That afternoon, Celeste watched from the prow of her boat as the three women made their way down the dock, with Harriett in the lead. Even in a plain white shirt tucked into a pair of old jeans, Harriett looked like a visitor from another realm. The two women walking side by side behind Harriett couldn’t have appeared more different. One was pretty and plump, with a wide smile punctuated by two girlish dimples. Her manicure suggested she wasn’t a fan of manual labor, and her fancy silk blouse wasn’t made for sailing. Her companion was a compact little redhead with ripped limbs, a tight
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