“Another secret passage?” Ellery Page, owner and proprietor of Pirate Cove’s only mystery bookshop, balanced the phone receiver between his cheek and shoulder as he hurried to finish the Crow’s Nest’s payroll. With house guests arriving for the weekend, he was in a rush to wrap things up within the next hour, so he could get over to the ferry landing.
“We can’t be sure unless we open the wall up,” Tony Brambilla, Ellery’s contractor, was saying.
Brambilla and Sons had managed to pull off something close to a miracle as they’d worked to finish renovations on Captain’s Seat before the winter—and Ellery’s guests—set in. When Ellery had inherited the dilapidated 18th century mansion after the death of his Great-aunt Eudora nine months earlier, the place had been just about ready for the wrecking ball. A recent fire on the second floor had not helped matters.
Ellery said quickly, “No! Don’t open any walls. My friends are arriving on the one o’clock ferry.”
“All righty. Well, that door on the leeward side bedroom no longer sticks and the loose floorboards have been repaired. If there is a passage behind that wall, it probably connects to the tunnel opening onto the library.”
During the extensive renovations, no less than two separate secret passages had been discovered within the walls of Captain’s Seat. That was not unusual for the oldest buildings on an island that had once served as a pirate hideout. However, as exciting as was the sound of secret passages, the walkways inside Captain’s Seat had turned out to be dank, dark tunnels filled with empty broken crates, spiders—one of Ellery’s least favorite things—and not much else. One day he’d get around to fully exploring those interior alleys, but they were low priority. After all, he’d happily lived nearly a year in the old mansion without even realizing they were there.
“Enjoy your house,” Tony was saying. “In the spring, we can talk about tackling those structural cracks in the cellar.”
Ellery’s heart sank at the words structural cracks, but he said with determined good cheer, “Yes. Thanks for all your hard work, Tony. Captain’s Seat is like a different house.” A house not in imminent peril of spontaneously combusting every time he flipped a light switch.
“It’s good to have Pages on the island again.”
That sentiment seemed to be broadly held on the island, but it still surprised and touched Ellery. Prior to inheriting Captain’s Seat, he hadn’t even known Buck Island existed—let alone his Great-aunt Eudora.
He ended the phone call with Tony, firmly blocking out all thoughts of structural cracks. He was just finishing up the payroll as the doorbell chimed in welcome and Nora Sweeney, his assistant manager, returned from lunch.
Nora was a wisp of a woman, just over five feet in her sensible shoes. Her eyes were the color of steel and she wore her long gray hair in a severe ponytail. Though prone to gossip and wild flights of imagination, she was clever, loyal, and boundlessly energetic. In addition to her vast knowledge of the island and all its inhabitants (past and present) Nora possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of mystery, which had proved beyond valuable to Ellery. Before inheriting the Crow’s Nest, he’d had zero interest in crime, either real or fictional.
What a difference a few months could make!
Watson, Ellery’s black-spaniel-mix puppy, hopped down from the long wooden library bench where he had been gazing solemnly out the picture windows at the empty cobblestone streets.
Pirate’s Cove in November looked suspiciously like a ghost town, right down to the eerie tendrils of white mist winding around hanging signs and plant urns and porch columns. It was hard to remember that just two months earlier, tourists had crowded the streets, buzzing around in rented golf carts and filling up the beaches, shops, and cafés. Filling up local cash registers as well.
Nora stooped to pat Watson. “Looks like we’re going to have snow this weekend,” she announced.
“You’re kidding.” Ellery went to the windows, gazing out at the ominous leaden skies and white capped harbor. Granted, ominous was normal for this time of year. “A lot of snow?”
Nora unwound her long red scarf. “I shouldn’t think so, dearie. Not this early in the season. February’s the worst month for snow. This time of year, we won’t see much beyond a little powder. It’ll provide a bit of local color.”
“Right.” He was already regretting his decision to not invest in a backup generator. But money only stretched so far, and the roof, plumbing, and electrical wiring had taken precedence.
