Ronnie Willow and the Silver Mask

By W. S. Childress

What secrets lie buried in an idyllic Cape Cod Town?
As Ronnie Willow begins her freshman year at a new high school on Cape Cod in Massachusetts, she finds a mysterious diary in the hold of an old sailboat. Her search for clues about the author leads to the cold case of a missing person. Suddenly, she and her friends must scramble to solve the rapidly warming puzzle before getting scorched themselves. As she searches for answers, Ronnie also searches for herself and her place in her new community.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sea Crow Press
• Release date: Aug 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985008067

Book preview

Prologue

Sunday, September 1st, 1991

School starts in a couple of days. Strange that I’m not going to be teaching. I wish she was here with me. Two weeks and I miss her so much. But I must get closure.

The ink pen hovers over the last page of the diary as she considers what to write next. A calico cat, lithe and sleek, walks across the page smudging the ink ever so slightly. She sighs.

Maceo, she says, her voice in teacher mode, a slight admonition of the cat’s actions the same as she would give her students. She pushes him away, but he returns. She picks up a small ball with a bell inside and throws it as far as she can. He chases after it and wrestles it, his attention diverted for at least a few minutes. She continues to write:

This afternoon, we’ll meet, I’ll come clean, and that will be that. I’ll go back to New York and start a new life. Even as I write this, I’m having doubts. A 29-year old who still writes in a diary? What’s wrong with me? Well, whoever reads this knows by now. And you know why I must finish this. I’ve been writing in this since I started college – where everything started. Where everything lost control. Where the only control I felt like I had was when I wrote it down.

She reviews her writing and considers closing it, but a final thought hits her:

But now? Now it ends. This is my last entry. This book will probably rot in the boatyard, but if she ever floats again, maybe one wild night, someone will find it when I’m long gone. If only I could fit it in a glass bottle, cork it, and send it off to sea.

Maceo catches her off guard and leaps onto the table before she can stop him, casually walking over the open page and over the wet ink. The cat’s smudge doesn’t make the words less legible. She blows on it and closes the diary, closes the brass clasp, and locks it with a small brass key, each etched with a stylized R. She leaves the diary on her dining room table but holds the key in her right hand. She thinks for a moment that she should write more, but when nothing comes to mind, she sighs, pats the top of Maceo’s head, scratches his ear, listens to his purr, and tucks the closed diary into her satchel. She slings it over her shoulder, navigates her way through the maze of packed boxes, and exits the house one last time.

She bikes the short distance from her house — their house, she thinks — to Kent Yacht Club. She turns right from Route 6A onto a private road filled with potholes. At least it's paved now, she thinks. At the end of the road, an old wooden boathouse sits between two ancient red cedars. To the left of the boathouse, rows of bathhouses. To the right, a small beach lined with small sailboats, a swing set, and a sandbox.

The barn doors of the boathouse are locked, so she walks around onto the deck and down the dock to the water. At the end of the dock, she sits between two skiffs and places her bare feet in the cool waters. Across the harbor, she sees Sandy Neck – the lighthouse, the old cabins, the rolling dunes, and the green grasses. It’s always a postcard here, she thinks. If only she could freeze time the way this place does, or better yet if only she could go back and make things right. A gust of wind hits and rocks the floating dock, pushing her back a bit. She opens her hand and takes one last look at the key.

I know, Harry, she whispers. I know. It’ll never be right between us. She stands and throws the key as far as she can, watching until it hits the water and is swept away by the swift currents of Barnstable Harbor. Then she gets back on her bike and heads to Hart’s Boatyard.

---

Thursday, August 3rd, Present Day

Get out of the way! Ronnie shouts. Liv’s sailboat is bearing down on them, close to colliding. STARBOARD TACK! Ronnie yells. At the last moment, Liv ducks her sailboat behind them. Bridget, Ronnie’s sailing partner, exhales in relief.

Whew! Bridget says, facing Ronnie, but Ronnie points frantically at her to keep her eyes to the front of the boat as they continue swiftly along Barnstable Harbor’s predictably challenging sailing racecourse. The series of competitions are meant to prepare them for the upcoming sailboat racing regatta, and Ronnie and Liv are both intent upon fighting for first place.

Keep your eyes open! Ronnie barks. We’re close to Saddle Rock, and it’s still submerged. I can’t tell where it is, but we are on the best course right now. Bridget nods eagerly and squints, eyes searching up ahead but not seeing anything.

