Page 66 of The Unknown

Fear coursed through me as I stared at the partly buried box. I could only think of my nightmare. That terrifying image of Azra standing over Katrina with a blade in hand, ready to plunge it into her chest. If it had been real and Katrina really was dead, perhaps this makeshift coffin was where Azra had placed her. A grave marked not with a tombstone but with Katrina’s clothes in the oak in the center of the island. As much as the idea horrified me, I knew there was only one way to know for certain.

“We need to look inside,” I told Jonquil.

“We?” she said. “I’m not touching that thing. You’re on your own, doll.”

I got down on my hands and knees and crept to the edge of the hole. Leaning over it, I tested one corner of the lid, finding it loose. There was no going back. Now I had no excuse not to open it.

Before lifting the lid all the way, I closed my eyes, again too afraid of seeing Katrina’s bloodied body stuffed inside. Instead, I waited for Jonquil’s reaction before deciding whether to look or not. When it arrived, I was relieved to hear not horror but delight.

“Boy howdy!” she exclaimed.

I opened my eyes to the sight of her leaning over the crate, inside of which were several bottles of brown liquid packed in straw.

“What is it?” I said.

“Hooch!” Jonquil said giddily.

She reached for one of the bottles, stopping when a voice rang out behind us.

“Please don’t touch that!”

We turned to see Mrs. Semple, followed close behind by Mrs. Minafer, who clearly had told her about Katrina’s disappearance and our search.

“But I haven’t had a good drink in ages,” Jonquil said.

I hadn’t ever had one and, judging from Mrs. Minafer’s look of disapproval, neither had she. When Prohibition began six years earlier, Daddy had complained endlessly about it. That didn’t stop him from drinking, though. He soon found ways to procure bottles exactly like the ones in the crate.

“Are you a bootlegger?” I asked Mrs. Semple.

She wrung her hands in agitation and, with a sigh, said, “No, my child. But I confess to turning a blind eye to those who are.”

Because it’s privately owned and largely uninhabited, Mrs. Semple explained, New Avalon is a convenient way station for a bootlegger who travels Lake Faraday. He arrives by boat in the middle of the night and brings his illicit goods ashore, burying them like pirate gold. Then, every week or so, when Mr. Ruggle arrives with Mrs. Semple’s order of necessities for the island, he marches into the woods to gather the alcohol and take it to the mainland.

“Where it goes after that is none of my concern,” Mrs. Semple said. “I’m not witness to any of it. As payment for my discretion, some money is always left behind for me.”

“Where I come from, that’s called a bribe,” Jonquil said.

Beside her, Mrs. Minafer tut-tutted. “Had I known any of this, I never would have agreed to come here.”

“I know it’s wrong,” Mrs. Semple said. “But New Avalon is so veryexpensive to maintain, and very little of my father’s fortune remains. The money this man provides goes a long way toward keeping this place up and running. I wish I didn’t need to rely on it, but unfortunately, I do.”

I still had so many questions, beginning with the transfer of goods. “Why does he bring the crates here? The dock is on the other side of the island.”

“Oh, he never uses the dock,” Mrs. Semple replied. “It’s less conspicuous to arrive on this side of the island. Right there.”

She pointed west where, through the trees, I could see a small curve in the shoreline that formed an inlet. Although not very big, it still seemed to provide enough cover to moor a boat and hop out without being seen by anyone else on the lake, especially at night. It helped that the incline to the top of the island was more gradual than on other parts of New Avalon, making it easier to carry heavy cargo. In fact, when I took a second look, I clearly saw a line leading toward the lake where the leaves and underbrush had been trampled.

Suddenly a theory began to form about Katrina’s whereabouts.

“Do you think Katrina left with the bootlegger?” I said. “Perhaps she was awakened in the middle of the night, came out here to find him, and asked to be taken to the mainland. Why, she might be trying to get a new boat for us at this very moment.”

“Wearing what?” Jonquil said.

No, my theory didn’t explain why Katrina’s clothes had been hung in the tree, but it was as good an explanation for her absence as anything else. I thought Mrs. Semple would be proud of me for thinking of it. Instead, she shook her head and said, “I’m afraid that’s impossible. This crate was already here when we arrived on the island the other day.”

I almost asked if Mr. Ruggle could have perhaps stopped by the island during the night, but the answer to that lay in the hole at our feet. He wouldn’t have come all this way and not picked up the crate of bottles.

“Then what happened to Katrina?” I said. “Where could she have gone?”