Was that Broch, then? What was it about these people that made him wary of them?

  Even Benedict and Wim were watching the other tables, in between talking among themselves. Their gazes kept flicking sideways.

  The only laughter in the room came from the eight new arrivals. And their laughter was raucous.

  Tension filled the room, but I didn’t understand why. Yet it was thick enough that I turned to Hirom, who was just finishing the last of the mugs of beer, and said, “What do they want for lunch?”

  “I told ‘em the cook would clock on soon,” he said, his voice low.

  “Hey, dude! Hurry up with that round, will ya?” one of the six men called from the table. “You’re done, ain’t ya?”

  Hirom’s gaze met mine.

  I picked up the tray. “Let me,” I said softly. “Then you don’t have to get down.”

  He nodded and I could see the relief in his eyes.

  I carried the tray over to the table, and inserted myself between the two women, bent and placed the tray on the table. “Hirom said you’re looking for lunch?”

  They distributed the fresh mugs. The woman to my left, who wore a muscle shirt that showed that she did have muscles, put her old, empty beer mug down with a solid thump. “We’re hungry.”

  “There’s a little shepherd’s pie,” I said, while recalling what was in the cold room. “Or ham and cheese burritos.” Those, I could make quickly, and stuff them with onions and other things that would give them a satisfyingly full feeling.

  “Burritos, yeah!” one of the closer men said, wiping froth from his lip. “Damn, this stuff is good…gives you an appetite.”

  The other woman looked up at me with narrowed eyes. “What’s shepherd’s pie?”

  I explained the ingredients.

  “Sheep! Yeah!” the same man said. “I’ll have sheep and mash.”

  I suppose it was an accurate, but narrow, description of shepherd’s pie.

  The others nominated what they wanted. I limited the pie to only four servings, for skimping on the serving size would not go over well with these people. I knew that without being told, although where the notion came from, I didn’t know. I was certain about it the same way I had been certain that Olivia and Benedict had both lied to me.

  So, four servings of sheep-and-mash, and four burritos. Or perhaps four servings of two burritos each. It would depend on the tortilla sizes and what I could find to put in them.

  I took the tray back to the bar. “Keep them happy,” I told Hirom. “I’ll cook lunch.”

  He looked inordinately pleased about that, and nodded.

  I hurried into the kitchen. The smell of food going off was even stronger, now, but I didn’t have time to worry about that. I got the griddle going—just one side of it, grabbed everything I needed from the cold room, and dumped it on the side counter near the griddle, where there was at least enough room to put it. I pushed a lot of stuff aside to make even more room, and got to work.

  Burritos are loved by almost everyone, especially if you put enough cheese in them. I also liked to smear garlic over the outside of the wrap, so the garlic matured and flavored the tortilla as it cooked, which gave it an extra dollop of umami. Normally, I would ration out the cheese and ham, so the burrito would be economical, and earn a margin of profit, but not this time. I had been caught off guard. I could figure out later the measures and scale weight portions that wouldn’t send the kitchen broke.

  I had the casserole dish of shepherd’s pie in the microwave, and the four monster burritos on the griddle when Benedict Marcus pushed open the swing door, then knocked on the inside of it, while he sniffed appreciatively. “Smells very good!”

  I don’t always have to be hit over the head with a baseball bat to understand subtext. “Would you like a burrito, too?”

  “Me and Juda, please. Wim would like a vegetarian version.” Meaning Broch wasn’t eating. Given how uptight he’d looked, I wasn’t surprised.

  “You’ll have to wait until I’ve served the others.”

  “That’s fine. We didn’t think we’d be able to eat here at all.” He paused. “Can I…help?” He eyed the kitchen, which looked like a bomb site. Hopefully the cooking garlic and ham scents were covering the less savory aromas.

  “Do you have any cooking experience at all?” I asked him.

  “I can open cans very well.” His smile was warm, making his eyes dance.

  Regretfully, I said, “Then I’m good, thank you.”

