Hemlock Veils (27 page)

That boyish, dimple-adorned smile in the photo was the same she saw this morning, the same that had left her chest feeling like a butterfly cage. When she looked away from the picture and back at him, she almost recoiled from the way he was already watching her—not the picture.

“I’ll get your coffee on,” she said, and walked behind the counter, placing an apron over her head and tying it behind her. First, she preheated the oven in the kitchen and removed the dough—prepared the evening before and already strategically placed on baking trays—from the industrial-sized refrigerator. When she returned to the lobby, Henry seemed to be wondering what he should do, and she began boiling water then added beans to the grinder. For a moment, he just stood there, but then he sat at the table farthest from her—the one in the corner. The sound of the grinder filled the awkward silence that she didn’t think was awkward at all, and the door opened behind her. For a second she thought he’d escaped, but when she turned she found Eustace, Taggart, Old Ray, and Doc Ortiz. Eustace and Elizabeth exchanged smiles. “Good morning,” she said to them.

“It’s already smelling good, Beth,” Old Ray said, his long white hair pinned back in a perfect ponytail, as it always was. She’d known the obvious since the moment she’d met him: that Old Ray was of a Native American heritage. But it wasn’t until her night with Regina and fried chicken that she’d learned he was one of the last of the Clatsop tribe—a branch of the Chinooks. The tribe, Regina said, had been losing its identity for some time now, and recently, in an attempt to keep its culture and ceremonies alive, Old Ray had joined the Clatsop-Nehalem Confederated Tribes of Oregon, an unofficial confederation fighting for the independence of the Clatsop tribe. He was the last in his family, apparently, and used to be a raging drunk. Now, though many years sober, he owned and ran the only tavern in town.

Sheriff Taggart adjusted his belt and looked around, appearing surprised when he noticed Henry. “Mr. Clayton,” he nodded.

“Sheriff,” Henry said.

Regina entered then, and so did Sheppy, with his red backpack and lime green Chucks. They exchanged hellos as Elizabeth emptied the medium-sized grounds by rounded tablespoons into both French presses. Then two teenagers she’d never met came in, along with the Thurmans. The space was small for all the bodies, and the sensation thrilling.

“Well, look at you,” Regina said, and Elizabeth peeked from over her shoulder as she began grinding the beans for the espresso machine. Regina stood over Henry, fists on her hips, and he appeared uncomfortable. Hopefully, all the attention wouldn’t scare him away. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any handsomer, Mr. Clayton.”

He glanced up at her, rendered speechless.

“The beard’s particularly striking.”

He chuckled, only one side of his mouth lifting. “Thank you, Mrs. Washington.”

“It’s good to see you here,” Taggart added, his mustache twitching as he again adjusted his belt. Henry’s limbs appeared to stiffen. The oven beeped behind her and she went in the back, put the pastries in the oven, set the timer, and returned to the lobby. The water was boiling now—perfect timing—and she poured it into both presses before checking the espresso machine that did most the work itself. From yesterday, she knew Taggart liked his cappuccino creamy and Regina liked her lattes with vanilla.

She worked quickly as everyone conversed behind her, typical morning chat. The teenagers, she heard, were on their way out of town, to school in Government Camp; Taggart had to investigate a strange case of Gina Gray’s missing cats—a woman whom Elizabeth had never seen—and he didn’t seem thrilled about the task; Old Ray was headed to the tavern after his coffee, to open it for whomever might be down enough on their luck to drink that early.

After skimming the floating grounds from the top in both presses, Elizabeth put one on the warmer and poured some from the other into a tall mug she’d already had warming. She left the coffee black, just the way he liked it—the way she happened to like it, too. She found the folded newspaper Taggart had left the day before, and though it was old news, she thought it better than nothing.

She approached Henry in the corner; his eyes locked with hers, and she placed the steaming cup before him, then handed him the paper. “It’s from yesterday,” she said with only a hint of a smile, “but…I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

He seemed surprised at first, but then pleased, as though she’d just saved him from social awkwardness. From the look of it, she may as well have saved his life. He smiled a polite smile and nodded. “Thank you, Ms. Ashton.” He began reaching inside the pocket of his jacket, but she stopped him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“I meant it, Mr. Clayton. I won’t accept your money.” She walked away before he could argue, and the room was silent. What was so unusual about her exchange with Henry she didn’t know, but whatever it was, it shut everyone up. And while trying to look discreet, they were in fact quite obvious, with their roaming eyes.

