Page 7 of Woods of the Raven

He glanced at Pete. “Aren’t you sorry now you didn’t wait for more options?”

Pete scoffed loudly. “Xan knows I don’t eat no apple or that pumpkin crap.” He shuddered for his boss’s benefit. “I like corn or blueberry. That’s it. Blueberry’s the best.”

MacBain shook his head and turned to me. “I would love an apple one, please.”

When I returned with his muffin, Pete explained the amazing honey butter, and once I sat down with a cup of chai, the chief inquired about my loss of job, his brows furrowing as he learned about the town’s budget issues.

“So how are you supporting yourself?” He sounded quite concerned, which warmed me from the inside out.

“Oh, between the garden and the forest, I’m completely self-sufficient out here, save for the gas that runs the stove, the fridge, the—”

A knock on the front door interrupted me.

Getting up, crossing the small room quickly, when I opened the door I came face-to-face with Amanda Sterling, née Astor, one of my oldest friends and the woman whose family had established Osprey. She now owned most of the land in town and everything on it. Not anything out this far—not the Wingate Farm, or the Johnson Apiary, or the Corey land. The town was her domain, not anything near the preserve.

I looked at my friend, clad in her high-end clothes with designer labels, and guessed that to anyone who didn’t know our history, she would have looked completely out of place in my home. The Louis Vuitton tote certainly cost more than I made in a year as a small-town librarian.

“Somebody killed a girl right outside your door,” she informed me.

“Right outside my door?” I said, sounding pained. “You don’t think that’s a bit overly dramatic?”

“Fine,” she replied irritably. “On the road near your home. Is that better?”

“It’s doubtful she was killed there,” I said as she brushed by me and into the house. “I’m certain she was dumped and—”

“Oh, Chief MacBain,” she greeted him curtly and then looked over at Pete as if he was gum on the bottom of her shoe. “Are you here because of the dead woman?”

Both men were suddenly standing, looking at her like she was some grim apparition they were horrified to be confronted with.

“You don’t think Xander had anything to do with it, do you?” She bristled, hackles raised, ready to tangle with them on my behalf.

“No,” I soothed her, reaching out to take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze before letting it go. “The chief and Pete wanted to know if I heard anything.”

“Over all the thunder and rain last night?” She made a face. “Really?”

“Don’t be you right now,” I cautioned her.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she snapped, rounding on me.

I groaned and headed to the stove. “Do you want some tea?”

She opened her mouth to give me hell, because really, when had she ever visited and not wanted tea?

“How did you know a body was dumped out here, Mrs. Sterling?” Chief MacBain asked her.

Scowling, she said, “I know everything that happens in this town, Chief MacBain, and would most certainly be informed if someone was killed. Do you have an ID on the victim yet? Is she from Osprey?”

“We—”

“I understand the poor lamb had her throat cut from ear to ear. Do you have any suspects who go about killing in a similar manner?” Her tone was sharp, not quite attacking him but close. I shot her a look.

“What now?” she groused at me.

“You’re using the same voice Ms. Coleman would use on us in homeroom when she knew good and well we were both hungover.”

She gasped. “I am?”

“You are.”