The Woodlander Bar lay just off one of the main roads cutting through the forest. As soon as Ona pulled her pickup truck into the gravel parking lot, Alice saw the owner must be one of her customers.
In a clearing stood a tiny house. Shade sails strung between the trees sheltered a dozen tables, giving the place a beach bar vibe—if that beach happened to be located in the middle of the woods.
Speakers played a chilled-out bluegrass soundtrack, setting the perfect mood. As Ona slammed the door to the truck, a man emerged from the tiny house, ducking under the low lintel. He was a tall dude with long, blonde hair. He wore surfer shorts and a baggy, flowery shirt.
“Ona!” he called out and advanced on them.
Ona introduced Alice to the bar owner. His name was Thor.
“Like the Norse God of Thunder?” Alice asked.
“In my defense,” Thor said with a smile, “my parents are from Denmark, and it’s a pretty common name there. Without the H, though. But hey, you didn’t come to hear about my origins. What do you want to drink?”
They ordered Thor’s signature cocktail, an old fashioned—whiskey, bitters, and sugar—with an infusion of pine giving it a rustic flavor.
Sitting down, Alice and Ona talked about the bar and the tiny house, and soon Ona was telling Alice about her own decision to move to Blithedale many years ago.
“I won’t bore you with the long sob story, but let’s just say that I ran from a poor relationship. When I heard about you—a runaway bride—coming to town, I was reminded of my first day in Blithedale.”
Ona sipped her drink and studied Alice for a moment.
“It made me want to meet you and make sure I could help you in any way possible.”
“You’re helping me right now, Ona. I haven’t had a drink with a friend like this since forever.”
They clinked glasses and drank. A warm feeling spread through Alice’s limbs, and the potent cocktail wasn’t the only reason. She’d been honest with Ona. It had been a long time since she’d had a good friend she could talk to, and she already liked Ona so much.
As they drank and talked, the shadows lengthened in the woods, and Thor lit hurricane lanterns at the edge of the clearing and candles on the tables. More and more people showed up, including, Alice noted, Mr. and Mrs. Oriel.
She studied them from afar. They were deeply engaged in a conversation and didn’t seem to notice the people around them. Soon, Ona drew Alice back into their own conversation.
Alice appreciated that Ona didn’t ask personal questions, maybe sensing that runaway brides had no desire to share all their secrets. At least this runaway bride didn’t. So they talked about Blithedale and tiny houses and the blessings of a good cocktail bar.
A car pulled up to the gravel parking lot near the bar and a man got out. He caught Alice’s attention at once, because of the white suit he wore. He was past middle age, with unruly white hair under a straw hat, and as he sauntered her way, leaning on a walking stick, she had the crazy notion that Mark Twain had stepped through a time portal. Even the mustache was a perfect match.
As he was passing Ona and Alice, he greeted Ona with a slight tip of the hat. The gesture was formal and stiff, suggesting the two weren’t on the best of terms. Then he glanced at Alice and stopped, his face lighting up.
“Why, hello. I almost didn’t recognize you out of a wedding dress. I’m Jeff MacDonald, owner of Old MacDonald’s Realty and the mayor of Blithedale.” He took Alice’s hand and gave it a shake. “But then I already know who you are.”
“Gossip travels fast in Blithedale.”
“There’s no denying it. But I also remember you from when you and your mother lived in Blithedale. I’m so pleased to see one of the Hartfords return to us.”
He smiled, and even though she wanted to dislike him—after all, he opposed her friend’s tiny house business—Alice couldn’t help but return the smile.
“Plus,” he said, “you’ve already made a good impression on my one employee, Kris Cox. She told me everything. And she sticks to the facts. So I got a favorable impression well before Todd Townsend could put his spin on the story.”
He went on to talk about how Kris had gushed about Alice’s integrity in the face of Chief Jimbo’s spinelessness. “Don’t think for a minute we’re fools in Blithedale,” he continued. “We know the shortcomings of our chief of police. Heck, I’m the first to know my own shortcomings, and admit them, too. But despite all that, we have a warm, welcoming community. Blithedale is a great place to live year round, and in summer, we host thousands of tourists who come to hike and relax. We’re proud of what we’ve got.”
The atmosphere in the bar and the delicious cocktail made Alice inclined to agree.
“Ah, and there are my guests,” Mayor MacDonald said. “Mr. and Mrs. Oriel—I promised them drinks tonight, and I’m crossing my fingers that they’ll choose one of the many, many houses they’ve looked at so far.” He grimaced. “Of course you heard about how they dropped the Blithedale Books deal.”
Alice nodded. “I had hoped they would take over the store.”
“It would’ve been for the best,” Mayor MacDonald said. He sighed. “But business is business.”
He bid them a goodnight and headed toward the Oriels.
“He seems—” Alice began, searching for the right word, aware of the chilly atmosphere between Ona and Mayor MacDonald.
“Nice?” Ona laughed. “Sure he is. Until you oppose him. Jeff MacDonald didn’t establish a monopoly on real estate in Blithedale just by being nice.”
Alice looked across at Mayor MacDonald, who was slapping Mr. Oriel on the back and laughing. He looked harmless.
But couldn’t even the sweetest, most harmless person turn out to be dangerous?