Текст книги "Hemlock Veils"

Автор книги: Jennie Davenport

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Chapter 9

Over a day had passed since Elizabeth’s encounter with the bitterest man this side of the universe. The most she’d seen of Mr. Clayton was when walking from the diner to her motel room yesterday evening before sundown—after she’d just eaten the best club melt she’d ever tasted. And she didn’t even see him, just his streamlined Maybach flying by on Clayton Road, back toward the mansion. She’d been tempted to throw something at it.

Really, it was easy avoiding him, since the only time he made appearances was at the diner first thing in the morning. Today she’d simply waited until after he was gone to mingle with the public of Hemlock Veils.

She hadn’t even given into her curiosity and looked into the forest last night. The last thing she wanted was Mr. Clayton to have more fuel, and that’s exactly what her curiosity of the forest was: fuel to the fire of his unfair hatred. Instead, she had closed the curtain in the motel room and watched the old box television, turning up the volume every time she was tempted, just to distract herself.

She still hadn’t gained the courage to tell anyone of her desire to stay, not even Regina. She was waiting for the right time. Perhaps the right time would never come.

Perhaps she was crazy for having a desire to stay in the first place.

But now, walking toward Brian’s shop, it was down to the wire. It had to be today.

A light mist wetted the late afternoon air of her third day in Hemlock Veils, covering everything with a beautiful shimmer. The town dwelled within clouds as though constructed in the sky, and even with her nerves in knots, she’d never felt so removed from Earth. Brian had called only minutes before to announce her car was ready, and now, with a hood over her head, she wished she could stall it.

He waited out front like he had the other day, wiping his hands on that same greasy rag and flipping it over his shoulder. No sign hung from the office door or even from his garage, but she supposed he didn’t need one in this town. He leaned against the bricks between the glass door and the open garage, the blue paint flaking. The drizzle didn’t seem to bother him, and beads of water collected on the tips of his disheveled hair, looking more like sweat after a hard workout.

“I was tempted to loosen a bolt or a belt, just so you would have an excuse to stay longer,” he said when she reached him.

“Well, thank you for not.”

His eyes looked her over, slowly. He gave a slight grunt and shook his head. “As much as I love seeing you in the rain, let’s get inside.”

He turned before he could see her grit her teeth—not that it would have affected him. She followed him inside and found a small counter, painted the same blue as the exterior wall and flaking just as ferociously. Old license plates, hubcaps, and a No Parking sign decorated the wall behind it. Only three metal chairs made up the waiting area, but there probably wasn’t much waiting that took place in here. The air reeked—pleasantly, she would admit—of motor oil and rubber tires.

Two invoices lay on the counter, and she looked them over. One matched the other, with the exception of Customer Copy at the top of the first, and Seller Copy at the top of the second; on the bottom of the seller copy was a signature line. The invoices listed details about the alternator, like the model number and brand, and the amount of labor performed. The total was the exact amount they had previously discussed, and the professionalism impressed her. A black Bic pen with no lid lay on the counter next to the invoices and she picked it up. Just when she was about to sign his copy, he snatched it.

She couldn’t tell what brewed in the eyes watching her. Was it an attempt at seduction? “Before you do,” he finally said, “I’m giving you one last chance to take the other deal.” In this light, his eyes looked more gray than blue, like the sky. A flicker of lightning filled the window behind him and she waited for the following thunder, but it never came. “I could tear this up and that two-fifty could stay snug in your wallet.”

Sighing, she placed her hands on the counter. “Brian, let me sign.”

“I like you, Beth.”

“And…you’re a nice guy. A nice mechanic whom I will pay—with money—for your services, because we have a professional relationship.”

He also sighed, slouching. “Okay, then pay me the money. Let’s leave work out of this. We can be strictly lovers tonight if that’s what you—”

She snatched the paper from his hand and signed a sloppy signature at the bottom of the invoice. From her wallet, she pulled two hundred-dollar bills and a fifty, the ones she’d set aside, slammed them down on top of the invoice, and threw the pen beside them. “Key,” she insisted, holding out her hand.

He reached below the counter and took her key from a hook. With a reluctant hand, he gave it to her. “I guess that’s a no.”

“It’s a never.”

“Really,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

She opened the door and rain fell furiously. “Then I guess I won’t mourn it, will I?”