I think we’re okay, Bridget says. Ronnie nods and holds their course, but suddenly, the boat shudders and sways to the side.

What the — Ronnie begins, but she doesn’t finish as sudden impact forces the tiller out of her hand. The boat turns sharply, bangs onto the rock again, and the sail comes back around, barely missing Ronnie’s head. Bridget doesn't duck, but she doesn’t get hit. Instead, she spills over the side and into the water as their boat tips over, spilling Ronnie out as well.

Veronica! Denise, their lead sailing instructor, emphasizes Ronnie’s full name instead of her preferred nickname as the two pull their now righted sailboat up to her motorboat. What did I tell you about avoiding the rocks in the harbor?

Ronnie begins to speak, but Denise stops her. No, I don’t want to hear it. You must pay attention! This isn’t a game. These boats aren’t cheap. And now you’ve dinged it up pretty nicely. Both Ronnie and Bridget hold their heads low as Denise lectures them. Nick, a junior instructor, sheepishly watches from his own small motorboat. And you, Denise continues, her wrath now focused on Nick. Where were you? Did you have eyes on them? He begins to speak, but she stops him. No, you were too busy flirting. You have to watch ALL of them.

We couldn’t... Bridget begins, trying to save them, but Denise isn’t hearing it.

Couldn't what? See that rock under less than a foot of water? How hard is it to miss?! Denise yells more than asks. She growls in frustration and rolls her eyes while the two girls keep their heads down, afraid to make eye contact. Well, good job coming in last. Get used to it because that’s probably where you’ll be in the regatta. Just don’t bang up my boat, okay? She relaxes, but just a little. I take it you can avoid the rock now, right? Both girls nod in unison. Good. Accidents happen. Don’t let it happen again. She pushes off of their boat and zooms towards shore.

---

You seriously didn’t think you could make it over that rock, did you? Liv gloats onshore as her friends giggle behind their hands. Ronnie grabs Bridget’s elbow and pulls her away from the competing crew to the sail locker to stow their gear.

"Look, you have to be my eyes, she says emphatically. You have to see things like the rock. Bridget nods, her eyes welling up with tears. Don’t cry, Ronnie pleads, but the tears start flowing anyway. Oh, come on, there’s no crying in sailing!"

I shouldn’t be here, Bridget squeaks between sobs, her head hanging low. Ronnie pats the top of it, the pigtails sagging sadly by Bridget’s shoulders. I’m going to call my dad and go home. Ronnie sighs, shakes her head like a patient adult, and gently lifts Bridget’s chin so that they’re eye to eye.

No, you’re going to stick this out. The regatta’s tomorrow, and we can win. Bridget sobs, her chest heaving with a few of them. Listen: we are going to win this thing, Ronnie says again, her own confidence starting to grow. Saddle Rock isn’t the end of us — it’s the beginning. Let’s use this as motivation. Bridget nods but with a total lack of confidence. Nonetheless, Ronnie takes the small victory. All right, she says, Now let’s finish putting this gear away.

They walk off the dock and onto the beach to pull their sailboat up beyond the tide line. As they’re pulling the dolly, Bridget stops, picks up a smooth rock and flicks it across the water, watching it skip a few times before it sinks beneath the waves. Ronnie sighs, trying not to get too frustrated. Bridget picks up another stone and skips it as well.

Bridget, Ronnie says, standing beside her in ankle-deep water. We need to get the boat to shore. Bridget ignores her and reaches down to pick up another stone, but Ronnie catches her hand. Bridget, she says again, her voice a patient whisper. Bridget tugs her hand out of Ronnie’s grasp and reaches down. Instead of a rock, however, she sees something else: a corroded key about half the size of her index finger.

Look, Bridget says, bringing the object up and brushing the sand and mud away. Ronnie exhales, her patience thinning. What do you think it is?

---

Friday, August 4th, Present Day

The tide’s going out, and the big regatta is starting soon. Denise explains the rules and penalties, the course, the obstructions, and hazards with a clear focus on Saddle Rock, the boulder in the middle of Barnstable Harbor that’s been the bane of sailors past and present. Her eyes lock onto Ronnie’s and Ronnie holds her hard glare in return. She explains the scoring: The boat with the lowest score wins. Scores are totaled for all the races they run — hopefully, seven races — and, if enough races are run, the worst score for each boat is dropped. She finishes her talk, asks for questions, and when there are none, she releases the students to launch their boats.

