Page 23 of A Line in the Sand

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Max and Nate were standing in the far-left corner of the aquarium’s main lobby, known as the Seahorse Dude Ranch. The walls were painted turquoise and featured a mural of bright orange seahorses wearing cowboy hats on their spiky heads and spurs on their whirly-curled tails. Never mind the fact that the largest tank in the Seahorse Dude Ranch actually held sea dragons, not seahorses.Phycodurus equesas opposed toHippocampus. Not the same. Max was beginning to lose track of the scientific inaccuracies that surrounded him on a daily basis.

At the moment, he was more concerned with the pregnant seahorse in the dude ranch’s showcase tank than he was with the area’s overly whimsical decor. Silver’s brood pouch was swollen to the extent that it looked like the poor animal had swallowed a Ping-Pong ball. The blessed event was imminent. And Silver was looking a bit lackluster, slowly bobbing up and down in the tank.

Seahorses and sea dragons were the only species in which the males got pregnant and gave birth. Once Silver’s babies were born, he wouldn’t eat for a few hours, but after the new dad had gotten some rest, he might see the newborns as a snack. Nature was a miraculous—and sometimes cruel—thing.

“Don’t forget that we need to remove Silver from the tank as soon as we see tiny seahorses floating around in here. Got it?” Max said. He’d spent the majority of the past hour giving the intern a lesson that could have been calledWhat to Expect When Your Seahorse Is Expecting.

Nate nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’” Max said, although perhaps it was preferable todude.

Nate’s gaze flitted briefly to the Windsor knot in Max’s tie. “Um, okay.”

Max was going to have to start dressing more like a local. And he would, as soon as he had time to go shopping for flip-flops and board shorts.

“Now, back to SandFest,” Max prompted.

“Oh, right.” Nate raked a hand through his sun-bleached hair. “It’s a huge deal. Everything starts with a big pancake breakfast at the pier on Saturday morning and then there are sand sculpture contests for the rest of the weekend. The island is going to be packed.”

“A whole new wave of tourists really flock to Turtle Beach to watch people build sand castles?”

“Dude.” Nate laughed. They were back todudenow, Windsor knot aside. “It’s not just castles. We’re talking a really big scale. As in bigger than that Jeep you’ve been driving.”

Again, Max tore his gaze away from the expectant seahorse. “Wow.”

Nate nodded. “People get really into it. There’s prize money and everything.”

Now he had Max’s full attention. “How much money?”

“Ten grand for first place, then smaller amounts for second and third,” Nate said.

“Ten thousand dollars?” For building a glorified sandcastle?

It wasn’t enough money to solve all of the aquarium’s problems, but it would keep the doors open for a few more months. Ten grand could buy Max some time…and possibly his sanity.

“How do we enter?” he heard himself say.

“You mean you and me?” Nate suddenly looked like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Actually, I meant the aquarium.”

Nate’s face fell slightly.

“We’re already entered. The aquarium competes every year,” he said.Way to bury the lede, Nate.“The Turtle Team always takes charge of the aquarium’s SandFest entry.”

“What’s the Turtle Team?” Sometimes Max felt like everyone in Turtle Beach was speaking a foreign language—a reminder that no matter how many summers he’d spent on the island, he was still an outsider.

It would help matters if Uncle Henry would simply fill Max in on the inner workings of the aquarium, but so far, Max’s uncle had yet to make time in his busy social life for anything remotely resembling business. Meanwhile, Max kept jumping through hoops involving murder victim pose and bingo, hoping Uncle Henry would eventually acquiesce.

Nate shrugged one shoulder. “It’s the team of volunteers who support the turtle hospital.”

Max instantly felt borderline drunk with happiness. “We havevolunteers?”

Things were finally looking up. Now all he needed was for said volunteers to be unusually adept at sandcastle architecture. If so, Max might be able to start sleeping at night.

“We do.” Nate glanced at the smart watch strapped to his wrist. “They should be here in half an hour or less for the Turtle Team’s biweekly meeting. I forgot all about it. Molly was always in charge of the volunteers.”

Of course she was.