, we’re the police, that’s what we do.’ And I said, ‘Okay sir, thank you, sir, sorry to bother you, sir.’ I walked out of there thinking his explanation made sense, trusting that he knows best, because, you know, he’s an adult. But later on, as I was putting up missing posters around town, I started feeling rotten, and I felt rottener and rottener as the day went on, and by the time I got home at nine o’clock I felt so angry about what Tippytoe said to me and for not putting up a fight, that I started feeling angry about feeling angry. And during all that, there was a little voice inside of me screaming, but I ignored it.” Lucy paused, shaking her head, staring into the air of the Island. “But you know who I’m the angriest with? I’m really, really, really mad at myself for believing someone else was going to find Buddy.” Lucy unwrapped another lollipop and threw it into her mouth. She cocked her head towards Seven: “I’m gonna go find that red truck and bring back those tomatoes. You in?”

Seven smiled and said, “I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do.”

PART II

“Swimming is strange. Keep on moving or you’re dead.”

--Mrs. Julie Bruce, August Island High School lunch lady and head coach of the varsity swim team; mascot the Lemmings. Spoken to the team at the first day of practice.

Chapter 7 

The Case of the Missing Tomatoes or Follow the Tomato Brick Road

            “In the movies they always go back to the scene of the crime,” remarked Seven, as they stood outside the police station. “Should we go investigate the Fandango’s farm?”

It was 6:48 am. Mostly sunny. 63 degrees. A breeze blew salty sea air across the Island. A gang of seagulls flew overhead, chatting loudly about something important. The August Island Lighthouse stood proudly in the distance.

            Lucy looked over Seven’s shoulder and locked eyes with Captain Tippytoe through the double glass doors leading into the police station. He was now staring at them from behind Officer Sullivan’s desk, arms crossed, scowl scowling. Officer Sullivan mouthed the word, “Sorry” from behind him. Lucy took Seven’s arm and guided her around the corner away from view of the red-mustached lawman. 

            “While we’re at the farm, we can talk to the Fandangos to see what they know,” Seven added. “Maybe they have some enemies, or maybe they did this for insurance money. Or maybe they’re in a dispute with an aggressive client.”

Lucy liked what she was hearing; Seven was a natural problem solver. However, Lucy had a better idea.

            A few minutes later, Lucy and Seven were riding their bikes towards the site of Lucy’s run in with the red truck. The early Saturday morning streets were quiet. A few dogs were being walked. Several teenagers were skateboarding to the beach with surfboards under their arms. The rumble of crashing waves was ever present in the distance. Lucy hit the brakes at the corner of 2nd Avenue and Academy Street and hopped off her bike.

            “The red truck whizzed by me here. It was heading that way.” Lucy pointed north. She led Seven in that direction, talking as they walked their bikes. “Tomatoes were falling out the back, one about every two seconds. I ate six of them before heading home.” They walked up Academy Street, eyes on the sides of the road hunting for cherry tomatoes. None could be found until they reached 4th Avenue.

“There’s one!” Seven announced. They hopped on their bikes and peddled to it. Seven picked it up, rubbed it clean against her shirt, and ate it. “Yup!” she stated, chewing with a smirk. “That’s a Sweet Tea.”

            Lucy looked farther up the street. “There’s another!” They scurried to it. Lucy blew some dirt off the bright red delight and popped it in her mouth, nodding and grinning with delicious agreement. 

            They followed the trail of tomatoes for six more blocks with one tomato every ten to fifteen feet. Eventually they lost the trail, but soon regained it after turning left on 8th Avenue, then a block down and a right onto Mariposa Street, and then a quick left onto 9th Avenue, which lead them to the north end of the Island, where tourists had no recreational reason to visit. 

The trail of tomatoes continued along a strip of houses that were much newer than the structures in the center of town. Each house was of similar architecture and smaller than those by the beach. Some had a basketball hoop in the driveway, and the occasional trampoline in the backyard. Every house had an attached garage. Across from the line of houses was the edge of the Whisper Woods.

They soon lost the trail. They stopped, feet on the ground, and bikes between their legs. 

“It’s almost like the truck disappeared,” commented Lucy. 

“Maybe all of the tomatoes spilled out as it was driving?” Seven suggested.

