They studied it intently. "Why couldn't it be something simple like the Old Mill?" Caroline asked. "It's impossible to look at the mill and not know what it is. But this . . . it's a house."

"It looks just like dozens, maybe hundreds of other houses on Nantucket," Sam said.

"Maybe we're trying to read too much into the picture," Gracie said. "The first one was a church we recognized. This one's a house and it could be anywhere. Whoever drew it-William, I guess-could simply have a fixation for buildings and drew whatever suited his fancy. So what's written on the back?"

Sam turned it over slowly, only to see a series of numbers. 7 17 22 21 8 2 8 18 26 19 2 23 26 21 2 23 15 11 5. She sighed heavily, setting the postcard down on the table. "Numbers. That's it. We don't even know who this one's from."

Caroline leaned in over Sam's shoulder to get a better look. "Where's the other postcard?" Caroline asked. "I want to look at something."

"I put the doll and postcard in the china cabinet in the parlor," Sam said. Caroline went to get it.

Jamie collapsed on an old wooden stool. Max sat at her feet, looking up at her, his tongue lolling. She rubbed her eyes. "This is all rather intriguing"-she yawned-"but maybe we're obsessing too much over this Hannah Montague thing."

"As much as I hate to say this, I have to agree," Gracie said. "We should store both postcards away and get back down to business. If we squander too much time dreaming up conspiracy theories, we won't be ready to open next June."

"You're right," Sam said, setting the doll aside. "This whole thing's giving me a headache."

Caroline came back into the kitchen, holding the first postcard they'd discovered. She picked up the second, looking at the pictures, at the writing. At last she looked from Jamie, to Gracie, to Sam. "These were both mailed from the same place. Boston. The ink looks the same, and Hannah's name and address are in the same handwriting. This second postcard has to have been from William."

"But it's nothing but numbers." Gracie said. "What could they mean?"

Caroline looked at Sam. "You're the princess of puzzles, Sam. What do you think?"

Sam rubbed her eyes. "I think I'm getting awfully tired and all I want to do is climb into bed."

"Me too," Gracie said.

"What about you, Aunt Caroline?"

Sam couldn't miss the hint of misery that flooded Caroline's eyes. "I don't want to give up. I'm certain there's more to the postcards, but we really do need to buckle down and work on the inn." She sighed heavily. "There's always tomorrow to follow the mystery and see where it leads."

Gracie pressed her hands against her lower back and wished away the pain and the strain. It had taken most of the summer, but the garden was finally starting to take shape. It didn't seem possible, but it was already the first of September. Labor Day was just around the corner.

In a few more weeks, the trees would shrug out of their summer wardrobe and change into their fall colors . . . and she'd be gone. Of course, they'd all be gone. She was headed back to Maine to hug her grandkids, and she would stay there for much of the fall. Caroline was heading off to England to say good-bye to her beloved Briar Rose Cottage, and Sam would return to Upstate New York to pack up all her belongings and put her town house up for rent.

Gracie leaned against the railing on the back porch and looked out at the flower beds, the meandering paths, and the arbor she'd walked through every afternoon on her way to the beach. It was really starting to look nice. She could get used to this.

But then she thought about her grandkids. She thought about how much Brandon and Stacy depended on her, and she remembered again why she couldn't come back and live here year-round the way Sam and Caroline wanted her to. She couldn't give up the home she'd known and loved for so long. Not for good.

The day after tomorrow, she'd be back in her old routine, helping to chauffeur her grandchildren to and from schools and activities, responding at a moment's notice to her son and daughter-in-law's calls for help. It would feel good to get back to that routine.

She walked down the steps and along the path to the arbor and turned back to look at the inn. It didn't look at all like the place they'd visited that first day on the island. It now had a fresh coat of Main Street Yellow paint. The trim was so white it glistened. The snowy white shutters had been thrown open, and the windows gleamed.

The inside still needed a lot of work, but they'd gotten the hard parts done: hardwood floors stripped, chimneys cleaned, new water heaters installed, new commercial-grade washer and dryer. They'd sanded down the cabinets in the kitchen and repainted them a soft cream, and when they'd torn up the old, dilapidated kitchen linoleum, they had found hardwood floors beneath. They had accomplished so much.