Nora joined him at the windows, musing, “I hope your friends won’t have too rough a crossing.”
Yikes. “Me too.”
For a moment or two they watched the wind gusting across the waves, rocking the scattered boats in the harbor.
Yes, the island could be a bit desolate this time of year.
As though reading Ellery’s mind, Nora said, “I don’t suppose your friends will be all that interested in outdoor activities anyway.”
“No. True.” Ellery glanced down at Watson, who wagged his tail hopefully. “Let me finish up a few things, buddy. Then we’ll go for a you-know-what.” To Nora, he said, “Tony Brambilla says they think they’ve discovered another hidden passageway, but they can’t be sure without opening the wall up.”
Nora’s eyes kindled with excitement. “That makes sense. Captain’s Seat is nearly as old as the Pirate Eight.”
The Pirate Eight were the first manor houses built on Buck Island. All eight homes had started out as pirate fortresses.
“Why would Captain Horatio Page have needed a bunch of secret passages? He wasn’t a pirate.”
“True, but he was surrounded by pirates.”
Ellery considered that cryptic remark as he returned to his office to make sure he hadn’t left anything pressing undone. This was the first long weekend he’d taken since moving to the island—not counting two weeks of convalescing from a concussion sustained while snooping.
As he was checking his email one final time, Jack phoned.
Jack Carson was Pirate Cove’s chief of police and Ellery’s boyfriend—in fact, he was now Ellery’s fiancé. A delightful fact Ellery was still getting used to.
“Hi, what time are you heading over to the ferry?”
Ellery glanced distractedly at the clock. “Two. Are you going to be able to get away tonight?”
“That’s the plan,” Jack said. “Do you need me to bring anything or—?”
“No. Just you.”
Jack made a sound of amusement. “I think I can manage that. How many of your old crew are arriving this afternoon?”
“Flip, Tosh, Lenny, and Chelsea. Tomorrow we’ve got Oscar, Freddie and Belle.”
“Okay. And Tosh and Freddie used to be married?” That was quintessential Jack, making sure he had the cast of characters straight. Jack was not a play-it-by-ear guy. He was a show-up- on-time-and-know-your-lines guy.
“Correct.”
“But that’s not going to be awkward because it was a long time ago and everyone is over it.”
“Right. Hopefully.”
“And Belle and Oscar used to date, but now she’s dating an English peer.”
It sounded kind of ridiculous when Jack put it like that, but was nonetheless accurate.
“Yes.”
“And you’re confident we’re going to get through the weekend without them killing each other because they haven’t killed each other yet.”
Ellery spluttered a laugh. “Something like that. I mean, it’s all ancient history.”
“Yeah, why doesn’t that reassure me?” Jack sounded wry. “Have you seen the weather report for the weekend?”
“Nora says it’s going to snow.”
“She’s not the only one. You might want to chop some extra firewood. Just in case.”
That was a good thought—and so very Jack.
Ellery said, “Will do. Anyway, getting snowed in could be fun.”
“Getting snowed in could be very fun, although probably less fun with a crowd.”
Ellery’s mouth curved. “I can’t argue with that. But we’ll have other snow days.” He could say that now with confidence.
“That we will,” Jack said, and Ellery could hear the smile in his voice.
The sea surrounding Buck Island was more than a body of water. For centuries that mysterious deep had created a barricade against the outside world and shaped the character of the islanders. It remained a constant presence, hovering on the edge of the island’s every interaction. The sound of it filled the dark nights, its blue shadow provided the backdrop of every single day.
As Ellery waited for the ferry, he could taste the sea on the raw east wind, smell it as the winter-rough water tumbled and roiled golden strands of seaweed. A clammy mist clung to his skin. Watson repeatedly shook himself as though trying to rid himself of the salty sting.
The ferry was late by nearly twenty minutes, and when it finally docked, only a handful of slightly green passengers stumbled down the gangplank. Most of them seemed to be Ellery’s friends.
“Ellery!” Tosh waved to him, towing Lenny along.
“Ahoy!” Ellery waved back. “Welcome to Pirate’s Cove!”
