The Tale of Halcyon Crane by Wendy Webb

himself wiping down tables, saying, over his shoulder, “I’m sorry about that. It’s the curse of living in a small town, I’m afraid.”
    “A small
island
town. After tourist season.”
    “Everybody’s got to know your business.”
    Funny. Just because he’d said that, I wanted to tell him mine. “I’m here for a meeting with William Archer thismorning. After that, I might have some further business to attend to, here on the island.”
    Jonah stopped wiping the tables. “How come Archer always finagles the meetings with pretty women? I don’t get it.”
    My cheeks flushed. Was he actually flirting with me? It had been a long time since anyone had. He poured himself a cup of coffee and walked up to my table. “Mind if I join you?”
    I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to join me or not. But without waiting for my answer, he sat down in the chair opposite. “So,” I said, trying to think of small talk. “I gather now’s your downtime here.”
    Jonah nodded. “Now and through the winter. People don’t like to be out on the lake when there are twenty-foot waves.”
    “Sissies.” I took a sip of coffee. “Have you had your shop long?”
    “I opened it about ten years ago,” he told me. “I thought about leaving the island, finding a job on the mainland. But there’s something about this place, for the right kind of person. It grabs you and won’t let go.”
    A tingling climbed up my spine just then and I, too, felt caught. Maybe it was the way his blue eyes were shining, like steel. Maybe it was the cloud that seemed to drape itself over his sunny disposition when he said it. Was he trying to tell me something?
    I didn’t have time to find out, because I saw it was nearly nine o’clock. “Oh,” I said. “Time for my meeting.”
    “I hope you’ll be back soon, Hallie James,” he said. Alltraces of whatever had clouded his face were erased by his smile, which looked familiar and safe.
    “I’m sure I will.” I smiled back at him, warmth flowing through me.
    I pushed the door open and walked out onto Main Street, fishing the address of William Archer’s office out of my purse, and began making my way down the empty street, looking into the windows of the businesses I passed. Each one was dark and closed up tight. It was like a ghost town.
    And then I heard it: a whispering on the wind. A faint noise, a child’s voice, singing softly, deep within my ear and yet all around me at the same time.
    Say, say, oh, playmate, come out and play with me.
    I whirled around to look behind me: There was nothing but the empty street.
    And bring your dollies three. Climb up my apple tree.
    I knew this song. I remembered it from my childhood. I could almost see myself sitting on the ground facing a playmate, playing patty-cake, singing, clapping hands in rhythm to the words. But this wasn’t the happy childhood tune I remembered. It was the same melody but morphed into a minor key. And the singing was slow and deliberate.
    Slide down my rain barrel. Into my cellar door.
    The cold wind was inside me now, holding fast to my throat, almost as if it were pulling the words out of my mouth. I sang along in a whisper.
    And we’ll be jolly friends, forevermore.
    Suddenly, the song was over. I looked up and down the street, but nobody was there. I was alone. I hurried along toWilliam Archer’s office. I wanted very much to be inside with someone.
    On the next block, I saw the shingle swaying back and forth in the stiff wind: archer & son, attorneys at law. The slight creaking noise, coupled with what had just happened in the complete emptiness of the street, suddenly made me think I was the only person alive on the island. Everyone else here—the people in the coffee shop, Jonah, even Mira—were ghosts from another time. But of course that was a silly notion. I pushed it out of my mind as I opened the door.
    The office was empty: a reception desk, several chairs, a bookshelf, but no receptionist, no other clients, and