The canopy and understory blocked out some of the rain and the wind. However, there was no path like the one I’d followed across the island earlier. Instead Nitro and I were forced to circumvent the tall trees and duck low-sprouting branches. A tangle of broadleaf shrubs and palms and woody plants obscured much of the ground, so we didn’t really know where we were putting our feet down. Vipers could be found across Mexico, and their bite was dangerous to humans. I hoped if there were any on this island they abided by the old adage that they should be more scared of me than I was of them.

To take my mind off snakes, I turned my attention to what might await us at the campground. I wanted to believe that Rosa was wrong, that her brother hadn’t been attacked, that it was an uncanny misunderstanding. But how could this be the case? She had heard him screaming. He had told her to run. So something had happened, something bad.

Which brought me back to the million-dollar question: Who would attack him? Rosa said Lucinda was nice, and she and Miguel didn’t fight, but who knew what went on between them in private? Besides, there was no rule to say nice people didn’t do bad things, especially in the heat of the moment.

Then again, if Lucinda suddenly lost the plot, why would Miguel tell Rosa to run? Wouldn’t he instead implore her to help him? Telling her to run implied he thought she was in danger too. Yet why would he think she would be in danger from Lucinda if Lucinda’s beef was with him?

And then there was the whole problem with the canoe. Why hadn’t Lucinda taken it back to the docks? Why had she remained on the island?

To search for Rosa?

To silence the only witness?

“Nitro,” I said, his name coming off my tongue awkwardly. I don’t think I’d ever addressed him as anything but Muscles. “Any theories on what might have happened you’re not sharing?”

“Why do you care what I think, chavo?” he said without looking back.

It was a good question. I suppose because while the others would have been content to play ostrich until the boatman returned to take us back to the docks, Nitro had been all action, gung-ho to discover answers, and that was something I respected.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell him this, of course, and I was about to tell him to forget it, when he said, “Money.”

“You think Miguel owed Lucinda money?”

“Think big, chavo. Her father’s an ambassador. That means big bucks in Mexico.”