Ronnie, Bridget says as they’re getting ready to put their boat in the water. I made something for you. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a red, white, and blue bracelet with a brass trinket attached.

What is it? Ronnie asks in irritation. Bridget takes her right arm and slips the bracelet onto her wrist.

Friendship bracelet, Bridget says. For luck. She smiles, her braces flickering in the sunlight. Look, Bridget says, pointing to an ‘R’ etched on the trinket. It has your initial on it. Ronnie stops what she’s doing and focuses on it, turning her wrist around to get a better look. It’s the key I found in the water, Bridget explains. At least I think it’s a key. I cleaned it off last night with some jewelry cleaner. Pretty cool, huh?

Yeah, I guess it is, Ronnie says, her irritation melted away. She smiles, pats Bridget’s head, and they get in their boat and begin sailing out into the harbor.

Crap! Ronnie spits as they veer away from Saddle Rock. The quickest course is right over that friggin’ rock. Bridget hears her but not knowing how to respond just nods professionally. And there goes Liv — gaining more ground on us. She pulls in the mainsail and motions for Bridget to do the same for the smaller sail in the front of the boat.

We can catch them at the mark, Bridget says, trying to sound perky. But through three races, they haven’t caught them at the mark. And for three races, they’ve finished just behind Liv and her crew Sarah. Liv has the first-place position locked up and Ronnie has second place all but locked. She’s the only one who could realistically catch Liv at this point, but not if she keeps away from Saddle Rock. Again, they finish second. Four second place finishes and eight points to Liv’s four points. Only a few more races to catch up, Ronnie thinks, desperate to find a way to win.

In the next race, Ronnie and Bridget hold a slim lead over Liv and Sarah as they approach the Saddle. Liv veers off, but this time, Ronnie holds their course. The tide hasn’t peaked, but she thinks she can still make it easily over Saddle Rock without hitting it. Off to their left, Nick eyes them, shaking his head, hoping Ronnie sees him, then closes his eyes hoping she doesn’t hit it again.

When I say so, lift the centerboard up. I’ll get the rudder, Ronnie commands. Bridget nods excitedly. Okay — three, two, one — lift! Simultaneously, they lift both the centerboard and the rudder, allowing the boat to glide quickly over the Rock between its two peaks and through its valley. As soon as they’re over, Ronnie drops the rudder back in place to steady the boat: Drop the centerboard before we flip over! she yells to Bridget who clumsily snaps it back down.

Hike out! Ronnie orders. Both girls brace their knees against the side of the boat and hang their bodies over the edge, Ronnie dipping her ponytail into the water and happy as a lark. Let’s go!! Ronnie screeches in glee, and Bridget follows her lead, dipping her pigtails into the water and almost falling out.

We slid over the Saddle! Bridget screams in delight. Ronnie smiles back and looks over her shoulder: Liv and Sarah are on the wrong course and a long way away from them. They have the wind, the lead over Liv and Sarah, and an easy win. Even better, she sees two other boats edging past Liv and Sarah. Ronnie and Bridget finish first while Liv and Sarah end up in fourth. Now they have a real chance to catch them and win the regatta. Ronnie begins to gain confidence that they can win.

Veronica! Denise yells from the lead coach boat, using Ronnie’s full name again to her chagrin. You got lucky! We’ll talk back onshore, she says, her eyes narrowed in anger. Ronnie nods, rolls her eyes, and eases her boat away from the coach boat and back out to test the course. The wind has picked up significantly, shifting to go in the same direction as the outgoing tide.

Because of the wind shift, Saddle Rock is still within the course, but it is now away from the wind, flipping the racecourse from what it was. Increasing wind speeds tip a few boats over, causing a delay in the start sequence. Nick’s motorboat pulls up to Denise’s. Ronnie can see Denise lecturing him, his shoulders slumping, eyes cast down in dejection and shame. Ronnie steers their boat closer, but the wind drowns out what Denise is saying to crush him so thoroughly. Denise steers her boat away from Nick’s and she blows her whistle multiple times, signaling the boats to come close enough so she can speak to them.

Wind speed has picked up, so this will be the last race! Be aware! Tide is really low, and the course is basically reversed with the wind shift. She stops for a moment, takes a drink of water. We’ll start shortly. Thumbs up if you understand. When every skipper has given her a thumbs up, she blows her whistle three times, signaling three minutes until the start.

