Tonight's performance had been a true test of her skills. Surely, one for the books.

The Hinkley woman's body would be found in the morning, trampled and mauled by deer. Some might wonder how or why such a thing would happen but no one would come close to gleaning the truth. They were as blind as Ethel—more so, since Ethel Kelly could see further with her mind's eye than most could see with the globs of fluid and anatomy made strictly for the purpose housed within the sockets of their skull.

No one would tie the slut's death to the Barrows Bay Bridge Club, known to most as the Midwives.

But it wasn't these thoughts that troubled Ruby, interfering with her sleep.

It was Martin's return that vexed her. He'd come home after all these years away, and all of the bad blood between Ruby and the others came bubbling back up, like bile after bad chowder. She could sense it, simmering just below the surface.

The uneasy peace she held with them had begun to show cracks.

She would have to do something about it soon.

A place for everything and everything in its place. Neat-freak Helen often said this. Her home was as spotless as the reverend's bedsheets.

Everything in its place.

Martin's place was far from Barrows Bay.

Just him being under the same roof, she could feel her strength sapping away by the minute.

Ruby tossed and turned as the wind howled outside her window, fully aware she wouldn't be able to protect him for long.

From Mavis. From the others. From herself.

And worse, she feared she might not care to spare him at all.

This was why, while the rest of the house slept, Ruby Savage tossed and turned, moaning softly in her restless slumber.

A woman's work was never done.

12

Barrows Bay Tradition

RUBY DIDN'T COME down for breakfast. Norma said it was the first time the old bat slept late in as long as she could remember. "Must be knowing you're home," she said. "Made her relaxed. She worries about you, Marty. She worries a lot."

Martin didn't believe it, but it seemed to comfort Norma so he let the comment slide.

His nightmare had faded in the morning light, leaving him with only a vaguely uneasy feeling about Ruby, a sense that something wasn't right about her, that maybe they'd been too hasty letting her out of the mental hospital.

He felt like she was wound up by a tight, thin thread that could snap at any moment. Just the thought of her entering the room made the scar on his palm throb like a migraine. It was taking its sweet time healing, too—tearing open afresh anytime he moved his hand the wrong way, oozing blood into yet another bandage.

After breakfast they helped Norma clean up. Then they all sat in the living room, talking about trivial things: when the weather would swing toward spring, how much the town had changed since they used to live here, their pastimes. Ruby's bridge games. Norma's cross-stitching, the products of which were relegated to her bedroom, where portraits of terriers and floral patterns took up much of the wall space not crowded by photos of relatives from all over the east coast, even up into Canada. Sheila's interest in learning new languages (she'd forgotten the English to Japanese book she'd been reading in preparation for a trip she hoped to book next year). Martin's childhood obsession with silhouette portraits cut out of black construction paper.