Page 13 of Possessed by the Mountain Man

“I know.”

That earned me the first real flash of irritation in her eyes.

It also did nothing useful for the heat under my skin.

Her cottage sat on a narrow road a few minutes outside the busier center of town, where the lots widened and maples crowded close to old stone walls. Rainwater still dripped from bare branches over the driveway. The house itself was small, clapboard and fieldstone, with a deep front porch and a chimney darkened by years of winter use.

Laurie and Pamela arrived behind us.

Sybil reached for her door handle before I had shut off the engine.

“Wait.”

She froze, then slowly looked at me.

I got out and walked around the front of the SUV, checking the road, the side of the house, and the space beneath the porch without turning the arrival into a performance. Nothing moved except water falling from the gutters.

When I opened her door, she climbed out.

“Was that necessary?”

“If I knew it wasn’t, I wouldn’t need to do it.”

“That answer is going to become annoying too.”

“Probably.”

She started toward the porch, then stopped beside me. “Do you always agree when someone tells you you’re annoying?”

“Only when they’re right.”

Her mouth twitched, and she went inside before either of us acknowledged it.

The cottage was warm enough that my glasses would have fogged if I’d worn any. The front room opened into a compact kitchen with pale cabinets, old hardwood floors, and a dining table almost completely claimed by work. Route maps overlapped printed schedules. A box of lanyards sat beneath fabric swatches and a roll of orange wristbands. Two framed photographs leaned against the wall instead of hanging from it, and one baseboard ended three feet short of the corner, leaving fresh plaster exposed.

Sybil dropped her keys into a ceramic bowl beside the door.

“Welcome to the glamorous headquarters of Sybil’s Signature Events.”