“Even with that, a lot of adults, even mothers, wouldn’t have believed a kid who came home with a story like that.”

“I won’t say Cal never lied to me, because obviously he did. He had. But I knew he wasn’t lying. I knew he was telling me the truth, all the truth he knew.”

“What did you do?”

“I took him inside, told him to clean up, change his clothes. I called his father, and got his sisters home. I burned his birthday cake-completely forgot about it, never heard the timer. Might’ve burned the house down if Cal himself hadn’t smelled the burning. So he never got his ice planet or his ten candles. I hate remembering that. I burned his cake and he never got to blow out his birthday candles. Isn’t that silly?”

“No, ma’am. No,” Quinn said with feeling when Frannie looked at her, “it’s not.”

“He was never really, not wholly, a little boy again.” Frannie sighed. “We went straight over to the O’Dells, because Fox and Gage were already there. We had what I guess you could call our first summit meeting.”

“What did-”

“We need to take in the dessert and coffee. Can you handle that tray?”

Understanding the subject was closed for now, Quinn stepped over. “Sure. It looks terrific, Mrs. Hawkins.”

In between moans and tears of joy over the pie, Quinn aimed her charm at Jim Hawkins. Cal, she was sure, had been dodging and weaving, avoiding and evading her since their hike to the Pagan Stone.

“Mr. Hawkins, you’ve lived in the Hollow all your life.”

“Born and raised. Hawkinses have been here since the town was a couple of stone cabins.”

“I met your grandmother, and she seems to know town history.”

“Nobody knows more.”

“People say you’re the one who knows real estate, business, local politics.”

“I guess I do.”

“Then you may be able to point me in the right direction.” She slid a look at Cal, then beamed back at his father. “I’m looking to rent a house, something in town or close to it. Nothing fancy, but I’d like room. I have a friend coming in soon, and I’ve nearly talked Layla into staying longer. I think we’d be more comfortable, and it would be more efficient, for the three of us to have a house instead of using the hotel.”

“How long are you looking for?”

“Six months.” She saw it register on his face, just as she noticed the frown form on Cal’s. “I’m going to stay through July, Mr. Hawkins, and I’m hoping to find a house that would accommodate three women-potentially three-” she said with a glance at Layla.

“I guess you’ve thought that over.”

“I have. I’m going to write this book, and part of the angle I’m after is the fact that the town remains, the people-a lot of them-stay. They stay and they make apple pie and have people over to Sunday dinner. They bowl, and they shop. They fight and they make love. They live. If I’m going to do this right, I want to be here, before, during, and after. So I’d like to rent a house.”

Jim scooped up some pie, chased it with coffee. “It happens I know a place on High Street, just a block off Main. It’s old, main part went up before the Civil War. It’s got four bedrooms, three baths. Nice porches, front and back. Had a new roof on her two years ago. Kitchen’s eat-in size, though there’s a little dining room off it. Appliances aren’t fancy, but they’ve only got five years on them. Just been painted. Tenants moved out just a month ago.”

“It sounds perfect. You seem to know it well.”

“Should. We own it. Cal, you should take Quinn by. Maybe run her and Layla over there on the way home. You know where the keys are.”

“Yeah,” he said when Quinn gave him a big, bright smile. “I know where the keys are.”

AS IT MADE THE MOST SENSE, QUINN HITCHED A ride with Cal, and left Fox and Layla to follow. She stretched out her legs, let out a sigh.

“Let me start off by saying your parents are terrific, and you’re lucky to have grown up in such a warm, inviting home.”

“I agree.”

“Your dad’s got that Ward Cleaver meets Jimmy Stewart thing going. I could’ve eaten him up like your mother’s-Martha Stewart meets Grace Kelly by way of Julia Child-apple pie.”

His lips twitched. “They’d both like those descriptions.”

“You knew about the High Street house.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“You knew about the High Street house, and avoided telling me about it.”

“That’s right. You found out about it, too, before dinner, which is why you did the end-run around me to my father.”

“Correct.” She tapped her finger on his shoulder. “I figured he’d point me there. He likes me. Did you avoid telling me because you’re not comfortable with what I might write about Hawkins Hollow?”

“Some of that. More, I was hoping you’d change your mind and leave. Because I like you, too.”

“You like me, so you want me gone?”

“I like you, Quinn, so I want you safe.” He looked at her again, longer. “But some of the things you said about the Hollow over apple pie echoed pretty closely some of the things my mother said to me today. It all but eliminates any discomfort with what you may decide to write. But it makes me like you more, and that’s a problem.”

“You had to know, after what happened to us in the woods, I wouldn’t be leaving.”

“I guess I did.” He pulled off into a short, steep driveway.

“Is this the house? It is perfect! Look at the stonework, and the big porch, the windows have shutters.”

They were painted a deep blue that stood out well against the gray stone. The little front yard was bisected by a trio of concrete steps and the narrow walkway. A trim tree Quinn thought might be a dogwood highlighted the left square of front yard.

As Fox’s truck pulled in behind, Quinn popped out to stand, hands on hips. “Pretty damned adorable. Don’t you think, Layla?”

“Yes, but-”

“No buts, not yet. Let’s take a look inside.” She cocked her head at Cal. “Okay, landlord?”

As they trooped up to the porch, Cal took out the keys he’d grabbed off their hook from his father’s home office. The ring was clearly labeled with the High Street address.

The fact that the door opened without a creak told Quinn the landlords were vigilant in the maintenance department.

The door opened straight into the living area that stood twice as long as it was wide, with the steps to the second floor a couple of strides in on the left. The wood floors showed wear, but were spotlessly clean. The air was chilly and carried the light sting of fresh paint.

The small brick fireplace delighted her.

“Could use your mother’s eye in the paint department,” Quinn commented.

“Rental properties get eggshell, through and through. It’s the Hawkins’s way. Tenants want to play around with that, it’s their deal.”

“Reasonable. I want to start at the top, work down. Layla, do you want to go up and fight over who gets which bedroom?”

“No.” Cal thought there was mutiny, as well as frustration on her face. “I have a bedroom. In New York.”

“You’re not in New York,” Quinn said simply, then dashed up the steps.

“She’s not listening to me,” Layla muttered. “I don’t seem to be listening to me either about going back.”

“We’re here.” Fox gave a shrug. “Might as well poke around. I really dig empty houses.”

“I’ll be up.” Cal started up the stairs.

He found her in one of the bedrooms, one that faced the tiny backyard. She stood at the long, narrow window, the fingertips of her right hand pressed to the glass. “I thought I’d go for one of the rooms facing the street, catch the who’s going where when and with who. I usually go for that. Just have to know what’s going on. But this is the one for me. I bet, in the daylight, you can stand here, see backyards, other houses, and wow, right on to the mountains.”

“Do you always make up your mind so fast?”

“Yeah, usually. Even when I surprise myself like now. Bathroom’s nice, too.” She turned enough to gesture to the door on the side of the room. “And since it’s girls, if any of us share that one, it won’t be too weird having it link up the two bedrooms on this side.”