“People will believe anything these days,” Lucy said, once again sounding way beyond her years. She unfurled her body, opening up to the idea. “We could make the type bold and black for added attention.”

“Or set it all against a black background, reverse the type so it’s white, and paste the glowing jack-o’-lantern next to it,” Annie added.

The men offered no comments.

“It could work,” Annie said. “At least, it should help diffuse the fallout.”

“If we do it fast,” Lucy said.

“Where’s your laptop?” Annie asked, just as the doorbell rang.

The four of them sat, frozen in place. It rang again.

With a guttural hiss, John stood up and went to the door. On the other side, stood a large, pale woman. She had jet-black hair and substantial gray roots; she wore a dark blue blazer, khaki pants, and a tight-lipped, crimson grin. She had a notebook in her hand.

“Hello, Marilyn,” John said. “How are things over at the newspaper?”

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Annie supposed that telling lies on the internet was one thing, but telling a reporter the same made-up story might ride an edge of being unethical, especially when one knew the reporter—which, in John’s case was more than true because it turned out that Marilyn Sunderland had been his sixth grade teacher. Small island, Annie thought.

“The rest of them are headed for Chappy,” Marilyn said.

The rest of whom? Annie wanted to ask. But seeing as how there were only two newspapers doing business on the island, she feared she knew the answer. Boston, probably. Maybe Providence. Surely the story wasn’t big enough for the networks or cable outlets. Was it? And what about the plethora of online “news” magazines?

Marilyn fidgeted with her pen, clicking it on and off. Her cheeks were flushed. “We haven’t had this much excitement at the paper since Michelle Obama showed up unexpectedly at the Edgartown Library.”

The former first lady’s visit had been a fabulous surprise; Annie knew that her discovery was hardly in the same category.

“But I’m not here for gossip. I would, however, like an exclusive, John. Seeing as how I taught you how to read and write.”

John actually laughed. “I hate to burst your bubble, Ms. Sunderland, but I knew how to read and write fairly well by the time I was in sixth grade.”