The Phantom of Nantucket Read online

  “The culprit doesn’t know that it’s canceled,” I countered.

  All of a sudden, there was another cracking noise, this one much softer than the last. Another vertebra fell from the tail, hitting George right on the top of the head. “Ow! My head!” she cried out.

  “George!” Bess exclaimed.

  We guided her back to the bench. Pete barked at the caterers to block off the space under the skeleton so no one would stand there.

  “How many fingers am I holding up?” Bess asked George, frantically waving three fingers in front of her face.

  “I don’t have a concussion, Bess. This was barely a knock. It just surprised me.”

  “Answer the question,” Bess insisted.

  “Three!” George answered. “Satisfied?”

  “Not really,” Bess said. “I think we should take you to the hospital. Two knocks to the head in one day can’t be good.”

  George brushed off Bess’s concerns. “It barely even hurts. I haven’t felt dizzy or sick to my stomach or anything the nurse said to look out for.” She turned to Jenna. “But I am going to demand more of those doughnuts as payment. Twice now I’ve taken knocks to the head that were meant for you.”

  Jenna looked at George, confused. “When was the first time?” she asked. I realized that amid the busyness of the afternoon we had never told Jenna about the incident on the boat. We gave her a quick rundown.

  Jenna still looked confused when we finished explaining what had happened. “But why do you think I was the target of the sabotage, not Marni?” she asked.

  “Because no one knew that you had lent Marni your boat,” I said.

  “Everyone knew that,” Jenna said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “There was an article about our so-called ‘unusual’ friendship in the newspaper just last week, because I’m a summer person and Marni is a full-time islander. One of the examples they used was how my family had lent Marni our boat for the fall regatta,” she said.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t double-check what she said online,” George admonished herself. “Maybe I do have a concussion. I’m slipping.”

  Suddenly it all started to click like fireworks going off in my mind as the pieces finally started snapping into place.

  I turned to Pete. “Can you get this all cleaned up and the skeleton stabilized in the next twenty minutes?” I asked.

  Pete nodded. “If Jenna helps me.”

  “Great,” I said. “Tell everyone you’re running a little late, but the exhibit will be open in half an hour.”

  “Nancy,” Jenna said. “What are you doing?”

  “Come on,” I told Bess and George. “I know where the figurehead is!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A Race Against Time

  I RACED OUT THE BACK OF THE MUSEUM, Bess and George right on my heels. The three of us sprinted down the alley toward Broad Street.

  “Nancy, where are we going?” George panted behind me.

  I didn’t have the breath to answer, so I just kept running. They’d see soon enough.

  We hit Broad Street and turned onto Beach Street. The seven p.m. ferry that had just arrived had filled the sidewalks with people wheeling suitcases. Taxicabs clogged the street, slowing our progress, but I would not be deterred.

  “Excuse me, coming through. Pardon me,” I announced as I weaved between families and zigzagged around groups of friends congesting the narrow path. I heard my friends echoing the same words behind me.

  Finally we made it to the Sailing Club. I barged through the doors, Bess and George following me. Fred was still sitting behind the counter.

  “Good evening, Fred,” I said authoritatively as we marched past him.

  “Wait,” he shouted after us. “You can’t come in here!” But we didn’t slow down. I didn’t have time to haggle about permission to enter. Maybe tomorrow when this was over we could stop by with a box of doughnuts to make it up to him. But right now we were on a mission.

  As I pushed open the door from the main room to the outside patio, I ran smack into Connor.

  “Nancy!” he exclaimed.

  “Hi, Connor,” I said as I tried to get past him, but every direction I stepped, he stepped too, blocking me from getting around him. We carried on like this for a few seconds, as if we were performing an awkward dance.

  “Connor, I’m in a hurry,” I said, exasperated, but Connor refused to let me go by.

  “I just got a text from Kelsey,” he mentioned. “She said that the skeleton fell at the museum. Is Jenna okay?”

