“You had a cool plan. It's not your fault it didn't work out.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

When I told her what Dad had said at the jail, she got quiet for a while. Finally, she said, “So that's a good thing, right? Him promising to behave.”

“I guess. Sure.”

A cherry-red speedboat went tearing past the beach, then made a tight circle and roared back in our direction. The driver was a muscle-bound guy with so much gold hanging from his neck, it was a miracle he could sit up straight. He slowed to an idle and shouted something to a large blond woman who was sunning herself alone, about fifty yards from Abbey and me. The speedboat's engine was so loud that we couldn't hear what the man said, but the woman got up and sweetly motioned him to come closer to shore. When he did, she beaned him with a beer can.

“Whoa, baby!” Abbey exclaimed. “She could play quarterback for the Dolphins!”

“I think I know who that is,” I said.

The speedboat took off at full throttle, the driver heaving the beer can over the side. When he rooster-tailed past us, he was scowling and rubbing his forehead.

“You know that lady? Oh, don't tell me.” Abbey peered curiously at the blond sunbather. We were too far away to be able to see the barbed-wire tattoo, or the hoops in her ears.

“Follow me,” I told my sister.

Shelly was shaking the sand off her towel when we walked up. She was wearing a neon-yellow swimsuit and round mirrored sunglasses. Her face was smeared with so much zinc oxide that it looked like she'd fallen nose-first into a frosted cake.

“Well, if it isn't the amazing young Underwoods,” she said.

“What did that guy in the red boat say to you?” Abbey asked with her usual bluntness.

“He asked me for a date, sort of,” said Shelly. “But he needs to work on his manners.”

“You sure nailed him good,” I remarked.

“Trust me, he deserved it.” She winked at Abbey. “Now if he was Brad Pitt and not some loser gym monkey from Lauderdale, it's a whole different story. I'd be sitting beside him right now, speeding off to Bimini.”

I told Shelly that Dad was back in jail.

“That really bites,” she said. “You guys want somethin' to drink?”

Abbey took a Coke, but I said no thanks. I noticed the beer can that Shelly had used to clobber the speedboat driver floating about twenty yards off the beach.

She frowned. “Man, I hate litterbugs.”

“Me too,” I said, and started wading out.

“Hey, stud, where do you think you're going?”

“To get the beer can. It's no big deal,” I said.

“It is too a big deal,” said Shelly. “Check out the water, Noah.”

I glanced down and felt my stomach pitch. The shallows had a darkish yellow tint. Strands and clots of foul, muddy-looking matter floated here and there, around my legs.

“What is it?” Abbey asked.

“Something seriously gross,” I said. Now I could smell it, too.

“Then get out!” Abbey shouted.

“That'd be my advice, too,” said Shelly. “And pronto.”

As disgusting as it was to be wading through the Coral Queen's toilet crud, I couldn't leave that beer can out there to float away.

Whenever my father takes us out on the boat, he always stops to scoop up trash that other people have tossed overboard-Styrofoam cups, bottles, chum boxes, plastic bags, whatever. Dad says it's our duty to clean up after the brainless morons. He says the smart humans owe it to every other living creature not to let the dumb humans wreck the whole planet.

So what we Underwoods do is pick up litter wherever we see it.

Even when it's drifting in sewage.

When I came sloshing with the beer can out of the shallows, Abbey stepped back and said, “Noah, that is so nasty!”

“I guess it's true,” Shelly said, “that the nutcase doesn't fall far from the tree.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means you're just like your old man. Here, gimme that thing.” With two fingers Shelly plucked the can from my hand and held it at arm's length, like it was radioactive.

“Notice the dent,” she observed with a chuckle. “Gym Monkey must've had a hard noggin.”

She dropped the can into a tall trash barrel. Then she turned back to me. “I told you Dusty was dumping again, didn't I?”

It wasn't like I'd forgotten. From where Abbey and I had been sitting earlier on the beach, the water had looked normal and safe. Once you stepped in, though, it was a different story.

Shelly said, “Okay, Nature Boy, now you run straight home and scrub yourself down in a hot shower.”

“Don't worry.” I was already busy scraping at my legs with a sea-grape leaf.

Abbey stood at the water's edge, gazing out in heavy silence. Shelly put an arm around her tense little shoulders and said, “Let's hit the road, kiddo. Before your flaky brother gets any more bright ideas.”

Abbey turned to me. “The fish are gone. Those little green minnows we always see here.”

“They'll be back,” I said, “when the water clears up.”

Suddenly a loggerhead stuck up its knobby brown head. It might have been the same one that I'd seen that day with Thom and Rado, but I couldn't be sure. One turtle head looks a lot like another.

“No!” my sister cried out. “Noah, do something!”

The loggerhead obviously didn't know it was swimming in filth. I began jumping and clapping my hands together, trying to spook it away from the beach, but that didn't work. The turtle floated lazily at the surface, blinking up at the sun.

Abbey began to shake and cry. Shelly told her not to worry, turtles were tough customers. “They've been on this old planet a lot longer than we have. They're survivors,” she said.

“Not this one,” my sister sobbed. “Not if she gets sick from the bad water.”

Abbey was right. Absolutely right.

So I charged back into the waves, kicking and splashing and hollering like a lunatic. It wasn't the brightest thing I've ever done, but it definitely got that loggerhead's attention. In a fright it ducked under and scooted off, leaving only a boiling swirl.

This time nobody said much when I came out of the dirty water. Abbey looked like she wanted to give me a hug, but she was understandably reluctant to get slimed. Shelly just shook her head in disbelief and tossed me a towel.

Together we trudged down the beach to a paved lot where her Jeep was parked. “Promise me you'll go home and wash up,” she said.

“Promise,” I said.

“And, Abbey, promise me that you'll try to keep your brother from getting into more trouble.”

“You bet,” Abbey said halfheartedly.

Shelly looked around to make sure the three of us were alone, which seemed obvious since her Jeep was the only car in the lot.

“I'm going to tell you guys somethin', but you don't know where you heard it, okay?” She leaned close, and the air turned to pure tangerine. “There's a man who works at the Coast Guard station, a civilian named Billy Babcock. He's got a major gamblin' problem, you understand? He's addicted to it.”

“You mean like drugs,” Abbey said.

“Yeah. Or booze,” said Shelly. “Billy can't stop betting, no matter how hard he tries. Blackjack, dice, roulette, you name it. He's a regular on the Coral Queen, like, four nights a week. Sometimes more. You see where this is heading?”

I did. “Does he owe Dusty money?”

Shelly nodded. “Big-time. So much money that Billy couldn't pay it all back if he lives to be a hundred.”

“So he's repaying it another way.”

“You got it, Noah,” Shelly said. “Every time the Coast Guard gets ready to pull a surprise inspection on the Coral Queen, Billy Babcock calls Dusty the day before to warn him. That's why they never catch 'em emptying the tank.”

Abbey flopped her arms in dismay. “So Dad was right after all. Dusty is being tipped off.”

“Hey, you didn't hear it from me,” Shelly said.

“But-”