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. “It was pretty much a repeat performance.

It didn’t occur to me it was another anonymous letter until I was already reading it.” Jack’s brows formed a single dark, forbidding line. 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. Rupert was a glass-encased resin skeleton clothed in vintage pirate costume which “greeted” customers as they entered the bookshop. It was propped on the base of Rupert’s case.” “I only noticed the letter as I was locking up. They were spending the next ten days on Buck Island. 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. “By who? Did you see who dropped it off?” Just my name printed on the face of the envelope. “Why? I really do think that letter was just…local hysteria over Trevor’s murder.”Įllery’s smile was wry. When Ellery didn’t respond, Jack squeezed his neoprene-clad shoulder, turning Ellery to face him. That is, the only decipherable fingerprints were yours.” 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.

Although technically employed at the Scuttlebutt Weekly, Cap was no reporter. 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.

“Whatever came of that? Anything? I mean, did the lab find any fingerprints?” 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. “Yep.” Jack spoke absently, double-checking the regulator and hoses of Ellery’s diving equipment. The hot bright August afternoon smelled of diesel and brine and rubber and…liverwurst.Įllery said, “Hey, do you remember that poison pen letter I got a while back?” Water sloshed and lapped against the side of the rocking boat. Gulls circled overhead, mewing plaintively.

Body at Buccaneer's Bay by Josh Lanyon