She worked behind the counter, hurrying—but not rushing—to fulfill everyone else’s orders as they formed a line toward the counter.

Things moved fast and she liked the busy feel, the way things rolled smoothly along. When Regina finished, she sighed and scooted away from the table she’d shared with Taggart, Eustace, Old Ray, and Doc Ortiz. “I guess I better get back to it,” she said, standing. “Nicole wanted to check this place out.” She saw Elizabeth’s surprise and chuckled. “I know.” Regina reached behind the counter and gave Elizabeth a quick, tight squeeze, her hair smelling as it always did: bitter coffee and menthol Newports. “Keep it up, Beth.” She’d said the same thing before she left yesterday, too, after she said how amazing the latte was—the best she’d ever had.

“Bye, Regina,” Elizabeth said after her. A pleasing smell emanated from the kitchen, telling her the pastries were done, and after she let them cool a few minutes, she placed them on the trays behind the glass counter. Immediately, nearly everyone rose, flocking back to the counter.

Nicole and Brian entered then, and Elizabeth swore her heart stopped beating all together as she locked eyes with Brian: head low, hair disheveled, and a dark line on the corner of his lip. Around that side of his mouth, the skin had a greenish tint. Yet all she could see was him above her, the image of his enraged face swirling due to the rain flooding her eyes. And within seconds, venomous thoughts of rage, humiliation, and retribution began spinning in her head.

She closed her eyes briefly, inhaling through her nose.

From the way Nicole’s arm was through his, claiming him, she guessed no one knew what he had done. Perhaps Nicole had dragged him here. How he had the nerve to show his face here at all was beyond Elizabeth’s now muddled comprehension.

“Beth,” Eustace said, and her eyes shot to him. Others watched her, too; he may have said her name more than once. Cautiously, he extended a five-dollar bill in her direction. “You all right, Beth?”

After a short second she smiled and nodded, hiding every ounce of her discomfort. “Of course, Old Man.” She took his money, opened the cash drawer, and withdrew his change. She handed it to him. “Just…getting used to running this place, that’s all.”

“Hope we don’t keep you
too
busy,” he said, a hint of a smile lifting his beard.

“I hope you
do
.” As she smiled back, Brian approached the end of the line. Nicole sat at one of the tables while she waited, conversing in a surprisingly friendly way with Sheppy. At the table beside them, in the corner, was Henry.

Henry.

He sat rigidly at his corner table, his vision planted on the back of Brian’s head as though deadly darts would shoot from his eyes at any moment. She prayed this wouldn’t end messily.

In a quiet voice unlike his own, Brian ordered two coffees, both with cream. Then he glanced nonchalantly—but too conspicuously, in her opinion—around to make sure everyone else was out of earshot. He leaned over the counter and she recoiled, his presence giving her goose bumps. “Beth,” he began softly, then paused. “I…I’m sorry. I feel awful about it. I hope you know that’s not who I am and I would never—”

“That’ll be four twenty-one,” she interrupted, unable to meet his eyes. Instead, she looked at the glass counter, where his hands rested. Grease tattooed his skin, beneath the circular and maze-like patterns of his fingertips.

“Beth, come on. I can’t stand this. I never wanted to—”

“I don’t care.” She was about to tell him to leave, but didn’t want to make a scene. She thought her next words through carefully, whether she meant them or not. “That’s fine if you want to come in here, but don’t expect small talk. Don’t talk to me about anything other than coffee.”

Silence. A stare-down.

“Got it?” she asked through tight lips.

He was about to say something—probably through his teeth, judging by the way that vein began to bulge from his forehead—but Henry appeared behind him, startling the both of them. He put a hand on Brian’s shoulder, a friendly gesture to any outside eyes, but a threatening one to those who knew. Thankfully, no one else did. “Is there a problem, Mr. Dane?”

Brian sighed, edging his shoulder out from under Henry’s hand. “No, Mr. Clayton.” His bitter voice lacked its usual respect for Henry.

“Then why haven’t you paid Ms. Ashton?”

“Brian, what’s going on?” Nicole asked as she approached, arms folded.

