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conversation…without letting on that you’re fishing? You have a lot of skills, Fortune, but lack of directness isn’t really one of them.”
    “I can be vague and indirect,” I said. “Sort of. Maybe. Fine, I won’t ask.”
    “Probably best,” Ida Belle said, “but your point about taking a harder look at the young people in Sinful is a good one. I just don’t know how we go about it.”
    “There’s always the dance,” Gertie said.
    I frowned. Dancing sounded awful enough. Dancing with a lot of teenagers sounded like some form of hell that was just asking for a Wikipedia page. “What dance?”
    “The Fourth of July dance,” Ida Belle said. “It’s always held on the fifth because of the fireworks show on the night of the fourth. Teens started getting together the night after probably fifty years ago, and the tradition stuck.”
    “And they dance?” I asked.
    “Oh,” Gertie said, “there’s probably some of that twerking going on, but I doubt many go to dance.”
    I glanced over at Ida Belle, who gave me a slight shake of her head. Clearly “twerking” was lost on her as well, but since the word originated with Gertie, I felt it best to leave off asking for an explanation.  
    “Mostly,” Gertie continued, “I think they sneak their dad’s beer in and stand around a bonfire.”
    “And what good does that do us?” I asked.
    “It’s against the law for more than two teens to congregate in public unless they’re with an adult or it’s a sponsored event,” Ida Belle said.  
    “Or unless they’re fishing or hunting,” Gertie added. “People think teens just hanging out are looking for trouble.”
    “But teens carrying fillet knives and guns are not an issue,” I said.  
    “Of course not.” Gertie looked confused.
    “The point is,” Ida Belle said, “the town requires adult chaperones for the event, so if we wanted a good reason to mingle among teens without looking suspicious, the dance is it.”
    “Aren’t the chaperones already in place?” I asked.
    “Probably not,” Ida Belle said. “No one wants to spend their night sweating around a bonfire in July. The mosquitoes are so thick they can carry you off.”
      Gertie nodded. “That’s what they say happened to Lucy Franks back in ’84.”
    Ida Belle sighed. “Sixteen-year-old Lucy Franks ran off with the forty-year-old school janitor who used to be her father’s fishing buddy. Her father’s a deacon, so he opted to go with the mosquito story.”
    It seemed reasonable. “So we volunteer for this torture and what? I can barely communicate with adults. How am I supposed to get information out of teens?”
    “I don’t know that we can,” Ida Belle said, “but it’s worth a shot.”
    I blew out a breath. “This is the thinnest line of investigation we’ve ever had. What about the location of the lab? Surely that would give us something to go on.”
    “Maybe,” Ida Belle said, “but we need a way to get there. Right now, we’re completely out of boats and the only one we could easily steal, we already sank.”
    “What about Walter’s boat?” I asked.
    “Walter locked the boat keys in his safe after we borrowed it last time,” Gertie said.  
    “And you don’t know the combination?” I asked Ida Belle. “That seems like something that would already be in your bag of tricks.”
    Gertie laughed. “Despite the fact that Walter’s been in love with her since grade school, that doesn’t mean he trusts her any further than he can throw her.”
    That’s because Walter was a smart man, but I wasn’t about to say so. “Ally’s boat is small but doesn’t go very fast. I’m sure she’d let us borrow it, but I’m not sure it’s a great idea. I mean, if anything happened while we were out there…”
    “We’d be sitting ducks,” Gertie said. “No speed and no place to hide in a boat that shallow.”
    “There’s got to be something,” I said, feeling frustrated.
    “Let me work on it,” Ida Belle