After they round the first mark, Ronnie and Bridget are in first place with Liv and Sarah close behind. Rounding the next mark, the wind is favored towards Saddle Rock, but this time, Ronnie knows she doesn’t need it, so she stays downwind, sails out, centerboard almost all the way up, and does everything she can to keep the boat from plowing through the water and getting swamped as its nose tilts into the waves. Liv closes in, pulls up near them, and heads towards Saddle Rock. Ronnie smiles, knowing that Liv’s going to go for it and try to do what they did last time. And she does. Liv gets a lead, blows past them and towards the Saddle. The two points of the rock on either side of the depression in the middle of the rock are now barely sticking out of the water. But as she approaches, the front of her boat plows into the rock with a ton of force, throwing Sarah over the side. Liv loses her handle on the tiller and falls into the water. Their boat launches forward and over, its bow shattered by the force of its impact on Saddle Rock.

Ronnie, now easily in first with the series wrapped up, looks back and watches in horror as Liv’s boat careens onto its side, fills with water from the huge hole in the front, turns over, and begins to sink. She looks for Nick but sees his boat helping another capsized boat recover. Denise is at the finish, her anchor set. She sees her frantically working the line to loosen the anchor but to no avail. Ronnie sighs. Bridget! she calls. Bridget turns momentarily, a smile on her face fading as she sees what has happened to Liv and Sarah. We have to go check on them.

They turn their boat upwind, fighting not to capsize themselves as the wind kicks up even higher. Once she has control, Ronnie steers towards the two girls bobbing in the water. Bridget points to their boat. It’s almost completely under now, just the hint of the hull still visible. They pull up to Sarah first and turn their boat directly into the wind, going into irons which brings the boat to a complete stop. Ronnie pulls Sarah into their boat. Liv, close by, swims to them and she pulls her on board as well. Once the girls are situated — a tight fit in a boat built for two — they sail to shore, failing to finish the race and getting a DNF.

Out of the twelve boats in the regatta, only three finished the last race. All the others were DNFs — Did Not Finish. DNFs get an automatic 13th place finish, leaving Ronnie with 22 points and Liv with 21 points, putting Ronnie and Bridget in second place overall while Liv and Sarah finish first overall. Fishing the competing crew out of the water cost Ronnie and Bridget first place.

Safely onshore, Ronnie and Bridget sit on the beach watching Nick swim under the submerged sailboat to retrieve the mast and try to salvage it. Bridget absentmindedly throws pebbles into the water, skipping a few of them unintentionally. Ronnie joins in, a pout on her face. Behind them, the other girls talk and giggle excitedly, huddled around Liv and Sarah.

We had it, Ronnie says with a sigh, we had her beat. Bridget sighs as well but more in imitation than actual sadness or frustration. She’s just happy they finished in second.

We did, Bridget breathes, throwing another pebble and skipping it four times. Ronnie picks one up and tries to skip it, but it just sinks on the first strike. But we saved them, she says, getting ready to throw another one but pausing. Bridget looks at Ronnie and repeats: We saved them, Ronnie. Who needs a win? She winks and throws the pebble, skipping it three times. Ronnie tries to roll her eyes, tries to come up with something snarky to say, but instead, she winks back and allows a smile to creep across her face. We finished second, after all, Bridget says. Who’d have thought we could’ve done that?

We did, didn’t we? Ronnie says. She takes a rock and begins to throw it, but Bridget stops her, takes it away from her, and motions for her to watch how she does it.

Like this, Bridget says, showing her how she holds it. And when you throw it, you have to kind of flick your wrist like this, she continues and lets the rock go, skipping it twice off the water. Ronnie nods and picks one up, shows Bridget how she’s holding it, and flicks her wrist, but the rock doesn’t skip. Bridget, her pigtails still wet from dipping in the water, patiently shows her again. This time, she holds Ronnie’s hand. On the next throw, Ronnie skips the pebble twice.

Hey! a voice from behind them calls. Ronnie and Bridget both look back to see Liv walking towards them. Did you hear? The last race doesn’t count. Ronnie and Bridget look at each other, and quickly do the math: it doesn’t make a difference – they’re still in second place. They shrug simultaneously. Ronnie picks up another pebble, her back to Liv, but Liv taps her shoulder. She turns and Liv hugs her. It’s an uncomfortable hug, but a hug, nonetheless. Ronnie’s nose crinkles, not the type to care for hugs, but she appreciates the gesture. We didn’t win, Liv says. Ronnie pushes out of the hug.

What do you mean? The points add up. Ronnie begins, but Liv stops her.