“There was huge stack of Sweet Teas under that tarp,” Lucy replied. “Either they stopped spilling out somehow or the truck is in the garage of one of these houses.” Lucy hopped off her bike to take a close look. “I guess we should look inside the garage windows.”

“Isn’t that a bit rash?” Seven replied. “Technically that would be trespassing.”

“We need to find this truck, Seven,” Lucy insisted as if they had no other choice. Lucy stepped onto the front yard grass of the first house.

“Wait,” Seven said. Seven hopped off her bike and took a few steps to the edge of the Whisper Woods. “Maybe it went through there.” Seven pointed to a metal gate that peeked through a fresh pile of sticks and leaves. 

Lucy grinned eagerly. “I wonder what lies behind that curtain.”

As they began to clear the brush, they found the sticks and leaves to be dry and light, making it obvious the pile had been placed there recently, and probably done to hide the fence. They soon revealed a rusty gate that led to an old path into the Whisper Woods.  Mother Nature’s weeds and branches had started to take over the trail, but they could see it was wide enough for an automobile to travel and cut through the green overgrowth. The rusty chain that had once kept the gate shut was broken. Its severed lock rested on the ground.

Seven pushed the gate open and the dark depths of the Whisper Woods lay before them. Lucy leaned down to find a few Sweet Tea Tomatoes laying in the mud of fresh tire tracks.

She looked up at Seven and said, “Lions, Tigers, and Bears?”

Chapter 8

The Deep Dark Woods or Now or Never

Lucy and Seven entered the Whisper Woods, walking down the path along the tire tracks with their bikes at their side. Fifteen feet in, Lucy leaned down and picked up another Sweet Tea tomato. 

“Leave the tomatoes on the ground,” Seven suggested. “You know… Hansel and Gretel.”

Lucy nodded and dropped it.

“I gotta admit Lucy,” said Seven. “My heart is pounding… the butterflies in my stomach are going crazy.”

“Don’t worry Seven,” Lucy consoled. “I feel the same way.” But Lucy was lying. As soon as they crossed over into the forest, Lucy began tingling with excitement. Her desire to find the tomato thieves was powerful and only growing. It was a sensation she had never felt before. 

The Whisper Woods was a sprawling, state protected dense forest that covered forty percent of the Island. It was home to a variety of wildlife and was popular with hikers and explorers. Like most August Island kids, Lucy and Seven knew the trails well, but neither of them had ever entered the Woods from where they now stood. It seemed at least once a season some kid got lost in the forest. They hoped to not be the first of the year.

The dark shade made distant visibility low. The morning sun crept through the trees. Bits of light moved as they walked, adding a sensation of a thousand tiny creatures watching them as strangers entering their world.

The two sleuths walked cautiously, looking in all directions for the truck, any people involved, or any other clues. 

Strange sounds bounced throughout the forest. The echoes felt to Lucy and Seven like warnings to turn around, but the trail of tomatoes continued giving them no excuse to give up.

They followed the trail for over a mile until the path turned a corner, revealing a clearing in the distance about a hundred feet away. They could see the ocean, a short sandy beach, and two women walking about. Seven pointed to a red pickup truck tucked away under the cover of low trees. Lucy could tell the vehicle was hidden from view when looking from the water.  

Silently, they crept up about twenty feet to get a better look. Lucy saw the white bumper sticker that read I live for low tide. There was no question now. They had found the bad guys.

On a short spit of beach, the two women loaded crates onto a boat that was tied to an old, dilapidated dock. 

“That’s the remains of one of the original harbors from like a hundred years ago,” Lucy whispered. “My mom and I kayaked there last summer.” 

They could see a substantial number of crates on the boat. Far more than what Lucy had originally seen in the back of the pickup truck. 

“That’s a lot of tomatoes,” Seven said. “They must have been going back and forth between the farm and the boat all night. But why are they still here? Wouldn’t you think they’d made their getaway by now.”

“There must have been a glitch in their plan,” suggested Lucy. “With another one about to hit ‘em.”

“What are we gonna do?” Seven asked, her voice quivering.

“Let’s go get ‘em,” Lucy proposed recklessly.

“Lucy… we can’t just run up and say, ‘Found you!’, like we’re playing cops and robbers,” Seven protested quietly. “These are real bad guys.” 

Lucy nodded silently, trying to muster a better plan. 

“Let’s ride back and find Captain Tippytoe,” Seven whispered. “I’m sure we can convince him we found the truck and get him over here.”

