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the "this is actually interesting, sort of" yawn.
    When they arrived at the inn, Todd Sparkling, the chef/owner of the Florencia Inn, met them at the door. He was one of the younger breed of chefs who enjoyed mixing regions and styles in his cooking; he was very much into "concept cuisine." Everything he produced looked like a miniature work of art—with a fig attached to it.
    Chefs had a strange obsession with figs.
    "Come in! Come in! Did you have a good trip over?" The dark-haired chef escorted them into the parlor, helping them with their bags and equipment.
    Built over 150 years ago, the Florencia Inn was surrounded on all sides by a lovely wraparound porch. The place was an odd combination of beckoning warmth and pockets of eeriness. Set apart from the seasonally busy Edgartown, the inn was located in Menemsha, a quiet section with gently rolling scrub land.
    Of course, all of the Vineyard was quiet at this time of year… if one didn't count the stray ghost or two kicking it up on the rustic side of the island. Zanita had noted in her research that many ghost sightings seemed to occur around bodies of water, or in places surrounded by water—such as islands.
    So this seemed the perfect location for an investigation. Even the name of the place conjured up images of supernatural goings-on.
    As they entered the house, she whispered to Tyber, "You know, Menemsha sounds like the ideal location for all kinds of spooky, unearthly things."
    He stared at her as if he were checking her sanity.
    "Menemmmmmsha… ooooo…" she moaned.
    Tyber placed his hand on the back of her neck and shoved her through the door.
    She was undaunted. To add to her theory about the sea and spirits, Zanita had discovered that the water at Menemsha beach was colder than at any other location on the island.
    Besides, it was one of the few places in all New England where one could watch the sun set over the water. There was a connection there… somewhere. In her mind, this was a perfect place for bananafish and things that go bump in the night.
    When she mentioned her findings, Tyber immediately countered her hypothesis.
    "You do realize that many of these sightings could simply be electrical disturbances caused by the surrounding water—much like what occurs on the moors in England?" he gave her a Tyberific grin.
    She snorted. "Will you give this a chance!"
    "And which chance would that be," he murmured before bending down to brush his warm lips across her earlobe. "I am here to investigate"—his hot tongue flicked quickly at the small lobe—"everything that goes bump in the night. And I know just where I'm going to start."
    Zanita shivered at the spine-tingling touch. "Tyber! Stop that!"
    He chuckled low in his throat as he carried the rest of the bags through the door and dropped them in the parlor.
    Blooey, still wheezy from the trip, reeled in behind them. Hambone, on a leash, trotted with a lively step beside the little pirate. Zanita had been frankly stunned when Blooey put the leash on the despotic feline and he didn't squawk. Tyber had quickly explained to her the Law of Hambone Motion: Appear to go along with anything that seemed in a cat's best interest, no matter how bizarre.
    Feline philosophy—gotta love it!
    "Would you like a mini-tour before I show you to your rooms?" Todd asked.
    "We'd love it!" Zanita answered for everyone. "It's so lovely here."
    "A quick tour would be great. The more we're familiar with the layout, the easier it will be for us to delve into this problem you're having." Zanita noted that Tyber had said "problem," not "ghost." There were some notions that were beyond the scope of even a free-thinking physicist—and it appeared that this was one of them.
    The chef beamed with pride at their enthusiasm. From what they had seen of the inn so far, he had every right to be proud. The parlor was a cozy room dominated by a large stone fireplace, flanked on both sides with wooden built-in bookshelves. The decor and