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“Like that, huh? About what I figured. Nick’s not a bad person. He’s just been through a lot, and getting shot probably didn’t help.”
“Forrest,” Magnus boomed.
Forrest snapped his mouth shut, giving Martin a semi-guilty look before spinning around to look at Magnus.
“Yes, my liege?”
“What’re you bringing tomorrow?”
“Oh.” Forrest’s shoulders slumped as if he’d been expecting something more. “I was thinking a big batch of focaccia.”
“Focaccia,” Magnus mused. “That’ll work. Pop’s doing lamb and some curry recipe he wants to test on us. Critter is roasting a turkey. Wanda is doing two kinds of potatoes.” His attention swung to Martin. “Are you coming?”
“Um, coming to what?”
“Ah, damn, I knew I’d forgotten something. It’s our annual community celebration, my poor version of a Samhain feast—which, yes, I know is the end of October, but we can’t close the pub that day. Tomorrow is the only day Pops and I close the pub to the public, and we invite our friends to eat with us.”
“I’m not exactly a friend.”
“Not yet, you aren’t, but I can tell you will be. Probably you can’t cook anything in that kitchen of yours yet, so don’t worry about bringing anything. Everyone is going to want to get to know you anyway. Be here around three.”
Someone called for Magnus and he marched off without waiting for Martin’s reply. Martin wasn’t sure if Magnus had been planning to wait anyway; the exchange felt more like an order than an invitation.
“I guess we’ll be seeing you tomorrow, then,” Forrest commented. “It’s really for the best this way, like ripping off a Band-Aid. You’ll get to meet most of us in one fell swoop.”
Martin nodded, not really paying attention. Forrest said something about a king and the weather channel, but Martin couldn’t care less. He was stuck on the comment about Nick Waugh.
He’d been shot? What were the circumstances? Martin wanted to know more. But the moment had passed, and it didn’t feel right to force a return to it, even if he suspected Forrest Cooper would be more than happy to tell him. Because he also suspected Nick Waugh hated that people in town gossiped about him.
NICK
Fact: Antacids taste like chalk because they are calcium carbonate, which is… chalk.
Nick didn’t sleep much the night he learned Blair Cruz was missing. Not that he ever slept deeply, but after hearing the news from Purdy, he physically wasn’t able to close his eyes. Instead, he lay on the cabin’s futon couch and watched the darkness while Kitten purred on his chest.
No one in town believed him when he’d mentioned that something—more likelysomeone—was making the back of his neck twitch. Worse, everyone sitting at the bar that night over a month ago had laughed. Magnus had clapped him on the shoulder—hard—saying something about Nick still being shaken from the ambush at a Sri Lankan market and seeing shadows at every corner. Even Liam thought Nick was overreacting. And that betrayal burned.
“Maybe try meditation. It helps me relax,” Liam had suggested, nudging Nick with his elbow and doing his best to take the sting of the laughter away.
To that irritating proposal, Nick had replied, “Dude, if you were any more relaxed, you’d be a puddle.” But he’d left it at that, not mentioning his “edgy feelings” again. If people chose not to believe him, that was on them.
And Magnus did have a point. Nickwasstill shaken by what had happened to him. He’d been fucking shot and had nearly died. All he’d wanted was a nice ripe mango and instead his life had changed forever.
But since that night at the Steam Donkey, Lizzy Harlow had been murdered and now Blair Cruz was missing.
To some extent, he probably did have a bad case ofwhat just went bump in the night. Nick was willing to concede that much. He stroked Kitten’s soft fur as she snuffled and turned around, making herself comfortable in his armpit.
But.
BUT.
Being jumpy didn’t mean Nick was wrong about the shiny men-in-black-style SUVs he’d spotted driving through and around town at odd hours of the day and night. Or the supposed Sasquatch sightings that had increased from the usual numbers. Where there was smoke, there was fire, not wee fairies—or a large Bigfoot—dancing around in a mushroom circle.
The first time he’d seen a black SUV was back at the beginning of October, and he’d brushed it off as late-season tourists. The thing was, not many tourists who came to Cooper Springs drove that kind of vehicle.
Kitten shifted and stretched her body as long as she could. Nick ran his hand across her soft fur, not sure if he was calming her or himself.
Visitors were more likely to drive minivans full of kids, dogs, camping equipment, and kites. Or they drove vehicles with four-wheel drive, ones designed for the forest roads, and left them parked at trailheads. The sporty cars were usually day-trippers taking their little car for a spin along the rugged coast or driving them out onto the beach.