“Tippytoe would sooner arrest us than help us,” Lucy whispered firmly.  “And look at the crates, they’re almost done loading. They could be off and away in a few minutes.”

Seven couldn’t argue. Their options were limited. If they hesitated, the boat might be gone forever. Lucy’s mind rapidly formulated a strategy. She turned to Seven and gave her orders.

“Ride as fast as you can to the tomato farm,” Lucy instructed quietly. “Tell the Fandangos you found their Sweet Teas and then bring them to the East Harbor. There is usually a police officer on duty. Explain everything to him. I’ll meet you there with that boat.”

“What?! How on earth are you going to do that?” Seven protested.

“I have a plan. Don’t worry.”

“I am worried. How are you--?”

“We don’t have the time for me to explain. Just go. You gotta trust me. 

Seven didn’t have any other ideas. “Alright,” she relented, “But if anything goes wrong, grab your bike and race back. They aren’t going to leave their boat and stolen property to run after some kid.”

“Exactly. Now go, go, go!”

Seven silently hopped on her bike raced back down the bumpy path, following the trail of Sweet Teas. Before she knew it, she was back on the street and racing across town to the Fandango’s Sweet Tea Tomato Farm on School House Road.

Meanwhile, Lucy left the trail and creeped quietly over and under dense undergrowth towards the shoreline about fifty feet up the beach from the boat, the red truck, and the two villains. She kept her eyes on the women, making sure to not get spotted. She could see a huge pile of crates on the boat, and, like a countdown timer nearing zero, only about half a dozen left to be loaded. 

Lucy’s feet hit the sand. She scurried up the beach and hid behind a thick tree. Lucy messed up her hair with a handful of sand. She ripped her shirt in a few places and took off one of her shoes. She made herself look distraught, sad, and pathetic. She stood up, took a deep breath, and started to limp up the beach towards the boat. 

            One of the women holding a crate of tomatoes in her hands looked up and locked eyes on what appeared to her as a helpless little girl hobbling towards them. 

She plopped the crate in the boat. She snapped her fingers to get her partner’s attention, and said: “Are you seein’ this?”   

Chapter 9

Guiding Her into Port or Trickery Will Get You Somewhere

Determined, focused, and remarkably calm, Lucy spoke up before the two crooks had a chance to make any assumptions.

“Please help me,” Lucy wailed. “I’m lost. I’ve been lost in these woods for more than two days. I’m tired, hungry, and thirsty, and I want to go home.”

Lucy watched as a tremendous concern came over their faces. Lucy knew this concern was not for the lost little girl in front of them but for the hiccup in their nefarious plan.

“You say you’re lost?” asked one of the women. She was short, stocky, and stood like she had something to prove. She wore a white t-shirt, jeans, and a red bandana to hold back her long blonde hair.

The other woman was tall and skinny with short black hair. She chimed in: “Just walk up that path and you’ll eventually find a road to town.” She turned to the short one and said, “Come on, keep moving… stay focused.”

Lucy took a few more pathetic steps, howled with pain, and fell to the ground. “Please,” she pleaded. “My ankle is broken. Do you have any water? I haven’t had a drink since yesterday. And it was puddle water. I drank from a muddy puddle! I found it in the ditch I was sleeping in last night. I said to myself, ‘oh thank heavens for this muddy puddle.’”

The tall one clenched her lips with increasing agitation. “I’m telling you the road will—”

“Yes, we have water,” the short one sympathized, glaring at her partner. She pulled out a water bottle from inside the boat and threw it to Lucy landing in the sand in front of her.

“Thank you,” Lucy said. She twisted off the cap and chugged, selling her character with masterful technique.

            “Are you sure you can’t walk?” the short once asked again.

            Lucy tried to get up, but quickly fell back down, grimacing with fake pain. 

            “It hurts. And I’m so tired. I’ve been up for days wandering in circles. I climbed a tree to find a direction to go, and then I fell out of the tree, and I broke my ankle. Curse that tree! Please, please, please take me back to the harbor and drop me off. It would be quick with your boat.”

            “I’m sorry,” the tall one said, shaking her head. “We are in a hurry. Take my water and crawl down that path. It won’t take you that long.”

            Lucy started crying. Real tears streamed down her cheeks. She revved it to full-blown bawling. She was giving the performance of a lifetime.