  He went away, while I got out plates and rolled cutlery sets into paper napkins and put everything on chopping boards to serve it. Then I plated the meals, and took the first tray out to the bar.

  Judging by the empty mugs on the table, the eight guests had finished the round I’d served and were onto the next.

  I put each meal in front of the person who had ordered it, then stacked mugs and put them on the chopping block, and took them back to the bar. I left the board there, and returned to the kitchen for the second board, which, when I had offloaded the meals, I used to sweep up peanut shells and the last of the empty mugs, and took them over to the bar, too.

  Hirom had emptied the first board, which I took back to the kitchen and set about making three more burritos. The time pressure was off, but I am so used to working fast, that I had the next round of burritos on the griddle inside five minutes. While they were cooking I went back and got the second board from Hirom, now empty and wiped off.

  When I took the burritos over to the table by the fire, Benedict got to his feet. “Anna…this is great. Thank you.”

  “No problems.” I put the proper burrito in front of the right person, and waited for someone to tell me that the man I’d figured out was Juda was Broch, instead.

  “Anna, you know Wim, yes?” Benedict said.

  I nodded at the brown-skinned man. He smiled at me. “Smells very good.”

  “And this is Juda Malik,” Benedict added, waving toward the man I’d pegged as Juda.

  Juda Malik nodded gravely at me. His eyes did seem distant, even close up. They were a deep black, fringed with black lashes. I could see him making a woman’s knees melt if he turned his full attention upon her. He was delicious. But much too young for me, and far too detached.

  “Then you must be Broch,” I said, turning to the fourth man at the table. He had a tankard in his hand, but he wasn’t drinking. He watched the other tables with the same brooding stare as before. He jerked his attention back to me as I spoke his name.

  Then he put the tankard back on the table and got to his feet. As he was in the chair beside me, I got the full measure of his height. He was at least two inches over six feet, and his shoulders were broad, but nicely proportional for his height. Unlike Juda, when Broch looked at me with his very blue eyes, I could tell I had his full attention. He gave me a smile that revealed white, even teeth. There was a deprecating air of self-awareness about him as he said, “I’m a bit distracted. My apologies, Anna Crackstone. Welcome to Haigton Crossing.” His voice was a low tenor, and seemed to stroke my innards.

  I had to shake off the effect of his gaze. I felt like I could easily drift into it and lose myself. “Thank you,” I said stiffly, shifting my focus to the table. “Eat, everyone. Don’t let them get cold.”

  I headed back to the kitchen and made myself a grilled cheese sandwich with a loaf of bread I found in the chest freezer, then put everything away. Because the situation in the bar was worrying me, I made sure everything was turned off and took my sandwich out to the bar. I settled in the tall stool, which was back by the phone.

  Hirom had slowed down now the guests had food to occupy them. He moved over to where I was sitting, his big boots moving lightly on the plank ledge. “Ghaliya was in earlier,” he said, tossing the tea towel he’d been carrying over his shoulder. “More tea and crackers.”

  I winced. “Even more reason to get that kitchen cleaned up.” I bit into my sandwich and chewed. “I need to get some serious food into her, and have her keep it down.”

  Hirom raised a brow at me. “Is she…?” he asked delicately and waved toward his belly.

  I hesitated. But what did it matter? We’d be gone in a few days. “Yes. It was completely unexpected. She was told she’d never carry a child.”

  Hirom pulled the tea towel off his shoulder and wiped an invisible speck off the counter. “Hmm….” The sound rumbled in his thick chest. “She’ll need coddling, then.”

  It was a quaint, old word, but it was a good one. It also wasn’t the first odd word he’d used, which gave me an idea. “Hirom, do you know what ‘haig’ means?”

  “Aye,” he said. “Most folk here learn about it sooner or later. There was an Old English word for ‘witch’—hægtes.” Even the way he said it sounded ancient.

  “Hag,” I guessed, for the sounds weren’t dissimilar, and witches had been called hags throughout most of the history that I knew.

  Hirom pointed at me. “And ‘hex’. And in German, a witch is a ‘hexe’. The Dutch call them ‘heks’.”

