When Sea Becomes Sky by Gillian McDunn

Author:Gillian McDunn
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781547610860
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2023-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

We tried every Internet search term we could think of. We even went to the library and read a book about local art. But eventually, we realized that the letter was our best hope. So we spent most of our time in the live oak at the marsh. Waiting.

Clouds hovered overhead but refused to share even a drop of rain. If I could have reached them, I would have squeezed them like sponges. On the ground below us, Squish stretched out in the shade, napping. If it was too hot for her to hunt for bugs, then it was too hot for most other things as well.

I eyed my black composition book. The gray, over-erased page stared back at me accusingly. Sighing, I slammed it shut.

Davey looked up from his novel, blinking. “What’s wrong?”

“The usual,” I grumbled. “It’s never going to rain. We haven’t heard back from the museum. And no matter what I try, I can’t write anything decent.”

Davey shrugged. “Tell the truth. That’s all you have to do.”

I slouched against the tree. That was easy for him to say. The real truth meant admitting that I worried about everything: the statue, The Thumb, my writer’s block, and Davey’s stuck words.

“Let’s go home,” I said glumly. “The summer is beat down and busted.” I swung down from my branch and landed on the sandy shore.

Davey closed his book. “It’s not that bad.”

“And you,” I said, narrowing my eyes at the statue. It almost seemed like it was laughing at us.

I’d had enough. I got in the boat and Davey and Squish joined me. I rowed forcefully, taking out my anger on the water. What was the use of finding a mysterious statue if a bridge could destroy everything I cared about?

At home, I tied up the boat while Davey danced on the dock.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s check the mail.”

“I don’t know if I care anymore,” I said, remembering the statue’s smug expression.

Davey stopped still. “You don’t mean that. Come on.”

I sighed but went along with him. When I opened the mailbox, there was a stack of junk mail. But underneath was a white envelope addressed to R. D. Wheeler.

My hands started shaking. I held it up.

“Open it, open it!” he cried.

Right there, I ripped it open. Davey crowded close so he could read, too.

PORT ROGERS ART MUSEUM

Dear R. D. Wheeler,

We thank you most sincerely for your letter. It is always a pleasure to hear from someone who has a great interest in art, and the idea of a mystery to be solved is quite exciting indeed.

Without examining the artifact in person, it would be difficult if not impossible to make an accurate assessment. We regret that we do not have an exact match in our system that directly indicates who the artist may have been.

However, we noted that there is a resemblance to the following mark, which is associated with the reclusive and brilliant Effie Framingham:

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