Excerpt:
Vicki was able to relax today. The decent wage Pop would pay her for three hours waiting tables would be easy money. The Seashell Room wasn’t inundated with customers this lunchtime.

So she didn’t mind when a man by himself sat down at table 12, which was set for six.

Come to think of it, she couldn’t recall ever seeing a man have lunch here by himself.

He had a shiny bald head, bushy eyebrows, and a nose like a potato.

She decided to wait till he’d looked through the menu, then wait a while longer before darting over to the table.

But the bald-headed man wasn’t looking at the menu. He was surveying the restaurant. First he scanned the seashells on the walls, then he spent a considerable time staring at the base on which the Storm Goddess’s head had hung, and finally he studied the captain’s portrait. He seemed unable to tear his eyes away from it – indeed, he even swiveled his chair around for a better view.

Vicki went over to him. “What can I bring you?” The bald-headed man’s little, bloodshot eyes regarded her from under his bushy eyebrows. His potato of a nose was stippled with blackheads “A glass of water, and hold the ice.”

“A glass of water, no ice.” Vicki waited, but that was all he said. She indicated the menu. “And, er, have you chosen?”

“Thanks, nothing to eat.”

“I see.” Occupying a table for six and ordering a glass of water? Some nerve!

Just as she turned to go, the bald-headed man said, “You’re the boss’s daughter, aren’t you?”

A chill ran down her spine. Of course, he was from the Department of Labor! She nodded.

“I’d like a word with you.”

She nodded again. “Sure, but I’ll bring your water first.” She hurried over to the counter. “Eileen,” she whispered, “I think that guy at table twelve is a Department of Labor inspector. He wants a word with me.”

Eileen gave him a quick glance. “Never seem him before, he must be new on the job. Don’t worry though, he can’t do anything to us. Keep your mouth shut, that’s all.” Of course she would. She would never, even under hypnosis, have admitted that Pop was paying her.

“There you go.” Vicki put the glass down in front of him. He pointed to the chair across the table. She shook her head. “I’d rather stand.”

“Suit yourself.” The bald-headed man said nothing for a moment. Then he asked abruptly, “That carved wooden head – where’s it gone?”

What business was that of a Department of Labor inspector? Still, there was no need to make a secret of it. Vicki told him.

He regarded her again from under his bushy eyebrows, then rapped out his next question, “A packet was washed ashore with that head in seventeen seventy-two. Your family inherited it, right?”

That was certainly no concern of the Department of Labor. “I think you’d better speak with my father about it,” Vicki told him, and turned to go.

“Wait!” he said sharply. Vickie was so startled, she complied. You wouldn’t run away from the press, would you?”

So he wasn’t from the Department of Labor! “You work for a newspaper?”

“Yes, the Morning Pos. Belper’s the name. I’m writing a feature article on the Storm Goddess.”

The Morning Post served the big seaport farther along the coast. Vicki had heard her father mention that Rose Redd had worked for it before moving to the Bay Courier. These reporters eager for a scoop wouldn’t get anywhere with her.

The man named Belper said, “I’ve already gather a few facts together. That’s how I came across the information that your family inherited the packet in question.” He paused, then added, “Because it contained the journal of an ancestor of yours.”