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wants to be at Duke a week before the new doctors arrive, and he has to settle everything in Philly before he leaves.”
    “I’m amazed he can leave his own work for a whole month.”
    She waved a hand. “It’s for teaching, which is honestly and truly, I mean, really his strength. Hold on.” Having apparently felt a vibration, she dug the phone from her pocket, saw the screen, and picked up the call with a grin. “Hey. She did, got here just fine. What?” She covered her free ear. “I’m sorry, the ocean is pretty loud. Oh, wow, that’s great. Beijing? You should . Uh, honey, we’re just walking the beach. Can I call when we get back?” She listened for a minute, bowing her head at the end. “Oh,” she murmured, walking faster, and said something Charlotte thought was shit, though Nicole didn’t usually use that word. “Okay. I’ll call. Love you.”
    Ending the call, she stuffed the phone back in her pocket, and, head still down, strode on.
    Charlotte’s legs were longer, but she had to hurry to catch up. “Everything okay?”
    Nicole raised her head, eyes blank for a beat before refocusing. “He was invited to China. May have a conflict. It’ll be okay.” She didn’t sound sure, but before Charlotte could ask, she glanced at the sky. “It’s getting dark.”
    “Rain clouds?”
    “Or dusk.” She brightened. “Remember when we used to walk out here with the sun going down?”
    “I do.” Charlotte smiled. “We were taking a chance, going a little farther, a little farther, closer and closer to Cole land.” She squinted, trying to penetrate the fog and spot the marker. “Cecily Cole is at the top of my list. I can’t wait to talk with her.”
    Cecily’s herbs grew in the garden of her home at Quinnipeague’s outer tip, but to call her an herbalist was to understate her place in island lore. Her herbs were pure in flavor and powerful in use—and she knew how to use them, both gastronomically and medicinally. She had a way of appearing with remedies when they were needed most; this was the light side of Cecily Cole. But there was a dark side, or so island men claimed. They swore that when they suffered heartburn, it was one of Cecily’s herbs punishing them for an alleged offense to their wives. A diminutive woman with silver hair that protected her back like a gossamer shawl, Cecily was alternately loved and feared.
    “Oh Lord.” Nicole was gaping at her. “You don’t know. Cecily died five years ago.”
    Charlotte stopped walking. “Died? But she’s key to cooking here. How can we do this book without her?”
    “Her herbs are still around. Didn’t the chowder and clams taste as good as ever?”
    “Yes, but you can’t talk about island food without talking about Cecily.”
    “We can still talk about her. We just can’t talk with her. Not that we ever really could.”
    Charlotte remained stunned. As legendary as Cecily was, she had always been something of a mystery. She had come to the island at the age of twenty—or eighteen or twenty-two, depending on which version of the story you heard—after a disastrous love affair with an influential mainlander. Likewise depending on the storyteller, she had either chosen to leave the continental U.S. or been driven away, though it was generally agreed that she bought her house with a payoff from the affair. She had brought her plants with her, along with the seeds of legend, and lived quietly at her end of the island. Her interactions with islanders were limited to trips to the store for supplies and, increasingly, gifting herbs to those in need. Habitually distrustful, she did not welcome guests to her home. Rumor had it that she would put a curse on anyone who trespassed on her land.
    But that was rumor, and in the interest of the cookbook, Charlotte had the perfect excuse to approach.
    “I think we should go back,” Nicole said.
    Charlotte had done stories on some highly intimidating characters, not the least being a Native