Page 3 of Where Roads Lead

It warmed my heart a little toward them to not be met with uneasy smiles and glazed over, waxy expressions of barely concealed judgment that said loud and clear: you’re wasting your time.

“Well, that’s wonderful,” Debra said. “This town will be the perfect inspiration for you. We have a lot of characters running around the place.”

They both chuckled at that, as if they weren’t the very characters they were referring to.

“Thank you,” I said, finally working up the courage to make a natural exit. “It was really nice to meet you both. I’ll see you around.”

A sentiment that was probably true. This wasn’t the type of town where you could easily avoid someone. Not that I necessarily needed to. No one here knew my past. No one knew what had happened.

So why did the embarrassment linger, feeling as if the memory of it had been burned into my skin, like something visible and radiating off me for everyone to see?

“Oh, wait—don’t forget to grab Will’s number,” Debra said, rifling through her purse. “You’ll need it!”

“Who is Will?” I asked again.

“Oh, you haven’t met Will?” Cathy asked. “He’s darling.”

“What would I need his number for?” I asked, wondering if these women were attempting to set me up on a blind date with a stranger.

“Car issues. House issues,” Debra rattled off, pulling a notepad and pen out of her purse.

“Pest control issues.” Cathy nodded along. “He does it all.”

Debra scribbled off a phone number and handed it to me. “Here you go.”

Will Hughes. I stared at it, wondering how that would go over if I picked up the phone and called him, like they were so insistent upon me doing.

Hello? Will Hughes? This is Elsie Cameron. I know you don’t know me, but I was told to call you if I need anything, and right now, I desperately need someone to come do a seance to get the evil murdered spirits out of my house? Do you do that? Because I was told you do everything that needs to be done in this town.

Somehow I figured this number would go unused.

“Well, thank you,” I said, holding up the piece of paper in salute. And since they were more than willing to help out, I figured I’d ask them for directions instead of wasting time wandering on my own. “Is there anywhere I can get some coffee?”

“Oh, well, that’ll be Will’s place.”

“He owns the coffee shop, too?”

Who is this guy, the mayor?

“It’s been in his family for years,” Cathy explained. “You’ll find it right in the town square. Across from the park. Lovely little spot. I’m sure you’ll spend a lot of time there, what with your writing and all.”

“Right.” I nodded, thinking the last thing I wanted was to become a local at the town coffee shop. I doubted I’d be able to get much writing done camped out there.

But for now, I was in desperate need of caffeine and figured there wasn’t any harm in a quick in and out to get a glimpse of this infamous figure who was apparently the solution to any issue I could ever have.

Because apparently in Colbridge, all roads led to Will Hughes.

Chapter Two

Will

The worst thing about growing up in a town your whole life was that everyone over a certain age still remembered how you looked waddling around in diapers. As a man, it was more than a little emasculating.

And with Colbridge in particular, where everyone treated each other like family, that history came with some warped idea of ownership.

They knew my family. They’d seen me grow up. Knew my business before I was old enough to realize how screwed up the forged familial affection was with everyone within a ten-mile radius.

But I didn’t have a say in it. No one did. It’s just the way it was here.