Page 29 of Crossroads Magic
The house on the corner had an old-fashioned loopy iron fence running along the sidewalk, one that I could have stepped over without too much effort. Behind the fence, under the snow cover, which was still thick because the house would keep it shaded during the day, were lumps and bumps that were probably pretty flowers and shrubs in summer.
An opening in the fence allowed visitors onto the path that ran up to the porch, which was a low wooden deck with a steel roof curling over it. The back end of the roof had a thick layer of snow, and wood beams supported the front end. The beams each had curling wood brackets on either side. It wasn’t Victorian gingerbread, but it was close. It had been painted white and the gutter was dark green. So was the roof that covered the bungalow.
I crossed the road, while glancing at the houses next to the mayor’s. They were all the same vintage and style. Small, old, but livable, with porches and steel roofs, and some of them had shutters beside the small windows. The walls of all the houses appeared to be rendered and painted. No modern siding showed anywhere, not even older wood siding.
The mayor’s porch was closed in. Half-walls on the bottom, and windows across the top. The door was all glass.
When I reached the door, a woman opened it and held it wide. “You must be Thamina’s daughter.”
“Anna. You’re Mayor Desmond?”
“Oh, I’m just Olivia to locals, dear. Come in.”
I didn’t point out I wasn’t local. Annoying someone you wanted a favor from wasn’t smart. Instead I gave her a tight smile and stepped in as instructed.
Farther along the porch, one of the men who had been sitting around the table in the bar last night was now perched upon an overturned plastic bucket, his hands moving among trays of seedlings sitting on a low table. He had greyish brown skin that still looked deeply wrinkled, even in the better light coming through the windows. His hair was grey, too, and stood up from his head in waves. He nodded at me.
“This is Wim, my husband,” Olivia Desmond said, shutting the glass door and cutting off the cold air playing against my back.
I hid my surprise. “Hello, Wim.” Olivia Desmond looked to be in her mid-forties, but Wim looked much older.
The porch was a year-round living room. Rugs covered most of the floorboards, which had been sanded and varnished. The actual front door was solid wood, painted green, with windows at the top, and it was closed. It was directly opposite the glass door I’d just stepped through. Small windows were on either side of the central door.
Beside the front door was a pot-bellied stove, with a black metal chimney running up through the ceiling. Through the front grate, I could see red-orange flames dancing and I could feel the good heat from where I stood by the glass door. The chill reached through the door and played against my back and calves. The heat against my middle made the chill feel even colder.
Olivia Desmond moved over to a low armchair in the corner opposite her husband and his table of seedlings. She settled in the chair and crossed her legs, then waved me toward a pouffe that I suspected she had been using to prop up her feet. “How are you settling in?” she asked, as I obediently sat upon the pouffe.
I felt like my knees were up by my ears, but it was better than standing and it put my eyes on the same level as Olivia’s, for she was not a large woman.
Her hair was a dark chestnut brown. She wore it with a side part, and the rich waves hung to just above her collarbones. The ends curled under into a near-roll. It was a very old-fashioned style, but it suited her round face, soft pale skin, and the perfect cupid bow of her lips. She’d painted her mouth a bright red, which went well with the bright yellow cardigan she wore buttoned up and tucked into her brown, pleated skirt, which hung around her knees and upper calves. Underneath the cardigan, she wore a brown shirt that was a lighter shade than her skirt. It had a collar and a tie made of the same material, tied in a big, loose bow. The ends were tucked under the cardigan edges. Her shoes were square heeled loafers, the heels stacked by an inch.
Everything about her was soft and pretty. She carried some extra weight, which merely rounded out any sharp angles. She looked perfectly coiffed and turned out, which made me feel itchy, in my travel-stained jeans and wrinkled jacket. I made myself let go of the fronts I was trying to straighten. “I don’t need to settle in,” I said, answering her polite question. “I’ll be heading back to Los Angeles. Which is why I came to speak to you.”
“I see.” Olivia gave me a small smile. “That explains the rental car. But not why you came to see me.” One strongly curved and artificially thin brow lifted in query.
“I have a couple of questions. Hirom, the barman—”
“Yes, Hirom Addelburn.”
“Hirom says you know everyone in Haigton Crossing—”
She laughed.
“That isn’t true?”
“My dear,everyoneknows everyone in Haigton Crossing.”
“I know it’s a small town.”
“Smaller than you think. Just how many of us do you think there are?”
I lifted a hand, in a half-wave toward the houses to the right and behind this house we sat in. “Judging by the houses, a couple hundred, maybe?” I’d never stopped to estimate a population based purely upon appearances, before. “The highway sign by the intersection says a hundred and something. I don’t know how old the sign is, but even if it’s only a few years old, the population has probably increased since then.”
This time, both Olivia and Wim laughed. It was a merry sound, but I didn’t feel like smiling. I waited them out, then lifted my own brow in query.
Olivia touched her fingertip to the corner of her mouth, which was still curved up into a smile. “Let me see.” She held up her hand and touched the same finger to the tip of each finger on that hand, as she spoke swiftly. “There is me and Wim, and Hirom Addelburn. Then Ben, Harper and Broch. Trevalyan and Juda….” She paused with her fingertip on the second circuit of her hand. “Wim, who have I forgotten?”
“Frida,” Wim said, without looking up.
