Most of the natives would be sensibly settled in front of the television or finishing up dinner. She was looking forward to engaging in both those activities herself.

But she hadn’t managed a one-on-one with Nell since the evening she’d come to the door.

“You’re either getting a very late start or a really early one,” Ripley called out.

Nell hefted the box and hunched inside the fleece-lined jacket she’d mail-ordered from the mainland. “A second start. The book club that Mia runs is back from its summer break. First meeting’s tonight.”

“Oh, yeah.” Ripley got out of the car. She was wearing an ancient and well-loved bomber jacket and hiking boots. Her summer-weight ball cap had been replaced by one of plain black wool. “Need a hand?”

“I wouldn’t turn one down.” Happy that she sensed no lingering animosity, Nell gestured with her elbow to the second box. “Refreshments for the meeting. Are you going?”

“Not a chance.”

“Don’t like to read?”

“No, I like to read, I just don’t like groups. Groups are made up of members,” she explained. “And members are almost always people. So there you go.”

“People you know,” Nell pointed out.

“Which gives my stand a firmer base. This group’s a bunch of hens who’ll spend as much time pecking at the latest gossip as they will discussing whatever book they used as an excuse to get out of the house for the evening.”

“How do you know that if you don’t belong to the club?”

“Let’s just say I have a sixth sense about these things.”

“All right.” Nell adjusted the balance of her box as they walked toward the rear entrance. Despite the weather, Mia’s salvia hung on, as red and sassy as July. “Is that why you don’t accept the Craft? Because it’s like joining a group?”

“That would be reason enough. Added to that, I don’t like being told I have to fall in line with something that started three hundred years before I was born.”

A blast of wind blew her ponytail into a thick, dark whip. She ignored it, and the cold fingers that tried to sneak under her jacket. “I figure whatever needs to be dealt with can and should be dealt with without cackling over a cauldron, and I don’t like having people wondering if I’m going to come flying by on my broom wearing a pointy black hat.”

“I can’t argue with the first two reasons.” Nell opened the door, stepped into the welcome warmth. “But the second two don’t hold. I’ve never once heard Mia cackle, over a cauldron or otherwise, and I’ve never seen anyone look at her as if they expected her to jump on a broom.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if she did.” Ripley strode into the main store, nodded at Lulu. “Lu.”