***

The sun was setting when Elizabeth walked into the diner, shoulders high and abdomen aflutter. The Maybach had driven past only minutes before, and if she was to make a move it needed to be now, before Mr. Clayton tried pushing her out of town himself. But seeing the car had reminded her of the peculiar pain in his eyes. She’d called him an asshole, nothing more—something he’d probably been called before. So why did it feel worse? What it came down to was no matter how much fire he brought out in her, or how much he deserved her insult, the sight of his car triggered her guilt. She found it triggered now, amidst her desire to stay in his town.

A bigger crowd than she’d expected mingled in the diner; even Sheppy, the Thurmans, and Doctor Ortiz—whom she’d met only once—occupied the booths. She could almost taste the aroma of salty fries. Brian, who still wore his mechanic coveralls, did a double-take when he saw her, then waved her over.

She took a deep breath as she approached. He sat on a stool and Nicole and Regina stood next to him, an empty coffee pot in Regina’s hand and a sour look on Nicole’s face—a look that hadn’t appeared until Elizabeth walked through the door. Aside from Nicole and Taggart, who took large bites of a hamburger, everyone gave their friendly nods—even Deputy Holman, who sat with Taggart and whom Elizabeth hadn’t seen since her first night here. His skin was only slightly lighter than Regina’s, but his frame was slender and tall, and silver sprinkled his short, black hair. She gave everyone, including him, a smile and a hello.

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” Brian said, smiling as usual. She admitted it wasn’t a bad smile.

“She wouldn’t leave without giving a proper goodbye,” Regina said, ushering her to the stool beside Brian. “What can I get you tonight, honey? Dinner?”

“Nothing now. I’m not very hungry.”

“Coffee then?”

Elizabeth tried not to grimace. “No, thank you.”

“So,” Nicole said, smiling. It appeared hard for her to do. “When you leaving, Beth?”

Elizabeth looked at her hands, which were interlocked on the countertop marbled with gold swirls. “I’m…not sure.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need,” Bill Thurman said from behind. He and Anita smiled so generously she almost gained the courage to blurt out her plans right then.

“Thank you. You’ve all been so generous.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to stay,” Brian said. “I thought you hated it here.”

“On the contrary, actually.”

“I just assumed. With what happened to you, and how you treat me like the plague…”

Elizabeth chuckled. “Well, there are negatives to everywhere, aren’t there?”

He chuckled too, nudging her, and she thought she should probably stop being so friendly before he got the wrong idea. Though she’d been joking, she definitely viewed Brian’s attempt to sleep with her as a downside to Hemlock Veils. But worse of a downside was Mr. Clayton, and all his rules. Still, even with those weighting factors, and even with her guilt at how she’d lashed out at the man, she needed this place. Really, she just realized with anxious humility, she needed these people.

“You like it here?” Nicole asked, her brow and voice incredulous.

“I really do.”

Nicole shook her head at the same time Taggart spoke. “She almost dies and now she wants to stay.” The smile on his face almost surprised her. He finished his food and pushed the plastic basket lined with greasy paper away, wiping his hands on his napkin. Holman was finished as well, fingers interlaced before him as he rested casually on his elbows. Both wore their uniforms, tan and boring.

Regina touched her arm. “I need a smoke break,” she said. “Take a walk with me.”

They went outside but stayed beneath the awning, since rain still poured. It ran off the canopy, trapping them behind a waterfall. Regina lit up, then placed her free hand in the pocket of her purple sweater and closed it more tightly against her wide, curvy figure. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Elizabeth only looked at her.

“You’re thinking of staying, aren’t you?” She barely gave Elizabeth time to nod. “Not that I’m opposed to the idea, but why?”

Elizabeth sighed. “I don’t know how to explain it, but…” Through the waterfall, street lights reflected off the silver sidewalk, pockmarked with a thousand raindrops. “I feel pulled here. It feels like…home.”

Regina studied her eyes. “You ain’t got family to go back to?”

Elizabeth shook her head.

“Is that true what Mr. Clayton said about your father and brother yesterday?”

“Yes.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.” She freed her hand from her pocket to rub Elizabeth’s shoulder. “My condolences.”

“Thank you. I’ve just never had a place I could call my own, since I was always taking care of them. And not that I regret it or wish it didn’t happen that way, I just…This is the first place I’ve been that feels like…me.” She looked to her feet, shrugging into her jacket. It was almost cold enough to see her breath. “I know, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Makes perfect sense,” Regina countered, in a voice so soft Elizabeth wasn’t sure it was hers. “You make it happen then. If this place feels as special to you as it does to most us folks, then you make it your home.”

