Free Rebel Island by Rick Riordan Page B

throat. “Señor, this is the
…hit man
they talk about?”
    “Who’s they?”
    “Everyone, señor. The newspapers, sometimes.”
    “I know who you’re talking about,” Mr. Lindy told me. “Calavera the assassin. He kills with explosives.”
    “Did you ever work on a case that involved him, sir?”
    Lindy shook his head. “I retired long before he started. But I know the name. I know he’s murdered many innocent people. You believe he’s here?”
    I felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. I knew how badly they wanted me to say no.
    “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “But someone…probably someone at this table, gave me this information for a reason.”
    I told them about the newspaper articles and showed them the message:
FIND HIM
.
    “That’s
my
hotel stationery.” Alex looked offended.
    “Wait a second,” Garrett said. “So now we’re looking for two people. We got a killer. And we got somebody who wants to find the killer.”
    I nodded. As reluctant as I was to admit my brother was capable of logical thinking, he’d pretty much nailed it.
    “So we got two empty chairs,” Garrett said. “Where’s the Mexican kid? What’s his name?”
    “Hey, Ty ain’t no killer,” Markie growled. “That’s bullshit.”
    “Well, what about that Chris guy?” As soon as Garrett said that, Lane stiffened next to him. “He ran the hell away as soon as the marshal was shot. Hasn’t been back yet. How much you know about this guy, anyway, Alex?”
    “He’s a local,” Alex said. “I’ve known him since he was like six. There’s no way he could kill anybody.”
    Garrett scratched his beard. “Well, then, where the hell is he? And where’s the other dude? Ty?”
    Chase shifted uncomfortably. “I tried to say something
privately
to Navarre. That didn’t work.”
    “It’s all right, Chase,” Maia said. “What did you want to say?” She did a better job sounding soothing than I would have.
    Chase scowled. “Ty’s claustrophobic.”
    Garrett snorted.
    “This ain’t a joke, man,” Markie piped up. “We brought him here thinking he could get over it, you know? It’s been a nightmare. He’s been drinking for two days just to keep from flipping out. Being on a damn island was bad enough, but now with the boarded-up windows, the storm, being trapped inside…he’s really starting to crack.”
    “Where is he?” Alex asked. He sounded stunned that anybody could be unhappy staying on his island.
    “He ran out of the room about half an hour ago,” Chase said. “I thought maybe he just needed to walk the halls or something, get some air. I didn’t want to embarrass him by making a big deal about it, but…”
    “But?” I prompted.
    “He wants off this island bad,” Chase said. “Bad enough to do something crazy.”
    “There’s no way off,” Maia said.
    Jose and Alex exchanged jittery looks.
    “What?” I asked.
    “There is the fishing boat,” Jose said. “In the boathouse behind the hotel.”
    I stared at Alex. “That’s still there? Why didn’t you mention this before?”
    “Ah, hell, Tres. It’s just a little charter fishing boat. It ain’t no good in choppy surf. It hasn’t even got a full tank of gas.”
    “But, señor,” Jose said, “if a man were desperate—”
    I cursed, then asked Jose to cover my sausage and bean tacos for later.
    “Come on,” I told Chase and Markie. “We’ve got some hiking to do.”

    Outside, the wind and rain had died to almost nothing. The air smelled so clean and charged with electricity it hurt to breathe. The night was unnaturally black—no city glow, no stars. But I could feel the presence of storm all around us, like the walls of a well.
    Chase, Markie and I all had flashlights. We wore attractive black plastic garbage bags as rain ponchos. As we trudged around the side of the hotel, the beams of our flashlight snagged weird images—dead shrimp sprinkled in the sea grass, a child’s orange life vest half buried in the sand, an