Read Online Dreamwood by Heather Mackey - Free Book Online

face.
    Nobody was going to talk.
    After a moment the men turned to one another and resumed their conversation, their solitary drinking, their dice games and dart games. The bartender went back to polishing glasses.
    â€œCome on, Lucy,” Pete said in defeat. He held out a hand to help her down.
    But she couldn’t leave without an answer. She climbed from the stool to the top of the bar and stamped her foot—hard. Whisky jumped in glasses the bartender had set out. All eyes turned to her and the room was so still, she could hear the quiver of a dart still shaking in the board.
    Pete crossed his arms nervously.
    â€œNow see here.” She mimicked the stance of her most intimidating Miss Bentley’s teachers: arms crossed, beetled brows. “I
know
he talked to you. And he wanted to hear your stories. He was looking for something. A ghost or a spirit. So what I want to know is, what’s the biggest haunt you’ve got?”
    She held her breath and crossed her fingers.
    â€œYour father came in here, sweetie,” said an old man with a great white mustache that curved out on either side of his jowls. “And he did ask questions. But that’s where you should leave it.”
    At that moment, the doors to the Climbing Rose banged opened and a man walked in. Lucy’s first glimpse was of someone tall and broad—a general impression of power—caught in silhouette against the light.
    The drinkers in the Climbing Rose sat up, as if a current ran through them.
    Once the doors had shut behind him, Lucy could see the newcomer more clearly. He had gleaming dark hair, swept back from a strong, handsome face: square-jawed under a black beard, with deep, commanding eyes.
    He raised one eyebrow as he saw Lucy.
    â€œWhat’s this?” he said to the bartender. “You’re letting girls run all over your place now?”
    â€œHa-ha.” The bartender laughed with no sign of humor.
    The big man settled himself in, as others made way for him. Lucy could see at once the fine cut of his clothes and the gold watch chain peeking from the folds of his morning coat. He was the only person she’d seen so far in Pentland who appeared to be prospering.
    â€œI’ll warn you, Shatterhand,” he said to the barkeep, “you’re about to have a thirsty crowd in here. There’s been more Rust at the mill. Logs from Billups’s place. Who knows how many of them.”
    There was a general intake of breath as the men in the Climbing Rose took in the bad news.
    A scrawny, toothless drinker sidled up to the big man’s side. “Mr. Murrain,” he said fawningly, “how is Billups? He gives me work now and then and I fear to see him ruined.”
    The big man frowned. “I haven’t talked to him yet. But the infection is far gone and spreading.” He took a drink from the bartender and emptied it in a swallow. Then, seeing the plaintive look on the toothless man’s face, he put a coin on the bar in front of him and gestured at the barkeep to pour for the little man as well.
    Murrain?
Lucy tried to catch Pete’s eye. Was this the man they’d been looking for earlier?
    â€œPete,” she whispered.
    But for some reason Pete was too deep in his own thoughts to hear her. His forehead was knit with worry as he stared into a middle distance.
    â€œPete!” she said more loudly.
    Hearing her, the big man looked up. “You’re still here?” he asked Lucy. “What are you now, a bar ornament?” He produced a handsome calfskin case from his pocket and took out a cigar.
    The men around him laughed; his toothless friend laughed loudest.
    â€œNo.” She’d been stuck up there thinking how she would gather her skirts to climb down with dignity. “I came to ask after William Darrington. I was hoping someone here would tell me how to find him.”
    â€œDarrington.” Mr. Murrain cocked his head and put his cigar