“‘Bout a year.”
“Where were you before?”
“Baltimore.” He paused. “This beat is… different, to say the least. I went from baseball and crab cakes to…”
“Costumes and ghost tours?”
“Exactly.”
I laughed as we stepped around a woman dressed like Morticia Addams. “Differentis a good way to describe Salem.”
“Are you a lifelong resident?”
“Me?” I shook my head. “No. I spent my summer breaks here as a kid, but I only officially moved here two years ago, when my aunt passed away.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
I smiled softly. “Thanks.”
“The Gallows was hers before it passed to you, then?”
“Yep, Aunt Colette ran it for almost forty years. She loved that old place. Somehow keeping it running feels like keeping her with me, even though she’s gone.”
“That’s a nice way of looking at it.”
A bit farther down, on the corner, a barefoot man dressed in a red and white striped shirt, torn trousers, and a black tricorn hat bearing skull and crossbones was trying to recruit some of the people to abandon the Wax Museum line in favor of the nearby Pirate Museum. When he spotted me in the crowd, his face split into a wide grin and he waved enthusiastically.
“Ahoy, Gwen!”
“Hi, Peg-Leg Pete!” I waved back. “How’s business tonight?”
“Arrrr, the doubloons aren’t flowing fast as we’d like, lass. Those scalawags across the way have taken all our business.” He shot a glare across the street, where a brand new rival pirate-themed museum — cheekily named the Real Pirates Museum — had recently opened its doors. Even from here, I could see there was a crowd gathered outside, awaiting admission.
I grimaced in sympathy. “Sorry, Pete.”
“Bloody mutineers will scuttle our business before the season is out! If things don’t pick up soon, we’ll be sunk. Savvy?”
“You can’t go out of business, Pete! The original Pirate Museum is an institution around here.”
“I know, lassie. I know. A crying shame, I tell you. Son of a biscuit eater! It’s enough to make a man walk the plank. Straight to Davy Jones Locker, the lot of us…”
“Does he ever break character?” Cade asked under his breath from beside me.
“Never once since I met him,” I murmured back, not looking away from the forlorn pirate. “Have you tried passing out flyers, Pete?”
He glanced back at me and burnished a thick stack of black pamphlets advertising half-off admission. “Aye, aye, I’ve given one to every landlubber who’s crossed me path this week.” He cast a dark look at the people in line for the Wax Museum, who were steadfastly ignoring him. “Some can’t even be bothered to look up from their cellphones, let alone return my friendlyYo-Ho-Ho’s when they pass me on the street.”
“You’re welcome to leave some flyers at The Gallows. I’ll make sure Hetti passes them out.”
“Fair Henrietta! A wench like none other. Shiver me timbers, if she’d give an old sea dog like me a chance, I’d consider it the finest bounty of all.”
I could barely suppress my giggle at the thought of Peg-Leg Pete asking Hetti out on a date. A pirate and a goth — what a match. “You probably shouldn’t call her a wench when you ask her out.”
Beside me, Cade coughed to cover a laugh.
“Aye, aye. A fine point, lass.” The pirate gave a final wave. “Smooth sailing, Gwendolyn, until we meet again!”
“Bye, Pete.”