            The two women looked at each other again, discussing their options through facial expressions. Naturally they wanted to get their stolen property away from the Island as soon as possible, but to leave a crying, broken ankled child in a remote forest was quite a load to bear.

            “Get in the boat,” the short one barked to Lucy.

            “Thank you so much,” Lucy said, almost forgetting to limp as she scurried aboard. 

            “Are you crazy!?” the tall one snapped at her partner. 

“She’s like nine years old!” retorted the short one.

“It took me all night to fix your crummy boat, and now we’re going to—” she stopped herself and glared at Lucy. “Sit there!” she shouted, pointing to a corner in the front of the boat. “And don’t touch anything!” Lucy sat on the floor in a puddle of chilling sea water, between the side of the boat and the many stacks of tomato-filled crates. “Come on, let’s get going,” the tall one shouted to her partner.

They quickly covered the stolen tomatoes with a few large tarps and tied it down tight. There must have been over a hundred crates, Lucy estimated. The short one freed the boat from the old dock and pushed it away into the ocean. There was no turning back now. 

The engine blasted on, and with a kick of power, they headed east and soon turned south along the shoreline. Lucy estimated they were three miles from the East Harbor, which lay on the other side of the Island.

            “We’ll do this quickly,” the short one assured her partner. “It’ll be fine… in and out.”

            The tall woman slammed on the gas in anger. The boat lurched forward slamming Lucy against the crates. Cold puddle water washed over her.

            This was all happening faster than Lucy had anticipated. She sat quietly, working hard to slow down her rapid heartbeat by focusing on her next move. She prayed Seven could find the Fandangos, that they would believe her, and that they’d all get to the harbor before Lucy and the crooks did.

            Closer and closer they traveled, but it wasn’t coming soon enough for anyone on board. With time to think, Lucy began to consider worst case scenarios. What if the two bad guys saw police lights, and then made a getaway, taking Lucy hostage out to sea. She leaned back to witness the view on the other side of the boat. The endless ocean felt more massive than ever before. Her imagination began to run away with itself, but she quickly shut it off and pictured herself accomplishing the mission. She imagined these two thieves in handcuffs and smiles of joy and relief on the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Fandango. She imagined herself and Seven standing proudly on the dock in front of a boisterous crowd, sarcastically announcing to Captain Tippytoe, “I thought you had it under control!?” 

            Lucy’s heart kept on pounding. She began to think about Buddy. Almost as if he was there, she imagined him curling up next to her, not minding the puddles of water, smiling with his eyes, like he always did. Her heartbeat slowed down. 

Lucy peered over the side of the boat. It wasn’t long before she could make out the harbor in the distance, but it was too far to see if Seven, the Fandangos, or the police were on the dock. Worried something seen at the harbor might tip off her potential captors, Lucy attempted to distract them.  

            “So, where are you two headed?” Lucy asked. Neither of the villains responded.  “I mean after dropping me off. Just heading out to go fishing or something?” The two remained silent. Lucy tried again. “You guys ever wonder why people go fishing? I mean, you sit there all day in hopes of catching some fish, and then if you even do catch a fish, which you usually don’t, you gotta rip its guts out and cut its head off before you cook the dang thing.” The two villains continued to ignore her. “I mean, anyone can go to the grocery store and get some fish in like five minutes, and you get it without the guts or the severed head.” In truth, Lucy loved fishing and did it often. “And what about crabbing? I mean you plop a trap in the water and then what? You better bring a book, am I right? You guys know what I’m talking about? You two ever crab? Or clam? Or scallop? You guys clam and scallop? You guys ever…”

            “Shut up, kid!” yelled the tall one. 

            Lucy peered over the side towards the harbor. They were only a few hundred yards away. Looking closely, Lucy spotted Seven. Standing next to her was Mr. and Mrs. Fandango. 

Holy moly! she thought. We are going to pull this off. We have solved the mystery and will save the—

            “What is that!?” the tall one announced, pointing towards land, taking her foot off the gas.

            Lights flashing, a police car flew down Ocean Ave towards the Harbor, blowing the discreet nature of Lucy’s plan. 

            “Turn around!” yelled the short one. “Go go go!”

            “God damn it, I told you!” yelled the tall one.

