"The more the merrier, I always say. The book of Job put it another way. 'Anyone who withholds kindness from a friend forsakes the fear of the Almighty.'" He grinned. "And lucky for you, you're about to see one of the most beautiful sunsets in the world."

Caroline turned and saw the clouds were now stained a bright, warm orange, and the sun was just starting to slip beneath the horizon. Stan Wildes began snapping pictures with his small digital camera. "Every travel guide will tell you that the best sunsets on Nantucket are seen right here on Madaket Beach. That's why we hold our clambakes here. It's a good reminder of G.o.d's bounty, as well as the beauty He has graced us with."

"I couldn't agree more," Caroline said. The clouds were splashed with pink, orange, and lavender now, and as they watched the sun moving lower in the sky, those colors brightened. Golden flecks dotted the waves out at sea. It almost looked like the ocean was on fire. It was truly a sight to behold.

"I've seen some of the most gorgeous sunsets in the world," Caroline said. "In Egypt, with the pyramids in the background; in the Serengeti, with the animals roaming around; and the Taj Mahal. But this is probably one of the most beautiful I've ever seen." Caroline clutched the Celtic cross at her neck, one she'd bought on her first trip to Ireland.

"G.o.d definitely lavished more than our fair share of beauty here on Nantucket."

Caroline was rarely tongue-tied, but didn't know how to answer. He was right, of course. Beauty like this made it easy to remember that G.o.d was bigger and more amazing than she could ever understand. She couldn't understand how someone could look at a sunset like this and not believe that G.o.d was still working in the world today.

They stood there in silence, watching the sun slowly vanish beyond the horizon. Shades of blue, silver, and purple slowly spread across the sky. Then, just as the last light disappeared into the sea, Pastor Stan linked his arm through hers. "Now, why don't you introduce me to your sisters and friends, and then I believe we should say grace, grab a bowl of chowder, and get this clambake started."

"How do you like the lobster?"

Gracie looked up from the beach chair she'd been sitting in, enjoying the feast that seemed to be never ending, to see Bill Dekker hunkering down next to her. He was wearing khaki pants and a light cotton sweater. Gracie was struck again by how familiar he seemed.

"It's delicious. A little hard to eat without a table in front of me, and it's a bit messy"-Gracie gestured toward the drips of b.u.t.ter that had landed on her pants-"but I have to say, this is the best lobster I've ever eaten. And the scallops. Oh my goodness. If someone had told me seafood could taste this heavenly cooked over seaweed and seawater, I never would have believed them."

"I take it this is your first clambake?"

She nodded. "And not the last, I hope."

Bill was quiet for a minute. Gracie could see that he was looking at something down the beach.

"I met my wife on this beach nearly forty years ago at a clambake just like this," he finally said. "Back then, of course, we could have an actual bonfire on the beach."

"Oh, I'd love to meet her," Gracie said. She sat up straighter and started looking around. "Is she here?"

Bill shook his head. "I lost her four years ago."

Gracie could see the sadness still in his eyes, a misty-eyed look she knew all too well. "For years and years she'd tried awfully hard to get me to go to church with her, and I finally relented. I sat in one of the front pews listening to her sing in the choir and couldn't help but wonder why I hadn't come before. Pastor Stan-you've met him, haven't you?"

Gracie nodded. "A little while ago."

"Well, I found myself completely caught up in his sermon. He made the Bible verses I'd been reading for years actually come to life. He was mesmerizing; so was the choir. After church, right after Dora-my wife-introduced me to Pastor Stan, she gripped my arm, told me her head hurt, and then she was gone."

"A brain aneurysm?" Gracie asked, surprised that he'd tell her the story, but it seemed to connect them somehow. She knew the pain of losing someone you loved.

He nodded slowly. "I haven't missed a Sunday since then."

"I would have thought you'd stay away, that you'd never want to go back."

"No. No. Call me crazy, but every time I get close to the church, I feel Dora's spirit lingering there. Not like a ghost, of course." He chuckled. "I don't want you thinking I've lost my mind. It's just a good feeling that comes over me when I see Pastor Stan, when I walk into the sanctuary. Dora's heart and soul are inside that church."

