Canada Day arrived mild and damp, but residents of the province had never let a bit of moisture stop the festivities. From West Winds to Sydney to Chigneto Bay plans were made for the biggest holiday of the season. Parades trailed the streets of nearly every major city. Barbecue pits were lit to burn down slowly for the afternoon feast. Concert pavilions would echo that night with personalities like Marche DeMornae, Handi Ellison and Anne Murray.

It was still midmorning when Lauren and Maruso docked in Lunenburg. Already the port was crowded with activity and shouts of recognition from relatives in both French and English.

In some areas of the city people had started celebrating the night before, happy as much for the three day weekend as for the holiday. Maruso led Lauren from the dock to the bustling sidewalks farther into town.

"We'll have to walk," he said over the drone of the crowd. "We'll never get a cab in this mob."

"Fine with me." Lauren lowered her voice as they moved down the street. "We don't have to spend the whole day. We can go back at any time."

He glanced at her quizzically. "I don't what to take you back. Why? Do you have other plans?"

"Of course not. I just meant -- "

"I know what you meant." Maruso sighed, looking over the streets. "Appearances. Charades. Well, you can forget about that and the diary for now. Aren’t you allowed to enjoy yourself on the job?"

She laughed. "Yes, but not too much."

"That won't happen." They passed a clown juggling and a group of children. "Neither Clemens is going to see us here, so relax. Stop acting. Where do you want to go first?"

Lauren discovered where Rudy got his taste for spicy foods. Much of Nova Scotia's population was French descendants, who, like the Louisiana Cajun, preferred the hot flavors of a variety of peppers. The Cajuns, Maruso explained, were actually remnants of Acadians deported by the British in the mid-eighteenth century.

Traditional Algonquin influences were also present, evidenced in Micmacs handicrafts and jewelry. These stalls were run by Indians from far away as the Cape Breton Island reserves.

Lauren picked up a chunky necklace from one of the many merchant tables. She turned it over, twisting one of the hand-carved beads. "This doesn't look very ethnic," she said lowly to Maruso. She looked sideways at the blonde woman helping a customer. "She doesn't look Indian, either."

"She's isn't. That's Norwegian." He nodded to the necklace. "There's always a few of them from the Bay of Fundy Norwegian Immigrants Association around this time of year; sometimes even more during the Cabot Pageant."

She turned the necklace over. "What interest do Norwegians have in the province?"

He shrugged. "They get a little bent out of shape during the summer because no one credits Leif Erickson for visiting Nova Scotia in the first century. Actually, there's not a lot to commemorate the Viking landing here -- it's pretty much just French and Indian in this town. There was quite a row about the lack of interest a couple years ago."

"Vikings," she repeated. "I think I heard something about it a long time ago," Her fingers closed around the necklace tighter. "I know what this is now. One of those new artifacts. Norway. Oh, Birka. It was a trading village. They excavated a few burials there. They were selling bushels of these at the Renaissance Revival at school."

Her words left Maruso confused. "I think you've been on one excavation too many."

"That's an original line. I should be offended."

"But you're not. Do you want that?" He nodded to a bracelet she'd picked up.

Lauren shook her head. "I like the netsukes." She held up a bone necklace. "They're Japanese -- "

"I don't want to hear its history from the first dynasty," he said with mock irritation. "Just put it on."

Shortly after noon the barbecue pits were being swarmed by hungry tourists and residents alike. Smells of roasting pig and spicy beef mingling with those of early blueberry pies and fresh bread. Vendors sporting cheese, sausage and apple butter found their stands vacating as the heartier foods became available.

Lauren and Maruso visited a few of the stands and then headed into the thick of town for the savory sandwiches and salads being offered. After the initial shock of spicy beef peppered with cumin and paprika Lauren resided to the more palatable roasted dill chicken. From there they went on to sample other salads and pitas. In closing they both agreed the simplified version of Chocolate Sheba was best.

The rest of the afternoon was spent at the open air concerts and markets. Both forgot about Miles and the Money Pit for a few hours. Toward the evening they headed for a restaurant in Lunenburg. It served lower echelon French dinners as well as gourmet Greek and stout German and English food. It wasn't dockside, but the bay was visible from the patio. Where Lauren and Maruso were seated they could see the harbor and Oak Island.

Lauren watched him eat for a moment before posing her next question. "Is working for the musume interfering with your personal life?"

"In what way?"

She shrugged. "Did you have to clear it with anyone? An old girlfriend coming up."

"No. How about you? Involved or anything?"

"No. After I finish school I'll have more time for that."

"Will you?" Maruso shook his head. "You'll be trotting from continent to continent, looking at things, purchasing for the musume. Stuff like that."

"I won't be that busy."

"Have you got someone willing to wait a couple years?" He hadn't said it brutally, but there was a certain severity in his tone.

"No. That would be unfair and selfish." She cut into her braised turkey. "Why aren't you committed? Or don't men do that anymore?"

