Trouble Island Read online

  “How thrilling,” I said.

  Joe scowled at me, and it took a moment for me to realize he thought I was trying to be sarcastic again, but I wasn’t.

  In any case, Aunt Trudy didn’t seem to notice. “This year they’re holding the awards on a remote island off the coast of Maine—Rubble Island. There’s a small inn there called the Sea Spray, where Colton is planning to open a new restaurant. Apparently, he’s very taken with the island. According to him, it was farm-to-table out of necessity before farm-to-table was trendy. It’s supposed to be very beautiful. Anyway, he wants me to come and be his intern for the week!”

  “Wow!” I said.

  “That’s amazing,” Joe said. “It’s kind of short notice, though, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, definitely,” Aunt Trudy agreed. “But they’re paying all my expenses. I’d fly to Portland, Maine, and they’d pick me up from there. You have to drive to a small town on the coast and take a ferry.… Oh, and that’s the best part!” She looked excitedly from me to Joe.

  “The best part?” I prompted.

  Aunt Trudy beamed. “They said I could bring up to four guests! Your father will never take off for that long, and neither will your mother, I’m sure. But I thought—well, the two of you are off school next week, and you were just saying you didn’t have any plans.…”

  I looked over at Joe. He raised his eyebrows. “Hmm…”

  “What do you think, bro?” I asked. “Do we want to spend spring break eating lobster on a remote island with Colton Sparks?”

  Joe grinned. “I can’t believe you even have to ask! When do we leave?”

  2 TROUBLE NEAR THE HAPPY CLAM

  JOE

  WELCOME TO PORTLAND! GREETED a big red-and-white banner decorated with lobsters, moose, blueberries, and lighthouses as Frank, Aunt Trudy, and I took the escalator down to baggage claim. Passengers and those there to greet them clustered around a little Dunkin’ Donuts kiosk by the door, and I could see snow on the ground just outside the terminal, even though we were well into March.

  “Do you know what Maine’s slogan is?” Frank asked, glancing up from his phone as we paused in front of the baggage belt.

  “ ‘It’s freakin’ cold’?” I asked, only half-kidding.

  “ ‘Land of lighthouses,’ ” Trudy suggested, smiling.

  “Nope.” Frank shook his head. “It’s ‘Vacationland.’ It’s on their license plates and everything. Kind of weird for the people who live here full-time, huh? Like, don’t I matter?”

  “I think there are a lot of seasonal residents,” Aunt Trudy said, watching as the belt began rotating. “At least, that’s what Colton said about Rubble Island. The population triples between June and September.”

  “But not a lot of people there in March?” I guessed.

  Trudy nodded. “Ooh, there’s my bag.”

  Frank reached out and grabbed her bright purple duffel before it passed us.

  “Colton said the lobstering season begins in March, so the islanders will be busy. But no, there shouldn’t be many tourists. Which makes it the perfect time to take over the Sea Spray Inn for his awards banquet.”

  Since arranging the trip, Aunt Trudy had received a phone call from Colton Sparks himself, so they could go over the plans for the banquet. I’d answered the phone and found him a little gruff, but Trudy said he was just really focused on his food… to the point where he “sometimes forgets social niceties.” For her sake, I hoped she was right. It would stink to find out your culinary hero is a grouch.

  When we had all our bags, we looked around, not sure what to do next.

  “Are we supposed to, like… rent a car?” Frank asked.

  “No.” Aunt Trudy shook her head. “Colton was very clear that his assistant would pick us up here and take us to his hotel.”

  “I hope it’s a nice hotel,” I put in. “I hope they have a hot tub.”

  Frank sighed. “I just hope Colton’s assistant comes soon. It’s cold in here. And I could use a rest.”

  I pointed at the Dunkin’ Donuts. “Maybe we should get a coffee? You know, when in Rome.”

  The line was still at least five people long. But I do love a good French cruller.

  Before we could head in that direction, a harried-looking young blond woman entered through a huge revolving door. She took one quick look around baggage claim—filled with people in thick rubber boots and L.L.Bean parkas—and then zeroed in on us Hardys, underdressed in our regular old jackets and sneakers. She lifted a sign hesitantly: TRUDY HARDY AND GUESTS.

