Not at all what I was expecting with this woman. Her paint-smeared jumper was only the first surprise of the day.
Not to mention the drip of hot pink paint that dotted the slope of one perfect breast that wouldn’t leave my mind anytime soon.
“But Haven residents have a way of pivoting. Our newest bit of town fame is Tate Reynolds. He won the lottery almost two years ago and instead of leaving with his millions, he decided to revitalize the town by investing in a ton of small businesses.” She poured coffee into two mismatched mugs. One a unicorn head with a sparkly horn, and the other a stunning piece of pottery that could have been in a gallery.
She handed me the unicorn.
I swallowed down a laugh and took a sip.
“You are a tough nut to crack, Dutch.” She frowned. “Is that your first name or last?”
I didn’t want to answer. She probably wouldn’t know who I was, but I kind of liked the anonymity of being just Dutch. Instead of lying, I simply took a sip from the mug. “Good coffee.”
She rolled her eyes. “Keep your secrets. Anyway. What was I saying?”
“Town lore and murdered kids.”
“Right. Sounds awful when you say it that way.” She wrapped her fingers around the mug without a handle. It seemed as if it was meant for her hand. Had she made that too?
I wouldn’t put it past her.
I just waited her out. Focus wasn’t one of her strengths.
“Anyway. There’re three different stories about the kids. One is a serial killer, one is the bodach?—”
“The boogeyman?”
Delighted, her face lit up. “You know your folklore. I shouldn’t be surprised. I did snoop around on your shelves. You have tons of books about it.”
“I have lots of interests.”
“Even more intriguing.” She leaned a hip against the table full of supplies. “We have a large Irish community that settled here in the ’50s. Since that was right about the time of the children’s disappearances…” She took a swallow with a shrug.
My head damn near exploded with the thought of it. I looked around and found a pad of paper.
“It’s always easier to—what are you doing?”
The itch to dig into the idea of it hit so hard, I set the mug down and grabbed one of her pastels. I quickly scrawled words down, but they came faster than I was expecting.
The monster who lived in the ice.
Who hibernated when the weather was warm instead of cold.
Why the town ignored the bodach because the summer was their time for tourists. Much like the classicJawsmovie, small towns would often sacrifice safety for money when it was the only way for towns to survive. I’d always been fascinated with how small towns worked.
Mostly because I’d never felt close enough to be part of a community.
Her honey scent dragged me out of the fugue state.
She was peeking over my shoulder.
I ripped the page off the pad and folded it in quarters before jamming it into my pocket.
“That was my expensive watercolor paper.”
“I’ll buy you a new pad.”
She tried to snatch the paper out of my pocket. “What did you write? I couldn’t read it.”
