North of Nowhere

by Liz Kessler

  I wasn’t sure she really had anything to thank me for. If my looming worries turned out to be right, it could well be that I was the reason Peter had disappeared in the first place.

  It was time to change the subject.

  “OK, let’s take a look at this package,” I said. I pulled at the tape and opened the bag.

  “What is it?” Sal asked as I lifted out the object that was inside — a big round brass dome. I turned it over in my hands.

  “Wait, look — it opens up,” I said. There was a catch on the top of the dome. I clicked the catch and slid it open. The top half slid underneath and clicked into place, to leave a semicircular dome shape with a flat glass surface on top. Inside the glass was a large star surrounded by a bunch of letters and numbers, and with a dial in the middle.

  “A compass,” Sal said. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I,” I said. I stared at the compass. There was something familiar about it. Had we used something like this in school? Did Dad have one at home? Or maybe there was one at the pub. That was probably it. It was exactly the kind of thing Grandad would have in the lounge somewhere!

  Sal pointed at the bag. “There’s something else in it,” she said.

  I rummaged in the bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. I opened it up.

  We both leaned over it, trying to figure out what we were looking at. At first glance, I’d have said it was a piece of trash that had accidentally gotten into the bag with the compass. It was crumpled and ragged and looked like the kind of thing you’d find down the back of a very old sofa.

  Someone had doodled all over the page. Words I couldn’t read, as they were heavily crossed out. Scribbled pictures of arrows pointing in every direction, most of these crossed out, too. The only ones that weren’t were the ones pointing directly upward.

  In the top-right corner, a capital “N” stood out. It was the only letter on the page that wasn’t crossed out.

  “Just a piece of trash,” Sal said. “Must have gotten in by mistake.”

  I was about to throw it away in a nearby wastebasket, but just as I was scrunching it up, I noticed writing on the other side. I opened up the paper again and turned it over.

  Keep this compass with the boat!!!!!

  The message was written in thick black pen and underlined so heavily there was a small rip where the pen had gone through the paper. I read it out loud.

  “What does that mean?” Sal asked. “What boat?”

  I shook my head. “No idea.”

  Then she looked at the note over my shoulder, and she turned whiter than the paper itself.

  “Are you OK?” I asked.

  She nodded, and then, pointing at the words, she said something that made my blood turn so cold I almost felt ice cubes forming in my chest.

  “It’s Peter’s writing,” she said. “Whatever this means, it’s a message for us — and it’s definitely from him.”

  Her voice cracked as she spoke. Which was when I knew I had to tell her everything. It didn’t matter if it led to despair or doubts. What mattered now was that we were in this together.

  “Sal,” I said softly.

  She looked up.

  “Just, I . . . well, I . . .” I looked away from her. “Look, there’s something I need to tell you,” I said as I looked out at the beach, the water rolling and frothing around the harbor wall. Where should I start?

  “About Peter?” Sal asked.

  I nodded.

  “Did he . . . Are you and he, you know . . .”

  “No!” I burst out. “It’s nothing like that! I’ve only met him twice, and most of the time we just talked about the dogs.”

  Sal laughed lightly. “That doesn’t surprise me. Peter loves Mitch.”

  “Yeah, I could tell.”

  “What is it, then? What do you want to tell me?”

  “Well, like I said, Peter was really friendly. And helpful. And he wanted to try to cheer me up. You see, I’ve got a kind of friend. She lives on an island just off the coast, and she was supposed to come here yesterday, but she couldn’t make it.”

  “So, what has that got to do with Peter?” Sal’s voice was starting to get an edge of impatience.

  “He wanted to help me. He wanted us to go and fetch her.”

  “Fetch her? How?”

  “On a boat,” I said shakily. “He wanted us to take a boat.”

  “What? Peter steal a boat? No way — he’d never do that. That’s not him at all.”

  “No, he didn’t want to steal it. It was Dee’s boat.”

  “Dee?”

  “My friend. It was her dad’s boat. Peter suggested that we could borrow it to go and get her. We were on our way out of the harbor when my mom turned up and called me back.”

  Sal was staring at me. “How come you haven’t told me any of this before now?” she asked.

  “Because he promised he wouldn’t go on his own. He swore he wouldn’t. It was one thing for me to borrow the boat, but for Peter to take it when none of the family would have known who he was — well, it would have been hard to explain without it looking like theft.”

  Sal was quiet for a long time. She looked at me, slowly nodded her head. “You’re right,” she said firmly. “And Peter is no thief.”

  “I know he isn’t,” I said. “That’s why I didn’t say —”

  “But the thing he likes to do most in the world is help people,” Sal continued, her face clouding over as she spoke. We sat in silence, both of us staring blankly ahead.

  Then Sal turned back to me. She was trying to say something.

  “What? What are you thinking?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m trying to figure out which would have been the stronger pull for Peter. The desire to help you, or the knowledge that he shouldn’t take someone else’s boat.”

  “And?”

  “And they feel neck and neck right now.”

  I nodded.

  “And you didn’t see him again after this?”