The boat took a sharp 180-degree turn. Lucy’s body and face flew painfully against the stack of tomato crates until the boat straightened out. Lucy regained her balance and saw they were heading for open waters at top speed.

            She knew this was no time to panic or freeze up. She jumped to her feet, waved her arms, and yelled to whoever could hear her at the dock, “Here! They’re here! They have the Sweet Teas! They have the tomatoes!” 

            The two villains put it all together, realizing they had been conned. The tall one yelled about a dozen curse words and reached for Lucy. But before Lucy could become a hostage, she dove out of the speeding boat, the sound of her splash silenced by the revving engine.

Lucy’s body slapped against the water at over forty miles per hour. For a split second the impact felt like slamming into concrete, but the cold water rapidly dulled the pain with an uncomfortable but soothing shock all over her body. Underwater, the silence was loud. All her emotions were tied to the hope that someone had seen or heard her. 

From the dock, Seven had seen her through binoculars, as had the Fandangos, and as soon as Lucy hit the water, the police officer stationed at the harbor hit the gas of the police boat.

Underwater, Lucy’s adrenaline kicked in. She swam up for air. Oxygen entered her lungs. She pushed away the shock of the situation and looked for her next move. 

            Having lived a few blocks from the water her entire life, Lucy was an excellent swimmer. She confidently treaded water as the police boat zoomed past her, heading straight for the tomato thieves. Well-known local fisherman, James “Kid Crab” Holly, was close behind the police boat. Kid Crab pulled up next to Lucy and with his mammoth hands lifted her out of the water by her shirt caller.

            “How yu doin’ Lucy?” he asked, as he began wrapping her with beach towels.

            “I’m doin’ just fine Mr. Holly… never better… how you doin?” After wrapping the fourth towel around her to optimum comfort, they both sat watched the highspeed boat chase head towards the horizon.  

*          *          *

            With help from six more police boats from a few of the inland towns, the two crooks were apprehended five miles off the coast of August Island. All 9,400 pounds of the Fandango’s Sweet Tea tomatoes were recovered, and the Fandangos were able to fulfill all their orders to markets and restaurants on time and with extra fanfare at every delivery. The news made headlines across New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut. The publicity caused Sweet Tea tomatoes, Sweet Tea-based products, and Sweet Tea branded merchandise to sell faster than ever that spring and summer.

Lucy and Seven would later be briefed by Officer Sullivan that the two thieves were restaurant owners of an Italian bistro called Gustavo’s Grill in one of the inland towns. Their rival restaurant was one of the few lucky Sweet Tea wholesale customers off August Island. Due to the high demand and low availability of Sweet Teas, the wholesale client roster is short with a very long waiting list. The tall and short owners of Gustavo’s Grill were hoping to increase sales with Sweet Tea tomato sauce, Sweet Tea caprese salad, and Sweet Tea bruschetta, while at the same time stiffing their competitors out of receiving their ration of Sweet Teas. Some might say it silly to go to such drastic lengths for tomatoes, but those who make such comments have never tasted a Sweet Tea.

Chapter 10

Mystery Solved or Follow the Light

When Lucy got back to the harbor, she and Seven hugged each other with happy screams and giddy laughter, dazed by the amazement and gratitude that they had pulled it off.  

Lucy’s mom and Seven’s parents received word from neighbors of the wild goings-on and ran down to the harbor, along with all of Seven’s ten brothers and sisters. 

News spread quickly around the community, and residents and visitors gathered on the docks to a near dock-sinking volume. Seven’s four-year-old brother Billy was accidentally elbowed into the water, but he was scooped up safely by Seven’s sister Mary. Eventually, more than one hundred August Island residents were in attendance when the police boat returned the crooks to the harbor handcuffed and defeated. 

Hazel pressed through the crowd until she found her daughter. She hugged her tightly and adjusted the towel Lucy was wrapped in. Seven pushed through the crowd to find her family, who were all asking questions at the same time. 

Officer Sullivan made his way through the mobs of excited locals to congratulate the two young detectives on a job well done and to get an official statement, which quickly turned into a spellbinding tale of heroism told by Lucy and Seven atop a stack of crab traps, with everyone at the harbor captivated by every word.

Captain Tippytoe was not seen at the harbor that morning. 

Later that week, the August Island Gazette ran a cover story on the young detectives, with a large photo of Lucy and Seven at the scene of the crime each holding a pint of Sweet Tea tomatoes and a ten-mile smile. The paper was framed and proudly hangs in the lobby of the Flying Cow Inn. 

