after Labor Day, when Clear Harbor emptied for the season, cars were virtually nonexistent, though it wouldn’t be the first time a tourist had ignored the PRIVATE ROAD sign and ventured out onto the point. Curious, she padded to the living room and peered through the curtains, troubled to see that a handful of TV news trucks had gathered outside the front gates, looking like something from a bad sci-fi movie with their giant satellite dish antennas. When in God’s name had that happened?
