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the familiar line. She’d heard the story many times before but never tired of Spencer’s telling. She knew all the places he would pause and wait for the children’s questions, and she jumped in to hurry him along. “How’d they fool the guard?”
    “They didn’t always—the coast guard’s a sharp bunch, and their cutters were wicked fast. The captain, he figures they’re in heavy water, and, with the lobster boats weighted down with bottles, they should be an easy catch. But the lobstermen knew a trick or two. They’d frog around in international waters, waitin’ for the ebb tide. Then, just before low water, they’d make their escape.” Spencer’s eyes cut from one child to another. “As the tide goes out, what happens?”
    “The water goes down and you can see the sandbars that connect the islands,” Anna said, triumphant.
    “That’s right. Those cutters come after our men, but the lobster boats give ’em the slip. They’d cross over the shoal slicker’n a smelt, just before the water receded. The big coast guard cutter couldn’t follow or the rocks’ud stove up the hull.” He sat back with a satisfied smile on his face.
    “What happened then?” the ten year old asked. He had been inching closer to Cabot Cove’s pied piper.
    “Their captain was some ugly about losing his quarry, but by the time the tide switched, the lobstermen had emptied their boats, sold off the goods, and were sittin’ down to breakfast.”
    Levi stuck his head out the door of Nunn’s. “You fillin’ them youngsters with that bilge again?”
    “Bilge, my foot,” Spencer replied. “That’s history I’m givin’ them.”
    Levi wasn’t a tall man, probably my height, broad-shouldered and thickset. His hair was sun-bleached a sandy color, somewhere between red and blond, and his face, neck, and forearms were heavily sprinkled with freckles. “We’re about to start, Spencer. Come on in.” He nodded at me. “How do, Jessica? Got your item on the agenda. Sorry we can’t invite you for the whole meetin’.”
    “I understand,” I said. “I’ll wait to hear your decision.”
    “Anna, scooch down and tie your shoes,” he said, pointing at his daughter’s sneakers.
    She knelt to fiddle with her laces.
    Spencer put his hands on his knees and pushed to his feet. “Got to go in now,” he said.
    “Wait, wait,” Anna cried, jumping up and pulling on his sleeve. “You didn’t tell us where the bottles went.”
    Spencer tugged at the waistband of his trousers and pulled them up so high that his gray socks, which were puddled at his ankles, were visible. “Allst I know is this,” he said, winking at me as he shuffled to the door. “Maine had been dry a long time, so most of the booty probably got drunk in Massachusetts, mebbe even New York. Though I hear tell a few bottles found their way into the cellar of what was then the local inn. That’s the library building these days.” He turned to eye his fans—“Might still be a few bottles down there, if you care to take a look”—and went inside.
    I envisioned our librarian besieged by an army of Cabot Cove’s schoolchildren wanting to visit the basement, where, it just happened, the children’s book department was located.
    A few youngsters followed Spencer inside to sit with their fathers during the discussions, while the older ones wandered off to play till the meeting ended. I took the chair Spencer had vacated and watched Anna and her friends pull pebbles from their pockets and skip the stones across the water. I noticed she wasn’t the only one with untied sneakers. It must be a trend these days, I thought, hoping none of them landed facedown on the dock from tripping on their laces.
    Mary had telephoned me that afternoon to let me know that Levi had agreed to raise my request with the lobstermen. I imagined it was a hard sell, but she would never let on that her husband had been anything but helpful. Would I mind sticking around in the event they