Elizabeth’s heart warmed, but she smiled only briefly since she knew what would follow.

“What would you do out here, get a job with Doc Ortiz? I’m sure he’d be happy to give you an interview.”

“Actually, I was thinking something else.” She took a deep breath. “This is where I need an okay from you, because I would never do something that would jeopardize the livelihood of anyone in this town, especially you. So, unless I have your permission…”

“What is it?”

“When I worked for Frank Vanderzee, the man Mr. Clayton mentioned, my favorite part of the job was utilizing his kitchen. I cooked mostly, but what I really loved was baking. I was good, Regina. Even Mr. Vanderzee, who never gave his approval of anything, loved it. But there was one thing above that, one thing I mastered to perfection.”

Regina gave a hopeful, teasing smile. “Coffee?”

When Elizabeth nodded, Regina displayed a look of pleasant shock. “Really, it’s the only accomplishment I pride myself on, as small as it is—even more than my decent baking. I can say it’s perfect because I spent so many hours, and so much of Mr. Vanderzee’s money, on getting it that way. It wasn’t until afterward I realized how much I loved the process. Ever since then, it’s always been my dream to own a little coffeehouse or bakery of some sort. And what better place to do that?”

She had half-expected competition in Regina’s eyes, but instead they widened with enlightenment. “I know just the place,” she said, grabbing Elizabeth’s arm with her free hand.

“Regina…”

“The little empty place near Henry Street hasn’t been used in years.”

“You wouldn’t be offended? Or feel like I was trying to steal your business?”

“Please. Everyone’s been hating this coffee for years. It’s about time something better came along. The coffee isn’t what keeps the diner alive; it’s the food. So the diner’ll do just fine. Besides, I’ve been waiting for someone or something to change up this town, and I can’t say enough that this is like a breath of fresh air.” She paused, frowning. “Only thing is…Mr. Clayton owns that row of old shops.”

A doom settled over Elizabeth, even though she shouldn’t have been surprised. If it was up to him, her dream would always be just that: a dream.

Regina, however, cheered. “But you know what? Mr. Clayton hates that coffee more than anyone else. I can see it in his eyes. We’ll just have to prove to him why it would be beneficial to let you take over.”

She laughed and next thing she knew they were hugging, and Regina’s poufy black hair smelled of Newports and the coffee she hated. “So glad you decided to stay,” she said, her voice muffled by Elizabeth’s shoulder. Her hand did a mix of a pat and a rub on Elizabeth’s back before she pulled away. “So did you have anywhere in mind? I’ve got an extra room that hasn’t been used in twelve years.”

Elizabeth made a mental note to ask her about that at a later time. “Actually, there was somewhere that caught my eye.”

“Oh?”

“The tiny place on Alder.”

Regina’s eyes hardened into reproving stone. “Nu-uh. No way, Beth.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“The forest, that’s what. You know why that place’s been vacant for so long? ’Cause that’s where the monster spends most its time. That’s where it’s been seen the most, where most encounters take place. It don’t like people being there.”

“Look, Regina, if I can’t get that house, then I can’t. But…”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve never seen anything so charming. And the forest is what I love most about it. That’s what draws me here.” A chuckle shook Regina’s chest. This confused Elizabeth. “What’s so funny?”

“Not funny, really. Just…well, good luck getting it.”

Elizabeth’s heart shriveled enough to sicken her. “Let me guess: he owns that, too.”

Chapter 10

Henry drew brisk morning air into his lungs while his dress shoes moved over the wet gravel trail. The rain had stopped sometime in the night, but the gray dawn sky alluded to future storms. Fog settled low on the ground, hemlocks and alders appearing Heaven-grown. They came to life with birds, reminding him that nature knew no discouragement. Terror lurked here at night, along with rainfall, yet the birds sang when morning came.

Last night, a different terror had lurked here, one familiar even in its novelty. The forest had adopted the air of a stranger, rather than that of a friend, and though it had been fleeting, it was enough to keep him careful.

When he reached his gate, tapping the numeric password into the panel with mindless speed—he decided he would take his walk to the diner slowly. On some days, he valued his morning walks more than most things. Rain or shine, he walked, taking in the town with a refreshing point of view only sunlight could provide. It looked different during the day, even hopeful. And regardless of so many years in the same place, he never tired of the view. From the time he was a boy, when his father used to bring him and his mother here during the summer, the forest had felt like his own. It was breathtaking and awe-inspiring, and when it came down to it, it was simply home.