He slid a finger beneath his gla.s.ses and didn't seem the least bit embarra.s.sed at wiping away a tear. "Don't know what possessed me to tell you all of that. I don't usually open up so easily."

"I lost my husband not all that long ago too." Gracie was surprised she'd said it. She never talked about Art with strangers. She liked to keep him all to herself, tucked in close to her heart.

Bill seemed to sense that she didn't want to say anything more. They sat in comfortable silence for a minute. Gracie watched some children load marshmallows onto skewers and hold them out over the coals. Paige had never wanted to get too close to campfires, but Brandon used to get right up near the flame and light his marshmallow on fire. He always said it tasted better burnt. Gracie chuckled.

"How are you enjoying your first trip to Nantucket?" Bill said.

"Oh, it's not my first trip," Gracie said. "My sisters and I came here every summer when we were kids."

"Is that right?" Bill studied her face and then looked at Caroline and Sam. "When was that?"

"Oh, it's been over forty years." She laughed. "It feels just like yesterday in some ways."

Bill was still watching her, a strange look on his face.

"What did you say your maiden name was?"

"Marris?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "I knew it! You looked so familiar, but I couldn't figure out why. But it was you. I used to play with you and your sisters on the beach back when we were kids."

Gracie felt the air rush out of her lungs. It couldn't be . . .

"Does this help?" Bill ran his fingers through his hair and made it stick out in crazy patches.

She laughed. Little Billy Dekker. How could she have missed it? They used to play together every summer. "You used to help us build sand castles on the beach."

"And taught you my special technique, if I remember correctly."

Gracie nodded. It had something to do with the right amount of moisture in the sand. She'd never really mastered his style, but she remembered Billy making magnificent creations that he'd carve out carefully.

He was watching her intently. The way he studied her face made her cheeks burn. Had he remembered the kiss he'd given her when they'd been just nine or ten? It was only on the cheek, but Gracie had been aghast and told him to never, ever do that again, and he hadn't. But that hadn't kept him away. He trailed after her wherever she went that summer.

"Hey, you guys, Grandpa Folger's about to start telling his stories," Megan called.

"Be right there," Bill said. He pushed himself up and brushed the sand off of his pants.

"It's funny running into you again after all this time," he said, holding out his hand to help Gracie out of her chair.

"It definitely is." Gracie let him pull her up, and he started to lead her toward the makeshift fire. She stood still, watching him for a second, and then followed.

Sam huddled close to Jamie, wishing she'd brought a Windbreaker along for the evening. Even though the dying embers made an attempt to keep everyone warm, a cool breeze had blown in off the sea, hitting her back and chilling her to the bone.

Megan Folger-Wildes sat at Sam's other side, cuddling Addison, her redheaded four-year-old in her arms, while seven-year-old Micah sat beside his mother, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

Sam was dying to tell Megan-to tell everyone-that they were going to buy the Misty Harbor Inn, but she'd promised her sisters not to say a word. They were going to wait until it was a done deal, and then they'd tell their friends, issue a press release, find a listing of past guests, and let nearly the entire world know that the Misty Harbor Inn was under new ownership and would be reopening a year from now. It was all so unbelievable. She was actually going to own a B and B. She tried not to think of all the permits and money and the entire business side of making their mother's dream come true.

"Well, shiver me timbers . . ." Grandpa Folger shared a mischievous grin with the two dozen or so people gathered around what remained of the fire. He winked at Megan, Addison, and Micah, and then the grizzled old man began to speak in most dramatic fashion. " 'Twas a long, long time ago, nigh on two hundred years, when the whaler Ess.e.x sank to the dark and eerie bottom of Davy Jones's Locker."

Sam had heard something about the sinking of the Ess.e.x. The tragedy was part of Nantucket's whaling past, and she had seen a plaque about it the other day.

"She was a beauty of a ship who plied the oceans from Nantucket to the South Pacific to the Hawaiian Islands, in risky pursuit of the great sperm whale and the dollars that would line the coffers of many a man."

Sam could see Grandpa Folger had told this story many times, and he had dramatized it quite a bit. It was almost like watching theater. She looked at Jamie, who laughed, and then turned back to the old man.