  “That’s us!” Frank said happily.

  The woman looked relieved as we walked over. “Oh, I’m so glad,” she said, reaching out a hand to Aunt Trudy. Our aunt took it and shook. “I’m Gemma Loreto, Colton’s assistant. I’m sorry I’m a little late picking you up. There was a crisis with the sunchoke supplier, and it took longer than I expected to sort out.”

  “What’s a sunchoke?” I asked.

  She turned to me, eyes widening. “Are you kidding?”

  “Yes,” I said, smiling like, silly me! I hadn’t been, but whatever.

  As Gemma led us outside, Aunt Trudy grabbed my arm and pulled me close. “It’s a root vegetable related to the sunflower,” she whispered. “Kind of like a potato meets a water chestnut? Very delicious roasted.”

  “What’s a water chestnut?” I asked.

  Trudy swatted me. “You’re hopeless,” she hissed.

  Before I could reply, our attention was drawn to the vehicle Gemma seemed to be leading us toward—a long black stretch limousine. She paused by the passenger door.

  “Are you serious?” asked Frank.

  Gemma looked back, surprised. “Oh, the limo? Standard request for Colton. And since you’ll be traveling with him, well, you’ll be traveling in style.” She gestured to the driver, who got out and opened the trunk, then took our luggage.

  “Come on,” Gemma said, waving us over. “And make yourselves comfortable.”

  We did. Soon we were driving out of the airport and turned onto the highway. We passed a couple of exits before taking the one for downtown Portland. Downtown was filled with old brick buildings, all pitched down a sloping hill toward the harbor. We stopped in front of one of the largest and grandest.

  “This is Colton’s hotel,” Gemma said. “We’ll meet him here and then drive over to catch the boat to Rubble Island.”

  When she climbed out, I turned to Aunt Trudy and Frank. “I guess we’re not staying here, then.”

  Aunt Trudy shrugged. “I wasn’t completely clear on our itinerary once we got to Portland. But we’ll get to Rubble Island and have time to get the lay of the land.”

  I realized Gemma wasn’t waiting for us, so we left our luggage and hopped out of the limo, following her up the imposing front steps, through a golden-lit lobby, and into an elevator. Gemma slid her key card into a slot and pressed P.

  “Penthouse,” Frank whispered to me.

  “Right there with you,” I whispered back.

  When the doors started to open, we could immediately hear raised voices.

  “I don’t care whether you tried or not!” a male voice was shouting. Colton. “Will there or will there not be fresh truffles waiting for me? And do not tell me I can just use oil.…”

  The elevator doors had fully opened, and Gemma stepped out into what looked like a shared sitting room. A few doors opened off different walls, I guessed to different bedrooms. Aunt Trudy, Frank, and I stood in the elevator, slack-jawed and awkward, until Gemma cleared her throat loudly and gestured for us to hurry out.

  Colton stopped in the middle of his sentence and turned to stare at us with wide blue eyes. He was wearing a baby-blue polo shirt with what looked like a rare steak on the chest. He was really pretty huge in person, and more than a little intimidating. Soon the eyes of the other two men in the room swung toward us too.

  “Who are these people?” Colton asked sharply, frowning at Gemma.

  She responded b
y turning her smile up to eleven. “Colton!” she said playfully. “Don’t be silly! Ha, ha! You remember Trudy Hardy, the winner of your most recent Who Gets Cut? contest!”

  Colton’s eyes passed over me, then Frank, and then settled on Trudy. “Uh-huh,” he said simply.

  I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Gemma pushed her smile up to twelve. “Colton! Come on, say hello! I know Trudy is excited to finally meet you in person.”

  Aunt Trudy actually looked a little less excited than she had a moment ago. She doesn’t suffer fools, honestly, and I was beginning to wonder how this week was going to go for her. But Colton fastened his eyes on hers, donned his most charming smile, and walked over to us, hand extended. “It’s very nice to meet you at last, Trudy. I could tell just speaking to you on the phone that we’ll learn a lot from each other.”

  Trudy chuckled. “Oh, don’t be silly! I’m sure I’ll learn more from—”

  Colton suddenly held up his hand, then pointed a less-than-enthusiastic finger at me and Frank. “Who are these two?” he asked.