But today his steps were heavier, and so was his chest. The woman had stayed through the night, despite her recently repaired vehicle. Was she to blame for the new terror last night, too? He closed the gate and entered the lock code, waiting until it clicked and the light glowed red. When he turned, however, he stopped short. The woman herself walked toward him. She wore a wool jacket over a turtleneck and emerged from the fog like a dream. Or rather, a nightmare. She folded her arms, appearing nervous. The brave Ms. Ashton.

“Mr. Clayton, I was wondering if I may have a word with you,” she said when before him.

He stepped around her and resumed a quickened pace. So much for a slow, cathartic walk. “My time is precious, Ms. Ashton.”

He felt her following. Her voice was softer than the last time they’d spoken, less defensive. “I thought this would be the best time to catch you, and…” He picked up speed. “May I walk with you? It won’t take much time.”

He released a breath. “Assholes like to walk alone.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Clayton,” she said with the release of her own breath. The desperation in her voice made him pause. “I’m sorry about what I said to you before…what I called you.”

He turned, caught off guard. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Sometimes my mouth gets away from me, and I’m…” She met them now. “Well, I’m just sorry.”

“You’re apologizing to me?”

She nodded as though puzzled.

“If this is an attempt to hear my apology, you’re wasting your breath.”

With a sigh, she pressed her lips together. “Trust me, Mr. Clayton, I would never expect an apology from you.”

“Then what is it, Ms. Ashton?”

“A guilty conscience. An attempt to make amends.”

He half-smiled. “Very sincere. But I wasn’t born yesterday. You want something from me. Be up front and—”

“It’s both,” she said, chin high. In her eyes, an almost admirable confidence beamed. “I won’t lie, there is something I need, and I figure I have a better shot if you can see I’m a civil human being. It might make this…less awkward.” Before he could respond with the many words he wanted to spew, her brow softened. “But I am sorry. Not just because I need something, but because I’d like to think I’m a better person than what I showed you a few days ago.”

How heroic. He’s the asshole yet she’s apologizing, making him look like a bigger asshole. He resumed walking, and again she tried keeping up. “A person can’t be sorry for the things they feel.”

“You’re right. And I’m not sorry for the way I feel about you. I can be sorry for verbalizing it though.”

Just briefly, he paused again, shaking his head. Her honesty was surprising and strange. He found it welcoming. “What is it, Ms. Ashton? I have a feeling I won’t get my peaceful walk, so just come out with it.”

“I want to stay.”

He faced her. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He should have seen this coming a mile away. “Stay?”

“Move here, start a life.”

“Your life wasn’t good enough in L.A.?”

“I think we both know it wasn’t.”

Laughter shook his chest, a genuine kind. It seemed to anger her. “Ms. Ashton, you must be delusional if you think I would support this. Have you heard nothing I’ve said from the moment you arrived?”

“I’m asking you to reconsider your hatred of my being here. Please, Mr. Clayton. I just need a place to start over.”

“This town is not the place to start over, not for someone with a shady past. I don’t know what you’re running from, but whatever it is I don’t want it following you here. There’s no room for—”

“I won’t be any trouble. And my past isn’t anything like that. I just want to live somewhere new, somewhere secluded. Somewhere I can…breathe.” She stepped closer and her eyes were so grave he felt stuck in place. “I am running, but it’s something that doesn’t concern you or this town. And aren’t we all running from something?”

He didn’t answer, since her desperation for something he knew so well struck him.

“This place is…” She paused and swallowed deeply, then looked around her with a sort of admiration. “You can call me crazy, and you don’t have to understand, but it speaks to me. There’s something here I can’t explain.” With her face toward the forest, she closed her eyes, feeling whatever it was she couldn’t explain, feeling it in the breeze like he did. The hair framing her face blew away from it, and he’d never seen anything so lovely. Her high cheekbones and rosy lips allured, even in their natural color. “I’ve never known anything like it. It’s beautiful and reminds me of my father, and I just want to be a part of it.”

“What are you running from?” he asked after a dry swallow, blunt but not harsh.

She met his eyes again. “I’ll tell you anything but that.”

“Did you really expect to get what you wanted by coming to me this way? Life doesn’t work like that, Ms. Ashton. It’s not that easy.”

