I wouldn’t exactly call Collinsport the wild west, but it’s no Bedford Falls, either. It seems like only yesterday that Old Jameson gave me that ring, made me swear that strange oath, and then died.
You’d think it would be tough, but conspirators leave their doors wide open in this town. They bark their plans in voices so loud, you can hear them clear across Stokes Harbor.
Even though they make it easy, I’m going to need the amulet, anyway. Have it sent by the usual methods.
In umbris veritas,