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Grinning like a madman, Declan orders bacon and eggs with pancakes on the side.
I ask for coffee and toast.
Once Mable fills the coffee cups, she returns to the counter.
“She seemed disappointed that Mr. Pettigrew hasn’t communicated.” If he stole six boys from their homes without permission, then why does he seem so beloved locally?
Declan adds a long pour of sugar and cream to his cup. “The ladies loved him.”
“Do you think he’ll ever come back?” I take out my phone in case I want to record some of our talk.
“He’s probably dead.” Oliver drinks his black coffee, then pours another cup from the silver carafe.
Declan shakes his head. “No. I’d know if Wentworth had crossed over.”
“How would you know?” I press record.
“I’m a reaper, Britta. That’s what I do. I know about death and dying. If someone as close to me as our teacher became seriously ill, I’d feel it.”
Four men dressed for roadwork enter and sit a few booths away. They look over warily.
Mable brings our food and tells the newcomers that she’ll be with them in a minute.
She puts a plate of white toast in front of me and a small carousel full of jams, jelly, and butter. Are you sure I can’t get you a couple of eggs, Britta? You should eat more than toast.”
She sounds like my mother. “I’m fine, Ms. Mable.”
Giving Declan a wide grin, she blushes and walks over to take the orders from the men.
“Why did those men look at you like that, Oliver?” My phone is still recording.
He shrugs and pops a blueberry in his mouth. “I only know two of them. Wyatt and Jason Peevy. They have a childish grudge.”
“Why?”
Declan cranes his head around to get a look. “Because they’re idiots.” He forks a huge bite of pancakes. “Their grandfather and Wentworth argued over the property lines between their land our ours. It was settled but left bad blood.”
“Bill has been dead for twenty years. You’d think they’d let it go.” Oliver pushes the berries aside in favor of black coffee.
“You would think.” Declan stuffs his mouth with food.
Before the words have left the air, one of the men is standing at our table, staring at me. “What kind of creature are you?”
“I beg your pardon?” My heart pounds. The man is menacing. He’s not tall, but there’s something mean in his dark-brown eyes and twisted mouth. His coveralls are filthy, and he smells of tar.
Oliver speaks through clenched teeth without looking up from his coffee. “Back away, Jason, before you get hurt.”
“I just asked a question. I know what you are Becket, and Montgomery thinks he’s some kind of saint, but I ain’t never seen this one before. What kind of monster are you, blondie?”
“A reporter,” I say as I pop one of the blackberries from Oliver’s bowl into my mouth.
“Maybe she’s a cannibal like you.” Jason leans in until his face is inches from Oliver’s.
When Oliver lifts his gaze, his eyes are red with blown pupils. There’s not a hint of blue. “I said, back away.” His voice is feral, barely sounding like the man I spent a good part of the day with yesterday.
Jason’s eyes droop, as does one side of his mouth.
“Oliver.” Declan’s voice is a soft warning.
