“It has its moments.” She had small hands, he noticed as he watched her work. Quick, clever fingers. She kept her head bent, her eyes averted. Shyness, he decided, coupled with what seemed to him to be a rusty sense of socializing. “A lot of it’s refereeing, or dealing with summer people who’re vacationing too hard. Mostly it’s running herd on about three thousand people. Between me and Ripley it’s simple enough.”

“Ripley?”

“My sister. She’s the other island cop. Todds have been island cops for five generations. That’s looking real nice,” he said, gesturing toward her work-in-progress with his glass.

“Do you think?” She sat back on her heels. She’d mixed some of everything into the pot, stuck in some of the vinca. It didn’t look haphazard as she’d feared it might. It looked cheerful. And so did her face when she lifted it. “It’s my first.”

“I’d say you’ve got a knack. Ought to wear a hat, though. Fair skin like yours is going to burn if you stay out long.”

“Oh.” She rubbed the back of her hand over her nose. “Probably.”

“Guess you didn’t have a garden in Boston.”

“No.” She filled the second pot with soil. “I wasn’t there very long. It wasn’t my place.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve spent some time on the mainland. Never felt home. Your folks still in the Midwest?”

“My parents are dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” She tucked a geranium into the new pot. “Is this conversation, Sheriff, or an inquiry?”

“Conversation.” He picked up a plant that was just out of her reach and held it. A cautious woman, he decided. In his experience cautious people usually had a reason. “Any point in me inquiring?”

“I’m not wanted for anything, never been arrested. And I’m not looking for trouble.”

“That about covers it.” He handed her the plant. “It’s a small island, Miz Channing. Mostly friendly. Curiosity comes along with it, though.”

“I suppose.” She couldn’t afford to alienate him, she reminded herself. She couldn’t afford to alienate anyone. “Look, I’ve been traveling for a while now, and I’m tired of it. I came here looking for work and a quiet place to live.”

“Looks like you found both.” He got to his feet. “I appreciate the lemonade.”

“You’re welcome.”

“That’s a pretty job you’re doing. You’ve got a knack for it, all right. Afternoon, Miz Channing.”

“Afternoon, Sheriff.”

As he walked back to his car he tallied up what he’d learned about her. She was alone in the world, wary of cops, prickly about questions. She was a woman of simple tastes and skittish nerves. And for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom, she just didn’t quite add up for him.