Page 95 of Cabin Fever

There was a knock at the door. I told Emily she didn't have to come until noon, but I had noticed she always came early. I got up and assessed my appearance. Yup, wearing pants and a shirt, so I was good. On Monday, I had forgotten I wasn't wearing my jeans when I answered the door. Emily stood there shocked and had to point it out to me.

The weird thing was I wasn't surprised. When Olivia left, I felt numb, both inside and out.

I pulled open the door and found an older woman, most likely in her late seventies or eighties. She wore a long brown coat covered in dark flowers with a furry lining. There was something about her smile that was familiar.

"Can I help you?" I asked, hoping she wasn't a lost tourist from The Lodge.

The locals liked to play tricks on the tourists. Since the town was called Fire Lake, they would give the tourists directions to the lake. Only, there was no lake nearby and nothing called Fire Lake. They would send the tourists on a wild goose chase for a laugh. Some visitors ended up here.

"I don't know if I'm lost. I'm looking for—"

"Look, if you are in search of a lake called Fire Lake, it doesn't exist. Someone was just having a laugh at your expense. Now, if you don't mind, this is private property." I was about to shut the door when her hand reached out and stopped me.

"I know it's private property because I own it," she said with an uptick of her chin.

That chin, those green eyes, and that smile. I knew it looked familiar.

"Rosemary Fitzwilliam?"

She nodded and gazed at me as if she never wanted to stop.

"You look just like him." Her eyes sparkled and a lone tear fell down her cheek.

Kitty barked, and I realized the woman was standing in the cold.

"Please, come in and have a seat."

I opened the door wider, and she walked past as if she'd been here a thousand times. Glancing out, I noticed a black town car with a man in a driver's uniform standing by the driver's side with a black umbrella over his head.

"Would he like to come in, too? With the snow melting and the rain, it's a muddy mess out there." I held the door open, ready to wave the guy inside.

"No. He can wait in the car. I find that if people are paid enough, they will tolerate a bit of dirt on their shoes." She sat in the chair I had abandoned just moments ago.

With the door now shut, I stood there unable to think of what to do or say. I glanced around my home and found the French press.

"Would you like some coffee?"

She was studying me. I had the feeling every movement I made or word that slipped past my lips was a test. I didn't know if I wanted to pass or fail.

"Sounds wonderful. Perfect to warm my chilled bones. I'll take it with a dash of creamer."

She lifted her hands and began to remove her brown gloves. My eyes hit the large emerald ring on her right hand. If she angled it right, it could remove an eye.

"I don't have creamer, but I do have milk."

She waved me off. "Whatever you may offer, I will be fine."

I set about making the coffee.

"It's a lot more spacious inside than it appears on the outside. I heard there was a sheep farm on the property. I'd love a tour."

I frowned and glanced back, specifically at her shoes. She was wearing heels.

"I have a spare set of boots for you to wear. It's not a place to walk through with nice shoes."

I poured the hot water into the press and set a timer. Moving back to the table, I sat facing my grandmother.

"Those aren't boots." I pointed to her feet.

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