‘You’re evil!’

‘Honest, maybe, but not evil. I won’t say he had Alzheimer’s, but he did look as if he might need a roadmap to find his way to the bathroom.’

‘Where do you suppose everyone else was? The town looked totally deserted.’

‘Bean supper at the Grange or a card-party at the Eastern Star, probably,’ John said, stretching.

He peeked into her clam basket. ‘You didn’t eat much, love.’

‘Love wasn’t very hungry.’

‘I tell you it was just a joke’ he said, taking her hands. ‘Lighten up.’

‘You’re really, really sure that’s all it was?’

‘Really-really. I mean, hey – every seven years it rains toads in Willow, Maine? It sounds like an outtake from a Steven Wright monologue.’

She smiled wanly. ‘It doesn’t rain,’ she said, ‘it pours.’

‘They subscribe to the old fisherman’s credo, I guess – if you’re going to tell one, tell a whopper. When I was a kid at sleep-away camp, it used to be snipe hunts. This really isn’t much different. And when you stop to think about it, it really isn’t that surprising.’

‘What isn’t?’

‘That people who make most of their yearly income dealing with summer people should develop a summer-camp mentality.’

‘That woman didn’t act like it was a joke. I’ll tell you the truth, Johnny – she sort of scared me.’

John Graham’s normally pleasant face grew stern and hard. The expression did not look at home on his face, but neither did it look faked or insincere.

‘I know,’ he said, picking up their wrappings and napkins and plastic baskets. ‘And there’s going to be an apology made for that. I find foolishness for the sake of foolishness agreeable enough, but when someone scares my wife – hell, they scared me a little, too – I draw the line. Ready to go back?’

‘Can you find it again?’

He grinned, and immediately looked more like himself. ‘I left a trail of breadcrumbs.’