Lament at Loon Landing

Fakes, folk music, and ghost fires

When legendary folk singer Lara Fairplay agrees to make her comeback debut at Pirate’s Cove’s annual maritime music festival, everyone in the quaint seaside village is delighted—including mystery bookstore owner and sometimes amateur sleuth, Ellery Page.

Better yet, Lara is scheduled to perform a recently discovered piece of music attributed to The Father of American Music, Stephen Foster, which will hopefully bring large crowds and a lot of business.

Several mysterious accidents later, Ellery is less delighted as his suspicion grows that someone plans to silence the celebrity songbird forever.

To those honorary citizens of Pirate’s Cove; the readers who waited so faithfully, so patiently for this long-delayed voyage.

Walk the plank and kiss the shark.

Barry Dennis Hopkins

Lament at Loon Landing

Secrets and Scrabble 6

Josh Lanyon

Chapter One

Whoooo…. Whooooo…. WHOOOOO!

Ghostly wailings seemed to issue from the blackened rafters of the Crow’s Nest bookshop.

What the hell is that noise? Pirate Cove’s Police Chief Jack Carson stared ceilingward, his blue-green eyes wide with alarm.

Ellery Page, mystery bookshop owner and Jack’s boyfriend, took his oat-milk-laced coffee from Jack’s unresisting hand. He said glumly, The building is haunted.

Since when?

Since the Sing the Plank organizers announced there’ll be an amateur talent stage at the festival.

"Ah."

They listened in silence for a moment to the muffled twang of a banjo and plink of a…ukulele?

WHOOOOO… Whoooo…. Whooooo….

Despite evidence to the contrary, the only souls suffering the torments of the damned are yours and mine.

Jack grinned, sipped his coffee. Is this going on during business hours?

Ellery nearly choked on his coffee. Don’t even joke!

Sorry. Have either of them ever performed before an audience?

It seems so. Kingston and his late wife were active in their local folk music club, and Nora used to perform regularly at Pirate Cove’s Traditional Music Society.

Jack’s brows rose. I didn’t know we had a Traditional Music Society.

We don’t. Not anymore. I have my suspicions.

Jack chuckled, started to speak, but was interrupted by Watson, Ellery’s black spaniel-mix puppy, who dropped his squeaky toy and began to howl.

Aaah-oooooooh… Ow… Ow… Ow… Aaah-oooooooh…

Ellery sighed. Right. That started yesterday. I’m not sure if he’s protesting or auditioning. He called to the puppy, It’s okay, buddy. It’s almost over.

Speaking of almost over. Jack’s tone was regretful. I’ve got to get down to the station.

Coward.

Jack shook his head, leaned across the sales counter, and kissed Ellery lightly. I came for the drinks, not the band.

Ellery laughed.

Jack headed for the door, bending to tap Watson’s upturned nose with his finger. Watson cut off his serenade mid-note, looking ever so slightly sheepish. Working late tonight? Jack asked Ellery.

Ellery nodded.

Are you staying at my place or heading out to Captain’s Seat?

Your place if that’s okay.

Best news of the day. Jack winked and went out.

The brass bell on the front door swayed, chiming a fond farewell.

It was the autumn equinox and summer was officially over.

September on Buck Island was lovely. The sun cast its lazy spell over glittering water and silky sand. The skies were blue, the breezes balmy, and the crowds had thinned.

Considerably.

Which was the not-so-good news if you were in the business of selling stuff to tourists.

The Crow’s Nest clientele was not primarily of the tourist variety, but there was no denying the influx of summer visitors had plumped up their coffers significantly.

If autumn on Buck Island was anything like winter, trade was going to get pretty lean pretty fast, and Ellery was reluctantly weighing whether he did in actual fact need two full-time employees, in addition to himself, to meet the needs of their fairly slim customer base.

He was fond of both Nora and Kingston, so the idea of letting either go—and really, there was no question of who was on the chopping block—brought him zero pleasure.

What if we carried a few book-related gift items? Nora mused as they drank their elevenses coffee and gazed out at the largely empty harbor.

Nora Sweeny was Ellery’s right-hand man. Er, woman. A small but stalwart seventysomething Buck Island native, she favored denim skirts and sensible shoes, and she always wore her long, silver hair in a ponytail.

Why? We’re a bookstore.

Nora shrugged. A few extra dollars here, a few extra dollars there. It all adds up.

If we start selling gift items, it’s liable to look like we’re trying to compete with some of the gift shops, which is not going to go over well.

He was thinking specifically of Janet Maples and Old Salt Stationery. Janet had only recently begun to warm up to him.

As usual, Nora understood him perfectly. "What if our book-related gift items were mystery-themed?"

Hmm.

I’ve been looking through that pile of catalogs in the junk room—

"You mean my office?"

Er, your office, and I’ve come up with a list of possibilities. She fished around in her pocket and handed over a long and crumpled list.

Ellery smoothed out the paper and squinted at Nora’s cramped writing. Cozy mystery coloring books? Murder mystery dinner party game? Cozy mystery day planner? Nancy Drew jigsaw puzzles? Mystery-themed Christmas ornaments?

The holidays are coming.

You say that like it’s a good thing. Nora looked at him in surprise. I’m kidding, Ellery said, although he wasn’t entirely sure about that. Last Christmas had been a total catastrophe. And just when he’d started to feel optimistic about this year’s holiday season, Jack had mentioned in passing that his family really, really wanted him to come home for Christmas.

Nora said, There are key chains, pins, earrings…

There’s a lot to choose from, Ellery agreed. My concern is the financial outlay.

