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the cool scent of sea air rushed into Maddy’s nostrils. Then, in a whisper, Mary said, “Don’t worry, Madeleine. You’ll find what you’ve lost,” and released her.
    Maddy took a backward step into the rain and stared at this uncanny woman. Mary simply smiled and slowly closed the door.

     
    Maddy dragged the six-foot ladder down the footpath. As she neared Jaed’s house she remembered the first time she’d seen it. With the clapboards painted a pale lilac and the trim done in a deeper plum, there had been no doubt in her mind it could be anybody but Jaed’s. It was a beacon of vitality amidst all the other houses’ varying shades of weathered cedar shingles. It had been early summer and Jaed had surrounded the house with planters filled with flowers of every hue on the purple and pink scale, with just a touch of white for relief. Maddy could still recall her first words to Jaed as she greeted her from the deck. Maddy had said, “I want to live here.”
    As Maddy stepped onto the porch a fruity voice warbled, “Welcome back, dearie!” She turned. 
    A very small, round woman came toward her. She wore a pea coat three sizes too large. The hem of a floral print dress peeked out from underneath, but only enough to cover the tops of her galoshes. The green and white striped golf umbrella she carried in one hand made her look like a mushroom with feet. She held something in her other hand, but Maddy couldn’t make it out.
    Maddy set the ladder down. The little woman flapped her umbrella at her like a crazed Mary Poppins. Maddy waved in conditioned response as the vision speedily waddled nearer.
    ‘The fashion police aren’t doing their job,’ she thought.
    And then Maddy realized what she herself looked like and wondered if this was what living on Salmon Beach did to one’s fashion sense.
    The dead ringer for Elsa Lanchester came to an abrupt stop and said, “Oh!”
    Maddy smiled. “I bet you thought I was Jaed.”
    “I’m afraid I did. It was the hat, you see.”
    Maddy detected a trace of an English accent.
    “It’s okay. I’m Maddy Phillips.”
    “Of course you are. And I’m Emily DeMille. Number fifty-eight. Having a bit of trouble?”
    “Nothing major.”
    “Because if you need help, Nick is right over there.” Emily used the umbrella as a very wide pointer. She went on in a conspiratorial tone. “You know, he rescued my C.B. from the crow’s nest yesterday. I always bring him something when he does that.”
    Maddy was trying to picture Emily DeMille’s – husband? son? radio? – stuck up high somewhere, and gave up.
    “Well, I hope he’s all right,” she ventured.
    “Oh, yes. He’s fine. I dried him off and gave him some sardines. I think he does it just so he can get his favorite treat.”
    Maddy nodded, totally confused.
    “He’s a British Blue, you know.”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “Oh dear…when will I learn that not everyone knows cats the way I do?”
    “Oh, he’s a cat!” Maddy grinned. “Well, that was very nice of Nick.”
    “Wasn’t it?” Emily said cheerily.
    “It’s good meeting you, Mrs. DeMille, but don’t you think we’d both better get out of the rain?”
    “Would you like a blueberry muffin? They just came out of the oven.”
    Emily lifted the lid of the container she carried. A sweet aroma hit Maddy, reminding her she hadn’t eaten breakfast. Her mouth watered as she took one of the warm muffins from the earthenware dish.
    “Take two, dearie. Nick won’t miss them. And please call me Emily.”
    “Thanks, Emily. I hope I get to meet C.B. soon.”
    “Of course you will. We take tea every afternoon at four. Join us anytime.” She smiled broadly before turning back the way she’d come. “And don’t forget,” she called over her shoulder. “Nick is a real life saver!” Emily waggled her umbrella again and trundled off.

“He sounds like the second-coming,” Maddy muttered.
    *****
    Emily DeMille had been in a particularly chatty mood. She’d