A knock on my door startles me away from my work. “Breakfast!” someone calls out.
Please let that include coffee.I hurry and open the door.
The woman who’d checked me in yesterday morning stands there, holding a grease-stained paper bag and a paper cup with a white lid and steam curling from the top.
“Good morning, Mrs. Applewood,” I greet.
“You hadn’t been downstairs yet. I didn’t want you to miss out. I baked these this morning. They’re maple apple crumb muffins.”
My mouth waters. “Sounds heavenly.” My hand shoots out, all but snatching the bag out of the elderly woman’s hand. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem, dear.” She hands me the coffee. “I saw Mr. Sterling walked you back last night…”
Does the woman ever sleep? She was spying on me after midnight and up early baking muffins? I need to get my act together. “He did.”
She raises an eyebrow like she’s waiting for a detailed report.
Now’s my chance to gather information. “Do you know Declan…I mean Mr. Sterling well?”
“Oh yes.” She beams. “The Sterlings were one of the first families in Crowsbridge Hollow.”
I perk up, clutching the warm bag of muffins in one hand while casually taking a sip of coffee. “Really? How far back are we talking?”
The wrinkles around her eyes deepen and she tilts her head as if flipping through her mental filing cabinet. “Generations. His people built the old houses on the ridge before the mills closed. They were hardworking folk. Still have an estate down by the river.” Sadness clouds her expression. “Sterlings stay very…attached to the Hollow.”
Attached to the Hollow.“Attached how?” I ask.
“Every family has their stories.” Her eyes are keen despite her grandmotherly smile. “Declan carries his on his skin.”
“Yes, his tattoos are stunning. So…interesting.”
She stares at me for a beat. “Yes.”
“Are his parents still here?” Maybe Declan’s mom will be a better person to interview about the Hollow’s legends. Moms always like me. Well, except for my own.
Mrs. Applewood’s eyes snap shut, and she wheezes in a pained breath. “No.”
I almost press but the sudden shift in her expression stops me cold. This isn’t retirement in a sunny climate she’s talking about. It’s loss.
He’s an orphan too.
My gaze drops to the pendant pressing against my chest. Heat prickles the back of my neck.
“Ah, I see you have one of his pendants. Good. That’s good.” She nods absently. “Make sure you wear it while you’re visiting.”
“Why?”
She reaches out and pats my arm. “Enjoy the muffins, dear. Are you still planning to visit the library today? They open at nine. Get there early if you want to poke through the archives. Mr. Baxter is particular about who handles the files.”
“Thank you,” I manage, but my brain’s stuck on her words.
The Sterlings were one of the first families.
Declan carries his stories on his skin.
She’s the third person in town who seems to believe iron will somehow protect me.
I shift the coffee and muffin bag into one hand to close the door, then lean my back against it. My fingers tighten around the iron key.
