“You’re going to tell the twins where to look.” She pointed to the navigational map curled up on the floor. “How often has Etienne worked this area?”

With a grunt, Emile got down on his knees and smoothed the chart. “A bunch. When he was just starting out, he worked on LaBat’s old oyster lugger. They would grapple and sometimes crab somewhere around here. I think in back of an island.”

Colette turned her head north. The mainland was not land. It was a labyrinth of grassy rafts, sandbars that shifted with the seasons, peninsulas that disappeared with high tide, islands that built and waned. “We haven’t found deep water all day. These inlets are nothing but mud and oysters. Does the chart show a cut with a little water?”

“I see what you getting at.” He put his finger down on the depth markers. “Some cut that would have enough water maybe to get out of a storm.” His head moved over the map for a long time. Then he got up off his knees and sat in a chair. “Nothing on the chart. The shore changes every year. It falls in, inlets go away, and storms cut new ones.” He put a hand over his eyes and Colette saw that he was tired, his eyes cooked by the day’s glare.

“Emile,” she said, “give me an answer. Tell me where to search.” He pinched his eyes and shook his head. “Look,” she began, trying to sense the next step. “They went down due south of here, just a mile, maybe a little more. Etienne was the wheelman, damn it. He was heading somewhere.”

Emile looked down. “He was a big foolish boy. Reckless. I’m sorry if he caused…” He left the sentence unfinished and dangled his hands between his legs, his shoulders rounding down.

Anger welled up in her and Colette reached over and slapped him hard. “If you give up, you can’t help me,” she told him. He made a fist and drew his arm back quickly, his elbow cracking the window behind him. She took the fist in her hands, unclenched the fingers, and held them. “Listen to me,” she said, close to tears. “Have you ever watched Etienne dance?”

“What?” His face was one big question.