Page 79 of You'll Be Sorry
“As in the third.”
“What kind of dog?”
“Loyal, obedient, kind.”
“Sounds like a good dog to me.”
“She’ll be gone by year’s end. There will be no Lovey Four.”
Okay, then. Mandy gazed surreptitiously around the one-room cabin. She made out piles of books, books, and more books. Plus, along one wall, what appeared to be an old farmer’s sink. Above itwere wooden shelves holding an assortment of pots, pans, dishes. Beside it, a small pine table boasting a hot pot and teakettle.
The room offered a single upholstered seating option. The battered chair-and-a-half was overstuffed, covered in an assortment of blankets, and came with an equally well-used ottoman. The kind of lounging option meant to sink down into for hours at a time. Perfect for reading, if the stack of books was anything to go by. Mandy tried to make out some of the titles. She had an overall impression of randomness—treaties on philosophy piled among epic historical sagas, sandwiched between scientific tomes set atop glossy field guides on birds, trees, and medicinal plants. Apparently, the witch was an expansive thinker.
What she didn’t see in the cluttered space: a TV, bathroom, or bed. Hardy indeed.
Belatedly, Mandy gestured toward the basket still clutched in Isla’s hands. “In addition to the cinnamon rolls, I included a heavy-duty flashlight and hand-crank radio—you know, in case of emergency.”
Isla nodded. It took all of three steps for her to set it on the table, next to the teapot.
“Where do you make the soap?” Mandy asked. “I don’t see any equipment, dried herbs, that kind of thing.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you here?”
So much for small talk. Mandy shrugged, keeping her tone casual as she continued to scan the space. “The storm for starters. Sounds like it’ll be a proper nor’easter, dumping over a foot of snow, if not two.”
There. In the jumble of shoes next to the front door—a single, worn-out boot she recognized immediately. So Raquel hadn’t spotted a young girl yesterday afternoon, but a slightly built woman.
Isla followed her line of sight, seemed to grasp the implication. “You want to know if I’ve spent any time on the Collins property, checking out the new happy couple.”
“Have you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Curiosity. Isn’t that why everyone else has dropped by?”
“But they visited. Delivered welcome gifts of food, flowers, wine. You could’ve brought soap.”
“I could’ve,” Isla agreed.
“You spied on the homeowners instead.”
“Outsiders who purchased a notorious crime scene that borders my property. Warrants some checking out, don’t you think?”
“And the stray dog now hanging out with the Collinses?” Mandy’s long-shot question, hoping to catch this enigmatic woman in…anything.
Isla regarded her expressionlessly. “Lovey Three is too old for walks.”
“I’m talking about a much younger dog, who, come to think of it, is similar in color and size to Lovey the third. Some kind of English Lab mix?”
“My family bred English Labs for generations. My father in particular wasn’t so discriminating about who purchased the pups. From time to time, some of them reappear. Maybe they remember this cabin. You would have to ask them.”
“The owners?”