  “Hag Town,” I said, between bites. “Witch town.”

  Hirom grinned. “And Witch Way, don’t forget.”

  “How accurate is the description?” I teased.

  “Well, now, that depends on when you ask the question. A couple of hundred years ago, everyone in Northern New York would have told you with complete sincerity that Haigton was stuffed to the brim with cackling hags. These days, it’s just a name. Like Delaware.”

  “What does Delaware mean?”

  “The state was named after Thomas West, the third Baron De La Warr.” He spoke each part of the last name separately.

  “I think I knew that,” I murmured, recalling vague history lessons.

  “But you forgot and Delaware is just a place and a people. Same as Haigton Crossing. It’s just a place.”

  I didn’t think the Crossing was just a place at all. Haigton Crossing was different, just the way everyone had tried to warn me, so far. “So what came first? The witch way or the town?”

  “Oh, the way, most likely. The hamlet serves the way.” Hirom headed down his platform, pulled down eight mugs, two at a time, and arranged them neatly on the counter. Then he looked at one of the visitors and nodded as the guy put up his two hands, with eight digits extended.

  For fit hikers, they had a prodigious capacity for beer.

  I glanced at the table of locals. Everyone looked more relaxed, there, except for Broch, who still cradled his drink and watched the visitors from under his lowered brow.

  When Hirom had filled the eight mugs, I took them to the table, then settled on the stool once more. Hirom drifted back in my direction.

  “If Broch is so worried about the visitors, should he leave and stay out of their way?” I asked.

  Hirom seemed to weigh it up, then shook his head. “Nah. This is an inn. Rules of the highway apply here. Neutral territory and all. Enemies can drink at the same table.”

  I laughed. “That’s a bit dramatic. Why would Broch consider these hikers his enemies?” Did anyone other than extremists ever think in such black and white terms anymore? The world was pluralist and better for it.

  “Guess that’s something you have to ask Broch,” Hirom said, in a somewhat formal tone. There was a hint of apology in his voice, too. “As I’m the barman.”

  That took me a second to figure it out. “Wait, you mean, anything you get told by a customer is privileged, like a lawyer?”

  “More or less,” Hirom said.

  “Is that another rule of the road?” I was teasing.

  “Highway,” he corrected.

  “The inn isn’t on a highway.”

  “Sure it is. Route 244. But the greenway’s a highway, too. In the old sense of the word. Any public road is a highway.”

  “So because Broch and these people are inside the inn, they can’t…what? Punch each other out?”

  “That would be frowned upon in any pub,” Hirom said gravely.

  The curtain over the doorway into the front hall was pushed aside, letting in a splash of weak midday sunlight that placed a stretched rectangle of light on the counter in front of me.

  I turned to check who had come in, expecting to see Ghaliya.

  The woman was of average height, even including the heels on the boots she wore, but everything else about her was anything but average. She wore all black; pants, shirt, flat-brimmed hat and knee-length coat. On most women the dark monotones would be excessive and showy, but it looked appropriate on her. Her hair was equally black and lay on her shoulder in rippling waves.

  Her face was not perfect. Her mouth was too wide, her nose too long, and she wore a frown that pulled her dark brows together as she took in the bar. But she had a magnetism that discounted all of that. She drew the eye.

  Her gaze fell on the visitors and her frown deepened even more. Then she glanced at the table of locals. I wasn’t sure, but I thought that she was checking on Broch. Did she know that the hikers were considered enemies of Broch, too?

  Benedict, though, lowered his tankard, watching the woman with a wary expression.

  Her scowl didn’t shift as she swung her gaze around the room once more. It settled on me. The scowl shifted to a neutral expression. She headed toward me with a determined, long-legged stride.

  “You’re Thamina’s daughter?” It was barely a question.

  I held out my hand. “Anna Crackstone.”

  “Harper Gibbs.” She left my hand hanging in space.

  I lowered it back to my knee. Harper had been one of the names Olivia had rattled off when counting up the residents of the Crossing. “You live here?” I made it a question to be polite.

