Chapter Ten
The three men, all between forty and fifty, shifted in their chairs and looked anywhere except at Matthew. Tom Dunwell, the oldest of the three, eventually choked out, “No, we’re all right, thanks.”
Matthew had to hold on tight to his irritation. All three men had grown up in the village, so he’d known them all their lives, and while he’d never classed them as friends, they certainly weren’t his enemies. Though they seemed to want to make themselves into enemies. Still injecting immense friendliness into his tone, he perched on a spare stool at the table, then reached out and clapped the nearest man on the back. Carl Lamb, who was the youngest of the three, looked as though he was about to make a mess in his underwear.
“Are you sure, gentlemen? I’m here to help, to make sure
