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silver chain. Long graying hair softened her angular face; I couldn’t tell if she was about my age and prematurely gray or a phenomenal-looking sixty. The innkeeper, I assumed. I knew she was expecting me—Mr. Archer had made arrangements for me to stay here—yet she just stood there in the doorway for a moment, eyeing me with what seemed to be suspicion mixed with surprise. I didn’t quite know what to make of the cool reception, so I broke the silence between us.
    “Hi!” I smiled the brightest smile I could muster, extending my hand. “I’m Hallie James. I believe I have a reservation?”
    She nodded, her suspicious glance melting into a grin as she took my hand. “You sure do, Hallie. Welcome, welcome! I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Come in, for heaven’s sake, out of this wind.” She turned and called her thanks to the coachman before ushering me inside.
    The house had a comforting, welcoming aura. Its shining wood floors were covered with oriental rugs; colorful oil paintings of island scenes hung on the walls; photographslined the fireplace mantel in the living room. The overstuffed couch and love seat looked like inviting places to curl up and read. Through a doorway, I could see a study with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
    “I’m Mira Finch,” she said, leading me up the stairs to the second floor. “Your room’s up here.”
    “I was so glad to learn that you’re still open for business.” I was chattering, nervously. “I understand most inns are closed this time of year.”
    She opened the first door at the top of the stairs. “It’s true, the weather can get pretty nasty here in November,” she said, nodding. “I don’t have any other guests, haven’t for weeks. But I’m a year-round resident, so I’m happy to put you up for as long as you plan to stay. This is your room, the Mainland Suite.”
    “Wow,” I murmured, looking at the enormous bay window. Its cushioned seat was covered with multicolored pillows; a couple of afghans were folded in the corner next to the wall. I saw the same view as from the front porch: the great expanse of choppy water below and the flickering lights of the mainland beyond. A king-sized bed held a down comforter, and a wood fire crackled in the corner fireplace. “This is absolutely beautiful.”
    “It’ll do.” Mira’s smile broadened, warming somewhat. “Your keys are on the nightstand. One opens the front door—which you’ll rarely find locked—the other is for your room. Coffee and some sort of breakfast—muffins, scones, eggs, whatever—will be available in the kitchen after seven o’clock, but I’m usually up earlier if you want something before then.”
    “Hey, please don’t trouble yourself on my account,” I told her. “Coffee and a little something to munch on would be great, but I’m not expecting the full treatment, it being off-season and all. You’ve got no other guests; I really don’t want to be a bother.”
    Mira patted my arm; I was grateful to be melting her somewhat icy exterior. “How about we say this: I’ll make coffee in the morning. After that, the kitchen’s open. I’ve got cereal, oatmeal, bagels, eggs. Help yourself to whatever you’d like.”
    “That sounds perfect,” I said, lugging my bags to a settee at the foot of the bed.
    I could tell she was taking a moment to decide whether or not to say something further. Finally she added, “I was just planning on sitting down for some tea when you arrived. Join me after you get settled, if you’d like.”
    I had imagined I would spend my first hours on this island discussing wills and mothers and deaths with Mr. Archer, but this was infinitely nicer. “I’d love that, thank you! Is it okay if I clean up a little first? I’ve been traveling since early this morning, and I feel the grime of several states is covering me from head to toe.”
    She laughed. “Take your time getting settled. I’ll be downstairs whenever you’re ready.” And she