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All that was missing was a butler-esquesir.

Ellery stared into Kingston’s shrewd green eyes. “Uh… Yes. Thanks.”

“They’ve phoned twice asking where you are,” Nora said. “Youhaveto go.”

Ellery groaned. He’d forgotten completely about the calendar photoshoot. He’d forgotten completely that he’d ever agreed to do that idiotic calendar.

“Where am I going?”

“The Seacrest Inn.”

“The—oh.” He broke off as an idea occurred to him.

“Which is very convenient,” Nora agreed. “Because when you’re done having your photo taken, you can have a word with our client.”

“Beautiful! Beautiful!” crowed the high school photographer wielding the three-thousand-dollar Canon EOS R6. “Bellissimo!”

The kid, whose name Ellery had already forgotten, leaped goatlike over the lichen-encrusted boulders, landing on the outcropping above Ellery to dangle precariously overhead, snapping pics like the paparazzi had stormed the beaches of Buck Island.

“Glorious! That’s right. Soak up the sun. Tilt your chin. Bathe in that heavenly light. You’re sunbathing on the shores of St. Mary’s Island thinking about all that pirate…booty.”

Ellery opened his eyes. The kid—seventeen maybe? No more than eighteen at the most—grinned down at him and winked.

“Now brood! Brood for me, baby! It’s a dark and stormy night, and your ship is going down fast.”

Ellery laughed.

The maniac with the camera laughed too and let the camera shutter fly.

Unlike most of Pirate Cove’s “Gentlemen of Note,” Ellery had a lot of experience with photoshoots—though rarely had he been shot by a hyperactive teen photog on a windswept cliff overlooking the ocean. But it seemed the professional photographer usually hired for this event had gone out of business, so in desperation the town council had turned to the talents of the president of the high school photography club.

Anyway, it was an easy enough gig and at least Ellery got to keep his clothes on—or rather the costume donated by the Scallywags, Pirate’s Cove’s local amateur theater guild. As a matter of fact, he had worn these breeches, green-gold silk waistcoat and black velvet frock coat to the Marauder’s Masquerade in July.

Poor Captain August, on the other hand, was clambering over the rocks bare-chested and barefooted in his flatteringly fitted breeches and goosebumps as Ellery headed back to the changing room inside the inn.

Captain June had seemingly come and gone. Jack was supposed to be lined up as Captain July, but Ellery was pretty sure Jack had more important things on his mind than beefcake calendars and camera angles.

One of those things would surely be Captain November AKA Dylan, who showed up as Ellery was climbing back into this jeans, T-shirt, and sweater in the conference room temporarily serving as a changing room.

“Ahoy,” Dylan said. Despite his cheery demeanor, Dylan looked haggard. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and lines around his mouth that had never been there before.

“Hey. I wondered if you’d be here. Are you all right?”

“I should be asking you that.” Dylan threw a hunted look at the door. “Can we talk?”

“Of course. Now?”

“No. Can you meet me at my house around one?” Dylan added bitterly, “Assuming, I haven’t already been arrested.”

Ellery said quickly, “Don’t say that.”

Dylan’s eyes glittered with a mix of emotions. “One o’clock?”

Ellery nodded. “One.”

He finished dressing, left the changing room, and made his way through the inn’s crowded lobby. It seemed the Sing the Plank festival was good for one local business at least.

He headed upstairs to the suite where Lara was staying.