“You know your money’s no good here, Hightower.”
“How many times are we going to have this argument?”
“As long as you keep coming by my stand for lunch.” His eyes moved to me. “Your girl is hungry. Don’t make her wait. Nothing worse than a cold dog.”
I’m not his girl.
The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them. I didn’t want to insult the man. Plus, he happened to be right. There really was nothing worse than a cold dog.
Cade gave the vendor his sternest look. “Hank?—”
“Get outta here already, would you?” Hank waved us off. “I’ve got a line forming.”
The detective shook his head in disapproval, but allowed the vendor to greet his next customers. The moment Hank’s back turned, however, Cade took the opportunity to slip a twenty into his tip jar.
“Come on, Goldie.” He jerked his chin toward the sidewalk. “I know a sunny spot nearby where we can eat these.”
I said nothing, merely turned and started walking the direction he’d indicated. He fell easily into step beside me, instinctively guiding me through the dense crowd like my own personal bodyguard.
“See you tomorrow, detective!” Hank called after us.
“Later, Hank!”
People parted before us like the Red Sea — perhaps noting the shiny gold badge at Cade’s belt or the gun clipped beside it. We took a few more steps down the sidewalk before I summoned the nerve to ask, “You eat there every day?”
Cade scoffed. “Hell no. I’m not trying to have a heart attack by thirty-five.”
“But—”
“This is my town,” he explained, shrugging. “Comes with the job.”
“Your job is to befriend Hank the Hot Dog Man?”
“No, my job is to keep people safe. To do that, you have to talk to them. I don’t have a beat to patrol anymore, not in an official capacity, but most days, I still walk every street downtown at least once. There’s no better way to take the pulse of the city than chatting up the locals. They always know the comings and goings before anyone else.”
His words proved to be more than bluster. As we walked down the street, we passed several more vendors in food trucks, rolling carts, and pop-up stands, all of whom offered a wave or a smile or a “Hey, Hightower!” Their friendly gazes turned curious when they spotted me strolling at his side, but there were more than enough smiles to go around for me, too.
There’s definitely something unnatural in the Salem air…
It was an odd little city — and I wasn’t just talking about its residents. It seemed intrinsically at odds with itself. Half historical, half modern; half serious about its dark history, half embracing the kitschy tourist boom that history inspired.
From the businesses to the architecture, it was split between past and present in a way that should’ve been jarring… but, somehow, really worked. Ancient graveyards sat squarely beside modern art museums. Musty antique shops were squished in next door to neon-lit BDSM stores. Handcrafted Amish soaps and vintage jewelry were sold from pop-up stands directly outside a tattoo parlor with thumping death metal pouring from the front door.
A total enigma.
To my own great surprise, I loved every square inch of it. Maybe because… well, I was a bit of an enigma myself.
Cade’s “spot” turned out to be a bench on Salem Common, not far from where I’d left my bike. Situated beneath two graceful willow trees that had turned to a riot of gold and yellow, it was partially shaded from the sun and offered a perfect view of the bandstand. We ate in silence for several moments, mouths too full to speak. There was plenty of people-watching to do, with the constant parade of walking tours, amateur photographers, and couples strolling hand in hand down the crisscrossed paths, enjoying an idyllic autumn afternoon.
Cade polished his brat off before I’d even made a real dent in my foot-long. My stomach was already approaching max capacity and I had several inches to go.
“I told you I couldn’t eat this much,” I muttered, pressing my free hand against my abdomen. The lacing of my dress felt tighter than it had this morning. “I’ll never finish it.”
He shrugged, leaning back to wind his long arms along the top of the bench. He closed his eyes as he tilted his head back to the sun, the picture of relaxation. He seemed perfectly content to sit in the quiet of the moment rather than fill it with aimless chatter or check his phone messages or, worse, talk about himself nonstop — something Adrian did whenever given the opportunity.
It was, quite frankly, a novel concept: a man who was simplyat peace— and in whose presence, that same peace extended to you, like an invisible forcefield of protection from the chaos of the rest of the world. My throat lumped as I studied him from the corner of my eye.
Damnif that wasn’t an attractive quality.