Seaside Harmony.

Evangeline Kelley.

Caroline Marris remembered this view. She'd dreamed about it for years. But still, seeing it now, it took her breath away.

She stood at the top of the dune. From here, blue-gray ocean stretched as far as she could see. At her feet, the golden sand was laced with delicate but st.u.r.dy ocean gra.s.ses, and it sloped down to a pale strip of beach. Waves splashed onto the sh.o.r.e, leaving behind a trace of frothy white foam.

Caroline drew in a deep breath, basking in the scent of salty air and the calming sound of the gentle surf. She'd spent so many years away, but it was just like she remembered. Her memories were as fresh and alive as the warm breeze and the midday sun that kissed her face.

She hadn't been sure she wanted to come back to Nantucket, but standing here now-her sisters Gracie and Sam toiling up the dune and her c.o.c.ker spaniel Max playfully chasing b.u.t.terflies and bees-she was glad they'd talked her into coming. They needed these two weeks together.

"I think I'd better hit the gym when I get back home!" Gracie's cheeks were red from sun and effort, and her breath came in gasps as she trudged up the sandy knoll. "I can't believe I've let myself get so out of shape."

"I thought I was in better shape too," their youngest sister Sam called out. Sam was fifty-two, and though she carried a few extra pounds from sampling too much of her own delicious cooking, she still looked trim and younger than her years.

Laughing, Caroline pushed her short, windblown blonde hair from her face. The scene was playing out as it always had when they'd arrived on Nantucket for their family's two-week summer vacation as children. Back then, the last one up the dune had to buy a hot fudge sundae for the others. Caroline usually won-after all, she was the oldest, the biggest, and the strongest. It hadn't been quite fair for her to always claim victory, but now that she'd celebrated her sixty-first birthday, she considered it something of a coup to best her sisters.

Sam puffed, and the wind tousled her sleek, shoulder-length hair, as she and Gracie joined Caroline on the crest of the hill. "Guess I'm buying the hot fudge sundaes this time around. I'm getting them with extra whipped cream, a cherry, and nuts on top. Anything to fatten the two of you up so next time it'll be harder for either one of you to win the race."

Caroline reached for her sisters, drawing one close with each arm. Gracie slid a hand around Caroline's waist, and Sam threw an arm over Caroline's shoulder. As their laughter subsided, they gazed in silence at the horizon, where the morning sun shattered on the waves in a million golden shards.

"Mom sure loved this place," Sam murmured, saying what each of them had no doubt been thinking.

"Yes, she did." Tears stung Caroline's eyes. They had lost their mother six months ago, just two weeks after Christmas. This was the first summer vacation the three of them had spent on Nantucket without her. They hadn't been here in decades, but this year, it seemed like a good way to honor her.

Caroline could easily picture Rosalie Marris sitting on the beach in a cherry-print sundress, the straight blonde hair her daughters had all inherited pulled back in a ponytail. She would always spread out multicolored Tupperware tubs on the beach blanket, and the family would feast on chicken, potato salad, watermelon, and her special chocolate chip cookies-their dad's favorite summertime meal-while her daughters and husband raced in and out of the surf and built castles in the sand.

Caroline hugged her sisters tighter, wishing-not for the first time since their mother had pa.s.sed away-that she'd stayed closer through the years. She should have visited them more often, called once a week instead of once every month or so. Of course, all the regrets in the world couldn't turn back time.

"Remember when Mom taught us how to find sand dollars?" Gracie asked, her shoulder-length bob engaged in a losing battle with the breeze.

"She told us they were long-lost pirate treasure." Caroline smiled at the memory. "And we'd look and look, and then as soon as we found one, we had to scoop it up quick, before the next wave washed it away."

"Except she said we had to grab it before a dastardly pirate swooped in and stole it," Gracie said.

"It was years before I learned what dastardly meant." Caroline laughed.

