I wanted to put some distance between me and those Stewarts. Official Witch of Salem indeed. I wondered if there was an Official Black Cat of Salem named Midnight that crossed random roads, or an Official Ladder for people to walk under.
I continued to Wharf Street, and beyond, to a series of small shops under a large building. It looked sort of like a flea market to me, except the booths were long and deep, meant to invite people inside. I checked the address – it was the one Max was sending me.
I shrugged and went inside, looking for booth 15R. The building was tall, and could easily fit a second floor, and had lazy fans going in the heat. It was cooler in here than outside, but not by much.
There were more tourists here – who in their right mind came to Salem in the middle of May? Was there a holiday?
Most of the booths were full of hand-made crafts – things knitted, or embroidered, or sewed. There was an Indian couple with an incense and oil booth. Both looked expectantly up at me, almost begging. “You can buy one and get one free,” the man said. The price said ten incense sticks for a dollar, but I would get twenty incense sticks for $1. I couldn’t go wrong with that.
I handed him my dollar and he gave me a plastic bag to pick my sticks. I stuck with woodsy or natural scents, disliking things that sounded like sex or perfume. Then I went back on the hunt for the booth.
Finally, I found it. Inside the booth was an older man behind a low shelf, and a pair of what looked like were yuppie tourists inside, admiring the wares.
Scattered thinly among the shelves in the booth were small toy boats, seemingly carved from one piece of wood. Some were painted; some were plain. Some were sailboats, some were fishing boats, some were tugboats. The yuppie stopped and picked one up. “Is this actually handmande?”
“From wood washed up on the beach.”
“There’s no beach here.”
“Did I say the wood was from here?”
The woman gave him a look. I smiled and turned away. I liked this guy already. The woman tugged on the man’s arm and he was led out, though he looked at other boats a little longingly as he did.
I bid my time, looking around, and the man said, “Whaddaya want, kid?”
I turned to study him a little better. He had a thick, full beard, well-trimmed, but full of more salt than pepper. He wore a wide-brimmed leather hat, the type that wanted you to think it was hand-stitched together, with thick bits of rawhide. He had glasses – not too thick to make his brown eyes look squinty. He wore a plain plaid shirt with a pocket, inside which were what looked like small wooden sticks.
I smiled at him, hoping that would take some of the edge off. It didn’t. “Max sent me.”
He crossed his arms. “Yeah? So?”
“I’m supposed to meet Dottie here.”
“She ain’t here. What’s your business?”
“I need a place to stay.”
He snorted, took off his glasses, and cleaned them on the hem of his shirt as he looked me over, squinting. “She’s always takin’ in stray pups. Wha’d you do to Max to get him to trust you?”
“I was honest.”
“You ain’t an honest person.”
“Sometimes.”
He put the glasses back on. “Go get me som’in to eat at Delia’s, three doors down. Hot dog with fries an’ pickles. Mustard. On the inside o’ th’ bun.”
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