Nora and Ray’s gift basket had tided her over for lunch, but she still needed to go shopping. Discover the town. Maybe meet some of her neighbors. Make a good impression if possible.

She tried not to think about the nooses outside her front door.

Margot grabbed her keys off the kitchen’s windowsill. Back outside, parked well away from the house, her small red hatchback caught the sun. She’d need to wash it eventually. It carried a cross-country trip’s worth of dust and splattered insects.

The car gave up a muffled beep as she unlocked it, and Margot slid into the driver’s seat. It had been given enough hours in the sun that the inside was sweltering, and Margot put the air-conditioning on high before taking a wide turn on the dirt patch and pulling onto the driveway.

Her car rattled over soft bumps in the road. She took the drive carefully, slowing at the bends, and crawled to a stop outside the store.

The lights were on inside the wood-and-steel building. Nora and Ray had to be inside, and she considered stopping to thank them for the gift basket, but there were already two cars parked in the lot. Tourists, she guessed, stopped to taste some of the wine and pick up a bottle or two. She didn’t want to interrupt.

The main road appeared ahead, and Margot turned right, toward the town center. She’d barely seen it during her first drive through the day before, her thoughts snarled up by the impending funeral. Now, though, as the gently lilting ground transformed from fields to houses and shops, Margot leaned close to her windshield to examine the area.

It was the kind of town that saw enough tourists to have trendy eateries and multiple gift shops, but it still retained a sense of self. There were no fast-food outlets—probably a choice made by the local council—and most of the cars lining the roads were pickups, like Kant’s, or old sedans with blocky bodies and hand-applied tints on the windows.

Margot felt a twinge of self-consciousness. Her bright-red hatchback stood out uncomfortably, just like her clothing choices had that morning. She could have easily blended into any street in her old city, but here she’d marked herself as the stranger. The intruder. The city girl who didn’t know how to live in the country.

A low, stress-induced headache began in the back of her head, just above her neck muscles. She flexed her shoulders, trying to give it some relief.

It was early afternoon, and a handful of souls were on the footpaths leading between shops. Heads turned to follow her car as it passed. Margot itched under the cool, unsmiling scrutiny. She’d had some faint idea of wandering between the stores and stopping at a café, but, now, she just wanted to get some shopping done and go home.