She spotted Mia with a customer in the cookbook section. Ripley bared her teeth. Mia fluttered her lashes. Simmering with impatience, Ripley strode into the café waited her turn, then snapped out an order for coffee.
"No lunch today?" Flushed with the bustle of the noon crowd, Nell poured out from a fresh pot.
"Lost my appetite."
"That's too bad." Mia cooed from behind Ripley. "The lobster salad's particularly good today."
Ripley merely jerked a thumb, then marched behind the counter and into the kitchen. She jammed her hands on her hips when Mia strolled in after her.
"Zack and I are handling the problem. I want you to stay out of it."
A bowl of top cream was less smooth than Mia's voice. "I wouldn't dream of interfering with the law of the land."
"Excuse me." Nell hesitated, cleared her throat. "Sandwiches. I need to make them up."
"Go right ahead." Mia gestured. "I imagine Deputy Fife and I are nearly done."
"Just save the smart-ass comments."
"I do. I store them up just for you."
"I don't want you doing anything, and I want you to tell Carl you didn't do anything."
"Too late." Enjoying herself, Mia smiled brilliantly. "It's already done. A very simple spell—even someone with your fumbling abilities could have managed it."
"Cancel it."
"No. Why does it concern you? You claim not to believe in the Craft."
"I don't. But I know how rumors work around here. If anything happens to those boys—"
"Don't insult me." All humor fled from Mia's voice. "You know very well I'd do nothing to harm them, or anyone. You know, that's the heart of it. That's what you're afraid of. Afraid that if you opened yourself to what's inside you again, you wouldn't be able to control it."
"I'm not afraid of anything. And you're not pulling me in that way." She pointed at Nell, who was struggling to keep very busy with sandwiches. "You've got no right pulling her in, either."
"I don't make the pattern, Ripley. I just recognize it. And so do you."
"It's a waste of time talking to you." Ripley stormed out of the kitchen.
Mia let out a little sigh, her only sign of distress. "Conversations with Ripley never seem particularly productive. You mustn't let it worry you, Nell."
"It has nothing to do with me."
"I can feel your anxiety all the way over here. People argue, often bitterly. They don't all solve the conflict with fists. Here, now." She moved behind Nell and rubbed her shoulders. "Let the worry go. Tension's bad for the digestion."
At the touch Nell felt a trickle of warmth melt away the ice that had balled in her belly. "I guess I like both of you. I hate to see you dislike each other."
"I don't dislike Ripley. She annoys me, frustrates me, but I don't dislike her. You wonder what we were talking about, but you won't ask, will you, little sister?"
"No. I don't like questions."
"I'm fascinated by them. We need to talk, you and I." Mia stepped back, waited for Nell to pick up the completed order and turn. "I have things to do this evening. Tomorrow, then. I'll buy you a drink. Let's make it early. Five at the Magick Inn. The lounge. It's called the Coven. You can leave your questions at home if you like," Mia said as she started out. "I'll bring the answers anyway."
Chapter Five
It went pretty much as Zack had expected. The Hickman kid had to flex his muscles. The other three had folded, and Zack expected Carl to get his money from them the next morning. But Hickman had to prove he was smarter, braver, and far superior to some dinky island sheriff.
From his place on the dock, Zack watched the rented boat putt along toward the lobster traps. He was already on the wrong side of the law, Zack mused, nibbling on sunflower seeds. Boating after dark without running lights. That would cost him.
But it was nothing to the grand that the little defiance was going to cost the college boy's father.
He expected the kid was going to give him some trouble when he hauled him in. Which meant they'd both be spending a few hours in the station house that night. One of them behind bars.
Well, lessons learned, Zack decided, lowering his binoculars and reaching down for his flashlight as the boy began to haul up a pot.
The scream was high and girlish, and gave Zack a hell of a jolt. He switched on his light, shot the bright beam of it across the water. A light fog crept over the surface, so that the boat seemed to bob in smoke. The boy stood, the trap gripped in both hands, the look on his face as he stared into it one of sheer horror.
Before Zack could call out, the boy flung the trap high and wide. Even as it splashed into the water, he was tumbling in.
"Oh, well, hell," Zack muttered, peeved at the prospect of ending his workday soaking wet. He stepped to the end of the dock, scooped up a life preserver. The kid was doing more screaming than swimming, but he was making some progress toward shore.
"Here you go, Steve." Zack tossed the preserver in. "Head this way. I don't want to have to come in after you."
"Help me." The boy flailed, swallowed water, choked. But he managed to grab the flotation. "They're eating my face!"
"Almost there." Zack knelt down, held out a hand. "Come on up. You're still in one piece."