"I always wanted to hunt them. But"-Sam winked at Caroline-"it was my job to carry the pail."

"And an important job it was!" Caroline said. "If we'd tried to carry them around in our pockets, they wouldn't have made it home in one piece."

"I know that now." Sam elbowed her older sister playfully. "But back then, the two of you treated me like a baby."

"You were the baby," Caroline teased, "and always willing to please."

"Only because I wanted to pal around with you and Gracie." Sam smiled warmly. "I still do."

The waves crashed against the sh.o.r.e, churning up surf in gorgeous shades of aqua and turquoise and the palest cream. Far down the beach, a young family was spreading out towels down by the water's edge.

Their mother would have loved to see them like this, all lined up on the dunes again. Why didn't we do this before? Caroline thought. She was on the road so much for her work as a travel writer, and when she wasn't working, she had just wanted to hole up in Briar Rose, the little cottage in the English countryside she called home. But maybe she could have made more of an effort. They all had busy lives, but they could have found time to bring Mother here one last time before she got too frail. If only she could go back and do it all differently . . . but of course, she couldn't. She shook her head.

"Race you guys to the bottom," Caroline said, and took off, digging her feet into the loose sand as she raced down the dune. Behind her, she could hear her sisters shriek and start to follow her. Max scampered to the head of the pack, barking and running around them playfully. As if they were children again-still Rosalie and Cliff Marris' three blonde stair steps-they chased each other across the beach, kicking up sand, laughing and giggling. Finally, they stopped and pressed three sets of footprints and one set of paws side by side into the wet sand. Their footprints were much the same size now-no longer small, medium, and large. They'd changed so much through the years; they'd each chosen different paths in life and had spent far too many years apart. This could be an interesting two weeks, as these three very different women, each set in her own ways, tried to recapture the closeness that they once shared so easily. Even if there are a few little spats, it will be worth it, Caroline told herself. Mother would have wanted it this way.

"Hey! Check out the Misty Harbor." Sam pointed down the beach to the splash of pale b.u.t.tercup yellow high on the bluff.

Caroline shaded her eyes from the sun, frowning as she stared at the imposing colonial structure perched on the dunes just up ahead. It was still surrounded by a white picket fence, and had lush pink and red roses growing everywhere. "It looks different, doesn't it? Not nearly as big as it looked way back when, but-"

"Everything looked big when we were kids," Gracie teased.

But it was more than the size that seemed different. Caroline just couldn't put her finger on it. She needed to see it close up. "Come on." Caroline headed up the beach, Max prancing at her side.

"You can't just go up to the inn," Gracie said, catching up with Caroline. She tried to smooth her hair down, but the breeze picked it up again. "I'm not dressed for tea-"

"And there might be guests hanging around," Sam added. "We can't barge in."

Caroline stopped. She turned slowly, frowning at her sisters. "We're not going for tea, and we're not going to barge in," she said, starting toward the bluff again. Tiny bits of sand kicked up behind her as she walked. "We're just going to climb the stairs to the top of the bluff, like any summer vacationers would do, and walk by the place. If no one's around, we can stroll through the garden. Remember how Mom loved the Old English roses that climbed the trellises-"

"And the birdbath," Sam added, skipping to catch up with her older sister. "Mom had us toss coins into it and make a wish."

"She was such a dreamer," Gracie said, shaking her head as she followed after Caroline. "You're so much like her in that way."

Caroline shrugged. She thought of herself more as a wanderer, a woman interested in anything and everything. That's what made her such a good travel writer. And anyway, what was wrong with being a dreamer? "You know," Caroline said, "if Mom was with us, we'd be up at the inn by now." Caroline slipped off her flip-flops and started up the hill that separated the old inn from the beach.

"Or we could be inside the place scrubbing floors and washing windows," Gracie added, laughing in her familiar, no-nonsense way. "Remember how she used to talk about buying the Misty Harbor? She had this grand idea that the three of us could work with her to make it the best B and B in Nantucket."

