No one was watching as she stepped aboard at the bow onto the aluminum tread-plate deck. The boat barely tipped. She sat cautiously at the wheel. She was breaking some law, she was certain of that. But she was fifteen, and she was alone. If anyone stopped her she would speak English. She would be naturally nervous and hesitant, and that would work in her favor. They would let her off with a warning.

Sorry, Officer.

She clicked the key into the first position. Lights on the console. A loud chime. She swung the wheel to the left, felt the gentle tamping as behind her the engine turned in its mount. Everything was expensive. Everything was new. She turned, guiltily—a sudden sense of being watched—looked up toward the rise. No sign of the officers. No sign of anyone.

She slid the key around to position two. The engine thrummed quietly into life.

Where ARE you?

She texted back:

Come down to the dock.

Of course she wasn’t going to, but something about the idea of taking the boat appealed to her. It wasn’t even tied right. And there was no one here to tell her she couldn’t . . .

She stood up, leaving the boat in idle. Everything was showroom-fresh. No oil spills, no salt stains. But the decal on the starboard side was cracked, as if a hand had slipped. Sloppy, she thought, on a police boat. And the hatches . . . why were there no padlocks on the hatches?

On the bench seat at the stern was a blue metal box, rusted at the corners, held shut with a combination lock. She looked at the box. It seemed out of place, like the travel bags.

Her phone vibrated.

Police want to talk to us. You need to get up here.

She texted back:

Sigh . . .

She heard the police boat strain against the jetty, leaned out and looked down. The rubber cladding on the dock was marking the hull. Had they forgotten their fenders? A little random.

The port locker was empty. In the starboard locker there was an anchor, a chain, and a rope. The rope was not tied to the chain, and the chain was not tied to the anchor.

Also random.

What police boat would be so unready? Where was the radio? The life vests? The fenders? She dialed Leela, raised the phone to her ear.

Ringing on the line. Leela’s voice. “Finally. Where are you?”

“You know that feeling where you kind of know you’re asleep? Which probably means you’re only dozing?”

“You were asleep?”

“On the grass, by the water. It was nice.”

Leela didn’t sigh, but she could feel the edge in her friend’s voice. “You need to be up here.”

She put the phone on speaker, laid it on the deck before the aft locker.

“I know,” she said. “But someone left a brand-new boat down here with the key in the ignition.”