Leaning against the bow rail on the pleasure cruiser tied up at the dock, Barnes slips into a peaceful daze as the boat lists rhythmically to each rolling swell, transfixed on the house in question. Atop the dwelling, a turn of the century widow's walk bears the clad motif of gray hexagonal shingles adding to a mysterious backdrop to a clear, starlit night. A figure emerges in body-length silk as the ocean breeze peels back her shawl baring her chest. Her hair wisping as the wind flows around every curve. French doors glow an iridescent orange, silhouetting the feminine figure peering out over the ocean, ever so majestic as she leans her waist on the wrought iron railing. The North Atlantic has always been the lure of the mystique and folklore. Seafarers have a natural respect and trepidation for what awaits in the waters off the New England coast as they make their living in an already risky occupation. Yet, they press on, as generations of fishermen have done before them, to...

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