Thomas Kinkade: The Inn at Angel Island

“I hope so,” Peter answered.

A short time later they had figured out a plan, and each took a different section of the island to search. Claire had already called the gatehouse at the bridge. The gatekeeper had been on duty there since five that morning and did not recall seeing a boy on a bike heading for the mainland.

“I doubt he would have left before five,” Peter conceded, “considering how late he normally sleeps.”

“That’s good news, then. He’s got to be around somewhere,” Daniel said. “Keep calling, Claire. Maybe someone has seen him.”

“That’s what I plan to do,” she said, dialing the phone again. Claire knew everyone on the island, Liza reasoned. She was the perfect person for this job.

“Should we call the police?” Peter said finally.

“I suppose you could. There’s no police department out here, but Cape Light might send someone to help,” Daniel replied.

“I’ll take care of that,” Claire offered. “I’ll call your cell phone, Peter, and tell you what the police say. You go on and start looking. Who knows, you might find him right away.”

“We might. I just hope he’s all right.” Peter led the way out the back door. Liza and Daniel followed.

The section of the island that Liza had been assigned covered an area close to the inn. She drove along the road slowly, keeping her eye out for Will and also just for the bike. If Will had gone down to the beach to explore, he would have had to leave the bike up on the road, she reasoned.

She came to the goat farm and spotted Audrey’s two black-and-white herding dogs, darting in circles around the braying goats. Audrey was nowhere in sight, and Liza wondered if she should drive in and ask if anyone there had seen Will this morning. But Claire would call the farm, she remembered. It was important to keep going and not lose time.

She drove on and came to the island center. She decided to check in the General Store. It seemed a logical place for Will to stop.

“Why hello there,” Marion Doyle greeted her. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” Liza replied. She quickly explained that she was looking for Will. Walter Doyle had come around his side of the counter and listened with interest.

“Oh, dear. That doesn’t sound good,” Marion replied with concern.

“You know kids, they just don’t think sometimes,” her husband added.

“No, they don’t,” Liza agreed. “Has he been by this morning?”

Marion frowned, carefully considering the question, then shook her head. “No, dear. I don’t remember seeing him. How about you, Walter?” She turned to her husband. “You remember Peter Martin’s boy? They were in here about a week ago.”

“Sure, I do. But I didn’t see him this morning.”

“Let me give you my cell number,” Liza said, “just in case he does come in.”

“Good idea,” Marion said, handing her a pencil and a small brown paper bag to write on.

“Who’s gone out looking?” Walter asked.

“It’s three of us-me, my brother, and Daniel Merritt. He’s been painting the inn and offered to help.”

Walter quickly untied his apron and laid it on the counter. “I’ll help you. I know some places where a boy might want to explore-or hide.”

Liza was surprised by his generous offer. Everyone on the island knew Walter and Marion Doyle, but they had no special relationship with her aunt. Not as far as Liza knew.

“That’s very nice of you. Are you sure you don’t need to stay in the store?”

“Marion can handle it,” Walter assured her. “I’m in her way most of the time.”

“He’ll just worry anyway,” Marion explained. “He needs to help. It’s just our way out here. We all pull together.”

Liza nodded. Audrey had told her the same thing. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Walter had grabbed a red and black plaid jacket and a big black cap with ear flaps off a hook by the door. There was a map of the island on the wall nearby, and Liza showed him the places that they were all covering and also exchanged cell phone numbers with him, just in case he found Will.

“Okeydokey, let’s go. See you later, Marion,” he called over his shoulder, and headed for his truck.

Liza felt good knowing someone else had joined the search. She walked over to Daisy Winkler’s shop and knocked, but there was no one there. Liza left a note, asking Daisy to call the inn if she had seen Will or if he turned up at the tearoom. Unlikely, but possible.

Liza walked over to the building that housed the environmental office and the village hall. It was dark and the door looked locked. Liza tried it just in case.

Just as she turned away, a man in a small open Jeep drove up and parked. He climbed out and walked toward her with a purposeful stride.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked. He stood back and looked down at her curiously. He wasn’t that tall, only a few inches taller than Liza, but he had an athletic build and the windblown look of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. He wore jeans and a flannel shirt under a dark green nylon jacket with an official-looking emblem on the sleeve.

“I’m looking for my fourteen-year-old nephew, Will,” Liza explained. “He and my brother have been staying with me at the Angel Inn, down the road. Will seems to have left the house early this morning without telling anyone or leaving a note. He took a bike,” she added. “We’re pretty sure he hasn’t left the island, but we can’t be positive.”

The man listened with a serious expression. “I was working down at the beach near the inn and a little farther south. I didn’t see any cyclists on the road this morning. Or any teenage boys on the beach,” he added. “But I’d be happy to help you look. I’m Eric Hatcher, by the way.” He held out his hand. “I work for the environmental office.”

“I figured that,” Liza replied. She took his hand and shook it. “I’m Liza Martin. You may have known my aunt Elizabeth Dunne. She ran the inn.”

He nodded. “I did know her a little. Lovely lady.” He smiled briefly. “Is there anyone else out looking for your nephew? Or are you on your own?”

Liza explained the search group and the areas they were covering. Eric listened without interrupting her.

Then he said, “Sounds like you could use more help on the far side of the island near the fishing cottages. There’s some marshy land out there. It’s not smart to walk around there unless you know your way.”

He didn’t add, it could be dangerous. He didn’t need to. Liza already knew the dangers of getting lost in the marshes in that area of the island. Her aunt and uncle had warned them each summer and never let them go there. She hoped Will hadn’t been reckless enough to go exploring in that direction.

A few minutes later, Liza and Eric climbed into their vehicles. Eric set off for the south side of the island. Liza sat in her SUV a moment, getting her bearings. Her phone rang, and she answered it at once.

“Any news?” her brother asked.

“I’m afraid not. No one has seen him. But two people have offered to help us look, Walter Doyle and a man named Eric Hatcher. He works for the environmental office and said he’s going to look in the marshes down by the fishing cottages.”

“I didn’t even think of that,” Peter said. “I just spoke to Claire. She’s been calling all over. The people who own the goat farm-the Gilroys? They’ve gone out to look, and the Cape Light police force is sending two officers to help us. I’m going over the bridge to meet them.”

Liza wasn’t surprised. She had a feeling that Audrey would jump in to help once she knew what was going on.

“The more people out looking, the better,” Liza said.