Page 78 of You'll Be Sorry

Even if that meant finally picking up an axe and getting the job done.

26

Mandy began to understand the Baird sisters’ debate about neighborly geography as she wound her way higher up the mountain in search of Isla McLean’s house. At this altitude, the heavy clouds were already releasing swirling bursts of snow, turning the night into a veritable snow globe.

She had to slow down considerably. Even then, she passed the turn onto the property and had to backtrack. To be fair, the dark ribbon of driveway was barely wider than an ATV trail. As she bounced along its rutted length, she thought it felt like one, too.

She arrived in a small clearing, her headlights illuminating a weathered gray cabin that was plunked down awkwardly amid soaring pines. The porch sagged dangerously in one corner. A pile of milk crates was wedged underneath as if to provide support. Not a single rocking chair, table, or planter decorated the dilapidated deck. Nor was there any vehicle in sight. Mandy could’ve driven by this structure a dozen times and never guessed it was occupied. An old hunting cabin, built for emergency shelter during the deep winter, sure. But an actual full-time abode…

You had to be hardy to live in a place like this. Or, as the Baird sisters had put it, someone who truly valued her privacy.

Mandy was grateful she’d already donned her orange traffic vest. To be on the safe side, she opened her door and belted out, “Hello?Chief Grady here. Just conducting a neighborly wellness check before the storm hits.”

She paused, foot extended halfway out, a fresh gust of icy particles blasting her face.

Nothing. But with a bit of squinting, she could discern a faint glow around the edges of the tightly drawn curtains, as well as the smell of wood smoke wafting from the chimney.

Mandy grabbed the hastily assembled gift basket and got to it.

She used her cellphone’s flashlight to pick her way to the house. She stepped gingerly across the sagging porch, wincing as several boards groaned ominously.

Just as she arrived at the door, she felt a cold, prickling sensation on the back of her neck, and not just from the blustery conditions. Instinctively, she shifted the hostess basket to her left hand, allowing her right to rest on the butt of her sidearm.

The woods were thick out here, the trees woven together so tightly it was hard to tell where one ended and another began. All sorts of creatures could hide behind such a dense screen. Hunkered down out of sight, sheltered from the whipping snow.

“Chief Mandy Grady,” she called out steadily. “Show yourself.”

But no figure emerged from the snow-dusted trees.

Instead, a loud creak came from behind her as the front door opened, and Mandy nearly tumbled backward into an inferno.

It took a few seconds for Mandy to right herself. Another to belatedly thrust out the gift. And about two more for her to realize she was already sweating in the stifling, overheated space.

She unzipped her jacket while taking in the surprisingly petite woman before her, who had yet to say a word.

“Isla McLean?”

A single nod.

“I’m—”

“I know who you are.”

“I brought—”

“I know Lydia’s cinnamon rolls when I smell them.”

All right then. So far the Witch of the Woods was living up to her reputation.

She certainly looked the part. A wild mane of thick black hair, sporting a single silver streak near her left temple. Nearly ageless, fine-boned features, set with a pair of dark, boring eyes. Even with the ancient woodstove cranking out waves of heat, the woman wore several layers of clothing: gray leggings topped by a heavy wool skirt; a man’s blue flannel shirt adorned with a black knitted scarf; a moth-eaten green-and-black tartan draped over it all. Her clan colors? Nothing would surprise Mandy anymore.

She heard a faint thumping behind the woman. Isla shifted silently, revealing an old dog with cloudy eyes and lumpy features. The dog lifted its square head in Mandy’s direction, once more wagging its tail against the floor.

Since it was obvious it couldn’t come to her, Mandy crossed to it, giving the senior canine a gentle pat atop its head. The dog closed its eyes in appreciation.

“Lovey Three,” Isla said by way of introduction.

Mandy glanced up. “Three?”