Chapter 26
Unable to eat, Jo had merely curled up in her room at the Cape Fox Lodge, hidden under the covers, and prayed for sleep. Somewhere during the third movie of an Adam Sandler marathon, she hated Adam Sandler, slapstick humor, and the world in general, she’d finally fallen asleep for a few fitful hours.
Sunday morning she tried the house, but, though the black and gold letters spelling out “Thompson” still clung tenuously to the mailbox as they always had and the same old fishing gear littered the porch, she couldn’t get in. The door was locked, which was unusual. They hadn’t been well enough off to have anything worth stealing, so why bother. The obvious spare key under the mat was gone, too. It had probably been used to lock the door.
Jo then went down to find his fishing boat