Tosh and Lenny were followed by Flip, who looked like a well-groomed ghost (right down to the phosphorescent tinge of his face) and Chelsea, huffing and puffing as she dragged a mountain of luggage behind her.
Watson, who had never met any of these people in his brief life, nonetheless began to bark as though he’d spotted long-lost comrades.
Arf! Arf! Arf!
“Oh, my gosh, he’s SO cute!” Tosh’s voice rang across the water.
Unsurprisingly, Tosh—tall, red-haired, and boundlessly energetic—seemed the least bothered by what had clearly been a rough trip from Point Judith.
Ellery started down the concrete walkway, and everyone spent the next few minutes hugging and kissing hello.
“I can’t believe you’re finally here,” Ellery told them.
Arf! Arf! Arf! Watson seconded.
“Same,” Lenny moaned. “If I’d realized we had to round flipping Cape Horn…”
Tosh said, “Ell, you look terrific! You’re like a walking ad for J. Crew. Here, take Lenny before she falls into the harbor. Our luggage is still onboard.”
Ellery stopped hugging Flip—Phillip Daly to talent agents and casting directors—in order to receive Lenny, or “Goth Girl” as they’d referred to her back in the day. Lenny was small and wiry with black-green hair and wide green eyes. Usually, her eyes were wide. At the moment, they showed a tendency to roll back in her head.
“Ugh,” Lenny moaned, and sank through Ellery’s hold in order to sit on the cement. “Another three minutes and I’d have thrown myself overboard.”
“That happens a lot in these parts.” He moved to help Chelsea with the tower of suitcases she was attempting to haul single-handedly up the walkway. He called after Tosh, “Wait. Isn’t this your luggage?”
Flip and Lenny laughed. “That’s just Chelsea’s gear,” Flip told Ellery.
“Hey, I’m past the age of living out of a knapsack,” Chelsea snapped.
Ellery did a doubletake. Not at the luggage. At Chelsea.
Chelsea was, without question, the most gifted actor in their clique, but off-stage she had always made a point of scorning any kind of (her word) artifice. She was average height, average weight and, regardless of the season, preferred to dress in jeans and flannel shirts. As long as Ellery had known her, she’d worn her lank brown hair to her shoulders and avoided any makeup more elaborate than lip balm. But now?
Now Chelsea’s brown hair was stylishly cut and gilded with coppery highlights. She wore lash extensions and had clearly had lip injections. Like Tosh, she wore combat boots, jeans, and a black parka that, except for the color, looked exactly like Tosh’s teal one.
“Wow. Chelsea. I almost didn’t recognize you behind all those suitcases.”
Chelsea knew exactly what he meant. Her smile was sour. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“And that’s just her hair products,” Flip put in.
Chelsea made a face at him. “Ha. Ha.”
“Help,” Lenny moaned. She was now flat on the cement as Watson worked frantically to deliver mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Ellery abandoned Chelsea’s luggage and went to rescue Lenny. He scooped up Watson who, knowing his life-saving work was not done, objected loudly. An elderly seagull perched on the white railing, was offended by such language, and began to offer his views.
The remaining passengers straggling off the ferry gave their impromptu theatrical production wide berth.
“Where are you parked, Ell?” Flip drew Lenny to her feet.
“It’s the navy-blue VW behind the snack bar. I think we can all squeeze in, but I hired a taxi to bring your luggage to the house.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Chelsea looked more uneasy than relieved.
But yeah, unless Ellery wanted to make several trips to and from the ferry landing, he had to do that. “Common procedure. No worries. Ezra won’t lose your luggage.”
Chelsea looked unconvinced.
Lenny, half-draped over Flip’s shoulder, said, “Someone should tell Ell about the escaped maniac.”
Naturally, Ellery laughed. Chelsea said, “You only think she’s kidding.”
“Here’s Tosh,” Flip said, and they all turned to watch Tosh ably steering two large suitcases down the gangplank. The wheels of the luggage thumped noisily on the aluminum and carbon fiber ramp.
