“Near the town mill, Eddy?” “Two minutes away.” “Report of a suspicious object in the water. Check it out.” Harkness walks toward the mill, once the center of Nagog commerce and gossip, now the town’s most popular tourist site. A guy in full Colonial getup—breeches, billowing white linen shirt, a snug brown waistcoat, and tricornered hat—paces in buckled shoes. Harkness squints. “Hey, don’t I know you?” Thom peers through his wire-rimmed glasses. “Are ye a good citizen of Nagog?” “Are ye Henry David Thoreau?” “Not today,” Thom whispers. “I’m Amos Garrett, the guy who sold out the Colonials, like Judas. Told the Brits where the rebel guns were hidden down in the mill. Ended up hanging from a tree in the center of Nagog until his face got pecked off by crows.” “Thanks for that,” Harkness says. “Isn’t there more than one guy around here who likes to get dressed up?” Thom leans closer. “The National Park Service pays me fifty bucks a pop to do Citizen Garrett tours,”
