“Getting a little breakfast before you start your day, huh?” Violet rose and placed her hand against the screen, and the female turned her head toward Violet’s voice. “Well, hello to you too,” she murmured. She’d mix up a new batch of nectar for them when she returned from her morning survey. She glanced at her watch. Still had a little time.

At a rustle behind her the birds took one last sip, then flew away, and Violet turned to see her sister lean in through the doorway that led from the kitchen onto the porch. Trudy’s blue-striped pajamas were rumpled, and she rubbed a hand over her eyes as she yawned.

At one time in her life, Trudy Figg wouldn’t have stepped out of the house without her long blonde hair meticulously brushed and rolled, eyeliner in a perfect cat eye, and lips lined and glossed. She’d sheathed her lovely form in all manner of sparkly gowns and bikinis in her quest to win every beauty pageant she entered, which for the most part she had.

The gowns and bikinis were long gone, along with all traces of makeup, hair products, and her voice, but her face was still beautiful. As much as Trudy tried to run from it, it was hard to hide the still-bright eyes, Cupid’s-bow lips, and smooth cheeks, despite her sixty-three years. Today Trudy sported a particularly impressive bedhead, with short gray-brown curls sticking out all over. And knowing Trudy, she wouldn’t even try to tame it before shoving a hat on her head and heading out on her daily treasure hunt.

Pausing in the doorway, Trudy tapped her watch and tilted her head in question.

“I’m always up early.” Over the years Violet had learned to decipher her sister’s unspoken communication, and she often knew what Trudy was thinking even when Trudy didn’t reach for the ever-present notepad and pencil she kept in her pocket. Violet nodded toward the bird feeder hanging on the other side of the screen. “I saw Sunshine this morning.” It was her nickname for the hummingbird with the sun rays on her neck. “She found her way back.”

Trudy had already pulled out her notepad and was scratching out a note. When she finished she held it out for Violet to read. With all those birds crisscrossing the skies during migrations, what makes you think you have repeat visitors?

Violet shrugged. “It happens.”

Trudy threw out a skeptical glance, but Violet pushed it away. “The birds know a good thing when they see it, and they’ve been known to go back to the same feeder year after year.” She nudged her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “Regardless, they’re here and I like it.” Violet faced out toward the river and the wide sky above it. Clear as a bell, light breeze. An osprey swooped over the river, a fish dangling in its talons.

Behind her Trudy began to write again. I’m going to the island before the tide comes back in. Don’t call the coast guard on me like you did last time.