“Says the billionaire to the woman who’s never gotten a single want in her life. And it can be that easy, Mr. Clayton, if people allow it.”

He had nothing to say. He only stared.

“I’ve never asked for anything. Just this.”

“Well, don’t I feel privileged.” He looked away. He was Henry Clayton, after all, and she was supposed to be like everyone else. “You’re oblivious to reality, which tells me you still have much to learn about life. And that naivety is what doesn’t sit well.”

She exhaled as though he’d hurt her—in the same way he had a few days prior. “Naivety?” She stepped closer yet again, and her eyes smoldered with passion. “If there is one thing I know about, it’s life. Trust me, I’ve learned life’s about people like you and then people worse. I’ve learned a sadly high percentage of people think they can get what they want, and they do. I’ve learned those people take it, drain it out of the rest of us until they’re satisfied. I’ve learned that of all things, life is most definitely never fair.”

She remained close, and though she seemed to shrink from a thought he wanted to read, her eyes revealed nothing. “You want to know about me, Mr. Clayton? Fine. I’m someone who watched from across the street at age ten as my mother was killed by a speeding car. I’m someone who watched that death destroy my father, and then watched cancer finish the job. I’m someone who became my father’s caretaker at age twelve, and my brother’s sorry excuse for a parent. I’m someone who went from being a child to an adult overnight. I’m someone who adopted my thirteen-year-old brother at age eighteen, when my father finally passed. I know what it’s like to be taken advantage of by someone who isn’t capable of reciprocating your love.

“If you’ve looked into my past, you know my brother was a drug addict. Everything I did in life was for him, and I watched him die with the knowledge that none of it was good enough.”

“Ms. Ashton—”

“No, you wanted to know who I am, so let me finish. I’m someone who’s stared death in the face, felt it in the tip of a gun against my chest. Someone who’s been pushed and pulled in every direction. And yet through it all, I’m someone who hasn’t been able to shed a single tear since the moment my father passed away. That might make me a bad person; in fact, I’m sure it does. And I won’t hide that what I’m running from makes me a far worse one. But I’m not naïve, Mr. Clayton, nor do I know little of life. You have every right to think I’m unworthy to reside in Hemlock Veils—I think it myself. But all I’m asking for is a chance. Everyone deserves a second chance, don’t they?”

Seconds passed. Never feeling so put in his place in all his life, he simply stared, humbled and humiliated at the same time. But most of all, he felt for her in a way he was against. It was why he couldn’t get close; not to her, not to anyone. The exposure left him uneasy, as much as the vulnerability. He did believe in second chances, especially for someone like Elizabeth Ashton. There was even something beautiful about the way she’d opened herself up to him.

But he was Henry Clayton.

“Ms. Ashton,” he said after a bored sigh. “It’s all very moving, but where would you plan on living?”

“Right here.” She pointed next to them, at the old cottage. It charmed him just as much as it had when he was a child. At first he didn’t connect the dots, since the thought of someone living there was simply unfathomable. Then it clicked.

He released a hot breath as he turned from her and resumed his walk, remembering why she was so infuriating. The sun was higher now, its rays breaking through troublesome clouds and dispersing the fog. “That is not for sale.”

“It is according to the sign,” she argued from behind, again trying to keep up.

“The sign is ancient. I had it on the market years ago. It’s been forgotten, overgrown.”

They rounded the corner, turning onto Clayton Road. “That’s what’s so appealing about it.”

He ground his teeth as he turned, and she ran into him. Gripping her arms, he steadied her, and she craned her neck to meet his eyes. He felt warm and he tried to keep a measure of control in his voice. “Ms. Ashton, stop. This is something you cannot make your own. Give up and move on.”

She appeared only slightly wounded before holding her chin high. “Why? As far as I can see, no one’s lived there for years. And with me in it you wouldn’t notice a difference. I keep to myself, Mr. Clayton. You’d still be neighborless, still feel alone on this—”

“Because it’s not yours!”

Something changed in her eyes. It’s true they became softer, but that certain knowledge returned to them, the same that was so characteristic of Elizabeth Ashton. “It’s special to you,” she said.

He closed his eyes and stepped away, wiping a hand down his face. With a sigh, he continued to walk, where he crossed Henry Street and met the sidewalk. “Please leave me be.”

“Mr. Clayton—”

“It baffles me that such a house would intrigue you.” Really, it didn’t.

“And why is that?” She tried walking next to him, even though he made an obvious attempt to stay ahead of her.

