She finds herself on a bit of coastline, waves shhhing against a sandy beach, clouds overhead, a bit of a nip in the air. The ground under her feet is rife with Earth-typical grasses, and to her left, on the opposite side from the beach, is a twentieth-century railroad track. 

She closes the door behind her, and walks over towards the railroad tracks. She's warm enough, thanks to her subdermal modifications. Cheaper than packing a coat in style for every period and era. 

The tracks look slightly worn, like they've been put to hard use but aren't due to be repaired just yet. 

She picks a direction at random, and starts walking. Railway is human-made most places, it probably goes somewhere. She can camp if need be, she has food.

Eventually the edge of a town becomes visible in the distance. 

She keeps following the tracks, checking her appearance. Loose white cotton shirt with black buttons. Blue jeans. Modern hiking pack... 

She'll probably blend. This fits most eras, though the pack and the pants could be strange. 

The edges of the town seem oddly deserted; most of the houses have curtained windows and closed doors. Remnants of daily life, like children's toys left out on a lawn, can be seen here and there, but nobody seems to be outside. 

... She is definitely concerned, but at the same time she doesn't want to be pulling her pistol unnecessarily. She walks onwards, trusting in her Chron to give her reaction time if she needs it.

Towards the center of the town, people begin to be visible, but they all hurry about their business and try to avoid catching her eye. 

They look odd. Partly they look like standard caucasians, ethnically, but there's something off about the facial structure. 

Something slightly different. Not quite standard human. 

But since when does that mean much? 

She notes it and continues walking. Can she catch any snippets of overheard conversation?

If she strains her ears--

"--the newcomers have--"

"--do everything, or it would have come up sooner--"

"--maybe this is like that--"

"--don't see why." "Because 1846."

That's suggestive that she's being lumped in with some other group. If only she had a way to find them. 

In lieu of anything else to do... turn her gold into local currency. Seems like a decent option. 

She goes looking for a jewellery-store, listening for anything else untowards.

She can find a pawn shop if she looks. The proprietor is a middle-aged man with a somewhat pronounced version of the oddity present everywhere, an unblinking stare and an odd protrusiveness of the center of the face. 

"Sir, do you buy gold?", she asks.

He goggles at her. "Buy gold?"

She reaches into her pack, and turns out a gold coin about the size of a spanish silver dollar, embrazened with the letters OTC in a hexagonal grid.

"Yes. I'd like to sell this."

"...Okay." 

He gets out a money box and starts counting out bills. 

She doesn't dispute his tallying. After all, it's worth what she can get for it, and right now that's what this pawnshop owner says it is.

He gives her the bills and closes the money box and puts it and the coin under the counter. 

She takes the bills. "Thank you very much."

She goes back out into the street. 

Well, now what? 

She goes looking for a general store. 

There isn't one, but there's a drug store and a grocery store. 

She'll try the grocery store. She wants a packet of sugar cookies that she can eat while she thinks.

The grocery store is brightly-lit and welcoming, and the cashier does not have the typical facial anomaly. 

"What brings you to Innsmouth?" he asks as he rings up her cookies.

"Seeing the sights, getting to know the place. I'm considering moving here for the foreseeable future, but... the other townsfolk haven't exactly been welcoming."

"No kidding! I've been here for months and I can't get people to say hello to me in the street. Why would you want to move here?"