Caroline chuckled. "Obviously you've never lived in a five-hundred-year-old English cottage. I have to bend over to walk through the doors. But . . . I'm not all that sure that's what I want."

"You're not really thinking about Nantucket, are you?" Gracie asked.

"And what? Live in a cranberry bog? That might be one of the few things you could afford on the island." Sam had always been good with money, and Caroline knew she was probably right, but she wasn't looking for practical advice right now.

"Now don't come all unglued, but I'm thinking the Misty Harbor Inn."

"And I want to live in Buckingham Palace!" Gracie grinned. She grabbed Caroline's arm, and they continued their stroll toward Quince Street. "Come on, let's check out some antiques and see if we can find something to buy that might actually fit our pocketbooks."

If Gracie thought she'd put an end to Caroline's musings about the inn, she was sorely mistaken. People had told her more than once in life that her ideas were half-baked, that she couldn't settle down to just one thing, that she was a dilettante and a flake, but she'd refused to listen. Maybe she did get caught up in a lot of grandiose schemes; maybe she had far too many interests; but she'd designed her life around who she was and what she liked. So far, she thought with some satisfaction, it has worked fairly well.

Gracie might think she could snap her fingers and make all thoughts about the inn disappear from Caroline's head, but that wasn't going to happen.

Sam aimed her camera at her sisters, snapping their pictures-and Max's, of course-as they posed in front of hydrangea bushes loaded with fat blue flowers and hanging baskets of red and white geraniums. Quince Street was lined with old homes-a pristine white Greek Revival, a red brick Federal, and an endless number of colonials, most of which were painted yellow, pale blue, or white, others with washed gray shingles. The eclectic houses edged a street lined with ancient trees that shaded the tiny front yards.

Her town house in Saratoga Springs didn't have much of a front yard either; but it definitely didn't exude character like these homes did. They made her think of the Misty Harbor Inn again. She understood how Caroline could have fallen under the spell of that old run-down place.

But could Caroline really want to buy it? She'd always needed coaching to make her own bed. Dusting was on her list of banned words. And she couldn't even cook. How could she possibly think about opening a bed-and-breakfast if she couldn't serve her guests something scrumptious for breakfast?

It was such a crazy idea, but it really did pique Sam's curiosity.

At last they reached a wisteria-draped bungalow with worn shingle siding and an elegantly painted sign out front that read "Into the Past."

"This is it," Gracie said, stopping in front of the path that led to a quaint, three-story antique shop. Its door was propped open with an old ship's anchor, inviting customers to step inside. "I hope it's as beautiful on the inside as it is out."

Sam waited while Caroline fastened Max's leash to one of the posts at the bottom of the stairs and told the rambunctious pup to stay. He wouldn't go very far, but that didn't mean he wouldn't start howling or barking.

They stepped into the antique shop, and Sam was instantly captured by its charm. The scents of vanilla and coconut emanated from candles burning in crystal sconces and hurricane lamps. A rustic, dark wood cabinet just inside the entry was draped with heirloom lace, sterling silver napkin rings, flatware, and several small chests, all carved in elegant designs.

"It's beautiful," Sam whispered, turning in a slow circle, trying to take in all of her surroundings.

"Look at this dresser." Gracie's words were soft and breathy. Sam thought the cabinet was rather ostentatious, but she nodded.

Sam picked up the tented card sitting discreetly at the back of the dresser, right beneath its overly ornate mirror. English oak: that was nice. $8,250. She coughed, put down the card, and grabbed Gracie's arm. "Come on, Sis, there's bound to be something in here that's more your style."

"How about this?" Caroline asked, as if she'd heard Sam's words. She stood next to a lovely china cabinet holding a cobalt blue bowl that was a lighter aquamarine on the inside. There was a hand-painted figure of a mermaid reclining on a seash.e.l.l raised and molded so it surrounded nearly the entire circ.u.mference of the dish. "Pretty, isn't it?"

"It's English Majolica." A woman with carrot-red curls that flowed over her back and almost all the way down to her waist made her way toward them. "Made in 1860, and I must admit, it's one of the loveliest pieces of Majolica I've ever seen. I have a matching cup too. It should be here with the bowl, but my son, bless his heart, doesn't quite agree with me on how antiques should be displayed."

The woman turned and walked away, showing off long and slender legs encased in skinny blue jeans. She had to be at least six feet tall-a good half a head taller than Caroline, Gracie, or Sam. She stopped, took a matching cobalt blue cup out a gla.s.s-fronted china closet and then turned back and smiled. "Right where I imagined Dustin would put it."

