“No, never mind, one of my staff can look it up. A laying tool, huh? But hey, you want the truth? I’ve been thinking about you, and I’ve been looking for an excuse to come and see you. The chatelaine provided me with one.” His smile invited her to join the conspiracy. “And now, having asked the question, I have both excused my absence from the office and made my lunch with you a deductible business expense.”

“Glad to be of service, sir. Where are we going?” she asked as they rounded the comer that was marked by the post office. “Christopher Inn?”

“No, he doesn’t serve lunch. I thought we’d go to Antiquity Rose’s.”

“Isn’t that an antique shop?”

“It’s also a very nice place to have lunch.”

They had started up Second Street, going past the gas station. Antiquity Rose was just ahead. It had started life as a modest wooden house, and was now painted a blushing pink with maroon shutters. It had retained its front porch and a lawn full of cushion mums and late roses, but now Betsy noticed that the sign announcing its name and advertising antiques also mentioned luncheons.

In the front room were glass cabinets, tables, and shelves of glass dogs, china cats, odd silver spoons, antique jewelry, and collectible dolls. Hud led her to a small table in the next room, obviously converted from a side porch. The air announced fresh-baked bread and hearty soups.

Betsy was not an antiquer, but her eyes couldn’t help wandering to the display on the wall over their table. An old poster advertising a black liquid that could cure both cancer and asthma hung between shadow boxes displaying old teacups and miniature Kewpie dolls.

“As the lunches get better here,” said Hud, “the antiques get closer to plain secondhand stuff.”

“I remember my grandmother sending me a Kewpie doll one Christmas,” said Betsy. “I was disappointed that it didn’t come with clothes to put on and take off.” She smiled at the memory.

“You are looking very well,” said Hud.

“Thanks,” she said. But then turned to business of her own, for who better to ask about a medieval weapon than a curator?

“Hud, does the museum have antique weapons? I mean really antique, like medieval.”

He glanced up from his menu. “No, why?”

“Is there a name for that thing that’s a round knob with a spike through it?”

He offered a humorous look of suspicion. “Who are you mad at?”

“Nobody. I was talking with Jill earlier today, and somehow the subject came up. We were trying to think of the name of that kind of thing. Not morning star, not mace, but something in that family.”