  “She’s fine,” I replied, trying once again to get around him, but Connor was quicker than I was. He put his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to pay attention to him.

  “If I had known Jenna was in actual danger, I never would have vandalized the sign. You know that, right? It was just a stupid prank,” he insisted.

  I took a deep breath and looked him right in the eyes. “I know that,” I said. “Right now, I have to go so I can save her exhibit . . . and her career.”

  “I want to help,” he said.

  “Fine,” I said. At this point, it was easier to let him tag along than waste any more time arguing.

  “Great!” he shouted, letting go of my shoulders and allowing me to pass.

  I picked up my pace and led everyone to the docks and down to the last slip, where Jenna’s boat had been earlier in the day. But it was gone.

  “Where is it?” I blurted out.

  “Is that it?” George asked, pointing into the distance. I followed her finger and spotted a boat bobbing right where the calm water of the harbor transitioned into open ocean.

  “It’s too far,” I said. “I can’t tell.”

  “That’s Jenna’s boat,” Connor said next to me.

  “How can you tell?” Bess asked.

  “I recognize the silhouette,” he said. “Just trust me, I’m really good at boats, and that is Jenna’s.”

  “Do you really want to help Jenna?” I asked ­Connor. “Do you want to do something that will make it up to her for destroying her sign?”

  “Anything,” Connor said. Jenna’s boat was going ­farther and farther out to sea. We needed to move quickly.

  “Take us out to that boat. Now.”

  Connor nodded. “Follow me,” he said. “We have to move fast.” He led us down to the opposite end of the dock to a boat named Stingray. It was smaller than Jenna’s. I hoped Connor was a good enough sailor to make up the distance.

  “This is it,” Connor said. We all quickly put on life jackets and climbed into the boat, which started to tilt precariously. “Nancy, Bess, get on the other side,” Connor ordered. Bess and I slid to the opposite side, and the boat righted itself. “We have to keep the boat balanced,” he said sternly.

  I looked out to see Jenna’s boat drifting farther away. “We need to hurry!” I exclaimed.

  Connor pulled the cover over the sail and started hoisting it up the mast. He moved quickly and efficiently. “Hold this,” he told me as he handed me the till. He climbed over Bess and George back onto the dock and pushed us off, jumping back into the boat at the last minute. He took the till back from me.

  “Pay attention and do as I say,” Connor directed. He worked us through the harbor. The area was secluded, and there was barely even a breeze. Connor jumped from side to side, controlling the boom and the till, maneuvering us around the boats and out into the open ocean.

  It was slow going, but finally we made our way to the edge of the harbor and caught the wind. Suddenly we were cutting through the water. “Woo-hoo!” ­Connor yelled. “I love this moment!”

  It was definitely an adrenaline rush to feel the wind blowing the boat, pushing it over the waves. It rocked back and forth and dipped up and down as we sped over the water. This was definitely more exciti
ng than the sailing I had done on the lake at camp.

  Bess, on the other hand, looked a little green. “Just watch the horizon,” I told her. I had learned at summer camp that keeping your eyes focused on the evenness of the horizon could help if you were feeling seasick. Bess nodded.

  “It looks like Jenna’s boat stopped moving,” George observed.

  Jenna’s boat did look anchored. It was bobbing in the ocean, but not actually moving forward. Someone stood at the bow.

  “Connor, can you cut around in front of it?” I asked.

  “Sure thing,” Connor agreed. He brought us around front, and we had a clear view of Marni ­teetering on the edge of the boat, holding the figurehead. All she had to do was let go and it would sink into the sea.

  “Go away, Nancy,” Marni called out tearfully. “You can’t stop me.”

  “I know why you did it,” I said. “I understand, but this isn’t the right way.”

  “How can you know?” she asked.

  “Your grandfather’s grandfather was the captain who sank the Eleanore Sharpe,” I said.

  Bess and George gasped. Marni looked at me, almost relieved that someone understood.

