She felt her body settle into the stance that Maman always called too still. Each muscle was at rest but ready to move if the situation called for it. She stared straight ahead, but in such a way that she could better attune her attention to the periphery. Her fingertips pressed into the fabric over her legs.

After a minute—or perhaps several minutes, she didn’t bother marking time as it passed in these moments—she turned her head to the side. There. The man seated at the little wrought-iron table was wrong. As was the game set up before him.

Her legs feeling heavy, she left the path and moved toward him.

It could be nothing. A newcomer to the neighborhood. It shouldn’t bother her, Maman would say. Gregory didn’t own the table, Lukas would have put in. The new bloke wasn’t hurting anyone, she could imagine Willa insisting.

But he wasn’t right. He was shaggy instead of bald, bearded instead of clean-shaven, wore a blue jacket instead of a buff, and he wasn’t Gregory.

Her feet halted beside the table, where a chessboard was not set up. Her throat felt tight. “Where’s Gregory?”

Wrong, wrong. Maman would be glaring at her if she were here, her eyes shooting daggers that said, You’re being rude, Margot. But she couldn’t even manage a smile to soften her question.

The man glanced up at her but then back down to his board, his lips moving silently. His eyes didn’t seem to focus on her. His fingers twitched, and he coughed.

Dot moved up behind her. “Margot?”

She drew in a deep breath. The English had a saying about flies and honey—though she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to catch this particular fly or shoo him away. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. But Gregory Westrom is usually here this time of day. Are you meeting him? Playing a new game together?”

The man didn’t bother looking up again. His twitchy fingers lifted from the table and moved to the game board. For a moment they hovered over one of the black stones. Then, with a spasm, he moved it to another intersection of the lines.

Margot winced. A stupid move, even though he seemed to be playing no one but himself. Though rarely did anyone appreciate her pointing out such things.

Dot edged forward another step. “What game is that? I don’t recognize it.”