a nasty humor like a prize waistcoat. If you’re in the market for a custom-made pair of boots, that’s fine. He does know his way around a length of leather. But if ye have no need of new boots, pay him no mind.”
“I didn’t really mean look out for in the sense of avoidance. I meant is there anything in particular I should seek out?”
“’Tis a distinction it is.” I nodded. “We get some tourists now and then.” I immediately began calculating how the village stayed afloat with anything less than a steady stream of tourism. “They like to take pictures of the mill wheel.”
That did pique my interest. Flying my turista colors proudly, I asked, “Which way?”
“River’s a few strides downhill. Go past your front door, keep walkin’. You’ll run right into it.” She chuckled. “Do no’ recommend that. The water’s already coolin’ off, gettin’ ready for winter. I have a distant cousin who…”
She looked away quickly so that I didn’t hear the end of that sentence as she busied herself moving things around.
“I didn’t hear the end of that. You have a distant cousin who what?”
“What? Oh. I think I hear the kettle.” With her cheeriest smile so far, she began walking away, saying, “Have a nice outin’. Get yourself settled in, but be back ‘round for dinner on time.”
I felt dismissed, but not in a bad way. The day had turned even cloudier, but I didn’t smell rain. I buttoned my jacket that was more stylish than warm, thought about going back to the house for something more substantial, but decided that would be wimpy, even for me.
The cobblestone circle was deserted. No cars, pedestrians, or horses.
Looking across the way I could see The Silver Braid sign. Perhaps I’d get a ring to replace my wedding band. I’d invested so many years in the nervous habit of turning it over and over that ringless made my left hand feel naked.
The shop directly next door to the Hallows appeared vacant, but the one on the other side of that had a pink neon sign in the window that was out of place and keeping with the ‘vibe’. As I drew near, I was thinking I would have made it illegal if I was on the city council. The store’s name was Notions and Potions.
The door opened and a woman in her early thirties emerged to lean against the door jamb, almost like she was waiting for me.
I nodded and said, “Hello.”
Her response was a smirk. “G’day.”
Huh.
I walked on, evaluating the possibility that I might be misjudging. Maybe that was just what her face does when she thinks she’s smiling.
Sitting at the head of the circle like a state building, The Hung Goose was the focal point of the Hallow Hill business district. It featured a large hanging sign with a portrait of a handsome gray goose that, thankfully for my appetite, was alive, well, and sporting a red bow tie. I’d been thinking about Maggie’s verbal menu ever since she’d described what might be expected for lunch.
I took a slow turn around the circle, peeking in windows, but not opening doors. The shop that called to me was the florist. Stands of blooms, made all the more attractive because they were out of season, almost lured me into the shop to buy an orchid for the writing desk. Then I remembered I hadn’t yet decided to stay.
The storefront on the next corner was the smallest bank I’d ever seen. The sign said loans, exchange, currency storage. Notary upstairs in solicitor’s office. There were two deserted intersections on the way to the pub, meaning places where I might encounter cross-traffic. I looked down the narrow streets at what appeared to be row houses. They were old and timeless, but pretty and colorful. Not in a graffiti sort of way, but in a flower box sort of way. The streets were too narrow for four-wheeled vehicles to park, which added to the charm.
Continuing on, I took note of each business. Apothecary. Silver shop. Market. I would have called it a grocery store, but that’s just me.
The next shop of interest was the Magic Spindle. There was a large display window on either side of the deliberately distressed blue door. Each window featured an antique spindle as the focal point in the center. “Handweaver” was painted on the door in gold script and, certainly, it would be easy to believe the pieces in the window were created magically. They were that