“Cancer?” Charlene breathed. “Oh, Eli… what kind?”

“They’re thinking maybe lymphoma. I don’t know yet,” he said. “She’s slowed down a bit, and is sleeping a lot more. Maybe if they start treatments…” He drifted off.

“We’re here a hundred percent, whatever you need,” I assured him, touching his arm.

“Thanks, Natalie,” he replied, looking haunted. “I just don’t know how we’re going to tell the kids.”

“You don’t know for sure yet, though, right?”

“No,” he said, his face drawn. “But I have a bad feeling.”

I knew how that went. “Is Claudette here?” I asked.

“She was going to lie down when I came out to work after lunch,” he said. “I’m sure she’d love a visit. Don’t say anything about the tests, though, please. I don’t know if she wants anyone to know.”

Because I’d already heard about it through the grapevine, it looked like the cat was already out of the bag, but I simply nodded. “Of course.”

Eli put down his tools and brushed off his hands. “Let’s go look in on her, then.” He looked at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You didn’t happen to bring any cookies, did you?”

I laughed. “Claudette would ride me out of town on a rail if I did!” I kept Eli supplied with treats by making deliveries to Charlene’s store on a regular basis. Charlene sold—or ate—most of them, but I always set a few aside for Eli. “But I might be willing to drop off a few at the store for you tomorrow.”

“The lemon kind?”

“I’m out of lemons, I’m afraid… but I’m planning to make a batch of scones I think you’ll like.”

“I could go for some of those about now,” he said in a wistful tone of voice. “Only thing in the house right now is some kind of cake made with coconut flour and stevia.” He made a face. “I’d rather just go hungry.”

I laughed as we walked to the house together. “I’ll whip some up today, I promise.”

“Better make a double batch,” Charlene suggested. “Those will sell like hotcakes down at the store. If I don’t eat them all first.” She groaned. “I’ll never fit into my dress for the concert this weekend.”

“What concert?”

“Robert’s taking me to see a jazz band on MDI,” Charlene said, blushing. I smiled; my cousin Robert had recently moved to Bangor, and ever since he and Charlene met at Gwen and Adam’s wedding, they’d been seeing each other regularly. Charlene had had a string of bad luck with previous boyfriends. I was hoping this one would last a while.

“Tell him hi for me!” I said as Eli opened the front door of the house he shared with Claudette.

A basket of wool skeins sat on the table in the middle of the room. Although there was a project in progress—a blanket in vivid shades of blue and green—on the small table next to Claudette’s favorite rocking chair, she was nowhere to be seen. I felt another twinge of misgiving; Claudette was always on the go.

“Claudie?” Eli called into the dim hallway leading back to the bedrooms. “Nat and Charlene are here to visit.”

“They’re here?” she called, her normally robust voice sounding thin. Charlene and I exchanged glances as she continued. “I’ll be out in a few. Make them some tea, please!”

“Will do,” Eli said, bustling into the kitchen to fill the tea kettle. Charlene and I settled ourselves at the kitchen table as Eli busied himself filling a plate with something that looked a little like dirt clods.

“What are those?” I asked.

“Date-coconut balls,” he said, then gave me a meaningful glance. “Sugar-free.”

“Ah,” I said as he put the plate on the table. Charlene and I eyed it dubiously.

“You first,” she murmured. I reached out and took one, then bit into it, expecting something horrible. To my surprise, it wasn’t half bad. It wasn’t something I’d be filling the cookie jar with, mind you, but the flavor of the dates and coconut was far better than I had anticipated, even if the texture was a bit gummy.

Charlene had just braved one when Claudette shuffled into the room, wearing a bathrobe and looking ten years older than the last time I’d seen her. Her face was drawn, and her hair, usually braided down her back, was flattened against the side of her head.

“It’s so good to see you,” I said, standing up and pulling out one of the kitchen chairs. She sat down slowly, as if in pain.

“I’m sorry I’m not more presentable,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve heard.”

“We know there’s something going on medically,” I admitted, “but we don’t know the details.”

She gave me a bleak look. “I don’t either. At least not yet. But they think I might have lymphoma.”

Behind her, there was a rattle as Eli dropped a cup.

“I’m so sorry, Claudette,” I said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. She did look as if she’d lost a bit of weight; her normally round cheeks seemed hollower than I was used to seeing them. “When will they know?”

“They have to do a biopsy on my lymph node,” she said. “It’s the day after tomorrow. I’m sick with worry… I have no idea how I’m going to tell the kids.”

“You’ll figure it out,” I said. “They love you. I’m sure they’ll want to be with you as you go through this.”

“But I don’t want to worry them,” she said.

“Wouldn’t you want to know if it was someone you loved?” I said. “It’s up to you, of course, but I think getting as much support as you can is a good thing.”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t know…”

“Speaking of support,” Charlene said, “let’s get dinners organized.”

