As he spoke, Zack took the offered coffee, sat at his desk, propped up his feet. And grinned. The ceiling fan was squeaking again. He’d really meant to see to that.

“So, what’s new with you?”

“Speeder on the north coast road,” Ripley told him. “Don’t know where they thought they were going in such a hurry. I explained that the cliffs and the light and so on had been in place for a few centuries and weren’t likely to move away in an afternoon.” She plucked a fax out of his in box. “And this came in for you. Nell Channing. That’s the new cook at Mia’s place, right?”

“Umm-hmm.” He scanned the motor vehicle report. No traffic violations. She still carried an Ohio driver’s license, due for renewal in just over two years. The car was registered in her name. He’d been right about the new tags. She’d had them less than a week. Before that, the car had carried Texas tags.

Interesting.

Ripley scooted onto the corner of the desk they shared and sampled his coffee since he wasn’t drinking it. “Why’d you run her?”

“Curious. She’s a curious woman.”

“Curious how?”

He started to answer, then shook his head. “Why don’t you drop into the café for lunch, check her out yourself. I’d be interested in your impression.”

“Maybe I will.” Frowning, Ripley glanced at the open door. “I think a storm’s coming in.”

“It’s clear as glass out there, honey.”

“Something’s coming,” she said half to herself, then grabbed her baseball cap. “I’ll take a walk around, maybe stop in the café and take a look at our newest resident.”

“Take your time. I’ll do the afternoon beach patrol.”

“You’re welcome to it.” Ripley slid on her sunglasses and strode out.

She liked her village, the order of it. As far as Ripley was concerned, everything had a place and that’s just where it should stay. She didn’t mind the vagaries of sea and weather—that was just another natural order of things.

June meant a fresh influx of tourists and summer people, temperatures moving from warm to hot, beach bonfires and smoking grills.

It also meant excess partying, the routine drunk and disorderly, the occasional lost child, and the inevitable lovers’ spats. But the tourists who celebrated, drank, wandered, and squabbled brought summer dollars to the island that kept it afloat during the frigid gales of winter.

She would cheerfully—well, perhaps not too cheerfully—suffer the problems of strangers for a few months in order to preserve Three Sisters.

This nine square miles of rock and sand and soil was all the world she needed.