"It was the year 1820, a good year for whalers. Captain George Pollard and his crew had sailed the world and were at last in the Pacific, throwing their harpoons and capturing their prey. Yet it was a fateful year." Grandpa Folger closed one eye, narrowed the other. His thick and bushy white eyebrows knit together as he looked at each individual sitting around the fire. "Fateful, that is, for Captain Pollard, because that's when he and the Ess.e.x met their match. A whale like no other refused to be taken. The beast was annoyed with the harpoons being thrown his way. He was angry and mad. So mad, in fact, that he attacked the Ess.e.x, tearing it apart from stem to stern, until the mighty vessel was destroyed by the whale. Down, down, it sank, never to be seen again."

Sam saw Micah snuggle in closer to his mother. She longed to reach out and pull Jamie close to her like that, like she used to when Jamie was little, but she knew her grown daughter would not appreciate it.

"Ah, but if you think that's the end of the tale and the end of Captain Pollard, you'd be wrong. Many a man, including the good captain, survived that awful calamity. For three months-three very, very long months-Captain Pollard and his crew floated in their lifeboat. Many men starved; many went mad. Only a few survived, rescued at last by another Nantucket whaler, the Two Brothers.

"'It's a miracle!' people claimed. 'It's amazing they survived!' There were headlines in all the important papers! Captain Pollard was hailed as a hero, and not long after was given another ship, another chance to ply the oceans in search of the daring and valuable sperm whale. The ship he was given: the Two Brothers, the very ship that had saved him. And lo and behold, on Captain Pollard's return trip out to sea, the Two Brothers sank. Sank, I tell you. It seemed impossible. How could one captain be so unlucky?"

"Did he survive?" Micah asked. He crossed the sand and climbed into his great-grandfather's lap.

"Aye, he did, young fellow. And one day you can read all about his exploits, although Herman Melville took liberties with the story."

"What story's that, Great-Grandpa?"

"Have you ever heard of Moby d.i.c.k?"

The little boy nodded. "My dad said he had to read that book in school, and he hated it. I don't really have to read it, do I?"

"Every boy should read it. It's a tale of revenge and derring-do, and it's based on the true story of Captain Pollard."

The little boy frowned. "Do you know any ghost stories, Grandpa? That was okay, but whales aren't as spooky as ghosts."

Grandpa Folger laughed, and his audience joined in.

"Tell our guests what you know about the Misty Harbor Inn," Megan said. "They've been doing research on the place. They might even buy it."

Oh dear. Megan had let the cat out of the bag. Sam nearly groaned.

"I've heard stories about a woman who vanished from the inn." Megan continued. "Maybe she haunts the place. If so, just think how many more guests they'll get, and I'm sure they'll send a little business my way."

"All right. A good old-fashioned legend. Now we're in my territory," Jamie whispered to Sam.

"Maybe you can count this trip as thesis research," Sam answered.

"Now, now, Megan," Pastor Wildes said, grinning at his daughter-in-law, "you'll drive up the cost of that old place if someone thinks they can capitalize on it by telling tales of ghosts walking around the place and going b.u.mp in the night."

"So there's no ghost?" Micah's bottom lip stuck out.

"I doubt it." Grandpa Folger laughed. "But it seems to me that I did used to know something about the woman who'd lived there who disappeared."

"We read that it was the second wife of the man who built the house," Sam said.

"Her name was Hannah. Do you know anything at all about the disappearance of Hannah Montague?" Caroline asked.

"Let me see." He looked down at the sand. "I don't know how much of this is true-"

Jamie laughed. "After that last story, it's a strange time to be caring about facts," she whispered.

"-but I remember hearing that the woman was much younger than her husband, and that she was forced into the marriage."

"Do you think her husband might have had something to do with her disappearance?" Sam asked.

"I wouldn't know."

"Did she run away? Was she kidnapped? Killed?"

"I suppose it could have been any of those things." Grandpa Folger shrugged. "As far as I know, she could have been hidden away in one of the secret rooms that supposedly exists in the inn."

"Then there are secret rooms?" Jamie asked, looking clearly intrigued. Sam could easily imagine her daughter spending most of her time at the inn hunting for secret rooms and hidden pa.s.sageways.

