Hemlock Veils

“You think all my hard work is finally paying off?” Eustace asked again when Henry didn’t answer.

Henry stood, throwing his newspaper on the table and pulling a ten-dollar bill from his billfold. He let it fall on the table next to the paper. It was what he left for Regina every day for his horrible cup of coffee. “I think you’re a fool,” he finally said.

“This fool actually hit the target.”

“At what expense, Old Man?” He stepped closer. “I would bet all I have the monster is still out there. So you tell me, Mr. Bathgate, was it worth the injury?”

“Hell yes,” he said without hesitation. “And I’d do it again.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Don’t? Hen—Mr. Clayton, I don’t need to remind you—”

“Things change. I don’t want you out there anymore.” He looked to everyone else, even down at Ms. Ashton who stared up at him with question. He was almost startled by the color of her irises. They were a color he’d rarely seen in human eyes: a green nearly as vivid as his forest.

But then he already knew that.

“No one will step foot inside that forest after nightfall,” he added. “I know Sheriff Taggart has been lax on the rule, but this is me reinforcing it. Is that clear?” He and Taggart exchanged a nod, and Eustace only shook his head.

Before he reached the door, he turned back. “Ms. Ashton, I’m assuming you know who I am, and since you do, you also know this is my town. I know more about it than anyone, even Mr. Bathgate. So when I say it’s in your best interest to leave as soon as possible, you can take that as the best advice you’ve ever been given.” He turned, not giving himself time to read her reaction.

“My best interest or yours, Mr. Clayton?” she asked from behind, freezing him halfway out the door.

He twisted back. “Everyone’s.”

She folded her arms, lifting her chin. “Thank you for the advice.”

A short laugh of disbelief escaped him, and he shook his head. “Let me rephrase. It wasn’t advice, Ms. Ashton, nor was it a suggestion. It’s a stipulation. The moment Mr. Dane has repaired your vehicle, you will be on your way.”

“That sounds like an order.” Her brow tensed and her cheeks reddened. It appeared his pushing only made her more determined.

“Take it as you will. Just know you have no choice in the matter.” With that he was out the door and striding toward Arne.

Chapter 7

Elizabeth strolled leisurely down Clayton Road, admiring the town whose occupants sent her mixed vibes. She, Taggart, and Brian had returned with her car an hour before and now she was allowing Brian to “work his magic,” as he had put it. She already knew it was another faulty alternator, but he had insisted on doing a thorough examination at no extra charge. He’d winked after saying it was on the house, however. She could read Brian Dane more easily than any other resident of Hemlock Veils. His intentions had shone through the moment they’d met the night before, and even more brightly that morning, and the way he tried dazzling her with his baby blues and disheveled golden hair said he usually got what he wanted. She hoped he wouldn’t give her the opportunity to be one of the only women to turn him down.

He would be calling her any moment with news on her vehicle: what needed replacing and how much it would cost, and most importantly, how long she would have to stay.

The truth was, she wanted to stay—despite Mr. Clayton and Sheriff Taggart’s opposition to it. She couldn’t explain her pull to this place, or why she felt so at home when a handful of its residents wanted nothing to do with her. Part of her regretted being so truthful at the diner that morning, not because of the bad name she’d given herself, but because wi

But she couldn’t help the way her core had heated and heart rate sped when Mr. Clayton had acted as though he owned her, along with everything else in this town. Who was he to give her orders? Who was he to give anyone orders?

Her pace down the sidewalk quickened at the thought of his arrogance, how it had weighted the air when he stood over her table—towered, really, since he was the tallest one in the diner. And that stuffy suit and slick, businessman hair, combed neatly away from his smooth-shaven face and trimmed around his ears. In another life, perhaps one that didn’t give him the superior air of a billionaire, he would be attractive. His ebony-colored suit was well tailored on his tall, sturdy frame and matched the color of his hair, and there was something about his frosty blue tie that made his rich, caramel-brown eyes stand out. His features were the right amount of masculine, including the rugged definition of his jaw, the hooked bridge of his nose, and his uneven smile—his smile that was far more condescending than charming, more condescending even than anything Mr. Vanderzee could produce.

Perhaps that was why Mr. Clayton made every bone in her body twitch with irritation: he reminded her too much of the pompous man she had just escaped, the one that had disowned her due to no one’s follies but her own. And more unsettling was how the entire town of Hemlock Veils seemed to bow before him. As though he’d lived a hundred years, not thirty-something. She had never had it in her to be intimidated by another human being, and she wasn’t about to start now, but she understood why they were. Just from her short observance, she knew the cold and unforgiving Mr. Clayton was the last person she wanted to cross.

She had to convince the town she was worthy to stay, which meant she had to gain control of her words. It wasn’t that she had lied in the diner when she told Nicole she wanted to leave as soon as possible; she simply hadn’t gained the conviction she needed to stay yet. She didn’t know when she’d made the decision to make Hemlock Veils her new home, and didn’t even know if it was possible, but sometime since the diner, she’d known she had to try. She had no choice really, with the way this place spoke to her.

She paused at what appeared to be the end of Clayton Road, standing kitty-corner to the clinic that seemed to have been built from the same red bricks as the Hemlock Diner and post office. Clayton Road shot directly south from Road Thirty-Two then curved, continuing in a southeastern direction, and every other street sprouted from it. The town began at that curve, if you didn’t count Eustace’s wood-paneled house that was closer to Road Thirty-Two than it was to the town’s edge. All in all, Clayton Road couldn’t have been much longer than a mile, if that.

She’d seen everything Hemlock Veils had to offer, aside from residential side streets. First there was the old brick diner and matching post office (even smaller than the clinic) at the top edge of town, on the southwest and southeast corners of Red Cedar Loop and Clayton Road. A couple of blocks down was Center Street: Brian’s shop on one corner, the general store on another, and on a third, the area Eustace called the town square—nothing but an open space floored with cobblestone and accented with a fountain in the center, but charming nonetheless. Just after that was Old Ray’s Tavern, and across from that was the sheriff’s office and jailhouse, which appeared to be no larger than the post office. Now she stood near the edge of town, at the last sign of life on Clayton Road. Residential streets, named after trees or animals, filled the spaces between major intersections, but here, no sign labeled the crossing street, narrower than the rest.

It appeared far more neglected, too, with tree roots breaking through the sidewalk and vegetation overtaking the street. A small white church with a simple cross was just across it, and the clinic at the southeast corner. Where she stood, along the north side of Clayton Road, were a series of abandoned shops.