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wasn't ashamed of it. He just didn't want her ridiculing the town and the people he loved in her heartless magazine. She hadn't been here twenty minutes and she was already looking for ways to twist that history and tradition into something sinister and simpleminded.
    Case in point, she didn't say a word about all the yellow ribbons. Folks had started putting those up the very next day after Valerie Gerard's disappearance. No, that was too normal to mention.
    He rolled through the intersection, continuing east on Main. Newton's attention lit on Bay View Cemetery.
    "You see the crow on the headstone?" She turned to face him. "People associate crows with death. But there's perfectly logical reasons they hang out in cemeteries."
    "Is that a fact?"
    "Pull over."
    He'd asked for that one. "Sure." He eased to the side of the street. Stellar job so far of setting the tone for her visit. She was right. He'd definitely gotten a raw deal on this assignment.
    But then, that was the story of his life.
    "Tell me if I'm off course here," she allowed. "People believe there's something evil about the person buried in that grave because of the crow."
    Oh, she was going to love this one. "Mattie Calder," he confessed. "According to village history"—he met his passenger's expectant gaze—"she was a witch."
    "I rest my case."
    "But," he continued with a listen-carefully tone, "she was a good witch. Her remedies cured the sick and enlivened the sex lives of many of our forefathers."
    "Fascinating stuff, Conner."
    He was on a roll now.
Why not give her what she wants
? "You're right, you know. People are a little afraid of cemeteries so they compensate. Take the six-foot iron fence, for example." He nodded to the subject of his topic. "That wasn't erected for the visual aesthetics. Its original purpose was far more important than keeping out the neighborhood kids and dogs." He turned fully toward her, leaned in slightly as if to ensure she didn't miss a nuance of what he had to say. "It was erected to keep the dead inside. Iron was the strongest metal at the time. The accepted notion was that it could withstand the fires of hell itself."
    She stared into his eyes for one, two, three seconds. This close he could see the silver flecks gathered around her irises. The silver seemed to flare and darken into the deepest, purest blue he'd ever seen. That he found her eyes so damned distracting was annoying as hell.
    "You're quite the tour guide."
    Her lips tightened as she said the words. That was when he noticed how ordinary yet strangely unusual that feature of her face was. Plain, not particularly richly colored or plump… but there was something challenging about the shape.
    "Or maybe you're a comedian."
    Withdrawing the inch or two he'd encroached, he set both hands back on the wheel. "I'm making a point, Ms. Newton. Just because folks honor a tradition, whatever its roots, doesn't mean they're any different from you."
    "Actions speak louder than words, Mr. Councilman." She faced forward. "They always have. Always will."
    Kicking himself for antagonizing her, he mentally groped for a way to redeem himself as he pulled away from the curb. "You were going to tell me the real reason crows hang out in cemeteries."
    "It's the trees."
    "Trees?" There were trees all over town. Thankfully he had the self-control not to mention that obvious detail.
    "They're attracted to the larger, old-growth specimens. Unlike in residential areas, the trees in the cemeteries are rarely removed for progress. They just bury the dead around them."
    He nodded. "Interesting." But then, there were a lot of old trees in Youngstown, period. Something else he wouldn't point out.
    "They're social creatures. Where there's one, there's usually more."
    Social. Yeah. "This"—he made a right turn—"is Calderwood Lane. The witch's namesake." A fitting tribute considering how the narrow road snaked along the countryside.
    "You, of course, know she wasn't actually a witch."
    He flashed