At the same time, an unwelcome guest visited Anthony: the thought of the twenty grand he owed Huxley. August was nearly here; he had to come up with the money by September. This was a fact Anthony had managed to push down all these weeks, to bury under Joy’s bed, but now it crawled out and reared its ugly, ugly head.

The liquor in the crystal decanter caught Anthony’s eye. He’d managed to avoid even a sip of tequila with Shelly Salazar, but now the contents of the decanter called to him with the force of a Siren. Hear my music, sang the tawny liquid. Launch your ship upon these rocks.

To distract himself, he thought he’d try to call Max. He hadn’t talked to him in—what was it? Four days? Longer? He’d lost track.

He patted his pockets. No phone. He checked the kitchen, the bathroom, the deck. Negative. He went out to the Le Baron and searched under all of the seats. Nothing.

Plot twist, thought Anthony glumly. Extremely inconvenient plot twist.

The next time he passed the decanter, he reached for the stopper, and for one of the glasses that sat on the tray waiting for the guests who never came. He poured. He sniffed. He drank. The liquor went down easy, warming him from the inside out. How much harm could just a little bit do? Hardly any. And if a little bit did hardly any, a little bit more surely wouldn’t hurt. He had poured such a small portion the first time around.

Chapter 37

JOY

WHEN MAGGIE GOT home, Joy was at the door waiting. In her hand she held an e-cigarette, as small and innocuous-looking as a flash drive, that she’d found in Maggie’s backpack. Part of Joy, the detached part, was curious to see how Maggie would react when presented with the incontrovertible evidence. The rest of her was just mad.

Maggie’s face went white, and her freckles stood out like sentinels. “I don’t know what that is,” she tried.

“Of course you know what it is. I know what it is.”

“You do?”

“I do.” Joy wasn’t going to tell Maggie that she’d googled an article called “What Every Parent Should Know About Vaping.” “I know way, way more than you think I do. This is a vape pen, and I’d like to know what it was doing in your backpack.”

Maggie blinked. “I think it’s Riley’s,” she said, after a long pause. She leaned closer to the pen, as if looking for a name tag. (Interesting, thought Joy. She hadn’t thought Maggie’s first reaction would be to toss her best friend under the bus.) “Yes, it’s Riley’s. She must have put it in my bag.”

“Where did Riley get it?”

Maggie shrugged. “I don’t know.” She furrowed her brow and looked pensive. “Maybe from Hugo?”

“Who’s Hugo?”

“Just this kid.”

“Just what kid? I know everybody on this island. I don’t know anybody named Hugo.”

“He’s here for the summer. From France.”