  “Jenna set up this sneak peek tour of the exhibit for me and my grandfather on Friday afternoon, just before you guys got here. She had to leave to meet you at the ferry, and then Grandpa started to get so upset. He’s supposed to be careful, but he wouldn’t calm down. I was so scared that he would give himself a heart attack. He just kept yelling that this was a disgrace and we had to stop it. I didn’t know what to do. I’d never seen him like that before. I saw Kelsey’s purse with her keys and I decided the easiest thing would be to stop the exhibit. I stole the figurehead, wrapped it in an old blanket, and hid it in his wheelchair.”

  “Why didn’t you just talk to Jenna?” I asked.

  “She wouldn’t have understood. She would have said she was just telling the truth.”

  That seemed a little unfair to Jenna, but I could see why Marni would think that. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  “You didn’t have to clock me on the head,” George said angrily.

  “I know,” Marni wailed. “Everything just got out of control. I didn’t want my grandfather to get in ­trouble. He’s so fragile.” She turned to George, who was still watching her with her arms crossed over her chest, unmoved by Marni’s explanation. “I’m sorry I hit you with the boom, George. I didn’t mean to. You were just so close to the figurehead, I got flustered and the rope slipped.” Marni let out a loud sob that carried in the wind, becoming a sad, haunting sound.

  “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to hurt Jenna. She’s my friend, but I can’t let her hurt my ­grandfather,” Marni wept.

  “If you didn’t want to hurt Jenna, why’d you cut the cable to the whale skeleton?” Bess asked, still angry. “You could have killed someone!”

  Marni stopped crying for a second and looked up, confused. “What are you talking about? I didn’t touch the skeleton.”

  “You left a note in her purse, saying she’d be hurt if she didn’t stop the exhibit, and thirty minutes later the skeleton fell,” George said.

  “I left that note, but I was just trying to scare her. I didn’t know what else to do! I would never actually hurt Jenna!” Marni wailed.

  I didn’t know what to believe, but we could sort that out later. Right now I needed to get the figurehead back.

  “Can you get us alongside her boat?” I asked Connor.

  “I can try,” he said. Slowly he maneuvered our boat so that it was parallel to Marni’s.

  “A little closer?” I asked Connor. Marni was still bawling. I was worried that she was so swept up in her emotions that she would let go of the figurehead and it would tumble into the ocean, sinking to the bottom.

  “That’s as close as I can get,” Connor said. We were about a foot away from Marni’s boat.

  I stood up and checked my life jacket, which fit snugly against my chest. “Switch sides with me,” I said to George. We changed spots, so now I was right next to Marni’s boat.

  “What are you doing, Nancy?” Bess asked with a nervous tone in her voice. I knew she’d try to talk me out of what I was about to do if I explained it to her, but I didn’t see any other options.

  “Getting back the figurehead,” I told her. I stood up on the edge of the boat, working hard to keep my balance. Marni’s boat was about a foot taller than Connor’s.

  “I don’t think I like this,” George said, but I was determined.

  “Hold it steady,” I told Connor.

  “I’ll do my best,” he answered.

  I took a deep breath and leaped. With the sway of the boat, I wasn’t able to push off as strongly as I needed. My right foot hooked on the edge of Marni’s boat, and I landed on her deck with a thunk. I cringed, expecting to hear a splash as the figurehead hit the water, but it never came.

  “Nancy! Are you okay?” Bess called from the other boat.

  “I’m fine,” I answered. I brushed myself off and made my way to the bow of the boat, where Marni was still sobbing. I had a feeling that, left on her own, she would be crying for a long time.

  “Marni,” I said gently. “Hand me the figurehead.”

  “I can’t,” she said through tears.

  “There’s nothing you’ve done that can’t be fixed. George is fine. Jenna is fine. If you give me the ­figurehead right now, we can get it back before they open the doors to the reception. No one will ever know it was gone.”

  Marni looked up. She stopped crying for a moment and I could see a look of hope in her eyes, but then her face crumpled and she let out another wail. “But my grandfather . . . ,” she said.

