Cape Cod

Cover Cape Cod
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Genres: Fiction
On summer nights, up and down 6A, candles flickered in the windows of the inns where Yankee sea captains once lived, and where chefs now put raspberries on chicken, cooked duck in orange sauce, and did things to mussels that no self-respecting Cape Codder would do to a barnacle.
At the Bell-in-Hand you could still get a fisherman’s platter—deep-fried seafood with a side of slaw for $9.95. Add to this a salad in a little wooden dish, dressing from a bottle, a big highball in one of those heavy g
...lasses, and serve it on a paper place mat featuring a Cape Cod map. Not that the locals cared about maps. The Bell-in-Hand didn’t even have windows.
There was, however, a jukebox filled with fifties rock, and somebody was spending his week’s pay on Buddy Holly songs.
Geoff preferred to eat at the inns, but they were one more sign of what he called the creeping chichi of Cape Cod. They had been catering to tourists for nearly a century down here, but it had only been in the last twenty years that Off-Capers had rubbed away the character of the place, that sense of stiff-spined, chowder-eating independence that had made Rake Hilyard such a hard case right up to the night of his death.
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