Primmy drove slowly past the Stones’ house, to satisfy her curiosity about what was going on there. “The place is an anthill,” she said aloud to herself. She drove on to her place, two driveways down. She pulled into the yard and went inside. She, like pretty much everyone else on the island, didn’t bother locking her doors. She went upstairs to her bedroom, got down two suitcases and began stuffing things into them. She closed the larger one, wheeled it to the stairs, and started rolling it down. A deep voice made her jump and lose control of the case, which bounced into the living room and stopped.

“Can we give you a hand?”

She stopped and looked at them. She wasn’t sure which one had spoken. “I can manage, thank you.”

One of them picked up the bag as if it were a briefcase. “I’ll put it in your trunk,” he said, then turned and walked out the door.

Primmy, her heart pounding, ran back up the stairs, opened the safe in her dressing room and took out a compact 9mm and its holster. She was fitting it onto her belt, her back to the door, when someone said, “Is this one ready to go?”

She pulled down her shirttail over the holster and turned to find a twin standing in her bedroom. “I don’t believe I invited you into this room,” she said. “In fact, I don’t believe I invited you into my house. Please leave now.”

A smile spread slowly across his face. “We don’t always wait for invitations from beautiful women,” he said. “They seem to prefer it that way.”

“Apparently, your ego is larger than your brain,” Primmy said. She was less nervous than angry now.

“I believe that was an insult,” he said.

“Well, your hearing is working. I’m not going to tell you again to get out of my house.” She reached under her shirt, thumbed off the snap from the holster, and kept her hand on the butt of the pistol.

“You scratching an itch under there?” he asked. “Maybe I can scratch it for you.” He took a step toward her.

Primmy, in one smooth motion, pulled the pistol and racked the slide and pointed it at the floor.

“Well, now,” he said. “That’s not very hospitable—more hostile, I’d say.”

“You want to see hostile?” she asked, raising the pistol and thumbing off the safety. Her finger still rested alongside the trigger, not on it.

“Yeah,” he said. “We enjoy a little hostility in a woman.”

Primmy aimed over his shoulder at the doorjamb and squeezed off a round. The sound came in concert with another blast from the house down the road, and she was appalled to see his head jerk to one side and a little puff of blood erupt from his ear.