“Just a feeling I get.”

Nicole shook her head, and so did Taggart and Eustace, sitting back.

“Last time I checked, I was entitled to my own opinion,” she said, placing a hand on her hip.

“What is your opinion, exactly?” This surprised her, since it came from Doc Ortiz, who usually kept quiet through everything. He was short and thickset, his black hair thinning, and today he wore hiking boots and a tan Carhartt jacket. “If you think he’s no monster, what do you think?”

“I think…” She looked down. “I think things aren’t always what they seem.”

Now finished, Taggart stood with hands on his belt. “He walks the perimeter of this town, terrorizing everyone. What else would that mean?”

This conversation had to make Henry’s skin crawl, but she intentionally kept her eyes away from him, as she would if she hadn’t known. “Maybe he’s protecting the town. You ever think of that?”

He and Eustace laughed, but Taggart’s was more of a huff. “You saying the devil out there is our guardian? If so, we’ve done lots of sinning to deserve that.”

She looked through the glass, at the few pastries remaining. “You can think what you want, and I can think what I want.”

“It’s crazy, Beth,” Eustace said, almost desperate. He turned to Henry. “Mr. Clayton, surely you agree—”

“I think as long as Ms. Ashton isn’t putting her life or anyone else’s in danger, she is free to think the way she wants.” This surprised her, as much as it did everyone else. Henry’s eyes lifted from his paper and met Eustace’s, as though he’d been reading without the slightest interest in their conversation. “That’s the beauty of the country we live in, isn’t it, Mr. Bathgate?”

After an awkward moment, everyone began having small conversations amongst themselves. Eustace sighed and put on his ball cap, faded and dirty and speared with a fish hook, before walking to the door. Taggart followed. “All right then, you win,” he said. “But like always, Beth, just be careful.” He turned back, winking.

She hardly smiled as she nodded, and when he left she met Henry’s eyes. All she could do was stare; she couldn’t even nod. But it seemed that’s all he could do, too. Then he stood, and that was her cue. She took the pastry and to-go coffee she’d prepared before the topic of the beast had come up, and met Henry at the door. “Please, give these to Arne.”

“Mine was on the house, Ms. Ashton, and the deal was one of us.”

She threw an exasperated glare at him and extended them in his direction.

“Fine,” he sighed, not taking them. “But I think it’ll mean more coming from you.”

She followed him out the door and across the street, meeting Arne and the Maybach. Arne stood against it, doing a crossword puzzle. He looked up, showing slight surprise that she was here, and then with a nod opened Henry’s door.

As Henry got in, he nodded at her. “Good day, Ms. Ashton.” Again, a hint of a smile, the almost-boyish kind that made her smile in return.

“Mr. Clayton,” she said, keeping it professional. Once Arne had closed Henry’s door, she met Arne’s eyes and extended the coffee and pastry in his direction. “If you won’t come in and join us, I figured I’d bring it to you.”

He seemed speechless, and still didn’t take them.

“And though I’d rather have you join us inside…here.” She handed them to him.

“That’s very sweet of you, Elizabeth. I admit I’ve been anxious to try it.” He looked around before bending and lowering his voice to a whisper. “Elizabeth, Mr. Clayton doesn’t feel comfortable asking you himself, but it seems he left some tools at your house yesterday.”

She had almost forgotten about the tool belt she’d found by her bathtub last night. “Oh, yes. I’m sorry I forgot to bring them today.”

He lifted a hand. “All is well, Elizabeth. But can you bring them by this afternoon? After Mr. Clayton and I return? He won’t be available, but I’ll be there.”

“Of course.” She wondered what he needed them for, but mostly why Henry was too uncomfortable to ask her for them himself.

“Good,” Arne smiled, his eyes twinkling. He moved back to his door, his tone still secretive. “The gate will be unlocked, so come right in, whenever you get around to it.” He opened the door with her gifts in hand and raised his voice to normal. “And thank you again. I look forward to devouring these.”

Chapter 17

The elegant J and C stared down at Elizabeth, telling her she was unworthy. Despite the initials on watch, the wrought iron barrier had been cracked a mere inch for her. Its high-tech monitor was lifeless, reflecting the low evening sun.

With Henry’s tool belt slung over her shoulder, she released a slow breath.

The Maybach had passed by the shop thirty minutes before, when she was closing up, and now no more than an hour of sunlight remained. Awkwardly, she looked around to make sure she was alone as she pushed the mansion’s gate open.

Its hinges whined and she worried it would give her away, regardless of the fact that she was invited. Sunlight shot through trees at low angles, shedding heavenly-looking beams on the landscape. Her feet crunched over gravel as she took the path to the front door, and when she ascended the wide steps, she felt a weight of a hundred pounds in her chest. She took a deep breath, telling herself it was just a house. Just Henry’s house. Would he be angry if he knew Arne had invited her, or angry at Elizabeth for coming?

Hesitating only briefly, she reached out to the large, ornately carved, wooden door and knocked. It was silly to expect anyone from within to hear. The knock was so small she almost didn’t hear it herself. But she couldn’t find a doorbell or even a door knocker. She waited a moment, knocked again, then waited some more. No answer.

She stepped off the porch and looked around, even up to the vast peaked eaves, where birds dove playfully from point to point. She thought about leaving the tool belt on the doorstep, but the narrow path did continue, winding through more rhododendrons and hemlocks before disappearing behind the house.

Before she could stop herself, she was walking it. It was so solemn and secluded here that if it wasn’t for the trimmed grass and meticulous pathway, she would have bet no soul had set foot on this side of the mansion in years. The pathway led to a tall rock wall, the same she’d seen from her back porch. It crawled with vines and appeared to fence off the entire rear of the estate. Back here, the wrought iron fence stopped where this robust and secretive barricade took over.

The pathway led through a narrow opening in the wall, one just big enough for a person to fit through, and even though she thought she shouldn’t, she went in, moving aside vines that hung in her way.

And back here…

Back here lived a different world entirely, even with a different feel to the air. The stone wall fenced no more than an acre of land—land quite the opposite of the maintained landscape outside it. It used to be some sort of garden: planned, straight rows bordered with granite, stone pathways disappearing within unkempt plant life, and strategically placed stone benches. The largest path, running through the middle and dividing the garden symmetrically, traveled right to the steps of the mansion’s back door. The steps were just as intimidating as the ones out front, but the door was all glass—double doors, actually, with large golden handles.

There was something beautiful in the garden’s unruly, wild abandon. Green exploded everywhere, spilling over stone walls and intruding on pathways, and amongst it, red popped to life. Rosebushes traveled up the walls, tangled amidst vines and foliage. Every corner overflowed with the roses, and every bench was backed by them—rosebushes so large they appeared to have started life hundreds of years ago.