Gracie and Sam started up the sand dune after their sister.

"She already knew how she'd decorate the rooms and what kind of food she'd serve," Sam said, before allowing her voice to mimic their mom's. "'If I owned the Misty Harbor Inn,' she'd say, 'I'd serve nothing but my very own special recipe cranberry and blueberry jams, made from berries I gathered myself.'"

"And she'd have crocheted doilies everywhere," Caroline added, the laughter in her voice softening. "I must have boxed up two or three dozen before we put her house on the market."

Caroline's thighs had started to burn, but she kept pushing toward the top of the bluff. She thought about her mother standing at the ironing board in a pretty pink dress, singing along with Doris Day or Rosemary Clooney, while she pressed the white doilies she'd spent hour upon hour crocheting. Caroline could almost smell Rosalie's favorite Chanel No. 5 cologne wrapping around her, could almost hear her laugh. But all that was left of their mother were memories.

"Remember her crazy stories about celebrities who'd stayed here, and about hidden rooms and mysterious disappearances in the inn?" Caroline said. "I always wanted to hear more."

"There was probably not a grain of truth in any of them." Gracie took in a deep breath and tried to keep up.

"How about the time Mom took us to the Misty Harbor for tea?" Sam said, pretending she was drinking from a delicate china cup, her pinkie finger extended, just as Mom had instructed. She huffed a little from the exertion.

"She made us wear those horrible white gloves and pillbox hats, like Jackie Kennedy," Caroline said, laughing at the memory. "And those flowery dresses with the starched slips. I felt silly, like I was too old for such things."

"They weren't so bad," Gracie said. But then, Gracie had liked dressing up and playing house and all the things Caroline couldn't stand.

Caroline shook her head, still mystified to think her mother ever believed her oldest daughter could be anything but a tomboy. She'd hated to dress up then, and nothing had changed. Total comfort was her idea of style. "I wanted to die when she paraded us into the inn, all three of us with our hair curled so tight we looked like Shirley Temple. I was just thankful that none of my friends could see me!"

"I didn't care how I was dressed," Sam said, "but I remember walking into the inn and seeing the tall trays filled with finger sandwiches and minidesserts, and all I wanted to do was eat. Afterward, I wanted Mom to teach me how to make pet.i.t fours."

"It was pretty special that she did that for us," Gracie said. "You have to admit that, Caroline. We may not have been as well-off as everyone else in that tearoom, but for that one afternoon, Mother made sure we felt like royalty."

Caroline gave a reluctant nod. Nantucket was a playground for the country's wealthiest families, but the Marris family had never felt out of place here, even though they stayed in budget accommodations and cooked most of their meals in their little rented kitchenette. Their mother probably had to scrimp and save just to afford that afternoon tea, but she had done it to make sure her girls felt special.

Sam snapped a wild pink rose from one of the bushes scattered across the bluff. "I wonder if they still serve tea."

"Only one way to find out," Caroline said, slipping on the flip-flops that had been dangling from her fingers. "Let's check it out."

Gracie, who'd never been one for adventure, sighed. "Oh, all right. But if there's anyone at all around, let's walk by and keep on walking."

With memories wrapping around her as warmly as the breeze, Caroline struck out again, calling out to Max, reminding him that if he didn't leave the bees alone, he'd get stung. But as they neared the old colonial inn, Caroline could see that something definitely wasn't right. The yellow paint that had always been so cheery was weather-beaten and faded. A faded banner that had hung from the pole in the backyard was tattered and listless. And the lilacs were growing over nearly everything in sight. What on earth had happened to the place their mother had so dearly loved?

"It looks closed," Sam said.

"Abandoned," Gracie said, "and that appears to be an understatement."