"My head! My head!" Steve slipped and slithered onto the dock, then lay there on his belly, shuddering. "I saw my head in the trap. They were eating my face!"
"Your head's still on your shoulders, son." Zack hunkered down. "Catch your breath. Had yourself a hallucination, that's all. Been drinking a bit, haven't you? That, and some guilt got to you."
"I saw… I saw." He sat up, laid shaking hands on his face to make certain all his parts were there, then began to shake in stupendous relief.
"Fog, dark, water. It's a tricky kind of situation, especially on a couple bottles of beer. You're going to feel a lot better when you give Carl that forty dollars. In fact, why don't we go get you cleaned up, get your wallet, and go by his place now? You'll sleep better for it."
"Yeah. Sure. Right. Okay."
"That's fine." Zack helped him to his feet. "I'll take care of getting the boat back, don't you worry."
That Mia, Zack thought as he led the unprotesting boy away from the water. You had to give her credit for creativity.
~•~
It took a while to calm the boy down, then to calm four boys down once he'd taken Steve back to the rental. Then there was Carl to deal with, and the boat. Which was probably why Zack ended up nodding off at the station house just before three A.M.
He woke two hours later, stiff as a board and annoyed with himself. Ripley, he decided as he stumbled out to his cruiser, was taking the first shift.
He meant to drive straight home, but he'd gotten into the habit of swinging past the yellow cottage at the end of his shift. Just to make sure everything was as it should be.
He made the turn before he realized it, and saw the lights in her windows. Concern as much as curiosity made him pull over and get out of the car.
Because the kitchen light was on, he went to the back door. He was lifting his hand to knock when he saw her standing on the other side of the screen, a long, smooth-bladed knife gripped in both hands.
"If I tell you I was just in the neighborhood, you won't gut me with that, will you?"
Her hands began to tremble, and her breath exploded out of her as she dropped the knife on the table with a clatter.
"I'm sorry I scared you. I saw your light as I was… hey, hey." When she swayed, he bolted through the door, gripping both her arms and lowering her into a chair. "Sit. Breathe. Head down. Jesus, Nell. I'm sorry." He stroked her hair, patted her back, and wondered whether she would just keel over on the floor if he jumped up to get her a glass of water.
"It's all right. I'm all right. I heard the footsteps. In the dark. It's so quiet here, you can hear everything, and I heard you coming toward the house."
She'd wanted to run like a rabbit in the other direction and keep going. She d
idn't remember picking up the knife, hadn't known she could.
"I'm going to get you some water."
"No, I'm all right." Mortified now, she realized, but all right. "I just wasn't expecting anyone to come to the door."
"Guess not. It's still shy of five-thirty." He sat back on his heels when she lifted her head again. Color was coming back, he noted with relief. "What're you doing up?"
"I'm usually up by—" She jumped like a spring as the oven timer buzzed. "God! God!" With a half laugh she pounded a fist on her heart. "I'm going to be lucky to survive till sunrise at this rate. My muffins," she said and got up quickly to take them out of the oven, slide the next batch in.
"I didn't realize you started so early."
He could see, now that he looked around, that she'd been at it a while. There was something simmering on the stove and smelling like glory. A huge bowl of batter sat on the counter. Another bowl, covered with a cloth, was beside the stove. Still one more was on the table, where she'd obviously been mixing something before he'd scared ten years off her life.
Ingredients were lined up, as organized as a marching band.
"I didn't realize you worked so late." She calmed herself by cutting shortening into the flour for her pastry dough.
"I don't usually. I had a little project to finish up last night, and when it was all said and done, dropped off in my office chair. Nell, if you don't give me a cup of that coffee I'm going to start crying. It'll embarrass us both."
"Oh. Sorry. Um."
"You just keep on with what you're doing there. Cups?"
"Cabinet to the right of the sink."
"Want me to top yours off?"
"I suppose."
He poured a cup, filled hers as it sat by the sink. "You know, I don't think these muffins look quite right."
With the bowl tucked in the crook of her arm, she turned. Her face was a study of alarm and insult. "What do you mean?"
"Just don't look quite the thing. Why don't you let me test one for you?" He gave her a quick, boyish grin that had her lips twitching.
"Oh, for heaven's sake. Why don't you just ask for one?"
"More fun this way. No, don't bother. I can get it myself." He plucked one out of the pan, burned the tips of his fingers. As he tossed the muffin from hand to hand to cool it, the scent told him it was going to be worth it. "I've sure got a soft spot for your blueberry muffins, Nell."
"Mr. Bigelow, Lancefort Bigelow, prefers my cream puffs. He said if I'd make them for him every day, he'd marry me and we'd move to Bimini."
