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Ellery gazed at her in alarm. “We who? We don’t sell children’s books. Do they even make mysteries for children?”

“They do, dearie, but we wouldn’t have to limit ourselves to mysteries.”

“We’re a mystery bookshop.”

“Yes. We are. We’re also the island’s only real bookstore. Which presents us with a unique opportunity to serve Pirate Cove’s smallest customer base.”

“Smallest and most financially strapped.”

Nora chuckled. “If there’s one thing people like to spend money on, it’s their children. And even more so, their grandchildren. As you’ve remarked once or twice, Pirate’s Cove does lean toward an aging demographic.”

“No offense intended.”

“None taken. What Pirate’s Covedoesn’thave are endless amusements for little ones.”

“These kids are the descendants of pirates. Maybe theypreferbrawling and boozing.”

Nora snorted. “While the children are listening to such classics asPete the PirateandThe Pirates Next Door, their parents can browse our mystery-themed gifts or pick up somethingtheymight like to read.”

“And who exactly would be conducting this story hour?” Ellery asked warily.

“Kingston.”

“Kingston?” Ellery relaxed. “Oh. Well, inthatcase, yeah. That’s not a bad idea. In fact, it’s kind of a good idea. Are we going to purchase copies of these storybooks?”

“A few. I’m sure we’d sell a handful or so.” Nora eyed him knowingly. “And you could probably come in an hour or so later on Saturdays. Kingston and I can easily handle the sales floor during that period. Especially during our slow season.”

Ellery considered the possibility of extra weekend time with Jack, and beamed at her. “Actually, Nora, that’s agreatidea.”

Nora’s smile was perhaps just a tad smug. “I’ll let Kingston know you’ve given us your seal of approval.”

* * * * *

Dylan Carter, one of Ellery’s closest friends in Pirate’s Cove, phoned shortly after Ellery returned from lunch on the pier.

“What do you say to lunch?”

Watson, with his tendency to bark at the ever-present seagulls—as well as other dogs, babies in strollers, and every stray piece of trash the wind picked up—was not always the ideal mealtime companion, but he was Ellery’s most frequent, so it was disappointing to have to turn Dylan down.

“I’d have said sure, but I already ate.”

“Ah. I see.” Dylan sounded more distracted than disappointed. “Well, what about joining the rest of us for dessert? Or a drink. Or both.”

“The rest of us who?”

In addition to owning the neighboring Toy Chest and managing the Scallywags, Pirate’s Cove’s local theater guild, Dylan was also one of the organizers of Pirate Cove’s annual Sing the Plank maritime music festival, but Ellery’s fear was that bythe rest of usDylan meant his girlfriend, September St. Simmons.

Dylan’s relationship with September had grown increasingly rocky over the past couple of months, and Ellery wanted to give wide berth to any potential public uproar. He still cringed for Dylan when he recalled the most recent eruption at the Salty Dog.

But Dylan said, “Lara Fairplay and her entourage, for starters. The Sing the Plank organizers—”

“Lara Fairplay?” Singer-songwriter Lara Fairplay was headlining Sing the Plank, and while in his previous life Ellery had not been a huge fan of folk music—Harry Styles was more to his taste—even he was aware that getting Lara Fairplay to appear at their relatively small festival was a huge coup for the island as a whole and the organizers in particular.

“Lara, her husband, her sister…Sue.” Dylan’s tone seemed to grow vague.

“Wait a sec,” Ellery interrupted. “Her sister Sueorher sisterandSue. As in Sue Lewis, my archnemesis.”

Sue Lewis was the owner and editor in chief for theScuttlebutt Weekly, Pirate Cove’s newspaper. Unfortunately, from their first meeting, Sue and Ellery had rubbed each other the wrong way—and things had gone downhill from there.