She crossed the room again, handing the tiny cup to Caroline. And then she did the oddest thing. She peered at Gracie and then Sam and then Caroline, as if she'd seen them somewhere before. "You wouldn't by any chance be the women who were looking at the Misty Harbor Inn yesterday, would you?"

Sam was stunned by the question. "We were there, but"-she frowned-"how did you know? We only saw one other person-"

"Shirley Addison." The woman pushed an out-of-control, curly lock of hair behind her ear. "Short? Wavy white hair?"

"Looks a bit like Mrs. Claus?" Caroline added.

The woman, obviously the proprietor of the shop, chuckled and nodded. "That's Shirley in a nutsh.e.l.l. She lives next door to the inn and keeps an eye on it."

"And calls everyone in town to tell them what she's seen?" Gracie asked, one eyebrow raised.

"We have Bible study together on Monday nights. She told me you're planning to buy the old place."

"She's wrong there," Gracie said quickly. "We visited the place a few times when we were young and simply wanted to see if it had changed."

"Boy, has it," Caroline added, "but if you close your eyes and picture the garden when it's carefully manicured, and imagine the sun shining down on the windows instead of closed-up shutters, you can easily see how beautiful it was once upon a time."

"It was beautiful once. I hope it'll be that way again sometime soon." The woman stuck out her hand to shake Caroline's. "I'm Megan Folger-Wildes. You're visitors to the island, right?"

Caroline nodded, and introduced herself and her sisters. "I have to admit, I do want to buy the inn, although my sisters don't seem to be as interested in it as I am."

Megan nodded. "There are a lot of stories about that old place."

Sam leaned forward. "Like what?"

"Oh well, you know," she waved off the question. "Just the usual. Hidden rooms, secret pa.s.sages, mysterious disappearances, that sort of thing. With a town this old, every building has a story."

"Mysterious disappearances?" Sam thought she saw Gracie shudder.

"Just rumors." Megan shrugged, like maybe she'd said too much. "Probably invented to sell rooms back when it was a hotel."

Max let out his first howl and then started to bark-more than likely upset that he'd been left outside, leashed to a post for far, far too long.

"That's Max, my c.o.c.ker spaniel," Caroline said, inching toward the door. "I'm afraid we'd better get going or there's no telling what kind of mischief he'll get into."

"What about the Majolica?" Megan said, staring at the bowl and cup Caroline and Gracie were holding. "Are you interested?"

"I'm afraid they're out of our price range," Sam said, "but-"

Megan held up a hand. "I understand." She smiled as Gracie and Caroline set the beautiful pieces of pottery on the china cabinet. "I know all too well that not everyone who comes in here is going to buy. It was nice to meet you, though."

Max howled again, even louder this time, a plaintive cry for help.

"I know you have to get going," Megan said, "but if you're going to be here over the weekend, you should check out my church, Harvest Chapel." She held out a flyer with her church's information. Sam didn't move to take it. Her sisters were both into church, and their mother had always taken them when they were young, but Sam didn't see much use for it herself.

"Thank you," Gracie said, looking at the flyer for a moment, before sliding it into her purse. "I was hoping to find a welcoming church to attend Sunday."

"And we're having a clambake out at Madaket Beach Sat.u.r.day night. If you've never been to one, you don't know what you've missed. Grandpa Folger will be there, and goodness me, he sure knows how to tell a tale." She winked. "Some people think Grandpa knows where all the skeletons on Nantucket are hidden."

Sam didn't miss the sudden sparkle in Caroline's eyes or the roll of Gracie's. She herself smiled. Skeletons in closets! Oh my!

She had a sneaking suspicion she knew where they'd be Sat.u.r.day night.

I don't know about you," Caroline said later that evening, dropping down into the fluffy cushion on the patio chair next to Gracie's, "but I can't wait for Sat.u.r.day night." It was another perfect evening, with the crisp sea breeze starting to cool the warm June air. The sky was slowly changing from a deep cerulean to a warm amber, and fireflies danced and twinkled in the quiet. "Just think, lobster, steamed clams, thick and creamy chowder, and a ghost story or two. Maybe Grandpa Folger has some tales to share about the inn."

Gracie squeezed a wedge of lemon into her tall gla.s.s of iced tea. "Tall tales are nothing but myth and innuendo, Caroline," she said flatly. "I have the feeling that any truth about the Misty Harbor Inn has faded into oblivion, just like the inn."

"But doesn't the possibility of learning more about the inn intrigue you?" Caroline asked. She'd brought her laptop out and flipped it open. The screen blinked to life.

