Daelin had seven minutes left in which to secure the job she had come all the way to Settler to get or she’d wind up more destitute than she was. She scooted inside the glass doors of the county offices, scurrying around the little lobby, figuring out where to go. White tile covered the walls, and tan and ivory speckled granite squares made up the floor, both from another decade. Typewriters clicked from the office across from the stairway winding its way up to the other levels.
Typewriters? Daelin peeked inside the opened double wood doors. A stylish young man’s fingers flew over the keys. He appeared about Daelin’s age. His shoulders had a strength, and he had a nice head of hair. Next to him sat an old-fashioned rotary phone. Both pieces gleamed in an old-fashioned black enamel under fluorescent lights that hummed at an annoying pitch. Daelin only knew what the outmoded office machines were from old movies.
The phone rang, a loud clanging that halted the rhythmic clacking. He marked the page set next to his typewriter then picked up the receiver. “No, she hasn’t returned to town. Her sister just arrived. We’re debating what to tell her.” His fingers wound around the cord, and he nodded for a full minute. “What?” He swiveled around in his chair, gaping at Daelin. “Yeah, later.”
He placed the receiver gently in its cradle. “We’re really sorry for the incident out at the motel. The B&B here in town has agreed to take in all of Leeds’ guests.” He rose from his seat behind the ancient typewriter and straightened the cuffs of his lavender dress shirt. Grabbing a form off a stack on the counter and a stubby pencil from a bin, he handed both to her. “Just fill this out.”
Daelin fished the job forms out of her purse, clearing her throat. The morning frost had made her hoarse, or perhaps the news about Earl. “Ms. Staley told me to give these to you.” She held the completed forms out.
“Oh, the new gal.” He extended a well-manicured hand. “Wald Macadam. It’s wonderful to meet you, Darlin Dae Long.” Before she could reply, he said, “I know, I know. You prefer Daelin.”
“You know an awful lot about me.” She took his hand, smooth and strong, normal and reassuring despite his psychic knowledge of her.
“Since you’re going to live here, you should know I know everything.” His hair sported the latest cut popular with fashionable men. His hazel irises sparkled with each word, and his smile could make the sun’s eyes water.
His dimples deepened, his laugh tumbling from his chest, flirting with the air. “Before you go getting all hinked up, Sabina told me you’d be by, and I’m the one who checked your references.”
Hinked up? Settler had a language of its own. “Ah. When do I start?”
Wald held up a set of keys. Three dangled from a plain key ring — a squat brass one with elaborate scroll details, a long silver one, and a squarish bronze one. A crystal was embedded at the end of each key. “You can start now if you’d like.”
It’d take her mind off Charming, Earl, and almost dying. “I would.”
“Let me take you over.” He grabbed a long wool camel coat and a hat. The hat had to come from the thrift store, because it was straight out of the 1960s. The retro piece confused Wald’s modern hairstyle and clothes.
Outside the glass doors, Daelin grimaced against the biting wind and hurried around the corner. A dry cleaner graced one side of the library, a bright red firehouse the other. Located across the street were the Sparrow Roadhouse and the bank. Past the fire station came several empty lots then the high school. Behind it rose steep hills that nipped at the dizzying heights of Gold Peak. The north end of town butted up against Swit Peak.
The firehouse had fresh paint, the only building to have such in the whole town. “You all seriously put the library next to the fire department?” Daelin asked. Its long, narrow windows displayed antique axes, hoses, boots, and hats. “Is it a museum too?”
“Nah, the doodads add flavor and mystique. A taste of Settler.” His hand moved across the sky as if A Taste of Settler had been scrawled in the clouds. “Besides, we really treasure our firefighters. Notice the fresh coat of paint? Yeah, if not for this firehouse Settler would be a total ghost town.”
Guess, he didn’t notice it already was, at least by Daelin’s definition. “Why’s that?”
“The town burned down in the early 1900’s, except for the heart of it, which is why most buildings are new and why the town is still here at all.”
New had a different definition here too. Daelin struggled to hold in her smile. “How much of it burned?”
“Whoosh it went.” He threw his arms up. “In the old days the roads, the water lines, the buildings, everything was made of wood. A lightning strike in the wrong place and everything went up like tinder.”
Daelin surveyed the main street, Brucker Avenue. None of the structures dated more recently than fifty years ago. “I see no sign of fire.”
“It was over a hundred years ago. September 9, 1909.”
“That’s a lot of nines. Did it happen at 9 o’clock too?”
Not a hint of amusement graced his cheeks. “Yes. It began at 9:09 that night. Burned until morning.”
“It all burned?” Daelin examined Brucker Avenue again, searching for any evidence of a big fire. At the other end of the main street, East Lake quietly reflected the cloudless sky.
“All except the Patrick Swit House and the original county courthouse, which is now the county museum. There’s some old scorch marks on their foundations if you need that sort of proof.”
Wrinkling her nose, Daelin shook her head. “I’m not macabre. I like stories. If I’m going to live here, I want to know Settler’s tales. When was the Swit House built?”
His chin rose higher and his shoulders squared. “1872. The old courthouse was established in 1888, the official founding of Settler.”
On the east coast, that would be considered recent history. “I’ll have to check those out. Is the Swit House open to visitors? Obviously, the museum is.”
“Saturdays and by appointment through me.” He beamed and grabbed onto his lapels. “The museum’s hours are Thursday through Monday.”
“Noted.” She approached the door to the library, a small white building resembling a quaint one-story house more than a public building. Its white paint had aged and weathered. Blinds covered the window, hiding the inside. How dated would it be? Typewriters and rotary phones?
She held the set of keys Wald had given her, catching the light. The sun hit the stones on the keys, which glittered like tiny prisms sending tiny rainbows onto the crumbling sidewalk laced with weeds. “Which is for this door?” she asked.
Wald pointed at the long silver key. “That one.”
She slid the key into the lock and twisted it. A green flash flared, growing stronger until green was all Daelin saw.
hapter 