"I think we've all heard rumors about secret rooms," Pastor Stan said, "but how could they possibly exist when the inn has been remodeled several times?"

"Those remodels might have looked extensive on the outside," Bill Dekker said, "but from what I've heard, none of the owners has ever done much more than a down-and-dirty update on the place. I've even heard that the attic and carriage house haven't been touched since I was a boy."

"Be that as it may, Bill," Pastor Stan continued, "my guess is, it's all gossip. Complete speculation. Rumors like that are sometimes spread to increase the price of a property."

Sam could see Jamie listening closely, taking it all in. Sam wanted to make sure to ask her about what she thought later.

"Do you think there could be other secrets surrounding the place?" Caroline asked. Sam could see her sister was so wrapped up in the possibilities she probably wouldn't sleep tonight just thinking about them.

"Could be," Grandpa Folger nodded. "There very well could be, but there's no telling if anyone will ever know what really happened to Hannah Montague. Some stories just aren't meant to be told."

Caroline had barely slept a wink. She'd lain awake most of the night listening to Max snoring in his basket on the floor next to the bed and to foghorns out on the ocean. She'd lain on one side, twisted over to the other, and tucked her hands under her head, under her pillow, and behind her neck. Nothing worked. All she could think about was Hannah Montague's disappearance. It gnawed at her. The poor woman, gone, just like that, and no one knew what had happened to her.

Caroline pounded her fist into her pillow, tried to find a more comfortable position for her head, and asked herself why it mattered so much to her what happened to Hannah Montague. It had happened well over a hundred years ago and had nothing to do with their buying the inn. It was merely a part of the house's history.

But that was it. That was why it mattered. It was a part of the house's history, and that made it important to know more about what had happened to Hannah Montague.

She rolled over again, staring at the curtains ruffling in the breeze. Hannah Montague. Caroline smiled wistfully. Won't we have fun trying to learn more about you once we've bought and moved into the inn?

"You've reached the voice mail for Realtor Deborah Greenleaf. I'm either out of the office or on another call. Please leave your name, phone number, and a detailed message after the tone, and I will return your call as soon as possible. Thanks."

Sam huffed out a sigh, still holding the cell phone to her ear as she looked at her sisters and shook her head. She waited and waited for the tone, and when it sounded, she cleared her throat and said in her most businesslike voice, "Deborah, this is Sam Carter. You can reach me at-" Sam paused for a moment, trying to remember her cell phone number and then added it to her message. "My sisters and I would like to make an offer on the Misty Harbor Inn. Please call as soon as possible."

"I hope she isn't out of town," Gracie said, sliding out of her dress shoes. Gracie and Caroline had made Sam promise to wait until they got back from church to call and make the offer, and she had done as they had asked, but barely. The moment they'd stepped back inside the cottage, Sam had grabbed the phone.

Sam couldn't miss the skeptical glance that Gracie cast at Caroline. "She'll probably call back at any moment. But wouldn't you know it. Now that we've finally made one of the biggest decisions of our lives, we can't get in touch with the real estate agent."

"Calm down, you two," Jamie said, lying on the sofa with her laptop open in front of her. "The inn's been on the market for nearly five years. It's not like someone else is going to come along and sweep it out from under your feet."

"And I'm not going to change my mind about buying it, Gracie," Caroline said, pouring a tall gla.s.s of lemonade for George, who'd come to church with them. He had to catch a flight back to Maryland in another two hours, and had to head back to the boat to pack up his things soon. "I know you're worried about my flaking on you, but that's not going to happen."

"I'm just nervous," Gracie said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. She sat down in one of the dining chairs. "We're spending a lot of money and we don't even have a game plan yet. I just feel like we're putting the cart before the horse."

"I've done that dozens of times," George said, taking his gla.s.s of lemonade from Caroline. "If my heart was truly in the deal, if I wasn't just making a bid on something for the sake of making money, and it failed, well, I didn't really feel like I'd lost anything at all."

"You mean if we're buying the inn more for the love of it, rather than as a business venture, we can't go wrong, no matter what happens?" Sam clarified when Gracie looked a little confused.