Megan's Island (20 page)

“Get in, hurry!” Megan urged, shipping her oar. She wasn't sure she could drag him in by herself, and there wasn't much maneuvering room for anyone to help her.

Ben let go of his head and made a final effort that landed him half-in, half-out of the boat, then pushed with the foot that was left on the sand. To Megan's great relief, the boat floated free, and she grabbed for her oar and pulled at the same time Sandy did.

They hadn't taken half a dozen strokes, however, when the red canoe slid into sight around the end of the island. There was still no sign of Mr. Jamison, and she could only hope he hadn't written the mirror signals off as a joke and headed for home without knowing what was going on.

Megan went numb, forgetting the oar, while Sandy pulled harder. The result was that they began to swing around, and then to drift as Sandy, too, ceased rowing.

Ben was bent forward. He lifted his head, and they all stared toward the men in the canoe.

The blond one called Mac held a mean looking club he'd picked up in the woods.

“All right! Back to shore!” he shouted. “Or else I'll have to hurt old Grandpa there some more! Come on, move!”

Wolf, sitting at the far end of the canoe, whined eagerly and quivered with delight to see his friends.

Megan saw the canoe rock a little as Wolf stood up, and the idea came to her, the only idea she had.

“Here, Wolf!” she called out. “Come on, boy, come!”

Wolf didn't hesitate. The canoe rocked violently as he leaped up. For a moment the club was pointed skyward as Mac struggled to keep his balance. Then the big dog went over the side into the water, and the canoe capsized. Mac went backward over the far side; the one called Guy screamed, “I can't swim!” before he followed suit and his head went under.

Wolf was swimming strongly toward the rowboat, but by this time Megan remembered that they'd never been able to haul him into the boat from the water. What did she do now?

Both men had resurfaced, and by this time realized that the rock shelf beneath them made the water shallow. The overturned canoe had drifted beyond the reach of the non-swimmers; they had no choice but to wade to shore. Mac no longer carried the club; it, too, had floated off into deep water.

Ben, still somewhat dazed, gave Megan an admiring grin. “Hey, not bad!” he said. And to Sandy, “Give me a hand, maybe between us we can get him aboard!”

For the following moments, it was touch and go whether Wolf would get into the boat, or the rest of them would be dumped out. And then he was hauled over the side, dripping, shaking, drenching them all, crowded in between everybody's feet. In fact, he was sitting on Megan, but she didn't care.

“Hi, what's going on here?” Mr. Jamison came into view around the far end of the island, taking in the upside-down canoe and the two dripping would-be kidnappers on the little beach.

In the babble of voices trying to explain, with Wolf barking enthusiastically over them all, it was a miracle Mr. Jamison understood any of it. When he did, his mouth was grim.

“I'll get the police. The rest of you follow me to shore. I don't think that pair are going anywhere until the authorities get here.”

Megan felt as if her bones had turned to jelly. Her arms were too limp to row any longer, and she was afraid she was going to cry. A few tears did escape, and she hoped if anyone saw them they'd be taken for the water Wolf was still scattering around.

“We'd better rescue your canoe,” Ben said. “We can pull it behind us. You want me to row? I'm okay, I think.”

Megan pulled herself together. “So am I,” she said, and found that she could handle the oar again after all.

From his seat at the back of the boat, Grandpa Davis grinned at her. “You sure are,” he said. “All three of you are just great!”

Megan sat at the kitchen table and began to write.

Dear Annie:

So much has happened I hardly know where to begin to tell you about it.

She paused and chewed thoughtfully on the eraser end of her pencil.

Maybe I'll just wait until you get here to give you the details. You've probably already heard that Mrs. Morgan's nephew and his friend are in jail for plotting to kidnap Sandy and me and assaulting Grandpa Davis. And next week our new grandfather, that we didn't know we had until a few days ago, is coming to visit us. We feel funny about that. Sandy says he isn't going to like him, because he wasn't very nice to Mom a long time ago. But Grandpa Davis said not to make up our minds until we meet him, because he wouldn't have hired a detective to find us if he didn't care about us. So I'll wait and see.

She nibbled on the eraser again.

I'm glad your folks said it was all right for you to visit us. I can't wait to show you my island. We met this boy named Ben, and he helped us build a tree house on it.

Megan read through what she had written and signed it,
Love, Megan.

She hesitated, then added a P.S.:
We'll meet you at the bus stop in Lakewood on Thursday.

“Hey, Megan, come on!” Ben shouted through the screen door. “We're going to explore the islands down at the other end of the lake! You've got an island, and Sandy's got one named for him. Now we're going to see if the last one down can't be King Ben's Island!”

“King Ben!” Megan scoffed. “More like Bossy Ben.” She smiled as she wrote one more P.S. on the letter to Annie.
Ben thinks he knows everything, but he does have some good ideas. See you Thursday.

Then she pushed back her chair and took three apples from the bowl on the table before she went out into the summer sunshine to help Ben stake a claim to his own island.

DON'T MISS THESE OTHER WILLO DAVIS ROBERTS MYSTERIES:

Surviving Summer Vacation

The View from the Cherry Tree

Baby-Sitting Is a Dangerous Job

The Kidnappers

Hostage

Scared Stiff

The Pet-Sitting Peril

What Could Go Wrong?

Secrets at Hidden Valley

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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This Aladdin hardcover edition January 2016

Text copyright © 1988 by Willo Davis Roberts

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The text of this book was set in New Century Schoolbook.

Library of Congress Control Number 2015953367

ISBN 978-1-4814-4908-3 (hc)

ISBN 978-1-4814-4907-6 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-4814-4909-0 (eBook)