“I was on that boat a dozen times, but sailing was not my thing. I always thought it was too hot and too boring.”

“Porter was a good sailor, and as you know, he was crazy about Tessa. Nothing romantic. Hell, he was twenty years younger.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Larry. They were awfully friendly, and as I got older I became suspicious. I found a pair of his old deck shoes in her closet one time. I was snooping around, like a kid will do. I didn’t say anything, but just listened harder. I got the impression Porter spent a lot of time around here when I was gone.”

He was shaking his head. “No. Don’t you think I’d know it?”

“I suppose.”

“I’m here three times a week and I keep an eye on the place. Some dude hanging around? I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Okay. But she really liked Porter.”

“Everybody did. A good guy. Never found him, never found the boat.”

“And they searched?”

“Oh yes, biggest search I ever saw. Every boat on the island was out there, including me. Coast Guard, helicopters. A jogger found Tessa up at the North Pier at sunrise. As I remember, it was two or three days later.”

“She was a good swimmer but we never used life jackets.”

“It wouldn’t matter in that storm. So, no, we’ll never know what happened. I’m sorry.”

“I asked.”

“I’d better go. Anything I can do for you?” He stood slowly and stretched his arms. “You have my phone number.”

Mercer stood too and gave him a light hug. “Thanks, Larry. It’s good to see you.”

“Welcome back.”

“Thanks.”

9.

Late in the day, Mercer kicked off her sandals and headed for the beach. The boardwalk began at the deck and rose and fell with the dunes, which were off-limits and protected by laws. She ambled along, as always looking for the gopher tortoises. They were endangered, and Tessa had been a fanatic about protecting their habitat. They lived off the sea oats and cordgrass that covered the dunes. By the time she was eight years old, Mercer could identify all the vegetation—the sandburs, beach stars, yuccas, and Spanish bayonets. Tessa had taught her about these plants and expected her to remember from summer to summer. Eleven years later, she still remembered.

Mercer closed the narrow boardwalk gate behind her, walked to the edge of the water, and headed south. She passed a few beachcombers, all of whom nodded and smiled. Most of them had dogs on leashes. Ahead, a woman walked directly toward her. With her perfectly starched khaki shorts and chambray shirt, and cotton sweater draped over her shoulders, she looked like a model straight out of a J.Crew catalog. The face was soon familiar. Elaine Shelby smiled and said hello. They shook hands and walked together, stepping barefoot in the sea foam.

“So how’s the cottage?” Elaine asked.

“It’s in good shape. Aunt Jane runs a pretty tight ship.”