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Flanders looked disappointed as we motored back to Baileys Harbor, both of us once again seated at the back of the boat.

I felt somehow responsible for his mood, though I wasn’t sure why.

“You’re new to this area, aren’t you?”

I asked him.

He nodded and gave me a coy smile.

“I take it you saw the write-up about me in the paper a few months ago?”

I shook my head and his face fell.

“I don’t read the local rag much,”

I said by way of explanation.

“It’s just that most of the people who have lived here for any length of time, even most of the regular visitors who come back year after year, know about my store.

Yet you seemed shocked by some of the content.”

His smile turned sheepish.

“I confess, I was caught a bit off guard.

I thought it was a standard bookstore.

Confronting a corpse first thing was a bit . . .”

He shrugged.

“Yeah, I get it,”

I said with a smile.

“But Henry brings in people, even if a lot of them are just lookie-loos.

And he makes my store memorable.”

Flanders chuckled.

“No argument there.”

He tipped his head to one side, looking thoughtful.

“Have you ever wondered about him? If he has family or descendants?”

“I actually sent a bit of him off for DNA analysis to a company that does that sort of thing.

So far, no relatives have popped up that are closer than seventh or eighth cousins many times removed.”

“What would you do if a close relative did pop up and wanted him to be buried properly, or wanted his body for their own use?”

He looked appalled at the thought.

“I’d give Henry to them if I was sure of the claim, though it wouldn’t be easy.

I’ve become rather attached to the fellow.”

Flanders gave me a dubious look, so I changed the subject.

“How did you end up as the chief of police on Washington Island?”

“I relocated here from Colorado.

The island was looking for a new chief of police and I needed a change of scenery.”

Something dark slid over his face as he said that and I waited to see if he would elaborate, but he didn’t.

I wanted to pursue it, but I’m quite protective of my own dark secrets and figured if he wanted me to know, he’d tell me eventually.

“How did you end up with such a .

.

.

unique bookstore?” he asked.

“I inherited it from my parents.

Odds and Ends was their dream project, born out of their shared fascination for cryptozoology and anything in the world that was strange, bizarre, or unique.

My father’s family was quite wealthy—old shipping money—and he inherited a large sum at the age of eighteen, enough to ensure he’d never have to work a day in his life if he didn’t do anything stupid.

He used some of that inheritance to fund his passion for hunting cryptids.

In fact, he was in the Mexican desert looking for Chupacabra when he met my mother.”

“Chupa-who?”

“Chupacabra.”

I widened my eyes and, with a very dramatic voice, added, “The goat sucker.

It’s a mythical creature with vampiric habits blamed for the carcasses of goats and sheep found with all the blood drained from their bodies.

Depending on whom you talk to, it might look like a demonic red-eyed kangaroo or a hairless dog with spines and huge teeth.”

“Sounds charming.”

“Not to mention questionable.

No one has ever found one, and it’s doubtful such a creature exists.

One of the more popular theories, the one I think has the greatest likelihood of being right, posits that it’s a wild dog with mange that rips the throats out of goats and sheep, causing them to bleed out.”

I shrugged.

“Who knows? Anyway, my father was in Mexico investigating reports of a massive goat kill and that’s when he met my mother.”

“How romantic,”

Flanders said dryly.

I laughed.

“It was for them.

My parents were kindred spirits.

They’d get giddy over finding a taxidermied two-headed cow, or Victorian-era death photos, or the skull of a hippopotamus.

My father bought tons of oddities and eventually had so many that he got the idea of opening a store where he could display them, sell them, and purchase new ones that folks might bring to him.

Sort of a pawnshop for the weird and bizarre. And since he lived in Door County, a tourist mecca where kitschy shops have always been popular, he thought it would be a good fit. My mother brought her love of books and mysteries into the mix and, thirty-five years ago, they decided to combine their interests and open Odds and Ends. I think it may be the most unique mystery bookstore in the country, maybe the world.”

“You’ll get no argument from me on that front,”

Flanders said.

“I suppose I should stop by one of these days and take the time to explore your inventory more thoroughly.”

“You should.

There’s a story behind every piece we sell, some of them quite intriguing.”

We fell into silent mode for several minutes and then Flanders asked, “So what’s next on your end?”

“I need to look into some things.”

“Can I ask what? Maybe I can help.

Or maybe we’ve already looked into it.”

“I doubt you’ve looked into any of what I have in mind.

And I don’t think you want to help me because it might mean doing some things that won’t be strictly by the book, if you get my drift.”

“Oh.”

Flanders gazed out over the water, his expression unsettled.

I waited to see if he would push the issue or perhaps decide not to work with me after all, but he did neither.

“You’ll keep me informed?” he said.

“Of course.”

The rest of our trip back was silent, and Newt and I hung over the side to stare into the water, though I’m not sure how much Newt could see.

Occasionally I’d glance at the depth finder as it recorded anything from thirty-some feet to nearly a hundred fifty, depending on where we were.

Had Nessie-type creatures been visiting these waters all along? Could they have been responsible for some of the hundreds of shipwrecks that had occurred in Death’s Door?

I could feel my excitement building as I anticipated what I might be able to find, maybe even prove.

But that raised the troubling question of what I should do with the truth once I knew what it was.