To Richard and Marcia Fenn,
my wonderful Vineyard friends
who are off to write the next chapter of their lives.
With big hugs, good wishes, and buckets filled with love.

Acknowledgments

Acknowledgments

Thanks to the many people, both on island and off, who contributed their expertise that made this book come to life.

Special thanks to Edgartown Police Detective Daycee Moore and Massachusetts State Police Sergeant Jeffrey Stone, for filling in many essential details; to island hairstylist extraordinaire Patti Linn, for introducing me to people and places I otherwise would not have known; to the Trustees of Reservations, for their wonderful properties on the Vineyard and their accessible, abundant information; to my friends at the island bookstores, newspapers, and libraries who are always ready to find answers to my often ludicrous questions; to my fabulous editor, Wendy McCurdy, and my awesome agent, Loretta Fidel, for continuing to keep the faith; and to my Western Massachusetts old friends Matt and Jane Vil-lamaino, for our unexpected discovery on Chappaquiddick that, yes, made it into this story.

And, of course, biggest thanks to the two all-important, off-island tall boys for their patience and support and for continuing to bring so much good stuff to my life.

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

“The pinkletinks are back!”

Cheers erupted through the West Tisbury Grange Hall as if it were sunset on the beach at Menemsha in summer. It wasn’t summer yet, but it was finally spring, as the pinkletinks—the tiny paperclip-sized, toad-like peepers—announced every year with their long-awaited chorus.

The news was happy music to the group in the hall, who had just wrapped up plans for the upcoming season of artisan festivals. The planning, like the pinkletinks, was a sure sign that tourists would soon arrive on Martha’s Vineyard.

Annie Sutton leaned against the doorway, savoring the April sunlight that seeped through the cracks of the historic, gray-shingled building. She watched as the organizers collected posters of floor plans and booth assignments while the refreshment committee scooped up remnants of coffee and cookies. Her fellow artists were abuzz, laughing and chattering, as they trickled toward the exits.

“Check out the sunshine.”

“We deserve it.”

“Yes, we do!”

It had been a blustery winter, though they’d been spared the nasty nor’easters of the year before. But Annie didn’t mind harsh off-season weather; after all, she was a native New Englander. Which she knew was why, in part, she’d picked there and not a tropical island when she’d left Boston to start over.

She glanced at her watch: 4:00 p.m. Time to head out to the cemetery as she’d promised Lucy, who was nowhere in sight.