You have to spend money to earn money.

"You have to have money to spend money," Ellery retorted.

We could start with a few choice items and see how it goes.

Ellery sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Nora’s idea. But, having only recently pulled out of the red, he was understandably cautious. Last year, he’d had his savings to fall back on. This year, he had no savings left with which to weather the inevitable inevitables.

Nora studied him. Or not. Kingston’s come up with what I think is a very good idea for bringing in new customers.

Kingston has? Not that Ellery didn’t think Kingston was full of good ideas. He was just surprised to hear Nora touting them. Not so long ago, Nora had viewed Kingston as a rival and competitor, if not outright villain. Slowly but surely, that had changed, which was yet another reason Ellery really didn’t want to have to break up the act.

Nora said—in the tone adults use to try to convince toddlers that vegetables are delicious mealtime treats, What if we were to offer a children’s story hour on weekends?

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 Cove doesn’t have are endless amusements for little ones."

"These kids are the descendants of pirates. Maybe they prefer brawling and boozing."

Nora snorted. "While the children are listening to such classics as Pete the Pirate and The Pirates Next Door, their parents can browse our mystery-themed gifts or pick up something they might like to read."

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

Kingston.

"Kingston? Ellery relaxed. Oh. Well, in that case, 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 a great idea."

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 by the rest of us Dylan 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 Sue or her sister and Sue. As in Sue Lewis, my archnemesis."

Sue Lewis was the owner and editor in chief for the Scuttlebutt 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.

Now, you don’t really think Sue is your archnemesis, Dylan chided. That’s ancient history, isn’t it?

"I don’t consider Sue my archnemesis, no. Emotionally mature adults don’t think in such terms. She considers me her archnemesis."

Dylan squashed a sound that was probably a laugh. She really doesn’t. Her community service has changed her. She’s…er…she’s a kinder, gentler Sue. You’ll see.

I’ll see from a distance, Ellery said. Seriously, though, I already took my break. I can’t just leave Nora and Kingston to—

Yes, you can! Nora chirped from behind him.

Ellery scowled at her.

We’re fine here. Go. Have fun! Nora made shooing motions.

See? Dylan put in. Nora’s got it under control.

Yeeeah. Just a reminder to you and Nora: I’m actually the one in charge here.

From opposite ends of the island, Nora and Dylan chortled at this quaint notion.

Okay, whatever, but I really can’t just—

Dylan cut in with an apologetic, The thing is, I have an ulterior motive in asking you to lunch.

Ellery sighed. Just as I suspected.

But before you agree, you need to, well, see the lay of the land.

"Before I agree? Ellery gave a disbelieving laugh. That’s taking things for granted."

Well, after all, everyone in Pirate’s Cove knows this kind of thing is like catnip for you.

What kind of thing?

Mysteries. Puzzles. Games.

Ellery was not fooled by frivolous talk of games and puzzles. You want me to solve a mystery?

"It’s a paying gig. We—well, most of us—want to hire you."

If anything, Ellery’s caution grew. "You want to hire me to solve a mystery. What kind of mystery? He couldn’t help adding, And who doesn’t want to hire me? Sue?"

I suppose it’s a bit of a…a whodunit, Dylan said, hesitating over the first question and ignoring the second.

Uh-oh. "Who done what?"

Dylan said airily, If you want to learn the answer to that—and other questions—you’ll just have to come to lunch. The Seacrest Inn at one o’clock.

And with that, he hung up.

Chapter Two

At the height of her fame, one well-known reviewer had referred to Lara Fairplay as Bob Dylan without the pretty face.

That had been back in the day. The days when Fairplay had been a rising star with two crossover hits, one on the country charts and one on the pop. The days before she stabbed a woman in a bar fight. Before Lara served eleven years in prison for voluntary manslaughter.

Kind of a career killer, that last one.

Which was partly how the organizers of a rather small and obscure maritime music festival had ended up scoring such a well-known performer as their headliner.

What the infamous Ms. Fairplay thought of the Buck Island gig was anyone’s guess. She sat, sphinxlike, eating her seafood salad and sipping her sparkling mineral water. She was tall and thin and very brown, as though she spent every minute in the sun. Her salt-and-pepper hair was long and curly. Her eyes were dark and surrounded by laugh lines, though she had not smiled once during lunch, so far as Ellery could tell.

He was seated directly across from her. Which meant he was also across from her husband and manager, Neilson Elon, as well as her sister and PA, Jocasta. Neilson was sleeky and willowy. He wore snakeskin boots and a nearly overpowering aftershave. Jocasta was like a watered-down version of her older sister. Smaller, slighter, blonder. She wore oversized blue spectacles that Ellery surmised were more about camouflage than vision correction.

Though Lara Fairplay seemed to have forgotten his existence as soon as they were introduced, Neilson and Jo never took their eyes off him. He assumed they were trying to decide if the good people of Pirate’s Cove were out of their ever-loving minds.

It was a question that kept Ellery up at nights too.

Also present at the large luncheon table were Dylan (of course), Sue (unfortunately), Olive Earl, David Fish, and Phillipa Jones (the three other Sing the Plank board members), and (puzzlingly) Jane Smith.

Jane was one of the Silver Sleuths book club’s charter members, and Ellery was confused for several minutes as to whether Jane was there in her capacity as an amateur sleuth. That would be awkward for many reasons, not least because, frankly, Jane had as much qualification as he did to stick his nose into other people’s business.

But as the conversation continued around him, he remembered that a couple of weeks earlier, Jane, who worked in one of the island’s many antique shops, had discovered a scrap of music behind a drawer