Brian faked a smile. “Nothing.” He handed Elizabeth a five and his eyes, directed at hers, were malicious. She tried not to cower at the way they said so much. “Keep the change.”

With that, he and Nicole walked away, sitting at the table next to Henry’s—with his coffee and paper still atop it. Without words, Henry’s eyes met hers, communicating with her in the same way they did at night.

She only nodded, in answer to his silent question. He nodded too, and returned to his table.

“Have you seen the monster behind your house yet, Beth?” Eustace asked from one of the tables, crumbs topping the napkin, which once held his puff pastry.

Briefly, she stumbled over her words. Then, while all were silent—and while Henry watched her warily from his table—she said, “I…I’m not sure, Eustace. I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” Taggart asked. “I think you’d know.”

“Nah, the thing can be quiet as a mouse,” Eustace said, still eyeing her. “But it
is
back there. It’s always back there.”

She wiped runaway coffee off the counter. Even Sheppy, who’d been conversing with the teens who were now leaving, fell silent. “Beth,” Taggart said, sitting forward and narrowing his eyes. “Why do I get the sense you’re hiding something?”

She shrugged, as casually as she could. “I don’t know what you mean, Sheriff.”

“I just think it’s strange how cozy you feel living there, knowing that
thing
is out there.”

“What do you want me to do? You want me to say I’m scared?”

The silence lasted only a moment. “That would feel more appropriate,” he admitted.

“Well, I’m not. I think I’ll fare just fine with the beast.” She went back to wiping down the counter, but still felt eyes on her.

“You’re not…you know, wandering out there, are you?” Eustace asked.

She sighed, resting her hands on the glass. “Will everyone stop worrying about me?”

“You don’t make it easy. Plus, what are we going to do if the best barista in town disappears?”

She smiled. “He’s not going to go eating me up, Eustace.”

“He,” Nicole said. “There you go with the
he
thing again. No disrespect, especially being in your new place like this, but it kinda freaks me out. I think it freaks us all out.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Henry’s fingers at his eyes, rubbing. She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t answer.

“Why’s it a
he,
anyway?” Nicole added. “You know something we don’t?” A few, including Nicole, chuckled.

“Just a feeling I get.”

Nicole shook her head, and so did Taggart and Eustace, sitting back.

“Last time I checked, I was entitled to my own opinion,” she said, placing a hand on her hip.

“What
is
your opinion, exactly?” This surprised her, since it came from Doc Ortiz, who usually kept quiet through everything. He was short and thickset, his black hair thinning, and today he wore hiking boots and a tan Carhartt jacket. “If you think he’s no monster, what
do
you think?”

“I think…” She looked down. “I think things aren’t always what they seem.”

Now finished, Taggart stood with hands on his belt. “He walks the perimeter of this town, terrorizing everyone. What else would that mean?”

This conversation
had
to make Henry’s skin crawl, but she intentionally kept her eyes away from him, as she would if she hadn’t known. “Maybe he’s protecting the town. You ever think of that?”

He and Eustace laughed, but Taggart’s was more of a huff. “You saying the devil out there is our guardian? If so, we’ve done lots of sinning to deserve that.”

She looked through the glass, at the few pastries remaining. “You can think what you want, and I can think what I want.”

“It’s crazy, Beth,” Eustace said, almost desperate. He turned to Henry. “Mr. Clayton, surely you agree—”

“I think as long as Ms. Ashton isn’t putting her life or anyone else’s in danger, she is free to think the way she wants.” This surprised her, as much as it did everyone else. Henry’s eyes lifted from his paper and met Eustace’s, as though he’d been reading without the slightest interest in their conversation. “That’s the beauty of the country we live in, isn’t it, Mr. Bathgate?”

After an awkward moment, everyone began having small conversations amongst themselves. Eustace sighed and put on his ball cap, faded and dirty and speared with a fish hook, before walking to the door. Taggart followed. “All right then, you win,” he said. “But like always, Beth, just be careful.” He turned back, winking.

She hardly smiled as she nodded, and when he left she met Henry’s eyes. All she could do was stare; she couldn’t even nod. But it seemed that’s all he could do, too. Then he stood, and that was her cue. She took the pastry and to-go coffee she’d prepared before the topic of the beast had come up, and met Henry at the door. “Please, give these to Arne.”