Watson, firmly clamped beneath Ellery’s arm, wriggled to get down, shouting enthusiastic greetings, as though Tosh had just returned from an overseas voyage.
“Did you tell him about the homicidal maniac?” Tosh was only slightly out of breath as she rejoined them.
Ellery laughed again.
“He doesn’t believe us,” Lenny said.
Flip said, “Yeah, but really.”
“Oh, come on.”
Tosh shook her fiery hair back, saying earnestly, “No, Ell, listen. When we got to the ferry terminal there were all these cop cars with flashing lights. We asked what was going on, and one of the officers said a patient had escaped from the Rhode Island State Psychiatric Hospital, and that they had reason to believe he was going to try to get to Buck Island.”
Ellery rolled his eyes. “Okay. Sure. Do they call him the Cat?”
“What?” Tosh was confused. She looked at Flip.
“Or does he have a hook for a hand?”
Flip snorted, but said, “We’re not making this up.”
“Okay, maybe it’s a mass hallucination. All that fresh air at once could be dangerous for you city folk.”
“City folk?” retorted Tosh. “Who are you supposed to be? Rilla of the Lighthouse?”
Ellery laughed.
“Okay, but seriously,” Lenny said. “And then once we boarded, the crew came around and checked all our tickets again.”
“Well, there you go,” Ellery said. “We all know the only reason to collect tickets is to prevent homicidal maniacs from enjoying free rides.”
“Okay, but there weren’t that many passengers. And after they checked our tickets, the crew started searching the boat. They were trying to pretend it was standard procedure, but come on! They were checking the lifejacket storage bins. They were obviously looking for someone who shouldn’t have been on board.”
Chelsea said, “We’re not saying he actually got on the boat. Just that they were obviously worried he might have.”
Flip said, “I know it sounds like one of those spooky campfire tales, but—”
It seemed some things never changed.
Ellery was half-amused, half-exasperated. “You know, it’s not like I’ve forgotten we did The Cat and the Canary at Tisch.”
Flip, Tosh, Lenny, and Chelsea all looked at each other with varying degrees of blankness.
Ellery prompted, “Eccentric Uncle Cyrus dies and leaves his estate to his niece Annabelle with the stipulation she has to spend the night in the creepy family mansion, but then when Annabelle and the other heirs arrive at Haunted Hollow, they’re stalked by a mysterious figure they believe to be the Cat, an escapee from the local asylum who’s hiding out in the secret passages. I know you remember. Flip was the Cat and Noah played Uncle Cyrus.”
Noah. Wow. He felt a pang at that memory.
“Noah. That’s right,” Flip murmured.
“Oh,” Tosh said. “I do remember. I played Annabelle. You were Charlie.”
“You were terrible,” Chelsea informed Ellery.
“I know.”
Tosh said vaguely, “Noah. God.” She glanced at Lenny, who was frowning at the ferry as if still waiting for a final passenger to disembark.
Ellery uneasily studied the Pirate Queen, rocking back and forth in her mooring.
Was something going on with the crew? There seemed to be a lot of serious-faced conferencing going on between the crew members gathered at the stern of the ship.
“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who even remembers that production,” Tosh said. “But even if it is a funny coincidence, why on earth would we make up a story like this?”
“Why would you saran-wrap me to the sofa?”
Tosh and Lenny started giggling. Flip looked slightly guilty. Chelsea said, “You looked chilly lying there.”
“Why would you pose a demon mannequin in my closet? Why would you—”
Flip interrupted, “Okay, yes, we all love practical jokes. Let’s not forget, you’re the one who put that demon mannequin in my bed.”
“Oh, that was brilliant!” Tosh exclaimed. “They heard your scream all the way over in Manhattan.”
Flip made a face at her.
“You put a fake tarantula in my oatmeal!” Ellery was laughing though. They were all laughing.
“Oops. That was me,” Chelsea admitted. “I lied about it being Flip’s idea.”
“Anyway,” Flip said, “Your boyfriend’s the chief of police, right? Why not ask him?”