  “I’m Joe!” I blurted eagerly, because I can read a room.

  Frank laughed nervously. “And I’m Frank. We’re Trudy’s nephews.”

  “Nephews?” Colton asked, turning to Gemma and narrowing his eyes. “I’m sorry, what was that contest called again? ‘Win an internship with Colton for you and six of your favorite nephews’?”

  “There are two of us,” Frank said, unnecessarily.

  Gemma held up a finger. “Actually, Colton,” she said in an even voice, “I’m sure you’ll recall that we offered to pay for up to four guests for Miss Hardy—because of the short notice, and the amount of travel required.”

  Colton stared at Gemma, seeming to take this in. As an amateur detective, I notice things. And I was noticing two things about this interaction. One, Gemma did not suffer fools either, despite Colton’s occasional gruffness. And two, Colton actually listened to her.

  He suddenly raised his arm and looked pointedly at his watch. “Goodness,” he said. “Two o’clock already! I suppose the car is waiting to take us to our boat?”

  Gemma smiled. “Of course, Colton.”

  His eyes traveled back over to Frank and me. “I trust you’ll be sharing a room,” he said quietly. “And keeping out of the way. We didn’t tell the innkeeper we’d be bringing so many of our closest friends.”

  I nodded, sensing that we’d won. “Of course,” I said. “Frank and I know how to stay out of trouble.” Sort of. Depending on your definition of trouble.…

  “Excellent.” Colton clapped his hands together. “Let’s be on our way, then. Island living awaits!”

  * * *

  “Are there any more peanuts?” Frank hissed at me as the limo turned off onto a yet narrower road for, like, the twentieth time. Maine looks small on a map, but it’s apparently pretty huge and the coastline looks like someone’s grandma crocheted the most complicated lace she could think of, with endless dips, loops, and scallops. Countless rocky peninsulas jutted out into the ocean as we drove through harbor town after harbor town, many with seafood shacks advertising their “award-winning” lobster rolls. My mouth watered at the sight of every one of them, and given how quickly Frank was destroying the teeny packets of peanuts scattered around the limo, his was too. We hadn’t had time to grab lunch at the hotel. Aunt Trudy was busy staring out the windows with a dreamy expression on her face, so I couldn’t tell if she was hungry.

  Frank dug into his backpack and pulled out the brochure he’d printed out back at home. “Rubble Island sounds like a unique place, huh?” he said loudly, glancing over at Colton, who was on the bench facing us, buried in his tablet. He glanced up at Frank, gave a curt nod, and looked back down at the screen.

  “Rubble Island is a very interesting place,” Gemma put in, smiling big enough to make up for Colton’s glowering. “It’s an old, remote lobstering community about ten miles off the Maine coast. There’s a historic hotel there—the Sea Spray Inn, where we’ll be staying. The island population triples during the summer, though services are too limited for most casual tourists.”

  Colton coughed. “That’s certainly true. At present. Unfortunately, the locals aren’t terribly friendly.”

  Aunt Trudy glanced over from the window. “Oh, surely that’s not true?”

  Frank nodded. “To be generous, maybe they just don’t want the island overrun. It looks like a stunningly beautiful spot. And most of it’s protected land?”

  “Yes,” Gemma answered. “There are several hiking trails through the preserve, though.”

  “Don’t worry,” Colton added, still staring at his screen. “We won’t be dealing with the locals much. I’ve designed our trip so that once the other chefs arrive, we’ll only be socializing with them.”

  His attention returned to whatever he was reading, and when Aunt Trudy and Gemma fell silent too, Frank flipped through his printout one more time before putting it away.

  I nudged him, then shook three peanuts out of the bag I was holding. “This is it,” I whispered. “I’ll split them with you.”

  Frank sighed. “We have to be there soon, right?” he whispered.

  “I think so.” I checked my watch again. “We’ve been on the road for about an hour.”

  Just then the woods on either side of the narrow road opened up to reveal a hill and, at the bottom, a bunch of small buildings clustered around a pier. We passed several cottage-size colonial houses, a couple of which looked like they might be stores or restaurants during the summer season, but which were closed up now. Near the pier were a couple of brick buildings, and as we got closer, I saw signs out front that labeled them a general store and a bed-and-breakfast.

