But Clarence had stopped listening, and there was little hope of her getting his attention back. Giada De Laurentiis was on the tube, making homemade gnocchi with sage and brown butter.

Eloise sighed. Reward. Then she retreated to the kitchen table, where she would scour the classified ads. She needed another job.

The third house that Eddie Pancik was building on Eagle Wing Lane was bought immediately by Glenn Daley of Bayberry Properties, who, we later learned, had bought the other two spec houses from Eddie in a private deal. Rachel McMann begged Glenn for the first crack at selling the three houses once they were finished. But Glenn Daley had other ideas. He hired a new real-estate agent to join his agency—none other than Barbie Pancik! On the day that Barbie moved into her new desk—as it happened, the desk right next to Glenn’s—Glenn pulled a diamond ring out of his drawer and proposed marriage.

“Will you be my wife?” he asked.

Barbie Pancik, too overcome for words, placed her perfectly manicured hand over her mouth and nodded an emphatic yes. All the other agents and associates in the office clapped and cheered, Rachel McMann a little less enthusiastically than some.

Grace Pancik put her Wauwinet Road house, “with three acres of gardens designed by renowned landscape architect Benton Coe,” on the market for $3.5 million. In less than a week, Barbie Pancik (soon to be Barbie Pancik-Daley) had sold the place for full listing price. Grace and her two daughters moved into a charming cottage on Lily Street with a postage-stamp yard. It was hard to give up the hens, Grace said, but it would be nice to live in town and be able to walk to coffee, and to the post office to mail Eddie’s care packages.

Jean Burton happened to see Grace at the Federal Street post office one morning, nestling a brand-new Panama hat in straw to send to Eddie, along with three bottles of cherry Tums and an index card with her lip prints on it.

“She’s standing by her man,” Jean said. “I really admire that.”

We all agreed that it was laudable. What, after all, was to keep Grace from following Benton Coe to Detroit? The two of them had been madly in love. We had NOT been wrong about that.

Jody Rouisse said to Susan Prendergast, “Well, if she isn’t going to Detroit to chase him, then I just might.” But Jody Rouisse, as we knew, was all talk. The most she would ever do would be to follow Benton on Twitter, using the hashtag #belleislepark.

Speaking of Panama hats, rumor had it that Philip Meier, a longtime loan officer at Nantucket Bank, ordered a Panama hat online, a cheap imitation one that cost him $19.99. Philip then approached the bank employees who worked at the teller desk, all of them women.

He said, “I know it’s only August, but how many of you want to dress up as prostitutes for Halloween and come with me to the Chicken Box? We’re sure to win first prize. I’m going as Eddie Pancik.”

The tellers laughed nervously. None of them wanted to go anywhere with Philip on Halloween. He was too touchy-feely; even the office holiday party was trying.

Finding he had no takers, Philip Meier went back to his computer and ordered an orange prison jumpsuit. He didn’t need five girls; he could win Best Costume all by himself.

But still, it would be better with the girls.

He would work on them, he decided. He still had plenty of time.

Madeline King and Grace Pancik were back to being friends. We would see them side by side at Steps Beach; we could find the two of them, plus Trevor Llewellyn, out to dinner at Le Languedoc and the Straight Wharf on Saturday nights. We had all figured out by then that the “involvement” between Eddie and Madeline had been financial, not sexual, and we learned that Grace had paid Madeline and Trevor their fifty thousand dollars back only hours after she closed on her house.

It was rumored that the photograph of Allegra Pancik and Ian Coburn sitting on the hood of Ian’s red Camaro in their underwear had gone viral and that both teenagers had been offered modeling contracts, with shoots in New York, London, and Hong Kong.

That rumor was quashed when Blond Sharon took her children to the Weezie Library and found Allegra shelving books from a cart among the babbling young children playing with wooden trucks on the braided rug, and mothers and caregivers reading in hushed tones. Allegra was certainly beautiful enough to be a model, Blond Sharon thought. Her long dark hair was loose over her shoulders, and her skin was a golden tan against the white eyelets of her sundress, which was a more modest garment than Blond Sharon could ever remember seeing her wear.

“Allegra!” Blond Sharon said in surprise, her voice several decibels louder than was appropriate for a children’s library. “What are you doing here? I thought you were on your way to fame and glory!”

“Fame?” Allegra said quizzically, as she slid Bear Snores On back into place on the shelf. “Glory?”

Blond Sharon blinked. Who had told her that Allegra Pancik was going to be a model for Lucky jeans, replacing Gisele Bündchen? Now she couldn’t remember.

She left the Weezie library hand in hand with her two children, Sterling and Colby, who were late for their sailing lessons anyway. She felt a little deflated that the glamorous story she’d heard wasn’t true.

But then she perked up. It was, after all, a beautiful day on Nantucket; the sun was shining, and Blond Sharon knew that it would be only a matter of time until this island gave her something else to talk about.