“But I don’t want the whole island to know!” Claudette said.

“They don’t have to,” Charlene reassured her. “Nat and I will take care of it quietly. Now,” she said, going into business mode, “I know you do sugar-free, but do you have any other restrictions?”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Positive,” Charlene and I responded in unison.

Relief washed over her face. “I can’t eat gluten,” she said.

“Got it,” I said. “Now, when and where’s the procedure taking place?”

“The hospital on Mount Desert Island,” she said. “Eli’s taking me.”

“Do you need company?” Charlene offered. “I can get Tania to cover that day, easily.”

Claudette looked at her husband, who was quietly pouring hot water over the tea bags in the tea pot. “Do you want Charlene to come with us?”

“The company might be nice,” he admitted.

“Then I’ll schedule it,” Charlene said firmly. “I’m so sorry you are having to go through this; the waiting is the hardest part, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Claudette said. “I knew I was more tired than usual… but lymphoma? A biopsy? I haven’t slept more than two hours since they told me the news.”

“Oh, Claudette,” I said. “I understand, believe me. I’m a worrier.”

“And there’s no guarantee it’s lymphoma or anything nasty,” Eli pointed out as he pulled out four mugs from the cabinet. “You’ve had a cold for months. It could just be swollen nodes!”

“He’s right,” I said.

“I don’t know, though,” Claudette said. “The bloodwork…”

“Whatever it is, we’re with you,” I told her, squeezing her hand again. Charlene took her other hand, and our old friend looked at us both with tears in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said as her husband poured the tea.

* * *

By the time we left, both Claudette and Eli were in better spirits, and we’d figured out a dinner plan for the next week.

“I hope it’s just a false alarm,” Charlene said as we turned at the end of the driveway, past the nodding daffodils. The scent of apple blossoms was on the breeze, and already the lupine plants were stretching toward the sun; it wouldn’t be long before they burst into bloom. It was hard to reconcile the beauty of the day with my worry over our friend.

“Me too,” I said. “She does look like she’s not doing so hot, though. I’m worried.”

“Yeah.” Charlene kicked at a chunk of broken pavement; it landed among a patch of blueberries, their blossoms looking like little fairy skirts.

“Even if it’s not a false alarm, though, they’ve made a lot of progress with cancer treatments. With any luck, it’ll be something curable.”

“Here’s hoping,” she said. Her eyes drifted over to the bashed-up lobster boat in Eli’s workshop. “I have a bad feeling about how things are heating up down at the co-op.”

“Me too,” I said again. We’d asked Eli for details about the run-in, but he’d been kind of vague. “Did you get the feeling Eli knew more than he was saying?”

“I did.” Her brow creased. “What could it be, though? Is he protecting someone?”

“I don’t know,” Charlene said. “But there’s something fishy going on. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of it all.”

“No,” I agreed. “And the observer is checking in tonight. I’m going to tell her to be careful.”

“You really think someone would hurt an observer?”

“Tempers are high, and she’s an outsider. I’d like to think not, but better safe than sorry.”

We’d reached the fork in the road; to the left was the store and Charlene’s cottage, and to the right was the inn. I only had a few guests tonight, and plenty of food for dinner. “Want to come over to the inn tonight?” I asked. “Maybe we can get started prepping meals for Claudette and Eli. And you can tell me what you think of my scone recipe.”

“Scone recipe?” Charlene asked.

“I’m entering my scones into a cooking contest this month,” I said. “For the Portland paper. The prize money is only five hundred dollars, but I’m hoping to get some press if I win.”

“What kind of scones?”

“I’m planning to make cherry, dark chocolate, and toasted hazelnut this afternoon,” I told her.

“Three kinds of scones, or all of that in one scone?”

“All in one.”

Charlene considered the offer. “Those do sound pretty amazing. I guess I don’t have to go back to the store, and the ground beef I put in the fridge to thaw can keep for another day… and obviously you need testers.”

“I do,” I said. “Besides, this way we can meet the observer together. She’s supposed to be in on the three o’clock mail boat.”

“Maybe we can find out if she really is an observer, or a plant from the Marine Patrol… and if she knows anything we don’t.”

I grinned at my friend. “You and I both know that you’ll find out everything by the end of tomorrow anyway.”

Her lips quirked up into a smile. Thanks to her chatty nature and her position as island postmistress, not much escaped Charlene. “I do have my sources,” she admitted.

* * *

We got back to the inn about twenty minutes later. Charlene sat at my kitchen table as I rolled hazelnuts into a pan and tucked them into the oven to roast. As the intoxicating scent of roasting nuts filled the air, I grabbed butter from the fridge, opened the flour canister, and set to work on the dough.