  I shook my head.

  “So what we’re saying is that Peter might have gone out on some boat, on his own, and that was the last anyone saw of him,” Sal said woodenly.

  “I’m sorry. I should have told you before. I should have told everyone —”

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” Sal stopped me. “If Mom even suspected this, it could tip her over the edge. You were right to wait till you were sure.”

  “But I’m not,” I said. “I’m not sure at all. If anything, I’m more confused than ever.”

  Sal smiled shyly. “Yeah, but at least we can be confused together now.”

  I smiled back. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

  “Anyway, if he left you this package, doesn’t that mean he didn’t go out on the boat?” Sal asked. “Or, if he did, that he made it back here safely?”

  “That’s exactly what I thought. But if he’s on the mainland, why didn’t he go back to you and your parents last night?”

  Sal shook her head. “I’ve no idea. But if he left on the boat and didn’t come back, when could he have taken the package to the shop for you?”

  I let out a breath. I didn’t have any answers. Every time I thought I had one, it only led to more questions. I turned the compass around and around in my hands, looking at it and thinking so hard my brain was beginning to hurt. And then, finally, a plan came to me.

  “Sal,” I said, staring at the compass.

  “What?” Sal asked.

  I held the compass out to her, pointing at a lever at the bottom of the dome where you hooked it into place on a matching part. A matching part that we didn’t have here. A matching part that I now knew I had definitely seen before — and not at the pub.

  I shivered as I spoke. “I know where I’ve seen this before,” I said. “It’s the compass from Dee’s dad’s boat. And it was definitely on the boat when I last saw it. We just need to find the boat and then, hopefully, we’ll find the first clue to what’s happened to Peter
.”

  We walked along the coast path, heading back toward town and the beach and the old jetty where the boat was usually moored. Maybe it was there. If it was, surely we’d be on the way to solving this puzzle, wouldn’t we?

  Sal was first to break the silence. “Do you think we should go back to the pub and tell our families everything first?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Do you want to?”

  “Do you?” She held my eyes.

  How should I answer? With what I wanted to do, or what I thought we should do? Truth was, I couldn’t say for sure I knew what was the right thing to do for anyone anymore. I decided to go with my gut feeling.

  “No, not yet. Not till we can offer them something more than a hundred bits of information that don’t add up.”

  She breathed out. “I agree.”

  “OK, good,” I said, scanning the coastline below us as we walked. “Come on, let’s just see if the boat is at the —”

  I stopped talking and walking. Something had caught my eye in the cove directly below us.

  “What’s up?” Sal asked. “Why’ve you stopped?”

  I stared down into the cove so hard my eyes began to water. There was something bobbing down there. A boat. It wasn’t tied to anything, but was drifting in and out with the waves, almost beached but still just afloat.

  As I stared down at it, I became more and more positive that it wasn’t just any boat. It was the boat! My throat clogged up and tingles pricked at my scalp.

  I held a shaky hand out to point to it.

  “That’s — that’s it!” I gasped.

  Sal stopped walking and followed the line of my hand. “That’s what?”

  “Dee’s dad’s boat! The one Peter wanted to go out on! The one I was heading to the harbor to see if we could find. It looks like it’s been washed up in that bay.”

  Sal turned to me. “You’re kidding!”

  I squinted and stared hard at the boat. It was the same shape; it had a wheelhouse in the center that looked identical; it was the same color. But then, how many boats in the harbor were more or less identical to this one?

  “I . . . I don’t know,” I said, suddenly losing my confidence. “I can’t be sure.”

  “But it could be?”

  I chewed at the inside of my cheek. “Yes,” I said finally. “It definitely could be.” Then, without giving it any more thought, I left the coast path and headed for the path that led down to the bay.

  “What are you doing?” Sal asked, half running to keep up with me.

  “Going to check it out,” I answered without slowing my stride.

  We reached the edge of the promontory and looked down at the stony path — what there was of it. It looked as if there’d been multiple landslides that had eroded the path. Stones were scattered all around and the ground looked rough and slippery — and so steep it was almost vertical.

  Sal looked down. “Do you think it’s safe?”

  It looked a long way from safe. But what other options did we have? If that was Dee’s dad’s boat, we might only have minutes to get to it before it was washed back out to sea again.

  “I’ll go first,” I said. “Just follow me and take every step carefully. We’ll be fine.”

  Sal nodded and chewed on a fingernail. “I’m not great with heights at the best of times,” she said, her voice a pitch higher than usual and her breath short and raspy in between her words.

  “I know. Me neither — but your brother could be down there!” I said. “This is our best chance of finding Peter, or at least finding a clue to what’s happened to him.”

  Sal stopped chewing her nail. “You’re right,” she said firmly. “Come on, then.”

  We lowered ourselves carefully onto the start of the path.

  “Mia.”

  I turned back to Sal. “Yes?”

  “What if . . . What if we climb all the way down there and find it’s a different boat?”

  I held her eyes. “We’ll deal with that when we get there,” I said. “But there’s only one way to find out.”