Still grinning, Zack broke the muffin in half, treated himself to the fragrant steam. "That's pretty stiff competition."
Bigelow, a confirmed bachelor, was ninety.
He watched her stir the dough, form it into a ball. Then she emptied the muffin pan, set them to cool on a rack while she refilled the cups. When the timer buzzed again, she shifted trays, went back to roll out her pastry dough.
"You've got yourself a real system," he commented. "Where'd you learn to bake?"
"My mother—" She broke off, realigned her thoughts. It was too easy in the quiet kitchen, with all these homey smells, to get overly comfortable and reveal too much. "My mother liked to bake," she said. "And I picked up recipes and techniques here and there."
He didn't want her to stiffen up, so he let it pass. "Do you ever make those cinnamon rolls? You know the ones with that sticky white icing?"
"Mmm."
"I make them sometimes."
"Really." She began to cut the dough for tarts and glanced back at him. He looked so… male, she thought, leaning back on the counter with his ankles crossed and a mug of coffee in his hand. "I didn't know you cooked."
"Sure, now and then. You buy these tubes down at the market. Then you take them home, rap them against the counter and peel the bun things out, cook them, and squirt icing on the top. Nothing to it."
It made her laugh. "I'll have to try that sometime." She went to the refrigerator, took out her bowl of filling.
"I'll give you some pointers on it." He drained his cup, set it in the sink. "I guess I'd better get home, and get out of your way. Thanks for the coffee."
"You're welcome."
"And the muffin. It was just fine."
"That's a relief." She stood at the table, methodically spooning filling into the center of her rounds of dough. When he stepped toward her, she tensed a little, but continued to work.
"Nell?"
She looked up, and filling slopped out of her spoon when he put his hand on her cheek.
"I sure hope this doesn't put you off," he said, and leaning down, he laid his lips on hers.
She didn't move a muscle. Couldn't. Her eyes stayed open, locked on his. Watching, as a deer might watch when pinned in the crosshairs.
His lips were warm. She registered that. And softer than they looked. He didn't touch her. She imagined she'd have leaped out of her skin if he'd laid his hands on her now.
But it was only his mouth, light and easy on hers.
He'd prepared himself for her to be annoyed, or disinterested. He hadn't expected her to be scared. That was what he felt from her, a rigid anxiety that could easily bloom into fear. So he didn't touch her as he wanted to, not even a gentle brush of fingers down her arms.
If she'd stepped back, he'd have done nothing to stop her. But her absolute stillness was its own defense. It was he who stepped back, and kept it light despite a gnawing in the gut that was more than a stir of desire for her—it was a cold fury for whoever had hurt her.
"Seems I have a soft spot for more than your muffins." He tucked his thumbs in his front pockets. "See you later."
He strolled out, hoping the kiss and the ease of his leaving would give her something to think about.
~•~
He wasn't going to get any sleep. Resigned to it, he thrilled Lucy by taking her for an early-morning swim in the inlet. The romp, and her sheer foolishness, worked off a good portion of his stiffness, and his frustration.
He watched Ripley finish her run on the beach and dive into the surf. Dependable as sunrise, he thought as she cut through the waves. Maybe he didn't always know what went on in her head, or how it got there, but he rarely had to worry about Ripley Todd.
She could handle herself.
Lucy ran out to meet her as she started back, and the two wet females had a wrestle and a race. They both joined him on the upper porch, Lucy to flop down in delighted exhaustion, and Ripley sucking on a bottle of water.
"Mom called last night." Ripley flopped down herself, on one of the deck chairs. "They made it to the Grand Canyon. They're sending us six million pictures that Dad took with his digital. I'm afraid to start the download."
"Sorry I missed the call."
"I told them you were on a stakeout," she said with her tongue in her cheek. "They got a kick out of the lobster caper. Any updates?"
"Oh, yeah."
He sat on the arm of the Adirondack chair, and filled her in.
She turned her face up to the sky and hooted. "I knew I should've gone with you. Idiot drunk putz. Lobster Boy, not you."
"I figured. He wasn't that drunk, Rip."
She lifted a hand, waved it at him. "Don't start that. I'm in too good a mood for you to spoil it by mentioning Mia and her double, double, toil and trouble routine."
"Suit yourself."
"I usually do. I'm going to get a shower. I'll take the first shift. You must be wiped."
"I'm okay. Listen…" But he trailed off, trying to think how to put what he wanted to say.
"Listening."
"I went by the yellow cottage on the way home. Nell's lights were on, so I stopped in."
"Aha," Ripley teased.
"Gutter-face. I had a cup of coffee and a muffin."
"Gee, Zack, I'm sorry to hear that."
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."
Books by Nora Roberts Page 150