“I’m guessing you haven’t heard of its downside?”

“What, that it sits right in the core of the beast’s habitat?”

He threw a sidelong glance her way, giving up and allowing her to walk beside him. He tried not to like the way it felt.

“Regina told me, of course,” she added, “how terrifying that part of the forest is. And yet…” She paused for effect. “It’s where you live.”

“I live there because my family always has. I’m well protected. I never go out at night.”

“So I hear.”

He paused, Taggart’s office beside him. He was tempted to throw her in the tiny cell they called the jailhouse. “You’re not helping your case, Ms. Ashton. And however you want to take it, I’m doing this only for your protection.”

Her look said she didn’t believe him.

“Moreover,” he went on, “Doctor Ortiz doesn’t need help. As far as I understand, an almost-nursing degree is all you have under your belt, besides housekeeping for a billionaire.” He gave a short laugh. “And I don’t need the help, nor would I ever hire you.”

“Never would I consider it, Mr. Clayton.”

His feet trudged forward again, his head hurting. “Then tell me, just for argument’s sake, what would you plan on doing in a small town with nothing to offer?”

“Is it me with nothing to offer, or the town?” she asked, amusement in her voice.

“Both.”

She took a deep, slightly nervous breath again. He studied her as they walked, taking it in. It almost entertained him. “The old bakery. Jean’s Bakery.”

He stopped short, a thousand tiny pulses of heat leaving his brain and forcing the muscles around his eyes taut. “What about it?”

Her fingers wrung around each other. “I’m assuming that’s special to you, too…”

Briefly dazed, his eyes hardly registered Ms. Ashton or the town square across the street behind her, its fountain streams never ceasing. His vision blurred at thoughts of his mother, of the way she cared for that place. “It’s not for lease,” was all he said, walking ahead with his mind still far away.

“I’ll do whatever it takes, Mr. Clayton. Please let me bring it to life again. If you just let me show you what I can do—”

“I don’t want you to bring it to life again.” He faced her. “Even if it was for lease, you could never afford it. Any of it.”

“I have money.”

He sighed, a battle raging inside. A part of him, however small, wanted to embrace such a change. But the more dominant side wanted to scream with irritation that she wanted the change, and then run in fear. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ashton. But I can’t give you what you want. I won’t.”

She slumped, releasing a breath as though it was her last, and defeat finally filled her eyes. He turned away, walking as quickly as he could to the diner.

***

Coffee dripped at a steady pace from the diner’s electric coffeemaker—not the greatest model if you asked Regina. But no one ever had, not until Elizabeth. She’d come in early with Regina, before the sun had even risen, and together they’d plotted. It was mostly Regina’s idea of course, since Elizabeth was hesitant about stealing the diner’s customers, but the idea excited Regina. She’d almost forgotten how much she missed good coffee. Oregon crawled with coffee shops and espresso stands, even a drive-thru on every corner for those too busy to wander inside somewhere. Maybe the gray, wet weather was to blame, driving folks to it like it was necessary for survival. Regina liked to stop at those places whenever she could frequent other cities. Her favorite was the little corner place at the south suburban end of Portland called Joe’s Joe. She wished Hemlock had somewhere like that.

But this morning Elizabeth had proven her talent all right. Coffee-making like that was a creative art only someone in the Pacific Northwest could appreciate, and the fact that a girl from L.A. possessed it made it more fated. Elizabeth was meant for Oregon, and more so, for Hemlock Veils.

Last night, when they’d begun plotting—again, mostly Regina doing the plotting—Elizabeth told her about the small bag of fresh coffee grounds she’d brought with her, ones she’d just ground the morning she’d left L.A. They were from a fancy bean she used to order from Brazil, from some port called Santos—the only ones her old employer, and also Elizabeth, liked. The grounds were coarse, unlike the finely crushed, almost-powder Regina had been ordering online. Elizabeth’s were the size of the Epsom salts Regina used in her baths sometimes. Elizabeth had been saving it, she’d said. And the way Regina saw it, she’d been saving it for a moment just like this.

Elizabeth was reluctant, maybe even a little snobbish, about using the Hemlock Diner’s drip coffeepot. It wasn’t bad, Elizabeth had said; just not what she was used to. She’d told Regina she’d been using the wrong size grounds for such a machine, and the time it brewed was all wrong. Regina had been using the stuff best made for espresso machines. And that was only part of the problem.