The Jade Notebook by Laura Resau Page B

my cheek, trying to rein in my emotions. I’m not expecting him to tell me anything, but he whispers, “That vision I had in the hammock … it didn’t make sense … but it gave me this feeling … this disturbed feeling.” His voice is raw, as if he’s struggling to put something wordless into words. “There were animals.”
    “What kind of animals?” I ask tentatively.
    “They were jumbled together. Flashes of them. A jaguar. A shark. And a chicken. A dead one.”
    I wait for him to say more, but he’s quiet. “Any chance it’s
this
chicken?” I ask, holding up the shopping bag with a feeble smile.
    He shakes his head. “In my vision, the chicken had feathers. But no head.”
    “Bizarre,” I say, straining to make sense of this. And then, in a softer voice, I ask, “Are you telling me this because there’s danger?”
    He hesitates. “I don’t know, Z. I can’t tell. It’s just … a feeling it gave me.”
    I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, thinking. I replay the old lady’s words as we turn onto the dirt road to Cabañas Magia del Mar. Even though I don’t believe in curses, and even though the heat is sweltering, a chill runs through me.

    Back at the cabanas, Layla’s giving a tour of the grounds to some new Dutch backpacker guests. “You know, I’ve always wanted to go to Holland!” Layla’s saying as she ushers the couple into their cabana. Noticing Wendell and me, she quickly wishes them well, hands them two keys strung on pieces of driftwood, and heads toward us.
    “¡Hola, chicos!”
she sings, greeting us with pecks on the cheeks. “Before I forget, the police called. Said they’ve been in touch with the Turtle Center. That they’ll double the volunteers.” Unfortunately, I suspect her cheeriness has something to do with a newfound fascination with Holland. A fascination I’ll have to somehow stamp out.
    She beams. “So, not to worry! Problem solved!”
    I glance at Wendell. He doesn’t look completely satisfied. “Maybe we could volunteer ourselves,” he says. “Get the inside scoop. Find out what went wrong last night.”
    “Sure,” I say. “I’m all for it.”
    “All night on the beach—just you and the stars and the turtles! How heavenly!” Layla clasps her hands together in delight, gets on her Rumi face.
“Don’t go to sleep one night. What you most want will come to you then. Warmed by a sun inside, you’ll see wonders.…”
    I zone out as she meanders on, until she says, “So what do you think about Holland, guys?”
    My muscles tense. I speak through clenched teeth. “Holland?”
    She twirls the strands of seashell beads around her neck. “Just for a visit,” she says dreamily. “There are, like, a zillionbikes there!” She catches my glare, and says, “Come on, love, it’s not like we’re marooned on an island here. We can come and go. Regular people take vacations, you know.”
    I eye her suspiciously. “Did you contact the real estate agent yet?”
    “Not yet, not yet. But I will.” She brightens even more. “So, did you find anything out about J.C.?”
    Wendell and I exchange glances. “Well,” he says, “only that you can’t throw a stone here without hitting a José Cruz. The town’s crawling with them.”
    Layla looks at me expectantly, waiting for my take on it. “That’s it?” she presses. “That’s all you found out?”
    I swallow. Looming big in my mind is the warning on everyone’s lips:
Tengan cuidado
. Be careful. And the supposed curse. Which I emphatically don’t believe in, but which I won’t mention to Layla because she’s the type who might. And I’m not giving her an excuse to pack up for Holland, land of a zillion bikes, in a few months.
    Glancing at Wendell, I tell him with my eyes not to mention the curse. He seems to get it and stays quiet.
    Layla tosses an arm around me. “Don’t get discouraged, love. He’ll turn up.” Despite her flightiness and other shortcomings, she does have this