  “Five years.” Her tone was dismissive. “You’ve been asking questions, making everyone think you suspect them of murdering Thamina.”

  “Hey, Harper, take it easy,” Hirom said. “She just got here and it’s her mother who died.”

  “And the Sheriff’s department don’t seem to be interested in investigating,” I added. “Someone must.”

  “Why?” Harper demanded. “Your mother died by her own hand. Anyone could see that.” Her voice was low, with a burr to it that made it interesting to listen to.

  “My mother wouldn’t do that,” I shot back. But I was uncomfortable claiming it, for how much did I really know my mother? Her journals and workbooks had demonstrated that there was a great deal about her that I hadn’t known at all.

  “None of us would kill her,” Harper shot back. “Especially Benedict.”

  I blinked. Was she rushing to his rescue? “Umm….”

  “You think he killed her because it was his knife,” Harper insisted, her hand on her hip, throwing the coat open.

  “I honestly don’t know what to think, right now.” I put my feet on the floor and kept my hands on my knees. Every instinct I had was telling me to stand up and brace myself.

  I couldn’t see Benedict, behind her. I couldn’t measure his reaction to Harper squaring off with me.

  Harper was clearly expecting more from me. I was tempted to just shut up and see what she came back with, but decided to spare her. She was a resident. I was the stranger here. “It’s not just the knife. Benedict hasn’t an alibi for the night of the solstice.”

  “The twenty-first?” Her gaze was steady, her eyes flat, all expression gone. “He was with me. All night.”

  I was glad my hands were on my knees. I rode out the surprise by squeezing my knees and not breathing.

  But why was I so shocked? He’d said he’d been in bed during the critical hours. He’d failed to mention he hadn’t been alone, but that could simply be discretion at play. Only why not mention Harper was with him and be done with it? Why lie? And he had lied about some aspect of his night. I was sure of it.

  Was it simply the lie of omission I’d sensed? If he wasn’t practiced at lying, perhaps he’d given himself away with some microscopic body language I had picked up on.

  It could be that simple. And that complicated.

  I drew in a deep, deep breath, and tried to avoid telegraphing that I was recovering from my surprise. “I see.” I kept my voice flat so I gave away nothing.

  Harper nodded. “So we are done with this nonsense, then?”

  I pressed my lips together. “It does seem to put both you and Benedict in the clear,” I admitted.

  She let the coat drop closed. “Good.” She whirled and stalked out of the bar. I could almost see the trails of steam lingering in the air behind her.

  Now she was gone, the table of locals was visible again. They were all watching me, including Juda, who had clearly shifted from his introspective mood.

  I turned to Hirom, who hadn’t bothered moving away from what could have been a private conversation. I told myself he considered anything he heard in here privileged information. I raised my brows. “She seems…”

  “‘Pissed’ is the word you’re looking for,” Hirom said.

  “I was going to say angry, but okay.”

  “That’s Harper for you. One angry lass.”

  “Then it wasn’t just me?”

  Hirom chuckled. “Harper gets up moody and goes to bed livid. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Why is she like that?”

  He shook his head. “Something in the water here?”

  I reminded myself again that Hirom didn’t pass on information. It was inconvenient right now, but I was glad to know that nothing I said to him would be shared with anyone else.

  But still, I was unsettled. How much had Hirom interpreted from my reaction to Harper’s news?

  I got to my feet. “I need to stretch my legs. I’ve been sitting all morning.” It was the truth, after all. I glanced at the hikers. “Will you be okay for a while?” I asked Hirom.

  “Now they’ve eaten, they’ll be good little doggies,” Hirom said. “Beer and a full belly…they’ll be wanting to snooze.”

  And it was true that the conversation around the tables had grown listless and low volume.

  “Hey, if you’re heading outside….” Hirom began.

  “Yes?”

  He looked embarrassed. “It just…your mother has a good coat. Better than the one you’re wearing. That is, as you’re heading out for a bit.”