When they came back a month from now, they could work on the fun stuff. As much as she was looking forward to being home, she couldn't help but look forward to coming back and getting started here again. She felt torn.

"The three of you have done a mighty good job fixing up this place."

She turned. Bill had walked up from the beach, wearing his usual smile. The temperature was dropping every day, and he was wearing jeans now instead of shorts. Undoubtedly, before long, the thermal underwear would come out of the drawer, and the real islanders, the ones who lived here year-round, would be wearing flannel and wool, and lots of layers to keep warm.

But not today. Today, it was still beautiful, warm, and sunny with a clear blue sky.

Gracie looked back at the inn. "You can add yourself to the list of people who've made this place look pretty again. I was just thinking about all we've accomplished in such a short time."

Bill had been here nearly every day, tackling the projects that required more skill than the sisters possessed. She's seen him most Sundays at Harvest Chapel too, and Bill had become a big part of their lives here in Nantucket.

"Should be a lot more done by the time you get back."

"We seem to be abandoning you when it's time to do the really hard work."

Bill chuckled. "Tearing up the downstairs bathroom will be a lot easier when the three of you don't have to use it every day. And the plumbing in the bas.e.m.e.nt"-Bill thrust a hand through his s.h.a.ggy gray hair-"I can't apologize enough for not catching some of the problems before you signed your name on the dotted line for this place."

Gracie hated to see Bill apologize for something that most anyone could have missed. "The roof could have been missing and it could have had an army of mice living in the attic," Gracie said. "It could have been gutted on the inside, and Caroline and Sam still would have insisted on buying it anyway. And you know, I've gotten used to the idea of being part owner, even when the old place creaks at night and startles me out of a sound sleep."

"Does that mean that one of these days, we can antic.i.p.ate your sticking around permanently?" Bill studied her face.

Gracie stared at the inn for a moment. "Oh no," she said, finally tearing her eyes away. "Portland, Maine, is home. Always has been. Always will be."

"Any regrets?" Caroline asked Gracie and Sam as they stood in the foyer, waiting for Bill to show up and give them a ride to the ferry.

"Not a one," Sam said. "In fact, I think I've lost five pounds in the past three months."

"Certainly not from lack of food." Gracie wrapped an arm around her sister. "I always knew you could cook, but I had no idea you cooked all the time. In spite of all the work we've done, I'm pretty sure I've gained the five pounds you lost."

"I'm going to miss you two." Caroline already felt the tears building in her eyes. "Suddenly England seems a zillion miles away and a lifetime ago."

"I could say the same about Upstate New York." Sam picked up the duffel bag she'd placed on the floor about an hour before. She slipped the strap over her shoulder, as if she antic.i.p.ated Bill arriving any moment. "In just three months, Nantucket's become home. I never would have expected that to happen, but it has."

Gracie grinned. "Listen to you two. You'd think you were leaving for good instead of just one month. We'll all be back here before you know it, and once we start working again, you'll wonder what ever possessed you to buy this place."

"Who are you trying to fool?" Caroline asked Gracie. "You're pretty attached to this place too."

"Okay, maybe I am. But I'm eager to get back to the kids, to my book club, and to my church. I've missed that life."

A horn honked outside, and Caroline could see the wavy form of Bill's pickup through the etched-gla.s.s window in the front door. Thank goodness it was such a short drive to the ferry, because Sam would have to sit on her lap so they could all fit in the cab.

Gracie and Caroline grabbed their bags. They weren't taking home as much as they'd brought with them three months ago. There was no need to. They'd be back soon.

Caroline paused for a moment on the walk of the Misty Harbor, breathing in the crisp salt air of the Nantucket autumn. October had arrived, clad in glorious hues of gold, russet, and burnt orange. She strode to the temperamental Nantucket Blue front door, turned the doork.n.o.b, and applied the customary shove of her hip-and practically flew into the inn. It had sprung open with absolutely zero resistance. She was halfway across the foyer before she was able to stop.

