The Sense of Reckoning by Matty Dalrymple

didn’t notice Garrick watching her from the window, his hands clasped behind his back, a worried look on his gaunt face.

Chapter 12
    Mount Desert Island reminded her of home.
    The hulking masses of the mountains were gentler here on the Maine coast, and the hundreds of jewel-like ponds and lakes of the Adirondacks were replaced with quiet coves and the magnificent stretch of bays and ocean beyond, but the pine trees and boulders lining the well-worn roads, the mix of almost-hidden opulence and tourist kitsch and hard-scrabble living, that sense that the place had not changed much in a hundred years, gave her a pleasant feeling of familiarity with the surroundings.
    The warm weather in Pennsylvania had lulled her into a false sense of complacency about her travel wardrobe, and other than the parka that Scott had insisted she bring, she had no other cold-weather accessories. She and Scott drove into Bar Harbor to remedy the situation.
    They parked near the village green and strolled down Main Street. The season was winding down, with a few shops already closed. In one that was still doing a brisk business, Ann bought a knit cap and gloves, while Scott found a pair of red flannel pajamas decorated with a pattern of small black moose for Mike.
    “From a distance you can’t even tell it’s moose,” said Scott. “I think it’s pretty classy, as moose-themed clothing goes.” He also insisted on getting Ann a moose-decorated nightshirt, and Ann retaliated by getting him moose-decorated boxer shorts.
    After their clothing needs were met, they continued down Main Street toward the water. The old wooden buildings, their second stories painted a jaunty mixture of creams and blues and raspberries, stepped down toward the channel that separated Bar Harbor from Bar Island. Couples and families wandered the sidewalks, gazing in store windows or huddling on the sidewalk benches licking ice cream cones. Cars waited with varying degrees of patience for pedestrians in the crosswalks. At the end of the street, another small park—Agamont Park, according to Scott’s map—offered a view of the pleasingly named Sheep Porcupine Island. On the point stood the Bar Harbor Inn, its glass-enclosed dining room jutting prow-like toward the water, its white trim sparkling against the silver of the shingle siding. They stopped at the seawall to take in the view, watching a cruise ship make its way through the narrows assisted by a barge boat, dwarfing the sailboats and lobster boats that dotted the water.
    “I wonder if cruise ships are ever haunted,” said Ann.
    “Not if no one died on it, right?” said Scott.
    “Right. I wonder what a cruise line would think if I called up and asked them if anyone had died on a particular ship.”
    Scott became aware that a couple standing next to them at the seaway had glanced over. He smiled at them and wiggled his fingers at the little boy with them. He turned back to Ann. “Are you thinking of going on a cruise?”
    Ann shrugged. “Maybe. Not on one of those giant ships, but maybe one of the small ones.”
    “Mike and I took that cruise to Bermuda in a smallish one. It was nice. Good food.”
    “With my luck I’d book a cruise on a clean ship and then someone would die during the cruise.”
    The couple turned and moved away, herding the little boy ahead of them. Scott sighed and turned back to Ann. “Well, a cruise sounds nice. If you wanted company, maybe Mike could go along.”
    “What about you?”
    “I think I’ve used up my vacation time for this year.”
    Ann looked back out at the ship, which was now disappearing behind one of the islands. “Because you’re babysitting me.”
    “Don’t be silly, this is fun. What next? Look, there’s a place that does whale-watching tours.” And Scott and Ann headed down to the pier to see what Bar Harbor had to offer two people with a free afternoon.

Chapter 13
    That evening at the hotel, Loring arrived later than usual. He appeared to be