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it hits the tops of the dunes this time of year. Back in Marblehead, I never paid much attention to the sun.” She gave my hand a little squeeze. “I’ve got to decide what to do, and I’ve got to do it quickly.”
    â€œIt’s pretty late,” I said. “We can talk about it tomorrow.”
    â€œI don’t feel like anything should wait for tomorrow anymore,” she said. She was staring down at her lap, where her bony fingers lay laced quietly together. “I’d intended to do this my way, in my own time. Have you help me explore our options, make my decision, and then just do it. Alas, the word has somehow leaked out that the Fairchild estate is up for grabs, and there’s been a parade of men in suits dropping in and calling on the telephone and writing letters and sending prospectuses and generally trying to ingratiate themselves, as if I’d make a business decision on the basis of their manners.”
    â€œWhich men in suits?” I said.
    She smiled. “Eliza is friendly with some golf people. Pleasant fellows, actually. They have taken the liberty of drawing up designs and plans for my approval. I suspect she’s sleeping with at least two of them.”
    â€œAnd what about the nature preserve idea?”
    â€œIt’s rather appealing,” Sarah said. “The Marshall Lea Foundation would buy the property and deed it over to the town of West Tisbury with stipulations that they and I will agree to.”
    â€œThe golf folks will pay you more, of course,” I said.
    â€œOh, indeed, yes.”
    â€œYou have other options, you know.”
    She nodded. “Yes. I can do nothing and let Nathan and Elizabeth fight about it until they kill each other while this house crumbles around them, and then poor ineffectual Patrick will be stuck with it, and soon thereafter, the town will take it all for taxes.” She looked up at me and smiled. “It’s a rather tempting scenario, actually. My children have squandered their lives, unless you count prizewinning bluefish and golf trophies productive living.”
    â€œWe can also just put the place on the market,” I said. “There are plenty of people who’d buy it and care for it and live on it the way the Fairchilds have always done.”
    â€œAdam, I’m afraid, would turn over in his grave if I did that.” Adam Fairchild, Sarah’s husband, had died shortly before she retained me. He’d devoted his life to stupid investments and disastrous business schemes—many, but not all, of which Sarah had rescued him from. “No,” she said softly, “I owe it to the Fairchilds to keep our legacy alive. The Fairchilds deserve to be properly remembered and honored.”
    â€œThe Fairchild Country Club?” I said.
    She smiled and shrugged her bony shoulders. “If it comes to that. Or the Fairchild Wildlife Sanctuary.”
    â€œHow are you leaning?” I said.
    â€œLeaning?” She gave me a sad smile. “I am leaning over my grave, dear Brady, and I’m about to topple in. I would like to make it simple for all of us, you included. I want to liquidate everything—this”—she waved her hand around—“and Marblehead and whatever is left of my investments. When I die, I want youto deliver a check to Elizabeth and a check to Nathan and a check to Patrick and be done with it, neat and clean and tidy.”
    â€œThe golf course or the nature preserve, then,” I said.
    â€œSo it seems. Unless you have a brainstorm. I want it settled before you leave.”
    I nodded. “That’s why I’m here.”
    â€œNow don’t try to fool an old lady, Brady Coyne. I know you. You’re here to catch fish.”
    â€œThat, too,” I said.
    I could hear the distant roll of the surf and the soughing of the breeze through the scrubby pines from my second-floor bedroom in the back of the Fairchild house. Salty sea