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away.”
    Emily stuck her tongue out at Hannah.
    “I knew I should have put you out with the garbage,” grumbled Hannah.
    Lucy’s parents owned a house in French River, a 10 minute drive from Hannah’s new digs in Darnley. And like Hannah’s family, the Smiths were also FFAs and drove up from Hartland, Vermont, their full-time home.
    Driving along the picturesque north shore the family passed through the small (and pricey) communities of Sea View and Park Corner. Many tourists flocked to this part of the island because of the breathtaking views of the ocean. Park Corner’s claim to fame is the Lucy Maud Montgomery Museum and the Lake of Shining Waters, which was originally the home of the famed author’s aunt and uncle. Montgomery was married in this beautiful century-old wooden house, and many tourists come to get married in this scenic setting.
    Just past Park Corner is French River and Lucy’s house. The gorgeous white A-frame was trimmed with dark green gingerbread. Hannah always thought it looked a lot like the Anne of Green Gables house. The driveway climbed at a steep angle to the back of the house, and overlooked a charming bunk house to the right, rye fields facing the back door, and a small tree house nestled among the large branches of a lone maple.
    Named after the original owner, the Buzzel House was one of those buildings that had to be moved from its original location. When the Smiths bought it nine years ago, it had no basement and was tiny. Now the house had a large two-storey extension in the back and sat on a solid foundation with a real basement. Beautiful purple and pink clematis climbed the white siding, and the back porch was surrounded by flowering day lilies, hollyhocks and poppies.
    “Mom, we’re going to go look at some kittens at a neighbour’s, but we’ll be back soon,” yelled Hannah, fast disappearing around the house with Lucy and Emily.
    “Do you have the tape recorder?” Lucy asked.
    “Yes, and some paper and pencils for all of us, if we need them.”
    “I’ll draw a map of Mr. Simpson’s house and the road and whatever he saw. I’m good at that,” said Emily, eagerly balancing on her tip-toes.
    Hannah gave Emily a queer look, but realized that it was better to keep her sister busy with small tasks. A pencil in her hand had a strangely calming effect on her hyper sibling. Bouncing along the road, the older girls followed Emily as they quickly made their way to Simpson’s house.
    When they caught up to Emily, Hannah pulled her aside and said, “If Mom asks, the kittens were adorable and you want one, OK?”
    Emily stuck that tongue out again. “I’m not dumb, you know. We’re undercover detectives and we can’t let anyone know what we’re doing. And by the way, I want the black one with white spots. OK?”
    Simpson’s house, a bright yellow clapboard, had one of the finest views in French River, a fact he never tired of repeating to anyone he met. It was ideally situated overlooking the picturesque French River Harbour, one of the most photographed locations in PEI. Rustic and multi-coloured fishing shanties of red, blue and green crowded together alongside a small pier and neat piles of lobster traps greeted tourists.
    The man of the hour was sitting outside his porch, mending one of the many fishing nets lying at his feet.
    “How was the fishing this morning Mr. Wayne?”
    Turning a squinty-eyed look on Lucy, Simpson nodded slowly and said that the fishing was just fine.
    “Water was calm, and that were a big help in bringing up the nets, it was,” he replied. “And who have you brought along with you today missy Lucy? Scallywags to 36 help me unload the boat? They don’t look like much.”
    Lucy ignored the subtle hint of work, and got right down to the reason of their visit.
    “Remember the night of the storm when the wreck washed up on Arrowhead? My friends want to hear all about it. Hannah’s writing a story for her school’s creative writing club and