While she was pouring out the Coke, the man beside Robin cleared his throat. Robin looked at him to see he was smiling again. “My mother used to say, ‘Never trust a man who doesn’t drink.’” Closer, Robin could see that his purple nose was bulbous and attempting to eclipse his entire face. He had a gray pepper-pot beard and wore glasses on a chain. He looked kind, if troubled by years of alcohol abuse. “Probably why she died of liver failure.” He laughed heartily and clapped Robin on the back.

Robin could only smile back, a little dazed by the off-color joke and the physical contact. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

“You come far?” he said, taking another swig of beer.

“I...” Robin wondered if he really looked that out of place. And then remembered he was carrying a suitcase.

The man tapped his head with a finger. “Everyone from Marsden. Up here. In the brain box. I’m Jim Thawn—I run the bakery.” Robin shook his outstretched hand.

“Robin. Robin Ferringham.”

“What brings you to Marsden, Robin? I’m guessing it isn’t the world-famous bakery, is it? Because I make a mean tiger bread.” His speech was not slurred, but it was a little too fluid. If his speech appeared in type as he said it, it would be fuzzy around the edges. Robin suspected that the half-empty pint in his hand had not been his first, maybe not even his fifth.

Robin thought for a moment. He didn’t want to talk about Matthew McConnell and the Standedge Five until he got the lay of the land. After all, the whole town had seemingly stayed silent about it. He had to find out why. So he told the truth in a different way. “Curiosity,” he decided on.

Jim looked at him for a moment, and then decided that was enough of an answer. “Well, you picked a good place to be curious. Marsden’s a beautiful place. Lot of history here.”

The barmaid came over with Robin’s Coke and he gave her the money. As he placed the money in her hand, he noticed she was wearing two thick black sweatbands on her wrists—a bold and slightly odd fashion choice. When she came back with his change and a folded menu, he said, “I’m also looking for a place to stay. Someone told me there’d be rooms here.”

“Yes, of course. How long are you thinking of staying?”

Robin thought. He didn’t really know. Loamfield said that Matthew’s day in court was Friday. But what if he met with Matthew and hit a dead end? Matthew’s information on Sam was the most important thing. If Matthew was somehow lying, would he be able to walk away?

“Don’t worry,” the barmaid said. “You can pay by the night. We don’t have many tourists coming through here this time of year.”