“I don’t know. I guess they’ll try to catch it.”

“Canst thou draw out leviathan with a hook?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Book of Job,” said Minnie. “No mortal man’s going to catch that fish.”

“Why do you say that?”

“We’re not meant to catch it, that’s why. We’re being readied.”

“For what?”

“We’ll know when the time comes.”

“I see.” Ellen put the stamps in her purse. “Well, maybe you’re right. Thanks, Minnie.” She turned and walked toward the door.

“There’ll be no mistaking it,” Minnie said to Ellen’s back.

Ellen walked to Main Street and turned right, past a boutique and an antique shop. She stopped at Amity Hardware and went inside. There was no immediate response to the tinkle of the bell that the door struck as she opened it. She waited for a few seconds, then called, “Albert?”

She walked to the back of the store, to an open door that led to the basement. She heard two men talking below.

“I’ll be right up,” called the voice of Albert Morris. “Here’s a whole box of them,” Morris said to the other man. “Look through and see if you find what you want.”

Morris came to the bottom of the stairs and started up—slowly and deliberately, one step at a time, holding on to the banister. He was in his early sixties, and he had had a heart attack two years earlier.

“Cleats,” he said when he reached the top of the stairs.

“What?” said Ellen.

“Cleats. Fella wants cleats for a boat. Size he’s looking for, he must be the captain of a battleship. Anyway, what can I do for you?”

“The rubber nozzle in my kitchen sink is all cracked. You know, the kind with the switch for spraying. I want to get a new one.”

“No problem. They’re up this way.” Morris led Ellen to a cabinet in the middle of the store. “This what you had in mind?” He held up a rubber nozzle.

“Perfect.”

“Eighty cents. Charge or cash?”

“I’ll pay you for it. I don’t want you to have to write up a slip just for eighty cents.”

“Written ’em a lot smaller ’n that,” said Morris. “I could tell you stories that’d set your ears to ringing.”

They walked across the narrow store to the cash register, and as he rang up the sale on the register, Morris said, “Lots of people upset about this shark thing.”

“I know. You can’t blame them.”

“They think the beaches oughta be opened up again.”

“Well, I …”

“You ask me, I think they’re full of—pardon the expression—bull. I think Martin’s doing right.”

“I’m glad to know that, Albert.”

“Maybe this new fella can help us out.”

“Who’s that?”

“This fish expert from up Massachusetts.”

“Oh yes. I heard he was in town.”

“He’s right here.”

Ellen looked around and saw no one. “What do you mean?”

“Down cellar. He’s the one wants the cleats.”

Just then, Ellen heard footsteps on the stairs. She turned and saw Hooper coming the through the door, and she suddenly felt a surge of girlish nervousness, as if she were seeing a beau she hadn’t seen in years. The man was a stranger, yet there was something familiar about him.