“It’s been over a quarter of a century,” mused a middle-aged couple with two young children in tow who were each slurping through coiled straws from giant milkshakes. “Why now? Who’s behind it? Think of the effort involved. Who would dare?”

And a moment later, from the other direction, Amy saw a girl younger than her tugging on a boy’s hand as she passed by. “Be brave, let’s go down and take a look,” the girl was saying as she urged him in the direction of the beach.

“No way,” he protested. “There’s no way you’re getting me near that thing.”

Then, a more serious assessment, that of an old man as he grumbled to his wife: “If this is someone’s idea of a joke, then I don’t find it the least bit amusing. Really, have people no respect for . . .”

The more Amy listened, the more intrigued she became. Whatever phenomenon had swept through the town, it sure had everyone talking. Must be pretty major, she thought. She wondered what on earth it could be.

Finishing the last of her muffin, she turned her attention back to finding her dad. She brushed the crumbs off her hands and pulled out her phone, but there were still no calls or messages. She tried his number a second time, but it was still going to voicemail.

This was starting to feel a little strange. Amy threw her rubbish in a nearby garbage can and made her way back to the hotel, hoping she might find some answers there. In the lobby, she spotted the familiar face of the bartender, the one who had checked them in last night.

“Excuse me . . .” The woman, whose name Amy couldn’t remember, was moving so briskly across the lobby that Amy had to lightly grab her by the arm just to snatch her attention. “I’m sorry to bother you, but can I ask you a question?”

Carrying a large pile of freshly folded towels, the bartender came to a sudden halt and focused on Amy through a pair of distant eyes.

“Yes?” she answered as beads of sweat trickled down her temples.

“This might sound strange, but I haven’t seen my dad since last night, and I was wondering—”

“Your dad?”

“I just wanted to know if you’d seen him at all?”

The bartender’s face blanked over in confusion. “Forgive me, but my memory ain’t what it should be at the best of times, and as you can plainly see it’s utter bedlam around here—you’ll have to help me out some. You are . . . ?”

Amy volunteered her name and reminded the bartender that both she and her father were staying in the hotel. “You checked us in. Don’t you remember?”

This did nothing to diminish the woman’s vacant expression. “Really? I did?”

“Um, yes? We’re in room 212.”