Nell didn’t jump, which pleased both of them. Instead she rose and walked to Zack, who stood in the doorway. “He might be my familiar. But I’m told that’ll be up to him. Good morning, Sheriff Todd.”

“Good morning, Ms. Channing. Can I buy a cup of coffee and a muffin?”

“Payment first.”

He came to her, wrapped her up in a long, deep kiss. “That do it?”

“Oh, yeah. Just let me give you your change.” She drew him down again, lingered over the taste of him. “I’m so happy.”

At precisely eight-thirty, Evan sat down to a breakfast of sweetened coffee, fresh orange juice, an egg-white omelette, and two slices of whole wheat toast.

He’d already made use of the hotel health club, such as it was. He had only glanced at the pool. He disliked using public swimming pools, but had considered it until he’d seen it was already being used. A long, lean brunette was streaking through the water. As if she was in a race, he’d thought.

He’d only caught glimpses of her face as she turned it rhythmically in and out of the water in time with her strokes.

And he didn’t see, as he dismissed her and walked away, her sudden loss of pace. The way she pulled up in the water as if gathering for attack. How she shoved her goggles, treading water as she looked around for what had felt like an enemy.

He’d showered in his room, dressed in a pale gray sweater and dark slacks. He glanced at his watch, ready to be annoyed if his meal should be above one minute late.

But it arrived, just as requested. He didn’t chat with the waiter. He never did such foolish things. The man was paid to deliver food, not to fraternize with guests.

He enjoyed his breakfast, surprised that he could find no fault with it, as he read the morning paper and listened to the news on the parlor television.

He considered how best to do what he’d come to do. Walking through the village as he’d done yesterday, driving around the island as he planned to do today, might not be enough. Still, it wouldn’t do to ask people if they knew anyone of Helen’s description. People never minded their own business, and there would be questions. Speculation. Attention.

If, by some chance, Helen was alive and here, the less attention paid to him, the better.

If she were, what would she do? She had no skills. How could she earn a living without him to provide for her? Unless, of course, she’d used her body to entice yet another man. Women were, at the center, whores.

He had to sit back and wait for the fury to pass. It was difficult to think in logical steps through anger. However justified.