Yet when she passed, Nancy looked up. And she grinned and waved like a lunatic.
I’ll have to call her, Cassie thought to herself—though of course as soon as she did, she started thinking of all the ways something like that could go wrong. The ways she could be rejected, hurt, embarrassed. How she could end up relying on someone, only to have them let her down.
No, no. It was better to be as she was.
Always moving on, before anything got bad. Temporary acquaintances, temporary jobs, temporary time here. Even if here wasn’t just about the people and the places.
There was also the loveliness of it.
The trees that lined the street were beginning to shed their sunset-streaked leaves—some fluttering in the air as she sailed past, others collecting in heaps so tidy they almost looked arranged. And though it was well into a crisp, bright morning, the fairy lights strung between the trees still glowed brightly. Like those deep October nights lingered, far longer than they should have. The darkness hung on, giving everything a spooky air.
Though the decorations everywhere definitely helped. She spotted pumpkins of all sizes, crammed into every nook and cranny of the bandstand in the center of town. Cobwebs swirled from every roof and awning, catching people as they strolledpast. There were skeletons peeking from shop windows, and creepy lettering advertising all kinds of things, and finally there was that scent.
That Halloween is here, fall vibes scent, all bonfires and burnt caramel and something deliciously spicy. Mugs of cider spiked with cloves, she imagined. Or maybe cocoa infused with cinnamon and nutmeg. Or possibly whatever was in those donuts from the new donut place.
She almost stopped there, at the gaudy window. The man behind the counter, absurdly tall and gawky looking, waved. But she pressed on. She pulled up outside the much less appealing Stop and Save, intent on getting what she came for. After all, old man Hannigan had probably bent enough to sell something like garlic by now.
Then she pushed open the door that still stuck a bit at the bottom, and there it all was.
The store that even the Amish would have balked at.
Only somehow even worse than it had been back when she was a kid. Now it looked like he didn’t even sell the licorice he had once allowed, with the salt in it. There were just rows and rows of cabbages. Then yet more rows of potatoes. Followed by some sacks of stuff that shehopedwas flour. But was more likely to be the grain you had to grind to make it.
Because that was Hannigan’s MO.
He had always been a big believer in the idea that everyone had everything easy these days. And he was an even bigger believer now, if his position as head of the clean-town committee was any indication. Not to mention every sign inside his shop.Produce fondlers will be prosecuted, one of them said.All skirts must be knee length or you shall be asked to leave, another proclaimed.
And then there was the man himself.
He looked just as terrifying as she remembered. Gaunt enough to pass for a skeleton in the right light. So tall he seemed to loom over her, even from all the way behind his enormous counter. And when he smiled, it looked more like a grimace than anything else. Partly because of his teeth, which were the size and shape of tombstones. But also because it never seemed to reach his eyes.
They stayed as flat as two old coins as he watched her coming toward him.
And they got even flatter when she asked her question.
“Garlic?” he spat. As if she’d just requested he sell her heroin. Then sure enough he spelled it out. “We have none of that filth here, Cassandra Camberwell.”
Though it was really more the last part that disturbed her, over the first thing. He remembered her name, even after all this time. He remembered both names, in fact. And he deployed them like some kind of weapon.A switch, she thought,that he intends to whip me to within an inch of my life with.
She decided to beat a hasty retreat before he could.
After all, there were other places in Hollow Brook to get what she needed. There was the market on the outskirts, where she got herself not only garlic but some crusty bread, and a wheel of cheese, and about ten other items that would help her live like a wanderer in a seven-thousand-page fantasy novel. And once she had all those things, she rode back to Gram’s house with something like satisfaction in her heart.
Things were okay.
She was okay—or at least, she was getting there. She’d spent a whole morning focusing on things other than her grief. Plus she hadn’t once thought about Seth Brubaker doing nefarious things. In fact, she still wasn’t thinking about Seth Brubaker doing ne farious things when she wheeled her bike around the side of the house.
And there was Seth Brubaker.
Actually doing nefarious things.
In fact, if anything, the word “nefarious” was far too kind a way to describe his current behavior. Nefarious sounded more like something a cartoon villain would do, in a kiddie show that played on a Saturday morning. But this was full-blown, prime-time adult nonsense of the very highest degree. He could have stepped straight out of an episode ofCriminal Minds—and not just because he had the moody clothes and the angry mouth and the permanent scowl.
Because he was totally being a criminal.
He had one whole leg inside the living room window. Even though the living room window was about four feet off the ground. He had to have really struggled to get it all the way up there, she imagined—and in a way that was very bad for him. Firstly, because it meant he couldn’t immediately detach himself and run off into the woods. Or even just saunter away casually while she gawped like a guppy at whatever this was.
And secondly and more importantly: because it gave him no possible way to explain.