I mean, yeah, we won, but... Liv pauses, sees Bridget standing next to Ronnie, and offers her a soft smile. But you guys are the real winners, you know? Bridget smiles, but Ronnie just sighs — not a sigh of frustration this time but one of acceptance.

We don’t need it, Ronnie says, flipping her bangs out of her face. Seriously though, I’m glad you’re okay. How was Denise? Ronnie asks. Liv’s eyes grow wide.

She’s going to kill us when the boat gets to shore, Liv answers. All three girls laugh and walk up the shore to the boathouse. Ronnie, Liv says, walking between her and Bridget. You two were impressive today, she says, smiling. Bridget peeks around Liv and winks at Ronnie knowingly.

I know, Ronnie says. Couldn’t have done it without Bridget. Her left hand automatically goes to the bracelet Bridget made for her. She turns it around so that the key is at the top of her wrist. Bridget sees this and beams, her braces in full effect, as they go into the boathouse for the Awards Ceremony.

Chapter 1

10,000 Hours

Tuesday, September 8th, Present Day

Her nerves scream as she watches the yellow bus approach, not sure what to expect. Not just another first day, she thinks, pulling on her khaki shorts, straightening her white button-down shirt, and taking in a deep breath. The bus creaks to a stop, red lights flashing, a big red stop sign swinging out. The doors fold out and open to the black rubber-coated steps.

Ronnie! Confused, she looks around, but she doesn’t see anyone familiar as she steps up and into the aisle.

Ronnie, over here! That voice, she thinks. She squints, looks to the rear of the bus, and bobbing up and down in the back, she catches a flash of those little brown pigtails flying in the air as Bridget Murphy, her sailing partner, jumps up to get her attention. She scans each row, looking for those pigtails to bob back up over the tall seats so she can tell where she is, but the bus is packed. In the back, tucked into the last row with her back against the Emergency door, she finally pinpoints Bridget’s location, a bright, gleaming smile peering up at her from the only row with an empty seat. Ronnie musters up a smile, pulls her earbuds out, and plops down next to her former crewmate from just a few weeks ago.

Bridget, she says, genuine surprise in her tone, I thought you were going to be in eighth grade? Bridget nods as she wraps her arms around Ronnie’s neck and gives her an awkward hug. When they part, Bridget’s eyes go to Ronnie’s right wrist where the red, white, and blue bracelet with the brass key still resides.

Hoxie is a 7-12 school, so we’re going to be at the same place, Ronnie! How cool is that? At least I’ll know someone at school, Ronnie thinks. Well, sort of, Bridget adds. Actually, the seventh and eighth grades are on a separate wing and on different schedules, so we won’t be in the same classes.

Well, that’s too bad! Ronnie says. How was the rest of your summer?

Let me tell you… and for the next thirty minutes of the bus ride, Bridget talks ceaselessly, detailing by the minute, it seems, the last couple of weeks leading up to this moment.

---

Hoxie Academy was once just Hoxie High School, but a few years ago, Kent’s school district added seventh and eighth grade to the school to fill the halls. Through the last decade, the high school’s population had dropped by half, leaving empty classes and hallways, so the town of Kent on the upper western part of Cape Cod in Massachusetts consolidated their buildings to use them more efficiently. Bridget’s summer soliloquy filled Ronnie in on this information on the ride to school. While the middle school grades didn’t share classes with the high school, they weren’t completely separate: eighth graders were allowed to participate in some of the high school sports and clubs.

Ronnie walks into school, Bridget by her side, administrators and teachers herding kids to their proper places. Bridget peels off with the middle school kids and bounces off to the left while Ronnie is sent to the auditorium with the other high school students. After a brief introduction and welcome back from the principal, students are given their schedules and new students like her are shown to their rooms by juniors and seniors wearing Hoxie Bulldogs t-shirts.

Our school colors are bright green and Carolina blue? she whispers to the tall lanky boy assigned to her group of ten freshmen. He scoffs at her, his nose wrinkling ever so slightly.

Kelly green and Columbia blue, he corrects, a bit condescending, but the smile on his face contradicts his tone. She rolls her eyes.

We call it Carolina blue where I’m from, she mumbles, the last word ending in a slight Southern drawl. He ignores her and walks briskly down the hall, turning into an expansive room with long flat tables covered in old paint.

This is your homeroom, he says, his voice lifting. Ms. Eldwyn will be your advisor for the next four years, and you’ll report here every morning for the first fifteen minutes of the day. He gestures to