  “Your grandfather’s a tough man. No one makes it to a hundred and four without being strong. He can take this.” Marni didn’t look convinced. “Besides,” I continued, “I bet he would rather see this exhibit go up than see you get in trouble.” I could see in her eyes that I had gotten through. I extended my arms again. “Just give me the figurehead and this can all be over.”

  Slowly Marni handed me the figurehead. I breathed a huge sigh of relief and held it tight. Carefully I carried it belowdecks. I didn’t want there to be any ­possibility of something happening to it now.

  When I got back up, Marni was curled into a ball, crying. Just by looking at her, I knew that she was not going to be able to sail the boat back to harbor. Before I could contemplate what to do next, I heard the sound of motors. Bright lights were suddenly shining on us. We were surrounded by boats marked UNITED STATES COAST GUARD.

  “We received a distress call,” a voiced boomed over a loudspeaker.

  “That was me,” I heard George yell from Connor’s boat. “I called you!”

  “My friend is in no condition to sail us back,” I shouted.

  “Coming aboard,” the voice echoed through the speaker, and a young, handsome coast guard member boarded our boat.

  “I’m Seaman Scott,” he introduced himself. “Does she need medical attention?” he asked, indicating Marni.

  “No,” I said. “Just some rest. She’s had a really rough day.” He seemed to accept that and quickly took the helm, navigating us back to the Sailing Club docks. Connor followed us back.

  I realized how exhausted I was from the whole ordeal. I sat down next to Marni and enjoyed feeling the wind in my hair as we made our way back to land.

  Just as we pulled into the harbor, Marni squeezed my hand. “Thanks, Nancy.” I squeezed her hand back.

  Pete and Jenna met us at the Sailing Club. Apparently, George had called them too. I handed the ­figurehead back to Jenna, who cradled it like a baby. She looked at me, her eyes glistening with tears of joy. “Nancy, I can’t thank you enough,” she said.

  “No problem,” I said. “I’m glad I could help.”

  P
ete clapped me on the shoulder. “Very impressive, Nancy. I can see why you have the reputation you do back home.”

  I blushed. Compliments make me uncomfortable. All of a sudden, I thought of something. “Pete, Marni told me that she didn’t touch the skeleton. Could that be true?”

  Pete and Jenna exchanged a look. “Actually, as we were cleaning up, I looked at the cable under the microscope. I didn’t see any evidence that anyone had tampered with it. I think it was an accident. We are very lucky that no one was hurt.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief, glad that Marni hadn’t put anyone in danger.

  “Shouldn’t you get that back to the museum?” I asked Pete and Jenna, indicating the figurehead.

  “We certainly should!” Pete said.

  The two of them took off, and Bess, George, and I stayed behind. Bess found the nurse, who agreed to let Marni lie down for a while before she went home. We watched as the nurse escorted Marni to her office.

  “She made some really bad decisions over the past thirty-six hours,” I said, “but in her own way she was trying to do what she thought was right.”

  George and Bess nodded. “It’s hard to be mad at her,” Bess said. “She wanted to protect her family.”

  “You weren’t the one who got hit on the head,” George protested. After a beat, she continued. “I’m kidding. I’m not really mad at her. Being caught between your friends and your family is never easy.”

  We stood quietly for a moment. “Should we head to this reception?” I asked. George and Bess heartily agreed.

  By the time we arrived at the museum, the opening was in full swing. The place was filled to capacity. ­People were hovering in groups, sipping champagne, eating hors d’oeuvres, and happily chatting with one another. I overheard more than one person say that they had been blown away by the exhibit. You’d never guess that less than an hour ago the whole event had been in jeopardy.

  “Let’s find Jenna and congratulate her,” Bess said shouted over all the talking.

  George and I nodded. It was hard to spot anyone in the packed room.

  “When artists have an opening, they usually stand next to their work,” I said. “I wonder if it’s the same for curators.”