Page 80 of You'll Be Sorry

“No. The dogs.”

Mandy crossed her arms over her chest. It already seemed to her that Isla could play most mysterious woman of the woods all day long. Mandy, on the other hand, didn’t have time for such theatrics. She decided to up the ante: “According to the Baird sisters, your family was once as large and prominent as the Dixons.”

Shrug.

“And now this is all that’s left. A single”—Mandy waved her hand around—“shed.”

“Everything I need, nothing I don’t.”

“You don’t miss the family homestead? That was the place just down the road, right? With the sprawling wraparound porch and fantastic view of mountain-framed pastures. I can just imagine sitting out there, end of day, knowing your parents and grandparents had occupied the same porch, gazing upon the same view going back generations. Except now it’s gone, leaving you with this. While your neighbors, the Dixons, built an even larger home, expanded the family tree, and continued to herald their place in the community. That doesn’t make you the teensiest bit jealous?”

“Their life isn’t my concern.”

“Not buying it. Not when I know for a fact”—Mandy pointed at the lone boot—“that you’re prone to wandering the woods between your place and theirs. I mean, driving between the two properties—that’s a solid two, three miles of switchbacks. Whereas heading straight through the woods, maybe a thirty-minute walk? An easy morning’s outing.”

“As I said, they’re my neighbors.”

“Except you do more than just watch.” Mandy had spotted yet another article of interest. “That easel in the corner. You’re an artist. A good one, to judge by the paintings on the wall. I’ve seen work like this before. Took me a few moments to place it, but now I got it—the murals in the kids’ bedrooms. Teddy bears, roses, forest creatures. You did those. You don’t just roam the property. You roam the house itself.”

The woman met Mandy’s accusing stare with an inscrutable look of her own. Several seconds passed in tense silence. Then:

“I knew them. The kids. They used to visit me.”

“The Dixon kids?Theycame here to see you?”

“They were on a mission to kill a witch. Fortunately, they decided to play with Lovey instead.”

“Thirty years ago? They played with your dog?” Mandy eyed the ancient mutt, now snoring before the woodstove.

“Back then, I had Lovey One. The youngest Dixon, what was his name?”

“William.”

“He loved dogs. I believe he ended up with one of his own.”

Mandy’s eyes widened. “Your family’s English Labs. You gave one to William?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. Why would you?”

“By the time the newest Dixons came along, my family and the dogs were long gone. I’ve been the last McLean for over forty years.”

Finally, a trace of emotion. But Mandy was damned if she could figure it out. A hint of wistfulness, an undertone of rage?

“Your father also liked Lovey One,” Isla stated.

Now Mandy was the one caught off guard. “My father knew your dog? I thought you kept to yourself.”

“I was younger then.” The woman swept her long, dark hair over one shoulder. “Your father was younger, too.”

Mandy didn’t appreciate the innuendo. Her shoulders stiffened, her temper sparking. She had to force herself to rein it in. This strange witchy woman was playing with her. Mandy would be damned before giving her the satisfaction.

“My father considered community relations to be the most important part of his job. He prided himself on knowing all the locals and checking in regularly.”

A small, mysterious smile. “And you?”

“I do my best. But the village is constantly growing, and I don’t know everyone yet. Hence our first meeting.”