The old Estonoa train depot wasn’t nearly as run-down as Deb remembered it, even by streetlights and the moon.
The wooden sides were freshly painted white, and the peaked roof and gracefully curved supports looked solid and clean as well. One black wrought-iron bench with wooden slats for the seat and back gleamed like new, while two others sat rusty and pitiful nearby, waiting for a similar restoration.
The wide wooden boards of the broad platform had partly been scrubbed clean, leaving some bright and others still dark with age and soot. From what Deb could see of the inside, the progress hadn’t quite made it in there yet. The windows were mostly grimy except for a few that had just been replaced.
The mingled scents of paint and wood stain competed with the still-delicious aromas comi