“So tell me what you know about Mac Penney,” I said.

“Other than that he’s got a few screws loose?” She grinned and sat back in her chair. “He’s been on the island forever… inherited his fishing license from his dad. He lost two fingers about ten years ago—got them trapped in the line as he was pulling it up—and almost drowned last year, but he’s never done anything else in his life.

“Almost drowned?” I asked.

“He fell off his boat,” she said. “Probably too much Pabst Blue Ribbon. He never learned how to swim. If his sternman hadn’t managed to haul him out, he would have been a goner.”

“He’s got a problem with liquor, then?”

“. Maybe. Or maybe something worse.”

“Drugs?” I asked.

“I don’t know… it’s just a theory. There’s been some talk that Mac’s been playing fast and loose with the rules, maybe to support a habit.”

“You mean he’s fishing other people’s traps?” I asked as I cut the butter into the flour.

“That’s one rumor, but some folks think he’s fishing with unmarked traps, too,” she said.

“That’s a big no-no, isn’t it?” I’d educated myself on the lobstering culture—and regulations—since moving to Cranberry Island.

“It is,” she confirmed. “No wonder he’s not happy about the observer hanging out on his boat.”

“I thought observers weren’t associated with law enforcement,” I commented as I pulled a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. I was getting low; I made a mental note to add them to my grocery list.

“They aren’t,” Charlene said. “They’re part of some government agency.  But I think he thinks she’s undercover for law enforcement or something.”

“Ah,” I said. “But if lots of people are suspicious, why does he think Earl blew the whistle?”

“They’ve never gotten along,” she told me. “They had some kind of feud when they were teenagers, and it’s done nothing but get worse as the years have progressed.”

“What’s the feud about?” I asked.

“You know? It was so long ago, I don’t even know,” she said. “I’ll have to ask around. But I know Earl was spreading rumors that he’d seen Mac hauling up Adam’s traps. If it were only him, I’d question it, but Tom Lockhart mentioned that Mac and Adam have been bringing in more lobsters than anybody else lately. They both say they’ve just got good fishing spots, but everyone else is fishing the same territory, and everyone knows where their traps are; they’re marked with buoys.”

“Adam? I can’t believe he’d do anything wrong.” I didn’t like to hear that my nephew-in-law might be involved. I pulled the pan of hazelnuts from the oven; they were a delightful golden brown, and smelled delicious. “They’re getting the lobsters from somewhere,” I said as I sampled one of the nuts and handed one to Charlene.

“Thanks,” she said, crunching into the warm hazelnut. “Mmm. Anyway, someone’s fishing either other people’s traps or hidden traps, most likely. I also heard Mac might be scrubbing females and selling shorts to one of the pounds on Mount Desert Island.”

“Wow,” I said. Scrubbing females meant that instead of marking egg-bearing females, who carry their eggs on their bellies, with a V-notch and returning them to the water, he was dipping them in bleach and removing their eggs. And “short” lobsters were ones that hadn’t yet reached a size where they could be sold legally. Maine lobstermen took conservation of the species seriously; both of these infractions were a very big deal. “How do they know a lobster’s been scrubbed, anyway?” I wondered.

“I think they dip them in something that shows whether or not they’ve been exposed to bleach,” she said. “I haven’t seen anything about it in the Daily Mail, but I’ve heard one of the lobster pounds in Southwest Harbor may be under investigation. And I’ve heard rumors that Mac’s boat has been tied up at the dock there a couple of times recently.”

“Not the most reliable source,” I pointed out as I grabbed a bar of Valrhona dark chocolate from the pantry and put it on the chopping board.

“True,” she said. “It’s a big mess right now. Nobody trusts anybody, and people are threatening to cut each other’s gear.”

“Who knew lobstering was so full of intrigue?” I said. “I can see why Mac is suspicious of the observer, though. Is anyone monitoring Adam?”

“Everyone’s keeping an eye on everyone now,” she said. “But if you’re fishing unmarked traps, you find them with GPS and haul them at night, when no one’s watching.”

“You’d have to keep a constant watch on the harbor, then.”

“You would,” she said. “And some of the boats moor far enough out, it’s hard to see them at night.”

“One of the downsides of open water, I guess. Hard to monitor.”

“It’s a challenge,” she admitted. “They tried to pass legislation to make covert surveillance an option a few years back, but it didn’t go through.”

“So it’s still the Wild West out there.”

“More or less,” she said, sighing. “I’m just worried things may get out of hand.”

People were already ramming into other boats, I reflected. How much worse could it get?

“I’m sure it’ll all blow over,” I said as I added the hazelnuts to the bowl of rich dark chocolate.

Unfortunately, it didn’t blow over. And things were about to get worse than I ever imagined.

 

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