He could hardly wait to meet her face-to-face.

The blast of the horn warned him to prepare for docking. He walked back to his Land Rover, put his camera in its case on the passenger seat.

The lens cap in his pocket was, once again, forgotten.

While he had these last few minutes to himself, he updated some notes, then added to the day’s journal entry.

The ferry ride was pleasant. The day’s clear and cold. I was able to take a number of pictures

from different vantage points, though I’ll need to rent a boat for views of the windward side of the island.

Geographically, topographically, there’s nothing unusual about Three SistersIsland . Its area is approximately nine square miles, and its year-round inhabitants—largely in the fishing or the retail and tourist trade—number less than three thousand. It has a small sand beach, numerous inlets, coves, and shale beaches. It is partially forested, and the indigenous fauna include whitetail deer, rabbit,raccoon. Typical seabirds for this area. As well as owls, hawks, and pileated woodpecker in the forested regions.

There is one village. The majority of the residents live in the village proper or within a half-mile radius, though there are some houses and rental units farther afield. There is nothing about the island’s appearance that would indicate it is a source of paranormal activity. But I’ve found that appearances are unreliable documentary tools. I’m eager to meet Mia Devlin and begin my study.

He felt the slight bump of the ferry’s docking, but didn’t look up. Docked,ThreeSistersIsland , January6 ,2002 . Glanced at his watch. 12:03P.M. EST. The village streets were storybook tidy, the traffic light. Mac drove through, circled, logging various spots on his tape recorder. He could find an ancient Mayan ruin in the jungle with a map scribbled on a crushed napkin, but he had a habit of forgetting more pedestrian locations. Bank, post office, market. Ah, pizzeria, hot damn!

He found a parking place without trouble only a stop down from Café Book. He liked the look of the place immediately—the display window, the view of the sea. He fished around for his briefcase, tossed the mini-recorder inside, just in case, and climbed out.

He liked the look of the store even more on the inside. The cheerful fire in a stone hearth, the big checkout counter carved with moons and stars. Seventeenth century, he decided, and suitable for a museum. Mia Devlin had taste as well as talent.

He started to cross to it and the little gnomelike woman sitting on a high stool behind it. A movement, a flash of color caught his attention. Mia stepped out of the stacks and smiled.

“Good afternoon. Can I help you?”

His first clear thought was, Wow.

“I’m, ah, hmm. I’m looking for Ms. Devlin. Mia Devlin.”

“And you’ve found her.” She walked toward him, held out a hand. “MacAllister Booke?”

“Yeah.” Her hand was long and narrow. Rings sparkled on it like jewels on white silk. He was afraid to squeeze too hard.

“Welcome to Three Sisters. Why don’t you come upstairs? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee, or perhaps some lunch. We’re very proud of our café.”

“Ah . . . I wouldn’t mind some lunch. I’ve heard good things about your café.”

“Perfect. I hope your trip in was uneventful.”

Up till now, he thought. “It was fine, thanks.” He followed her up the stairs. “I like your store.”

“So do I. I hope you’ll make use of it during your stay on the island. This is my friend, and the artist of our café, Nell Todd. Nell, Dr. Booke.”

“Nice to meet you.”

She showed her dimples and leaned over the counter to shake his hand.

“Dr. Booke has just arrived from the mainland, and I imagine he could use some lunch. On the house, Dr. Booke. Just tell Nell what you’d like.”

“I’ll take the sandwich special, and a large cappuccino, thanks. Do you do the baking, too?”

“That’s right. I recommend the apple brown Betty today.”

“I’ll try it.”

“Mia?” Nell asked.

“Just a cup of the soup and the jasmine tea.”

“Coming up. I’ll bring your orders out.”

“I can see I’m not going to have to worry about my next meal while I’m here,” Mac commented as they took a window table.

“Nell also owns and runs Sisters Catering. She delivers.”

“Good to know.” He blinked twice, but her face—the sheer glory of it—didn’t dim. “Okay, I just have to get this out, and I hope you’re not offended. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in my life.”

“Thank you.” She sat back. “And I’m not the least bit offended.”

“Good. I don’t want things to start off on the wrong foot, since I’m hoping to work with you.”

“And as I explained over the phone, I don’t . . . work for audiences.”

“I’m hoping you’ll change your mind after you get to know me better.”

He had a potent smile, she decided. Charmingly crooked, deceptively harmless. “We’ll see about that. As for your interest in the island itself, and its history, you won’t lack for data. The majority of the permanent residents here are from families who’ve lived on Sisters for generations.”

“Todd, for instance,” he said, glancing back toward the counter.

“Nell married a Todd, just a little under two weeks ago, in fact. Zachariah Todd, our sheriff. While she’s . . . new to the island, the Todds have, indeed, lived here for generations.”

He knew who Nell was. The former wife of Evan Remington. A man who had once wielded considerable power and influence in the entertainment industry. A man who had been found to be a violent abuser. And who was now deemed legally insane and under lock and key. It had been Sheriff Todd who’d arrested him, right here onSistersIsland , after what were reputed to be strange events on Halloween night.

The Sabbat of Samhain.

It was something Mac intended to explore in more depth.

Even as he started to bring it up, something in Mia’s expression warned him to bide his time there.

“Looks great. Thanks,” he said instead to Nell as she served their lunch.

“Enjoy. Mia, is tonight still good for you?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll come up about seven, then. Let me know if you need anything else, Dr. Booke.”