"I was, but I spent too much time on the water and it dissolved before I even knew there was trouble." His attention remained on his dinner. "I thought I was doing the right thing. We had a small flat in West Winds, but I was never there. I ran the Second Wind for weeks on end, trying to pay off some land up on the St. Mary's River. We were going to build there. The fishing industry off the coast up there was excellent work." He shook his head. "With the commission your musume put up the land is nearly paid off. If this holds out another sixty days it'll be mine. Free and clear."

"Maybe you can get her back?" she said hopefully. "Is she still in the area?"

"It's not like that, Lauren. It's too late. People don't always wait. Even the good ones." He resumed eating. "If you're not careful you'll make the same mistake."

She pushed her potatoes around the plate. An uncomfortable silence grew.

"Come on," he said suddenly as a volley of fireworks erupted over the bay. They trailed the diners to the patio.

Lauren's eyes followed one rocket as it whistled far into the dark bay. Beyond was the island. Even as she focused on the outline of land Maruso was aware of something wrong.

"Shouldn't we be able to see the light from here?" she asked.

He nodded, frowning. "I was just thinking the same thing. It isn't on."

"But Rudy's always on time. You don't think he put a little too much whiskey in his tea tonight?"

"Not Rudy. I'll call over. You watch from here."

Lauren waited on the patio with mounting concern. The island remained dark. She didn't see the festive fireworks showering the skies. She had seen Carlos in his cups, and he had never impressed her as lax. Rudy drank a lot, but not heavily and almost always tempered by tea.

But even on Canada Day?

"There's no answer," Maruso said when he returned. "Let's go back."

The light keeper’s kitchen door was unlocked as Maruso stepped in. Behind him Lauren flipped on the light switch.

"Carlos?" she called loudly. "Rudy?"

Maruso opened the hutch drawer and took out a hand gun.

"Do we need that?" Lauren whispered.

"I hope not." He looked toward the sitting room. "Stay here."

"No way. I'm coming with you."

Neither Carlos nor Rudy were to be found. A thorough search of the house and tower was made in vain. The Jeep was still at the dock when Lauren and Maruso returned from Lunenburg, so Rudy and Carlos hadn't driven anywhere.

Lauren stood between the small kitchen and parlor, her mind spinning from one horrible thought to another. With a sudden lurch she snapped open the secretary drawer. She groaned.

"It's gone."

Before Maruso could utter a word she had sprinted upstairs to Carlos' room. She rummaged through the neat bureau and then the stack of books on the floor.

"The diary," she said simply as Maruso appeared in the doorway. "It's not here."

"Where else could it be?"

Downstairs the phone rang. Mixed images leaped into Lauren's mind. Kidnappers calling to demand a ransom. Rudy telling them they were at the doctor's house for a poker game. Carlos to say they were following up on a lead about the pit. But it was none of these.

"Hello," she greeted the phone breathlessly. Puzzlement crossed her face. She nodded. "When? He's there now?" She looked to Maruso who was mouthing one word to her. "Is Dad there too? I see." During a long pause she scribbled a quick note on a napkin. "Yes; thank you."

"Well?"

"It was Lucy Yearbright."

"Lucy?"

Lauren took a deep breath. "She said Carlos called her two hours ago to take Rudy to the hospital. He was having chest pains and a hard time breathing. Rudy was -- not Carlos," she clarified. "He called Dr. Geiger first, but no one was home. Lucy was the only other person Carlos could think of. He didn't trust Clemens and he didn't know where we were. Lucy didn't say that, but I know it's true. She said Carlos would be calling soon."

Maruso scowled, glancing at what she had written on the napkin. As he reached for the phone it rang. "Yes, he said into it. "She's here. Are you all right?" He handed it to Lauren. "Carlos."

She spoke briefly to the curator, her face registering concern, relief and a certain frustration. "A note would have been nice. Yes, we had a good time. Okay. I'll see you then." She hung up slowly and looked to the man at the table hopefully. "Do you know how to run the light?"

It took half an hour to figure out and cycle the beacon Rudy had maintained for forty years. During the trial and error Lauren related what Carlos had told her. Lucy's story had been correct. Rudy was resting as well as possible after a mild heart-attack. A battery of tests was scheduled for the next few days, but he would be home soon.

The diary Lauren thought stolen was also found, per Carlos' instructions, in the oven. As it was, Carlos was staying at the hospital until the next morning and catching a ride with some of Lucy's crew as they went to work.

Maruso called Carlos when the light was working and offered to come pick him up, but Carlos declined, claiming it as far too late. He asked that the captain stay at the lighthouse until he could get there.

"For appearances," Carlos told Lauren when Maruso handed her the phone.

"Appearances."

"I don't want you there alone," Carlos added. "Clemens may try to make good on his threat. If he noticed the light delay he might get suspicious and come over."

Lauren nodded. "All right, Carlos. Good-night."