Are you going to offer me coffee, Mrs. Washington, he had said, or do I need to make it myself?

Sorry, Mr. Clayton, she said, rushing about behind the counter. Just surprised to see you here is all. No Portland today? No one ever made small talk with Mr. Clayton, but it felt wrong not to, since it was just the two of them.

He didn’t sit at his usual table that day, either, but sat on a stool at the counter, sighing. Not today, he said. And they talked for at least five minutes. He even asked about her beloved Nathaniel, who’d passed away the year before and left her a widow. She realized on that hot afternoon that cold front or not, Mr. Clayton had some pleasantness inside him somewhere. He even thanked her for the coffee before leaving. The coffee she knew he had to hate just as much as she did.

Still, even then he’d been Mr. Clayton. Never Henry. Eustace had called him Henry a few times, getting him mixed up with his father, whom Henry Jr. looked so much like, and it had never gone over well. Mr. Clayton, he would always correct, sometimes through his teeth. Most folks steered clear of him, even when their curious eyes—the women’s especially—watched from a distance.

It was probably a good thing he didn’t come in this late, she thought while trying to tune out Brian’s crude joke. Sheriff Taggart, Deputy Holman, and Old Ray—who sat at Brian’s table—chuckled. More out of courtesy, Regina hoped. If Eustace were here, his laugh would probably barrel through this place.

As much as it pained her to admit, Regina had to hand it to Mr. Clayton. Even though she disliked keeping his diner open so late, having a place for folks to converse at this hour seemed to keep the town in a somewhat peaceful state. No one was getting into trouble or getting wasted at Old Ray’s Tavern, which closed at eleven. Or even wandering into the forbidden forest on account of some stupid dare. It was a nightly ritual for these men to sit in front of Regina and talk about the day’s events, as little as they were.

Brian’s laughter faded when his eyes zeroed in on something behind Regina, and by the glazed-over lust in those eyes, Regina guessed that something was her best waitress. But Nicole Eastwood wasn’t just Regina’s best waitress, she was the prettiest girl in town, with the help of a California-style nose job and breast implants. Which meant destructive flirting from Brian Dane. When he came around, Nicole couldn’t keep her head on straight. A customer was always getting put on the backburner or a dish clattered to the floor. Regina wasn’t naïve. She’d heard the gossip about Nicole and Brian sleeping around. It’d been that way for years: sinful escapes to Brian’s garage anytime either was bored.

Regina thought herself a devout Christian woman, and prayed for Nicole’s soul. But some women can’t be changed. Some women, like the scantily-clad Nicole Eastwood, thrive on one thing only, and that thing is the attention of a man. A man who had brought his share of outside women to town, yet would still sit, night after night, undressing Nicole with his eyes. Nicole loved every second of it, too. Sometimes—with a bit of guilt, given what the girl had been through—Regina was convinced Nicole had nothing but a head full of rocks.

Regina moved aside just a hair, obstructing his view of Nicole bending over the counter to clean the menus. Since she didn’t usually do such a task at this hour, it had to be for his eyes. Nicole’s skirt had been hiked especially high tonight, too, as well as her top, which meant t.hey all got a real good view of her tattoo—the one just above her rear Regina had heard the kids around town calling a “tramp stamp.” She wasn’t sure, but she also thought Nicole must have gotten a dye job, since her hair seemed blonder than usual.

While Taggart, Holman, and Old Ray went on about Eustace and his crazy guns, Regina glared at Brian. She couldn’t help moving a little farther to the left to impair his view even more.

“Come on, Regina,” Brian said, smooth-talking. “Don’t you always say jealousy is a devil’s trick? Just because I’m admiring Nicki’s ass doesn’t mean I can’t admire yours, too.” He lifted a brow, his blue eyes attempting to do what he did best: seduce. Regina wanted to slap him. Especially because if a woman like her—over fifty, stout and curvy, with a dark and tired complexion and afro-textured hair—ever gave him the time of day, he’d run scared.

“Jealousy ain’t got nothing to do with it, boy.”

“Then you won’t mind moving aside just a hair?” He peered around her hip then gave a slight nod in Nicole’s direction. Nicole giggled.

“I’ll have none of that going on in here, Brian. Nicole’s working. What you two do on your own time is between you and the Lord, Heaven help you, but in my place—”

“Your place?” Brian straightened, his blond whiskers getting lost in the lines of a coy smile. “Does Mr. Clayton know you call it your place?”

She rested her hands on the table, her eyes boring into his. He smelled of bad coffee, motor oil, and cologne, the last one no doubt to cover up the first two. A trustworthy mechanic was the only thing he was good for. “Mr. Clayton may own these walls, but I run it, Mr. Dane. Don’t you forget it.”

Brian ran his rough, oil-stained fingertips up her arm. “Have I ever told you I like a strong woman, Regina?” he said in a hush. The men at his table snickered. “Speaking of your place…”

Regina growled, swatting his hand, and the tighter her lips became the more Brian laughed. She waved a finger at him. “You just finish your coffee, boy, and leave us be.”

Gunfire ricocheted in the distance. All conversations came to a halt and every head perked. A muffled roar followed, one that could have been mistaken for rolling thunder. And as it always did, Regina’s stomach sank—so much she felt the need to clutch it just to keep it in place.

Sheriff Taggart shot to his feet. “Damn Bathgate!” With a hand on the firearm at his hip, he darted to the door. “How many times do I gotta tell him to stay outta those woods?”

As though everyone’s feet couldn’t move them fast enough, they followed; even Regina left the empty coffee pot on Brian’s table and raced outside. Aside from Eustace’s house, the diner was the first establishment in Hemlock Veils, the first thing anyone saw when driving in from the west on Clayton Road. It was on the southwest corner of Red Cedar Loop and Clayton Road, and more importantly, the first thing staring the forest in the face. Too many nights Regina had watched Eustace disappear into those trees, only to emerge later with no success.

It wasn’t just Sheriff Taggart, Holman, Nicole, Brian, Old Ray, and Regina who ran into the rain without a second thought. Bill and Anita Thurman’s kid, and some other teenagers, already stood under the street lamp, drenched by rain. Sheppy stood there too, his red backpack soaked through.

“You think he got the bastard this time?” Nicole asked no one in particular, clinging to Brian’s arm. Her teeth chattered.

No one replied. The seconds passed excruciatingly, and no matter their differences in that moment, the group huddled as one—all with eyes on the darkened hemlocks that concealed their town so secretively. They waited, holding onto a strand of hope that maybe, just this once, Eustace had been successful—even Sheriff Taggart, who’d ordered him not to do it.

Nicole’s acrylic fingernail shot out, aimed at the trees. “Look!” she cried, grasping Regina’s arm with her other hand. It was hard to tell from here, but someone—or something—came their way, rustling the branches. While the rest of the group tensed back in anticipation of what might crash through, Regina inched closer, shivering as rain dripped down her face. It soaked through her uniform, even to her behind.

Two figures shot through, one in a limp: Eustace, with someone else in tow. “Good Lord,” Regina said in relief, running to them.