"Let's get closer." Without waiting for her sisters, Caroline marched through the open gate at edge of the garden and walked along the crushed sh.e.l.l path that meandered around the garden. It was tangled with pink, yellow, white, and purple blossoms, and dark green vines that could trip you if you weren't careful. A hummingbird zipped in front of her, flitting from one ma.s.s of flowers to another. It was all so incredibly wild-and beautiful.

Behind her she could hear Gracie comment on how overgrown the yard was, but she kept following the path around to the front of the house. When she reached the front of the inn, she put her foot on the first of three steps leading up to the porch. She tried to imagine the white marble urns, each filled with dark red and glistening white geraniums that used to sit at the top of the stairs. It was an absolute shame there were no flower-filled urns standing there now. She wasn't a gardener, and she found the overgrown garden incredibly beautiful in its wild state, but that didn't mean she didn't love having a garden done up right.

Caroline placed a foot on the second step. It creaked. The third squealed. When she reached the heavy wooden planks of the porch, they felt wobbly beneath her feet.

How could anyone let this fabulous old inn fall apart?

The tall, dark green front door beckoned. There was a yellowed piece of paper taped to the pane of gla.s.s in the middle of the door. She walked toward it. She read the hand-lettered note.

Thank you for all the wonderful memories.

Misty Harbor Inn is closed for the season.

She heard the sound of footsteps, and Caroline turned to see Gracie coming up behind her. "Look at this," Caroline said, tapping on the gla.s.s.

Gracie frowned as she read the message out loud. "Closed for the season?" She chuckled. "Looks like it's been more than just a season."

"I'd say at least five or six, considering the shape of things," Sam added, her voice carrying toward them on the breeze. She wandered through the garden that had grown so wild that it was encroaching on the circular drive and taking over most everything in sight.

Caroline stood at the edge of the porch, gripped the handrail that needed sanding and fresh paint, and watched Sam stroll beneath a trellis choked with morning glories. Sam stopped when she reached a bronze birdbath with a pensive cupid holding a scalloped sh.e.l.l over his head. It was the birdbath their mother had had them toss coins into so many years ago.

"What's this?" Sam said, parting the vines. She dug out a black and orange sign that said For Sale.

"It can't be!" Caroline tried to wrap her mind around the idea. The old inn had been a landmark in her life. She'd stayed there only once, the summer before their father died from a heart attack, yet through her mother's dreams and wistful tales, the inn-like Nantucket itself-had become a constant in her life. Visiting it was a part of every summer. She couldn't imagine its being for sale like any other property.

"Hang on. There's something else under all the vines." Sam tore out a few deeply rooted weeds, and Max put his nose down beside her, his paws setting to work at the dirt. A moment later they dug out a clear plastic box. She straightened up, brandishing a brittle sheet of water-warped paper she'd taken from inside, waded through the garden, and handed it up to Caroline on the porch.

Caroline scanned the one-page For Sale flyer quickly and then read: "Nantucket Whaler's Mansion overlooking the sea. Extensive lawns and long, meandering driveway lead to the front porch of this 1840s colonial. Cherry woodwork shines in the library, parlor, and dining room; updated, modern kitchen; sunlit rooms to relax in on cold winter days; four guest rooms with en suite baths and living quarters for owner, should the discriminating buyer wish to keep the mansion as an inn. Watch the tides roll in and out from the expansive back porch, or laze the day away in the glorious garden."

"How much?" Sam asked.

Caroline's gaze hovered for a moment over the faded colored pictures taken inside the inn, down to the dollar figure at the bottom of the flyer. She gulped, looked at Sam, then Gracie, and then back at Sam again. She nearly stuttered when she announced the price.

"Well, that explains why it hasn't sold," Gracie said, ever practical. Her eyes narrowed. "No one would pay that . . . for this."

"Oh, I don't know." Caroline stared out at the jungle that had once been a garden. At the trellises that someone had lovingly built for roses to climb over in summer and early fall. She thought about the view from the back of the house, which was perched right at the edge of the ocean. "My guess is that beneath this wild mora.s.s are the remains of something gorgeous. And who knows what's still inside? It might very well be worth every penny."

