Page 12

“I know.”

I take the dish carefully. “Thank you.”

“Chicken.”

“Even better.”

“Don’t let the kelpie at number six borrow your hose.”

I wait, but Marjorie offers no explanation. “Okay.”

“And don’t feed anything that cries like a baby after midnight.”

That one seems worth questioning. “Anything?”

“You’ll know.”

“I don’t think that’s as reassuring as you meant it to be.”

Her smile is surprisingly wicked. “You’ll settle in.”

She turns to leave, then stops and looks toward Hewit’s cottage.

I follow her gaze. “What?”

“You’re beside him.”

“Hewit?”

Marjorie’s eyebrows lift. “You’ve met him?”

“Briefly.”

“And?”

“He told me not to come over.”

Marjorie’s mouth twitches. “Sounds like Hewit.”

“Good. I was worried I’d made a uniquely terrible first impression.”

She grins. “Oh, I like you.” She tips her head towards Hewit’s cottage. “But he won’t.”

I grimace. “He already doesn’t.”

“No, dear.” Marjorie shakes her head. “Hewit doesn’t like anyone.”

“That seems exhausting.”

Her expression softens slightly as she looks at number twelve. “He’s a good man.”

The way she says it makes me look back at her. There’s no amusement in her expression now, just certainty.

Marjorie waves as she walks down the path without looking back.

I close the door and carry the casserole into the kitchen.

A good man.