“It’ll slow down after the dancing starts.” Moving quickly, Nell refilled the tray.

“Station . . . hell, I can never remember the numbers. The meatballs are about half gone. You said I should tell you.”

“I’ll take care of it. Is anything not going over?”

“Not that I’ve seen.” Peg hefted the tray. “The way it’s moving, I’d say this crowd would eat the paper napkins if you put sauce on them.”

Amused, Nell took out the miniature egg rolls she had warming in the oven. As she arranged them on a tray, Ripley strolled in.

“Some party.”

“It’s great, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, swank.”

“You look pretty swank yourself,” Nell commented.

Ripley looked down at her basic black dress. It was short, satisfactorily clingy, and had the advantage of being able to go to a party or, with a blazer, double as meeting attire.

“I got this number in black and in white. Figure that covers the bases as far as dresses go.” She glanced around, saw absolute order, heard the hum of the dishwasher, smelled the scent of spice. “How do you keep everything organized in here?”

“I’m brilliant.”

“Seems like.” Ripley plucked up one of the egg rolls, popped it into her mouth. “Food’s fabulous,” she said with her mouth full. “I never told you, but that picnic deal you fixed for me was really great.”

“Oh, yeah? How did that work out?”

“Just dandy, thanks,” Ripley replied.

Her smug smile transformed into a scowl when Mia stepped in.

“I wanted to extend my compliments.” She spotted the egg rolls. “Ah, a new offering.” She took one, bit in. “Lovely. Hello, Ripley. I barely recognized you in your girl attire. How did you decide whether to wear the black or the white this evening?”

“Up yours.”

“Don’t start. I haven’t time to referee.”

“Don’t worry.” Ripley snagged one more egg roll. “I can’t waste the energy on Hecate here. Gladys’s nephew from Cambridge just arrived and is looking just fine. I’m going to go hit on him.”

“It’s so comforting to know some things never change.”

“Don’t touch anything,” Nell ordered, then hurried out with the tray.

“So . . .” Because she preferred being away from the crowd of people, but still wanted to eat, Ripley eased up the lid on a covered tray. “Nell seems okay.”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“Don’t play dumb, Mia. It doesn’t suit that cat face of yours.” Ripley helped herself to a couple of frosted, heart-shaped cookies. “I don’t need a scrying mirror to see she’s had a rough time. A woman like her doesn’t pop up on the island with nothing to her name but a backpack and a secondhand Buick unless she’s on the run. Zack figures some guy knocked her around.”