"Maybe for someone with a strong back and a lot of money," Gracie said.

Gracie was probably right. But Caroline looked down at the sales flyer again and then back at the covered-up window in the door that hid the inn's foyer from view. Was it her imagination, or could she see through it now, all the way to the distant horizon? As she stared, her imagination transformed the shuttered inn, just the way her mother's mind always had: adding a fresh coat of paint, throwing open the windows to let in the scent of salt air and the cool breeze, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g back the garden, cooking up and canning local jams and jellies to serve her guests.

It is folly, she thought. But who knows. The old, run-down inn might be just the right place for someone with wide-eyed dreams.

Come on, Caroline," Gracie Gold urged. "We don't belong here. Someone could be watching. If we don't leave now, the cops might show up and make us leave." She rushed down the steps and across the garden, stopping at last when she stood under the rickety arbor that led to the walkway down to the beach.

"Or they might urge us to go inside and take a look around, thinking we might want to buy it," Caroline said, stepping down from the porch. She moved to a window and tried to peer through the closed white shutters that had been beaten by wind, sand, and sea for far too many years.

"We're not here with a real estate agent," Gracie said, edging closer to the walkway. Her sister didn't understand boundaries. She never had. "We don't have a key or permission to be here. I'm sure if the cops came by they'd think we were casing the place, looking for something to steal."

"I'll take the birdbath." Sam pinched a crimson rosebud from a bush and tucked it in her hair. "I have the perfect place for it in my garden."

Gracie looked around uncomfortably, hoping no one was within hearing distance to misinterpret Sam's comment about stealing the birdbath. The only people around were a man and a young boy running along the beach, trailing after the kite they were flying high in the air. She wished she were down there with them. Caroline was bound to get them in trouble before their vacation was over.

"Did you try the doork.n.o.b to see if the front door's unlocked?" Gracie heard Sam ask Caroline as her younger sister bounded up the stairs, Max hot on her heels.

Caroline spun away from one of the shuttered windows, looking at Sam. "Would you go inside with me if it was unlocked?"

"Of course she wouldn't," Gracie stated flatly, walking back toward the porch, hoping her sisters would pay attention to what she was saying. "That would be trespa.s.sing."

"It's locked anyway," Sam said as she pushed against the door handle. It didn't budge. She pulled a Kleenex from her pants pocket and attempted to wipe some of the film off the door's etched gla.s.s and peered inside. "I'd love to know if the owners left behind the furniture and paintings."

"The paintings?" Gracie cringed. "The times we came here with Mom, I felt like the people in those paintings were watching our every move. They reminded me of those creepy portraits hanging inside the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland. If this place were mine, I'd take them down and store them up in the attic."

"But they gave the inn an extra dose of character," Caroline said. "If Mom owned the inn, she would have known the history of each person in the portraits so she could tell her guests stories about their lives."

"Wouldn't it be fun to know if any of the people in those paintings had nefarious backgrounds?" Sam asked. "Maybe a robber baron? A Union or Confederate spy?"

"Or an a.s.sa.s.sin," Caroline added with a laugh. "They were probably just stodgy old goats with bad breath and gout."

"All the more reason to get away from here." Gracie latched on to the newel post at the bottom of the front porch steps. "I don't believe in ghosts, but if the souls of any of those stodgy old goats are still hanging around, they might not take kindly to our messing with their property."

"Oh, Gracie!" Sam bounced down the creaky steps and hugged her sister. "Lighten up and have some fun."

Gracie blew out a long breath. She rolled her shoulders, trying to let go of the tension that had built up in the last few minutes. There was something about the inn that bothered her, and it wasn't ghosts or stodgy old souls or even getting caught snooping around. It was more a feeling of foreboding. Obviously Sam and Caroline didn't share her feelings. They were laughing and running around the place as if they were kids all over again.