The door must have been one of Bill's projects while they were gone.

"I'm back!" she shouted near the top of her lungs, listening to the echo of her voice reverberating through the rooms. She was pretty sure she was the last one to arrive. Sam had brought her minivan to the island, and it was already parked out front.

Caroline heard footsteps pounding down the stairwell before she saw Sam and Gracie, both clad in jeans and boots and the Fair Isle sweaters. They could almost pa.s.s for twins. Caroline suddenly felt out of place in a long chocolate brown corduroy jumper, a creamy turtleneck, a pair of sheepskin-cuffed Uggs, and a bulky sweater-a going-away gift from the vicar's wife.

Sam and Gracie threw their arms around Caroline, and suddenly she felt totally at home again. The Misty Harbor Inn was where she belonged.

"When did you get here?" Caroline asked.

"Hours ago." Sam grabbed Caroline's hand and dragged her into the parlor. "Look."

"Oh my." Box upon box lined one wall in the parlor. They'd all been opened. "What's in them?"

"Wallpaper. Linens. Upholstery fabric." Gracie crossed the room, opened the flaps on one of the boxes, and pulled out a plastic bag full of upholstery nails. They'd chosen them over a month ago, using only the pictures on numerous decorating Web pages to make their choice. "I haven't inventoried everything yet. I hope everything we ordered is here, but I can safely say that we're going to be busy the next couple of weeks."

"Only a couple of weeks?" Caroline frowned. She was so hoping Gracie would have decided to stay for good, but it sounded like she'd made up her mind.

"As much as I want to stay-"

Sam held up her hand to halt Gracie's words. "No excuses necessary, Gracie. We knew when we bought this place that you'd come when you could. We can't expect you to be here all the time."

"It was really nice to be home this past month," Gracie said, pulling bag after bag out of the boxes, as if she was afraid to look her sisters in the eye. "The two of you were away from the inn too, so I didn't need to feel guilty about not being here. But it's probably going to feel different when I go home the middle of the month."

"We'll just have to find some work for you to take home with you," Caroline said, although she had no idea what that would be. Gracie couldn't very well hang wallpaper or upholster furniture from Maine, and working on a Web site was not her sister's forte. But Sam was right-they'd gone into this with their eyes wide open. Gracie would not be here all the time, and they simply had to deal with it.

"What were you doing when I arrived? Wait! Let me guess." Caroline grinned. "You were running around the second floor looking for secret rooms."

"Close." Sam crossed the room and sat on the piano bench. She played with the keys. The notes were flat. Caroline made a mental note to call a piano technician. "We were checking out the bathrooms."

Caroline's brow furrowed. "The bathrooms? Why? Did something happen with the plumbing again?"

"Nothing like that. Bill left us a note." Sam pulled a piece of lined paper from her back pocket and read, "'Sinks and toilets replaced, upstairs bathrooms. Downstairs plumbing fixed-no more 2:00 AM floods. Floor in downstairs bath sh.o.r.ed up.'" Sam looked up at Caroline. "The list goes on, but you've got to see this."

She grabbed Caroline's hand again and dragged her back to the curving stairs and up to the second floor. Max and Gracie scurried along behind.

Caroline laughed as they raced down the hallway, acting like schoolgirls out for a good time. The Periwinkle Room looked nearly the way they'd left it. Wood-frame bed and mattress covered with dust sheets. Antique dresser covered with dust. Rocker stripped of paint and ready for a new coat, plus upholstery. Nearly threadbare carpet rolled up and pushed against one wall.

Caroline's eyes widened. "There's still so much work left to do."

"Except in here." Sam pushed Caroline toward the bathroom. "Look."

Light filtered in through the window, but it was dim until Gracie switched on the antique bronze sconces on either side of the big oval mirror. Her gaze skimmed over the new, old-fashioned pedestal sink and matching toilet, but she couldn't skim past the tile work around the combination tub and shower. It was stunning. A work of art. It was a mural of a basket made of seash.e.l.ls and overflowing with blue periwinkles.

