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the vacant parking lot. She had her hand on the ignition key as the neon sign went blank. “Drat,” she muttered, “we’ll have to go further up the road.”
    They did, all the way past the city limits. Growing annoyed, Judith pulled into a darkened service station and turned around. “We’ll try the other end of town,” she said, heading back into Buccaneer Beach.
    The city had grown in a north-south sprawl along the ocean, with its best real estate on the west side of the highway. There was a shopping center to the north and an outlet mall to the south. In between was a six-mile stretch of other businesses which served the regular population of seven thousand and the tourists, who numbered almost as many at any given time during the summer months. Judith drove past all four of the town’s stoplights. At last, on the far side of Buccaneer Bay, they came to a drive-in. Judith pulled up to a plastic Jolly Roger which made muffled noises at her.
    â€œAsk them if they’ve got hard ice cream,” said Renie.
    Judith did. They didn’t. Renie looked as if she were pouting. “Well?” demanded Judith testily. “Do you want a float or not?”
    â€œYou know I don’t like soft ice cream,” Renie replied peevishly.
    The Jolly Roger was getting surly. “Then to hell with it,” said Judith, slamming the gears into reverse. She had hit seventy by the time they reached the outlet mall.
    â€œI don’t get it,” said Renie, with a whine. “This is supposed to be a town that caters to tourists. It’s almost the Fourth of July. Why isn’t anything open?”
    â€œHow do I know?” snapped Judith. “Do I look like the Chamber of Commerce?”
    Renie fell silent, then suddenly brightened just as they reached the center of town and the turnoff to Pirate’s Lair. “Why don’t we go to a grocery store and get some vanilla ice cream—the hard stuff—and root beer and make our own?”
    Judith was already taking a left-hand turn. “Why don’t you go dig a hole in the sand and stick your head in it? The grocery stores around here close at ten.”
    â€œOh, good grief!” It was almost too much for Renie to bear. She slumped in the seat, her short chin disappearing behind the collar of her silk blouse.
    â€œCheer up, coz,” soothed Judith, taking pity on Renie. “I’ve got buttermilk. I could make grössita for breakfast.”
    The thought of fluffy chunks of German pancakes did much to restore Renie’s spirits. As ever, Judith marveled at her cousin’s capacity for eating everything in sight without getting fat as a pig. Metabolism, Renie always said, andJudith mournfully had to admit that her cousin was probably right.
    They arrived just as Mrs. Hoke was coming out to her car. Judith’s sense of self-righteousness returned. She braked at the edge of the road and rolled the window down, calling to her landlady.
    Mrs. Hoke’s lanky figure came toward the MG. “Mrs. Flynn! Oh! How nice to see you! I was just leaving! Oh!” She giggled, again jarring Judith and this time rattling Renie. “I had to get my dulcimer.”
    Judith gritted her teeth. “You play the dulcimer? How…arcane.”
    Mrs. Hoke was leaning into the car, all elbows, shoulders, and hands. “I don’t play it well, but it’s such a quaint old instrument. Oh!” She gazed at Renie. “Is this your cousin?”
    â€œRight, Serena Jones, Mrs. Hoke.” The two women acknowledged each other while Judith racked her brain to come up with a tactful way of telling her landlady to keep away from Pirate’s Lair. “By the way,” Judith lied, hoping as she always did that her fabrication was in a good cause, “my husband might be getting out of the hospital sooner than we thought. He’ll need complete quiet when he comes back here.”
    â€œOh!” Mrs.