A few people looked away before her eyes could meet theirs. There were a bunch of tables that were only half-full where people were dining in small groups or by themselves but she wasn’t about to ask to join anyone and they certainly weren’t about to ask her. Not since she became “the girl who had kissed the Cullraven boy in the town square.”
It was sostupid.
“Can I help you?” The chef—a man named Gregg—spoke to her brusquely, as if he hadn’t taken her order at least three times before. But then, he hadn’t been friendly then either.
“Can I get the eggs over easy on sourdough toast and plain steak without seasoning?”
“You’ll have to take it to go,” he said, resting his fist on his hip. “There’s no room.”
“I always do,” she said, a little heatedly.
“Gregg!” a familiar-looking Black woman called out from the tables. Nadine recognized her immediately; she was the city manager she’d spoken to. “Don’t be a grouch. She can sit with me!”
“It’s not being grouchy if it’s factual,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck with one pink hand. “And you should mind your own business, Deena.” But he turned back to the grill anyway. Now that he’d said his piece, it didn’t seem to matter to him what she did.
She was aware of the woman—Deena—watching her as she paid. The amused half-smile on her face didn’t look like it was entirely at her expense, so she sat down warily.
“Thanks. That was nice of you.”
“Well, my motives aren’t entirely pure. You’re the one who came by a few days ago, aren’t you? Asking about the county records? Nadine Cullraven?”
“It’s Harnois,” she said, when the volume of the chatter seemed to drop. “My sister is Ben’s wife.” She paused. “Um. Is this the part where you tell me to skip town?”
Deena laughed. “No, god, no. We need your money, first of all. And second, I’m curious why you’re here. One day you’re traipsing around town pretending to be any other nosy tourist. The next, you’re staying in Ravensgate and stirring up gossip with Cal Cullraven.”
Fuck, thought Nadine.
“Not that I blame you,” she added slyly. “He’s the better-looking one.”
“My sister’s missing. That’s why I’m here.”
“Tell you what. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to, and what it’s like up there in that house, and maybe I’ll see what I can do for you about those records.”
“I thought the clerk was on vacation.”
“Oh, he is. But I think you’ll find that small town gossip is just as thorough as a few lines of government ink. There’s some things out there people don’t want to put to paper.”
Nadine sighed. “I didn’t come here intending to deceive anyone outright. I just got a weird postcard from my sister that made me wonder if she was okay.” She decided not to mention the plea for help. “When I came here, I found out she was missing—only nobody had bothered to tell me. And since everyone was suspicious of her in-laws, I just . . . didn’t mention it.”
“Well, that certainly bought you some time. I heard about your little trip to the mine.” Nadine blushed guiltily. Misreading it, Deena said, “I don’t think you would have gotten nearly as far as you did if you’d have been as forthcoming as you are right now. Unfortunately.”
“Have you been talking to the sheriff?”
“I talk to everyone. Sometimes as Ms. Spangler, city manager. And sometimes as Deena, table seven. Right now, I’m talking to you, a stranger. Except we’re no longer strangers, are we, Nadine? And since we’re no longer strangers, I feel like that puts us closer to being friends. And as a friend, let me tell you that nobody ever has anything good to say about what goes on in that house. I don’t know what it was like there for your sister, but if you get folks around here drunk enough, they’ll swear to you that they all drink blood and prance around in sheets, worshipping some dark god.”
“I haven’t seen anything like that,” Nadine said carefully, aware that people nearby were listening. She didn’t have any particular loyalty to the Cullravens at this point, but she didn’t want to be caught talking about them behind their backs while she was staying with them, either. “They have a lot of hunting trophies, I guess. Old ones. And they seem—”creepy“—old-fashioned.”
She paused, sensing that this wouldn’t be enough to satisfy Deena’s desire for information.
“It’s gloomy,” she decided. “There’s at least one secret doorway and they have black hellebore growing out of the backyard. And the dining room is hideous, painted in black and white stripes. Like something out of a Tim Burton film. It feels like something right out of a horror movie.”
Deena snorted. “Probably not far from the truth. Caledon Cullraven was a very theatrical sort.”
That, thought Nadine, thinking of all the statues and paintings,was a serious understatement.
“I imagine you know he liked hunting. Before the festival, he and his friends used to stage their own wild hunts. They’d give themselves fanciful nicknames, like Oberon or Actaeon, and riot through the woods, shooting at anything that moved.”
“Anything?”
