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out of her bag and checked past emails. Her mother had given her directions to Kingsley House but in her upset over Eric, Alix hadn’t printed out a map. But then her mother’s directions were rather cryptic—which wasn’t uncommon. Her mother thought and wrote like a novelist, and she liked mystery.
    Alix looked at the woman behind the counter. “I’m staying at a house here on Nantucket and my mother said it’s walking distance from the ferry. It’s number twenty-three Kingsley Lane and she said”—Alix checked her phone—“the lane turns beside West Brick. I don’t know what that means. How do I find West Brick Road?”
    The woman, very used to tourists, smiled. “I bet it says the West Brick.”
    “It does, actually,” Alix said. “I thought it was a typo.”
    “You must mean Addy’s house,” the woman said.
    “Yes. Did you know her?”
    “Everyone did, and we all miss her a lot. So you’re the one who’s going to live there for a year?”
    Alix was a bit shocked that the woman knew that. “Yes,” she said hesitantly.
    “Good for you! And don’t let Jared bully you. He may be my cousin but I can still tell you to stand up to him.”
    Alix could only blink at her. To her mind, Jared Montgomery slash Kingsley was a person to be revered, a god in the world of architecture where Alix lived and worked. But no one on Nantucket seemed in awe of him.
    Izzy stepped forward. “We already met a man who says he’s … uh, Mr. Kingsley’s cousin. Are there many more?”
    The woman smiled again. “A lot of us are descended from the men and women who first settled on this island, and we’re related one way or another.” She went to the register and rang up their purchases. “At the bank, go left. That’s Main Street. Up the road on the right are three brick houses that are just alike. Kingsley Lane turns to the right beside the last of the three brick houses.”
    “The West Brick,” Alix said.
    “You got it.”
    They paid, said thanks, and left the store.
    “Now all we have to do is find the bank,” Izzy said.
    But Alix had gone back into her trance of looking at the town. Across the road was a building that stopped Alix in her tracks. A two-story center flanked by one-story additions with low, slanted roofs. A half-moon window above, a louvered octagon above that.
    “I hate to interrupt your moment here but at this rate it’s going to be night before we get there.”
    Reluctantly, Alix began to walk again, still studying each building they passed and admiring its perfection. When they came to what looked to be a movie set for a nineteenth-century drugstore Alix got excited. “I remember this place! I know it.” She opened the old-fashioned screen door and rushed inside, Izzy right behind her. To their left was a well-used counter, complete with stools in front and a mirror behind.
    Alix put down her packages and sat on a stool. “I want a grilled cheese sandwich and a vanilla frap,” she said decisively to the young woman behind the counter.
    Izzy took the stool next to her. “How can you be hungry, and what’s a frap?”
    “Milk, ice cream.” Alix shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s what I always ordered and I need it now.”
    “Ordered when you were four?” Izzy asked, smiling, pleased that her friend was remembering things.
    A “frap” turned out to be an Americanized term for frappé—a milk shake. Izzy ordered the same and got tuna sandwiches to go.
    “She bought things here,” Alix said as she ate her sandwich, which was served on a thin paper plate. “In the back.”
    Izzy couldn’t resist a look around the store. At first glance it seemed to be a rather simple place, but a closer examination showed that the merchandise was very high-end. The skin products were the kind you found on Madison Avenue in New York.
    “I bet your mother loved this store,” Izzy said when they were back outside on the sidewalk.
    Alix looked at her friend. “What an interesting thought. If