Gulls circled overhead, mewing plaintively.

Water sloshed and lapped against the side of the rocking boat. The hot bright August afternoon smelled of diesel and brine and rubber and…liverwurst.

Ellery said, “Hey, do you remember that poison pen letter I got a while back?”

“Yep.” Jack spoke absently, double-checking the regulator and hoses of Ellery’s diving equipment.

Jack was a certified diver. Scuba was his one and only hobby, so it was no surprise he owned his own gear, but Ellery was renting everything from his flippers to his air tanks, and Jack was not a believer in leaving anything to chance.

“Whatever came of that? Anything? I mean, did the lab find any fingerprints?”

Jack glanced automatically toward the bow of the Fishful Thinkin’ where “Cap” Elijah Murphy sat in the cockpit, eating a sandwich and arguing amiably with whoever was at the other end of the ship to shore radio. Although technically employed at the Scuttlebutt Weekly, Cap was no reporter. He contributed a weekly column wherein he detailed his fierce objections to any and all changes to Buck Island in general and the village of Pirate’s Cove in particular.

“No. That is, the only decipherable fingerprints were yours.”

When Ellery didn’t respond, Jack squeezed his neoprene-clad shoulder, turning Ellery to face him. “Why? I really do think that letter was just…local hysteria over Trevor’s murder.”

Ellery’s smile was wry. “I thought so too. But.”

“But?”

“I got another one yesterday evening.”

Jack’s blue-green eyes narrowed. “You…”

“Same as before. No stamp. No return address. Heck, no mailing address. Just my name printed on the face of the envelope. Hand delivered to the Crow’s Nest.”

“By who? Did you see who dropped it off?”

“No. We were busy all afternoon, and then I let Nora leave at three because we were closing early anyway.” Ellery’s parents had arrived on Saturday’s five o’clock ferry and he’d wanted to be there to meet them. They were spending the next ten days on Buck Island. “I only noticed the letter as I was locking up. It was propped on the base of Rupert’s case.”

Rupert was a glass-encased resin skeleton clothed in vintage pirate costume which “greeted” customers as they entered the bookshop. The case was positioned just a few feet from the front door, so someone could easily enter the shop, leave the envelope, and duck out again without ever being seen from the front desk.

Jack’s brows formed a single dark, forbidding line. “Did you open it?”

“Of course. It didn’t occur to me it was another anonymous letter until I was already reading it.”

Jack’s scowl deepened. “What did it say? I hope you kept it.”

“I kept it.”

“Good.”

“It was pretty much a repeat performance. You will die was the central theme.” Ellery said it lightly, but the truth was, he was troubled by the reappearance of his poison pen pal. Like Jack, he’d dismissed the original anonymous threat as his neighbors’ suspicion that he’d murdered Trevor Maples.

If that wasn’t the reason, what was?