*          *          *

That night Lucy went to sleep late, as she had trouble calming her brain after all the excitement. In her window-filled room, she sat at her desk and looked at her favorite photo of Buddy; her sweet mutt sitting proudly at the beach, a frisbee at his feet, and low tide in the background. He looked at the camera with a smirk that said, There’s no other place I’d rather be.

“We got ‘em Buddy,” she said to him through the photo. “All is good on August Island… at least for tonight.”

Lucy heard some barks from a neighborhood dog in the distance, but this time they gave her a snuggle of joy as if Buddy was congratulating her on a job well done.

Lucy rolled into bed, crawling under a cool sheet. The bare spot by her feet where Buddy always slept somehow felt warm. 

Lucy lay on her side, looking east through a window to the glow of the streetlights and the vague horizon line that separated the dark blue sky from the black ocean water. A cool salty breeze flew in to say goodnight. It smelled of spring with a hint of summer. The night was quiet, with a car driving by every few minutes.

Lucy thought about Buddy as her eyes began to close. She thought about how she’d failed to solve that case. She wished more than anything she had not thrown the frisbee one last time. She thought about Seven and how easy life moved when they were together. She thought about her mom. She thought about what it must have felt like when the police walked up to the Inn’s front desk to report that Lucy’s dad’s commercial fishing boat had sunk at sea with no survivors. She wondered if she too had felt the pain from inside her mama’s belly. She thought about the peaceful silence of the shockingly cold water of the Atlantic Ocean. She thought about the people in her life she could trust and those she could not. 

 Echoes of light from the spinning beacon of the August Island Lighthouse snuck in through Lucy’s windows and hypnotized her to sleep. It spun around and around and around offering safe passage to anyone else out there who needed it. 

*          *          *

At 2:12 am, Lucy was woken up by a scream. Her eyes opened. Her body shot out of bed. She kept still and silent, listening closely.

Nothing. 

Was I dreaming? she considered. 

From her bedroom lookout tower, Lucy inspected the surrounding streets and yards. She had a suspicion it came from the mansion across the street, where Cecilia, the eccentric old Italian lady, lived with her parrot and Komodo dragon. 

Lucy looked down at the very old, very large, and, at least at that moment, creepy mansion. One light was on, but there was no observable commotion. Everything appeared still. The exhaustion from the day’s events guided her head back to her pillow. 

*          *          *

Lucy fell into a deep sleep until she awoke the next day at 12:45 pm. 

It was Sunday. Lucy took her time getting dressed. 

She walked downstairs to the Flying Cow Inn’s kitchen. Her mom was finishing up the big Sunday breakfast. 

“Good morning, my little detective,” her mom announced. Hazel put the broom down and brought her daughter a re-heated plate of inverted French toast and a mug of black coffee. “Should I call you Inspector Lucy Barlow? Or Detective Barlow? Or Inspector Detect—”

“Mom,” Lucy interrupted, “did you hear a scream last night at precisely 2:12 am… perhaps from Cecilia’s mansion?”

“Yes. I did, actually. It scared the bajeezus outta me,” her mother replied, wringing out a white rag into a large metal sink. “I thought I had dreamt it, but I’m pretty sure I did not because Cecilia keeps calling here like every ten minutes looking to meet with you. I keep asking her why, but she keeps telling me she can only talk to you and Seven. I keep telling her you’ll be over shortly.”

Joy, excitement, eagerness, nervousness, delight, satisfaction, and a bunch of other emotions exploded in Lucy’s brain. “I gotta call Seven.”

“I already did, baby doll. She should be waiting outside Cecilia’s in a few minutes.” Hazel wiped her hands clean against her apron. “And I was thinking, if you guys planning on solving more mysteries, you can clear out a space in the basement. It can be your headquarters. You can use the storm door as your own private entrance and everything.”

Lucy hoisted her short body onto the counter and smooched her mom on the cheek. She jammed the last bit of inverted French toast into her mouth, took her coffee to go, and flew out the side door of the Flying Cow Inn to meet Seven in front of Cecilia’s mansion. 

The next game was afoot. 

Part III
“Cheers to narrow escapes and formation of folklore.”
 --Cecilia Balsamo; a toast given at one of her dinner parties.