  She nodded and gave me a tiny smile. “OK,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  After that, we didn’t say another word as we picked our way carefully down the steep, gravelly path to the deserted cove below.

  “It’s the one, I’m sure of it,” I said as we waded up to our knees to get to the boat. We’d taken off our shoes and rolled up our jeans. Holding my shoes in one hand, I ignored the freezing cold of the water as I examined the boat. “It’s identical.”

  “You’re positive?” Sal asked, standing shivering beside me. “You did say they all look the same.”

  “No. Look at this.” I pointed to the back of the boat. “See those two black lines? Dee’s dad’s boat has those.”

  “But wouldn’t any boat have something like that if it’s kept alongside a jetty? From rubbing against it?”

  She was right. I couldn’t honestly say I was absolutely positive. And, in fact, as well as the black lines from rubbing against a jetty, this one seemed to have far more marks and gashes and scratches than I’d remembered. Its registration number did begin “PN” like Dee’s dad’s — but I couldn’t remember the rest of the number.

  “Peter isn’t on board, anyway,” Sal said flatly. “Although, at least that’s better than finding him here and discovering he’s —”

  “No.” I stopped her. “Don’t say it. Don’t say anything like it.” I tried to pull myself up so I could get onto the boat. From this angle, it was proving difficult, especially as it kept on swaying against me and then away again with the waves.

  “Look, give me a leg up,” I said. “Let’s get on board.”

  I bent my knee and Sal heaved me up till I could clamber over the side. Then I reached down to help her up. We dried our legs with a couple of rags and put our shoes back on.

  “Do you see anything that confirms it either way?” Sal asked as we stood on the deck, holding on to the wheelhouse to keep steady while we examined the boat.

  Mostly what I saw was mess everywhere. The boat was full of seaweed and stones, and the deck and benches were wet. The ropes were strewn around in a sandy, tangled mess, and the cabin door was swinging open, with crab pots lying on their sides in front of it.

  “Well, it’s got crab pots,” I said. “Dee’s dad had them.” Then I thought of something else, something that would tell me for sure. I carefully made my way to the back of the boat. The back locker had a pile of ropes and seaweed in front of it. I moved them out of the way and opened the locker.

  Dee’s diary was there!

  I pulled out the book and held it up, beaming as though it were a gold medal.

  “What’s that?” Sal asked.

  “Dee’s diary! Now I’m positive. A hundred percent. This is definitely the right boat.”

  I sat down and flipped through the pages to see if there was anything new that could help us figure out what had happened. But the last entry was the one I’d read yesterday — which meant Dee almost certainly hadn’t gotten her diary back, so the boat probably hadn’t gotten to her. And that meant . . . that meant . . . what? That Peter hadn’t taken the boat, or that he’d taken it but never reached Luffsands?

  “Something terrible has happened to Peter, hasn’t it?” Sal said, echoing the dark fear that was creeping through my body, prickling the hairs along my arms and scratching at my neck.

  I wanted to tell her she was wrong. I wanted to reassure her, but I couldn’t. “I don’t know,” I said eventually, as I shoved the diary into my bag. I didn’t want to leave it in the locker. I wanted to keep it near me. I knew it was stupid, but it made me feel as if we were closer to finding Peter if I had Dee’s words nearby.

  Sal nodded. Then she started making her way around the boat, straightening the ropes into slightly neater coils, lifting the lids on the benches.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I’m looking for anything that might tell us if Peter was here. Maybe he left
a clue behind. He might have even written us a note or something.”

  In my heart, I didn’t really think we’d find anything. If he was going to leave us a note on the boat, why would he have gone to the bother of leaving the package at the shop? But it was better than doing nothing, so we searched the boat together.

  Then I had another thought. I lifted the back bench seat.

  At first, all I could see was a couple of buckets full of fishing hooks and bait and tools, and a crumpled-up fisherman’s coat like the one Peter had just bought, only older and grubbier. I searched through it all, looking for the key.

  It wasn’t there.

  I decided not to tell Sal. After all, it didn’t mean anything. Peter could have taken the key with him when he left — if he’d been here at all. Then I had another thought: the wheelhouse.

  I went inside, and my heart leaped as though it had a flying fish inside it.

  The key was in the ignition.

  Sal was behind me. She stopped in the doorway. “What is it?” she asked.

  “The key . . .” I didn’t know what else to say.

  Sal looked where I was pointing. “It’s still here,” she said. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, trying to keep my voice calm and soothing. “But, look, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything bad. We still don’t know Peter took the boat out.”

  Sal had turned away. Suddenly, she pushed the door closed and reached down to pick up something that had gotten trapped behind it. She looked at me, her face as white as the waves spraying onto the beach. She was holding something I’d seen only yesterday.

  A coat. Similar to the one I’d just seen in the bench seat — only this one was brand-new. It was Peter’s coat. And he had definitely been wearing it when I last saw him.

  “I think,” Sal said, “that perhaps, now, we do.”

  I swallowed. “He’ll be OK,” I said. “I’m sure there’d be something more obvious if he . . . if he . . .”