"All right, yes, I admit I'm intrigued," Gracie said, "but not for the same reasons as you, I'm sure. You want to learn more about the inn. I'm interested solely because anything of historical significance fascinates me."

"I thought you were done with work for the day," Sam said, stepping out of the cottage carrying a platter full of finger foods for them to snack on. She glared at Caroline.

"I'm not working. I'm doing some research of my own on the inn." Caroline logged in and typed in the cottage's wireless pa.s.sword.

"Oh, good. Don't shoot me for saying this, Gracie, but the inn fascinates me too. I don't have the foggiest idea why, but it does."

"You've always gotten caught up in things that excite Caroline," Gracie said, grinning as she reached for a cracker. Gracie was flipping through a home decor magazine, and seemed absorbed in an article about mixing antiques with modern pieces.

Sam shook her head. "I think it has more to do with the fact that Mom loved it." She chose a goat cheese and honey bruschetta from the tray. "It makes me feel close to her to explore the things that she loved."

Caroline grinned, and typed "Misty Harbor Inn, Nantucket," into the search engine. "Let's see if we can find any history online. There's got to be something. Who knows? We might even end up with our own tall tales to share at the clambake."

The first link that popped up looked like the inn's Web site, but when she clicked on it, an error message popped up. She went back to the search page and clicked on the next link, but that led to a travel site where the inn had been reviewed-poorly, it seemed-by guests. She clicked through the first page of links, but all she could find was out-of-date information about making reservations. No information about the inn's history. Caroline clicked on a link about places to stay on Nantucket, and that led her to another page about an old insane asylum on the other side of the island.

An insane asylum? Now this was interesting. She would just read a little bit and then get back to searching for more about the inn.

"Have you found anything yet?" Gracie looked up a while later. The sky had darkened into a deep indigo, and it was now too dark to read. The glow from Caroline's laptop and the flicker of the occasional firefly provided the only light on the patio. Gracie flipped her magazine closed and scooted her chair closer to her sister. Sam had stepped inside to put away the food.

"Totally." Caroline nodded. "Did you know that there is a lot of controversy about the night the Quaise asylum burned down in 1844? It seems the fire crews from town didn't even try to get out there to save it. We should go out this week and see it. Apparently you can sometimes hear ghostly screams there."

Gracie blinked in the darkness. "How on earth did you get from Misty Harbor to an old asylum fire?"

"It's Nantucket history," Caroline said. Gracie could see her click on another link on the page.

"You're supposed to be focusing on the history of the inn." Gracie should have expected this. She knew how easy it was for Caroline to start a project and move on to the next without finishing anything. She could feel her jaw tightening. Time and time again when they were young, Caroline would get Gracie excited about something-a dance she promised to take her to, even though Gracie was really too young; introducing her to the cutest guy in school; a long-awaited trip to an amus.e.m.e.nt park; the thought of sharing a secret that n.o.body could or should ever know about-and then she'd bail on her. Caroline would lose interest and not care at all that Gracie was on pins and needles, waiting for something big to take place.

She took a deep breath. She'd already made way too many waves with Caroline on this trip and she didn't want to come unglued now. Instead, she flipped over her magazine and smiled. Calmly, she said, "I'll add the Quaise asylum site to my list of things to do while we're here. But have you found out anything else about the inn?"

Caroline clicked away at the keyboard.

"Why don't you start with property records?" Gracie asked.

Caroline stopped typing and looked up at Gracie. "What do you mean?"

"Here, let me show you."

Caroline gently pushed the computer toward Gracie.

"Do you have that real estate flyer?"

Caroline pulled the Realtor's listing from her pocket and smoothed it against the table. Gracie scanned the flyer, found the inn's address at the top of the page, and typed it in to a real estate Web page.

"When Art died, I looked at putting the house on the market," Gracie explained as the page loaded. "I used this site to see what comparable houses were selling for in the neighborhood. When I saw what other people were actually getting, I decided it wasn't worth giving up my home. But here, see"-she tilted the screen so Caroline could see it-"this site lists not only the sales history for the address, it also lists who was involved in each sale."

Gracie scanned the page. The records for the inn were not complete, but they could see a list of most of the owners. The house had changed owners several times in the past few decades, and before that, it had been owned by a hotel group. But the person who was listed as the original owner was a Jedediah Montague.

Montague. Caroline pulled the computer back toward her and typed "Montague Nantucket" into the search bar. There was Caroline, taking over again, but Gracie didn't really mind. It was kind of nice to be working with her on this.

The first couple links led to more sites geared toward tourists to the island, but then a site about genealogy came up. She clicked around on the page and then stopped.