  I glanced over at Gemma. “Is this…?”

  She nodded. “East Harbor.” She raised her arms above her head in a stretch, then glanced over at Colton. To my surprise, the two men he’d been berating when we’d met him at the hotel hadn’t joined us in the limo. Before we’d left, Gemma had explained that they were Colton’s assistants at his Boston restaurant, Flambé, and were needed back in the kitchen. He’d hired some people to help in the kitchen of the restaurant at the Sea Spray Inn—the Salty Duck—where the Golden Claw Awards were being held, but for the most part, he and our aunt would be in charge of the dinner. Gemma had said it was an “excellent chance to learn,” but Aunt Trudy had gone a little pale upon realizing how much responsibility she’d have.

  “I guess this really will be a working vacation,” she’d whispered to Frank and me as we’d hustled back into the limo.

  “Don’t worry,” I’d replied, squeezing her hand. “You’ve got this. And we’ll help in any way we can.”

  Now the limo wound through the narrow streets, down the hill, and parked on the long wooden pier jutting out into the harbor just outside the general store. There wasn’t a soul in sight, but a medium-size yacht was waiting at the dock.

  “Colton’s hired a private craft to take us to Rubble Island, along with his most necessary ingredients,” Gemma explained.

  “There’s a ferry, though, isn’t there?” Frank asked.

  Colton opened the door closest to him and was climbing out. Gemma glanced quickly from Frank to Colton and back, then lowered her voice. “Colton doesn’t like the ferry much. Too many people.”

  “That’s funny,” I said. “I can’t imagine the ferry’s that big?”

  She looked over at me and clarified, “Oh. I didn’t mean too many people. I meant too many… people.”

  Huh. Before I could digest that, she followed Colton out of the limo. Aunt Trudy, Frank, and I all exchanged looks. Finally Aunt Trudy shrugged and began scooting toward the door. We both followed her.

  By the time we got outside, Colton was nearly on the yacht.

  “Hey!” I yelled, looking back at the general store. I couldn’t help noticing the sign out front: TRY OUR AWARD-WINNING LOBSTER ROLL. BEST IN MAINE. “Hey!”

  Colton started and turned around
, his lips pursed. “Yes? Can I help you, my uninvited guest?”

  Gemma shot us an apologetic look, but I was far too hungry to be offended. “Can we stop at the general store for a minute? I could use a rest stop, and I’d love to pick up some lunch.”

  Colton groaned. “They haven’t eaten?” he asked, shooting Gemma an accusatory look.

  “We didn’t have time,” she replied simply. “Sure, Joe, the three of you can run into the store. Just… make it quick, okay? The sun goes down early at this time of year, and we want to make sure we’re settled at the inn before it gets dark.”

  That sounded vaguely ominous, but I decided not to dwell on it—I guessed a tiny Maine island probably didn’t have many streetlights. And anyway, I was too excited to eat my first lobster roll to care. “Great! Be back in a sec.”

  Aunt Trudy grabbed my arm. “I’m going to stay out here and try to chat with Colton. Okay, boys? But can you get me a sandwich?”

  I pointed to the BEST IN MAINE sign. “A sandwich? Are you sure?”

  She laughed. “Oh, okay. I do love a good lobster roll. Extra butter, please.”

  “You got it.”

  I nodded at Frank, and the two of us headed around the building to the store’s entrance.

  The ground was muddy and wet, and the sky was gray, but you could see how East Harbor could be a really charming town in the summer. A narrow main street wound between the two old brick commercial buildings, one of which bore the date 1897 alongside a sign for THE PLUCKY SEAL B&B. A ramshackle wooden building sat alongside the general store—THE HAPPY CLAM PUB according to the hand-painted sign, although the windows were too dark to tell whether it was open.

  Warm golden light spilled from inside the general store’s wide windows, and glancing inside, we could see that it was full of people. So this is where East Harbor hangs out, I thought.

  When we pushed open the front door and stepped in, though, every conversation seemed to come to a halt. The place went from lively-bordering-on-raucous to totally silent. There were about twenty people inside, all decked out in some combination of jeans, flannel, and fleece.