Normally he’d have laughed. Instead he rose, paced to the rail. “You stop in and see her most every day. You’re friendly, right?”

“I guess we’re friendly enough. It’s hard not to like her.”

“Women tend to confide stuff to their female friends, don’t they?”

“Probably. You want me to ask her if she likes you enough to go to the school dance with you?” She started to snicker, but stopped when he turned around and saw his face. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t know it was serious. What’s up?”

“I think she’s been abused.”

“Man.” Ripley stared down at her water bottle. “That’s tough.”

“Some son of a bitch messed with her, I’m sure of it. Whether or not she’s had counseling or gotten help, it seems to me she could use a . . . you know, a girlfriend. Somebody she could talk to about it.”

“Zack, you know I’m no good at that kind of thing. You are.”

“I’ve got the wrong equipment to be Nell’s girlfriend, Rip. Just . . . just see if you can spend some time with her. Go out on the boat, or go shopping or . . .” He gestured vaguely. “Paint each other’s toenails.”

“Excuse me?”

“Give me a break. I don’t know what you people do in your mysterious caves when men aren’t around.”

“We have pillow fights in our underwear.”

He brightened because she wanted him to. “Really? I was afraid that was a myth. So, be a friend, okay?”

“Are you starting to get a thing for her?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, I guess I’ll be a friend.”

Nell walked into the Coven at precisely five. It was not, as she’d feared, a dark, eerie place, but rather cozy. The light was faintly blue and added a soft tint to the white flowers in the center of each table.

The tables themselves were round, with deep chairs and small sofas circling them. At the glossy bar the glasses sparkled. Nell had no more than chosen a table when a young waitress in trim, unrelieved black set a silver bowl of mixed snacks in front of her.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“I’m waiting for someone. Maybe just a mineral water for now. Thanks.”

The only other patrons were a couple poring over an Island Tours brochure while they sipped white wines and nibbled from a cheese plate. The music was low, and very like what Mia tended to play in the bookstore. Nell tried to relax in her chair, wishing she’d brought a book.

Ten minutes later, Mia breezed in, the long skirt swirling around her long legs. She carried a book, and lifted her free hand in a wave toward the bar. “A glass of Cabernet, Betsy.”

“First glass is on Carl Macey.” Betsy shot Mia a wink. “He gave me orders.”