"I think I may have found something," Caroline said. She pointed to the screen. A black and white photo of a man in a long coat, tight dark pants, and a matching vest stared out of her screen. He was hawk-nosed, and had dark receding hair and sideburns that stretched out along his jaw. He was standing next to a woman in a fitted dress with a wide skirt. "This is Jedediah and Mehitabel, or Hettie, Montague."

"Who are they?" Gracie asked.

"Let me read this to you." Caroline looked at the text beside the photo. " 'Jedediah Montague. Born 1824; died 1878. One of several hundred ship's captains who successfully plied the oceans in search of sperm whale, and expanded his family's fortune by bringing whale oil, ambergris, which was used for perfume, whalebone, and other whale products home to Nantucket.'"

Gracie shoved her reading gla.s.ses a little higher on her nose. "She's so tiny. Goodness, she barely reaches his shoulders, and look at that waist. Can you imagine your waist cinched up in a corset and wearing whalebone stays to keep your back straight?"

"That's got to be half the reason women in those days always looked so stern in their pictures-they were inches from crying," Caroline said.

"Or dying," Gracie added. "I might like to read history, but I wouldn't have wanted to live it."

"Jedediah looks rather formidable, doesn't he?" Caroline said. "Definitely not someone I'd want to do business with, let alone marry. But"-Caroline clicked on another link and again tapped the screen with the tip of her index finger-"this says Jedediah and Hettie had two children, Lachlan and Fitzwalter, who inherited Montague Manor when their father died."

"What happened to Hettie?" Sam asked.

Caroline trailed her finger down the article. "She died in 1865, the same day as President Lincoln. Jedediah married again, later in life, but there's no mention of his second wife's name, whether they had any children, where she was from, or anything."

"Is that it?"

"That's all that's on this page." She clicked back to the main search page. "But let's see if we can find anything else."

She tried a few links, but none told them anything they hadn't already learned. Then, Caroline clicked on another link, and it led to a page on the Nantucket Historical Society Web site.

"Now why didn't we think to start there in the first place?" she asked, and Gracie smiled. It was a good point.

The Web page listed the society's hours and location, and the main page outlined the island's history as a whaling center until the mid-nineteenth century. But when Gracie pointed out a link labeled "Important Sites in Nantucket," Caroline clicked on it and they were taken to a page with photos and short blurbs on some of the sights in town. There was a paragraph on the Brant Point Light, the Basket Museum, the Quaker Meeting House, several original homes, and . . . Gracie leaned in closer. "Caroline, that looks like-"

"It does." Caroline was already clicking on the picture of a grand house perched on a bluff. The photo was in black and white, and the exterior had been altered, as had the gardens, but when the enlarged photo appeared on the screen, Gracie could see it was definitely the Misty Harbor Inn.

"That's it!" Gracie didn't mean to shriek, but somehow the noise she made came close to one.

Sam popped her head out the French doors. "Find something?" she said.

"I think we did," Gracie said, smiling at her sister. Sam wiped her hands on a dish towel, dropped it on the counter, stepped back out onto the deck, and pulled her patio chair up close to the table where Gracie and Caroline were sitting.

"This says it was called Montague Manor," Caroline said.

"Montague Manor was built by Jedediah Montague," Gracie read. She leaned closer, pushing her reading gla.s.ses up on her nose. "It seems like the print on everything is getting smaller and smaller these days." Caroline tilted the screen so she could get a better view. "A whaling baron. Born in 1824, he was son of a ship's captain who found fame and fortune exploring the Pacific. We already know all that." She kept reading. "Montague Manor was built as a gift from Jedediah Montague to his wife, Mehitabel 'Hettie' Montague, in 1852. Let's see"-her finger trailed across the words on the screen-"Their sons Lachlan and Fitzwalter inherited the house, and owned and lived in Montague Manor until the stock market crash of 1929. 'The house, like the brothers, had fallen on rough times,'" Gracie read. "'It was sold for a pittance to Ezra and Mabel Fortescue, well-known Philadelphia artists. In 1950, Ezra and Mabel sold Montague Manor to the Grace Brothers Hotel Group. In addition to its historical significance as an early example of colonial architecture on the island, the house is notable as the last site Jedediah Montague's second wife Hannah was seen alive before she mysteriously disappeared in 1880.'"

For a moment, the only sounds Gracie heard were the soft breeze rustling through the trees and the happy shrieks of children somewhere off in the distance.

"Is that it?" Sam finally asked.

Gracie squinted at the screen. "That's all it says here."