"I don't remember asking Bill to have tile work done while we were gone," Caroline said.

"We didn't," Gracie said. "He's an artist, remember? My guess is he did this on his own. The periwinkles are just like the ones in the wallpaper we selected, right down to the colors."

Caroline's mind was reeling. "But how can we ever repay him?"

"You can tell your guests to come to 'Sconset and visit my workshop." Bill's deep voice literally boomed through the room. "Hope you don't mind. I let myself in."

Gracie was the first one to hug him, Caroline the last, and she didn't want to let go. He'd done so much for them. "Goodness, Bill, this is the best homecoming present I've ever had."

"It wasn't much. We had a big storm, and my place got rained out, so I stayed here for a few days. This is what a guy like me does when he can't get outside."

"Okay, so if you couldn't get outside, where did you get the tiles?" Caroline grinned, not falling for his act.

Bill looked sheepish. "You caught me. I'd been planning this since you showed me the wallpaper. It turned out better than I expected."

"This is going to put the rest of the bathrooms to shame," Gracie said, shaking her head.

"I've got drawings worked up for those rooms too. If you're interested, I can get the tiles at cost and the labor-well, I'll give you a discount, and maybe you can show my work off on your Web site."

"I knew there had to be a catch here someplace," Caroline teased. "But if it works for Gracie and Sam, it works for me."

"Speaking of the Web site, how is it coming along?" Gracie asked Caroline later as they worked together in the foyer, hanging the pastel blue- and yellow-striped wallpaper above the dark cherry-wood wainscoting. She'd worried for days now, wanting to ask that question when Caroline hadn't found the time or had the inclination to give them an update, but she couldn't wait any longer. They simply had to have the site up and running at least by the first of November, since they were running ads in the December issues of several travel magazines and would be featuring the Web site address prominently. It wasn't uncommon for guests to make reservations six months in advance in Nantucket, so they had to be prepared.

"Well," Caroline said, handing a strip of paper to Gracie, "the home page is complete, but I'm still working on some of the detail pages."

Gracie thought for sure her neck and face had turned red, considering how the heat of anger was rising in her body. "Do you mean to tell me you have only one page ready?"

"It's not as bad as it sounds. I have notes and all my photographs and-"

"You promised to work on it while you were in England."

"I had to empty out an entire cottage. Ten years of living in one place. That took time, Gracie. I've been here for three days now, and I've hung wallpaper until I'm blue in the face. And you know what? I'm going to be hanging wallpaper and upholstering furniture and decorating two weeks from now and long after you've gone back home, so don't look at me as if I've been doing nothing."

Gracie swallowed hard and squeezed back hot tears. She finished applying the piece of paper Caroline had handed her, smoothing it out, making sure it was perfect. Then she climbed down from the ladder and walked out the front door. It slammed behind her.

Gracie headed for the wrought-iron bench in the middle of the garden. Yesterday, she'd planted burgundy, gold, red, and yellow mums in all the planters and urns scattered around the garden. She'd made a lot of headway on the overgrown jungle during the summer, and there was going to be even more work next spring, but right now, it seemed to be the perfect place to cry.

She heard footsteps crunching on the sh.e.l.l-and-gravel pathway and saw Caroline coming toward her. Tentatively, Caroline sat down beside her.

"I'm sorry," Gracie said. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over the heels of her hands. The view was still stunning, but the autumn breeze was chilly. They wouldn't be able to sit out here much longer.

"Me too."

"I'm awfully critical, aren't I?"

"Sometimes," Caroline said softly. "But I have trouble keeping focused on one project. You know I've been that way all my life. I mean, I wish I could be more like you. Organized-"

"-to a fault."

"That's not so bad."

"Sometimes it is, Caroline. I don't have much spontaneity, not like you, and I've always wanted that." Gracie sighed heavily. "You might wish you could be more like me, but I wish I could be more like you."

"Then nothing would ever get done around here."

"That's not true. You do work hard."

"I just get distracted easily."

"Gracie! Caroline!"

Gracie and Caroline both sprang to attention, turning toward the house. Sam was hollering at them from one of the attic windows.