She had come every summer for twenty-nine years to stay at what used to be Mrs. Mercer's boarding house but was now Ye Olde Whale Inn. She knew all about Quisset, and Quisset thought it knew all about her. So when Miss Olive Beadle arrived for her thirtieth season, there was nothing to hint at disaster.


The murder at Ye Olde Whale Inn hung on a curious series of chance events: if Ann Joyce and Mrs. Hingham hadn't both been stage-struck; if departing ministers hadn't passed out group photos to the congregation; if Cousin Jenny hadn't found the stuffed tomato and if a sprained ankle and a load of overdue clams hadn't put Asey Mayo on the scene, matters would have been very different.