“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Diana assured her. “I’m sure it’s nothing. He probably wants to know something about my dad. I’ll go now, and then go back to Cordelia’s. See you tomorrow?”

“Call me in the morning and I’ll let you know,” said Maggie.

“Tomorrow I’d like to focus on unpacking and arranging merchandise here at the shop,” Gussie put in.

“Talk with you tomorrow, then,” said Diana as she headed off.

“Why don’t you go home and rest,” Maggie said to Gussie. “I’ll pick up whatever’s at the post office, put the cartons Diana and I packed yesterday in my van, and take everything over to the new house when we meet Jim there later to open the wedding gifts.”

“Would you do that? I’d appreciate an hour or two of down-time,” said Gussie. “I’ve been keeping quite a pace the past couple of weeks.”

“And it isn’t going to slow down until you’re safely in your new house, you have that gold band on your hand, and your shop is organized and open, the future Mrs. Dryden,” said Maggie.

“Not Mrs. Dryden, you old-fashioned woman,” said Gussie as they headed to their vans and she handed Maggie her post office box key. “I’ll still be Gussie White. I’m not changing my name. But Jim and I will be wearing matching bands. That’s a tradition I do believe in.”

Peggy the postmistress recognized Maggie immediately. “How’s Gussie doing? Is she very excited? Is everything organized for the wedding? Has she managed to move out of her old house and shop yet?” She handed Maggie a stack of cards Maggie recognized as wedding RSVPs. A little late. Those people had probably already gotten calls from Lily Dryden.

“Gussie’s tired, but she’s going strong. She’s almost out of the old house and shop. I think we’ll start getting the new shop organized tomorrow.”

“I hear Cordelia West’s young cousin’s been helping her.”

The postmistress did know everything happening in Winslow.

“That’s right. She’s been very helpful.”

“Such a shame, that other cousin of Cordelia’s, Dan Jeffrey, going and getting himself killed. Cordelia’s such a sweet woman. Can’t hear or say a word, of course, but she’s always baking cookies for people, or bringing me wildflowers to decorate the office. A sweet little woman.”

“Then you know her well?”

“Well, she’s lived in Winslow for twenty years or so. Gets her mail here most days. And we do a pickup at her place over on Apple Orchard Lane on Fridays.”

“Pickup?”

“Packages. The post office does that, you know. Got to compete with those other delivery services. She sends out all her packages on Fridays, regular as clockwork.”

“I understand she makes dolls. But I’ve never seen any. Have you?”

“I’ve seen a couple of her baby dolls. She makes those newborns. Gets supplies delivered all the time,” said the postmistress. “From all over the country, and Canada. Even Europe, sometimes. She ships dolls in the bigger boxes. Maybe one or two a week. Used to ship more. But the past couple of years she’s been sending smaller packages. Ten of those every Friday. Those go to post office boxes in different places. Boston, northern Maine, Washington, D.C. She has customers all over.”

“What does she sell besides the dolls?” asked Maggie.

“I’ve wondered that myself,” said the postmistress. “But I can’t talk with my hands, like she can, so I haven’t asked. She puts the value at fifty dollars for each box, so whatever it is can’t be too valuable. The big boxes, that hold the baby dolls, those she values at a thousand dollars. Sometimes more. I figure maybe now she’s making smaller dolls, and selling on eBay. Lots of people do that today, you know. How’re the wedding plans coming?”

“Fine. Did Gussie get any packages today? She and Jim have been saving their gifts. They’re going to open a pile of them tonight.”

“Let me check.” She went into the back of the crowded room. “I’m pretty sure I saw a pile of boxes for those two in here somewhere. Yes, here they are.” She reappeared carrying a stack of four boxes. “All different sizes this time. I’ll admit I’ve been curious about these gifts. Most times when people get married we get boxes from the big department stores, or from Sears, or when they’re summer folks, even from a place like Tiffany’s. But all the boxes Gussie and Jim have gotten have been wrapped by hand. Not a store name in sight.” The postmistress handed them over one by one, after recording their arrivals.

“I can see that,” said Maggie.

“ ’Course, them being an older couple, I suspect they didn’t put their names on a bridal registry saying they were looking for a set of white towels or a toaster oven, when it comes to it,” she added. “Between the two of them they probably have towels and toaster ovens to spare.”

Maggie laughed. “I guess they’ll find out once they get everything unpacked,” she said. “Thank you!”

She sat in her van for a few minutes and checked her watch. Two hours until the official gift opening.

Why had Ike Irons wanted to see Diana again? Maggie hoped the girl was smart enough to know if she needed to call Jim, or just say the magic word, “Lawyer.” Nowadays you’d think anyone who watched TV would know that. You’d hope. But despite all she’d been through, Diana seemed awfully naïve. Or maybe being young was, by definition, naïve.

When I was twenty-one, was I that innocent? Maggie thought back. Senior in college in New Jersey on scholarship. Working two jobs, so not much time for socializing. Not really innocent. But she hadn’t guessed the family situation her roommate, Amy, was coping with. She’d thought anyone who lived in a big house in Short Hills must be happy.

Yup. Twenty-one could be very naïve.

That’s why she often felt protective of her students at the college. And now she felt protective about Diana. The world took advantage of the young too often.

The sooner Chief Ike Irons and his detectives found out who’d murdered Diana’s father, the sooner she could be on her way. Whatever she decided to do with her life, she needed to put the past behind her and get on with her future. It probably wasn’t by chance that her father’d been shot and dumped in Cape Cod Bay. But whatever trouble he was in wasn’t Diana’s trouble. It shouldn’t have to make a difference to her future.

Would her daughter or daughters be able to deal with whatever their early lives had dealt them? She’d have to help them begin again. Clean slate. Memories, yes. It would take time. But another chance.

Maggie’s mind was whirling with possibilities as she drove through the quiet streets of Winslow. Then, on her left, she saw the Lazy Lobster, the tavern Jim’d mentioned where Dan Jeffrey had hung out. At four o’clock on a brisk October Monday afternoon three well-used pickups were parked outside, and one salt-rusted Ford sedan. She hesitated, and then turned her New Jersey van in to join those with Massachusetts SPIRIT OF AMERICA or CAPE COD AND ISLANDS license plates.

All five men at the bar inside turned to look at her.

Clearly this was an establishment for locals. Fishermen, by their garb and the décor. The nets on the wall weren’t the colorful sort hung in places looking to attract tourists. These nets were used and grungy, smelling faintly of long-dead fish and the sea, and now the repository of old pinups, photos of fishermen with their catches, newspaper articles, and assorted empty beer cans and beer bottle labels. Sort of a grease-encrusted work in progress, an ode to those who worked the sea, drank beer and whiskey, and ate the burgers and chowder listed in smudged black marker on the mirror in back of the bar. It was a limited menu, but Maggie suspected the cook didn’t get many complaints.

Five teenage boys came in after Maggie. One of them wore a T-shirt that read TOO MEAN TO MARRY. And clearly too young to sit at the bar, at least legally. They sat in a corner booth.