The mist swirled in front of their headlights. Cool, dusk and fabled purple light engulfed them as the cluster of fir trees and then the village disappeared between rolling hills.

Another two miles and the road took a sharp left, tirning from asphalt to packed dirt and gravel. Firs and pines grew thicker around them, casting a bewitching fairy tale darkness over the landscape. The earthen lane shrunk after winding down a narrow lane for a quarter mile. At the end of the road, they glimpsed a run down cedar cabin in a thick grove of towering pines.

Jackie squinted under the canopy of deciduous trees that blocked out the moonlight. "This is the free lodging? What kind of housing did Matilda's contract stipulate? An outhouse?"

Ignoring her protests, Miles exited the car with Oliver, who immediately found a fragrant patch of pine needles on which to relieve himself. "Smell that?"

Jackie raised her nose and inhaled. "I smell Christmas pine, vanilla and...strawberries." She used the flashlight app on her phone to illuminate a dilapidated Little Red Riding Hood woodsman cabin.

"We must be near a maple tree farm. My parents had maples on their property in Connecticut. I used to tap them."

"It can be pretty cold at night. I'd keep a fire going while you're here." An authoritative voice startled them as the silvery beam of a flashlight sliced through the darkness and blinded them.

A bulky woman in a Carhart jacket with an underlying gray hoodie, wearing jeans and men's work boots, strolled towards them. Jackie countered the invasive flashlight beam with her IPhone flashlight and Miles gleaned a broad, ruddy face belonging to a pike-wielding peasant straight out of
The French Revolution. Her long, gray-streaked scraggly hair reminded Jackie of The Penguin villain in Batman.

The stocky woman pulled a key out of her pocket and unlocked the cabin. "Miles Goodpeed?"

He nodded.

"Arlene Stone." She didn't extend her hand. "Matilda said you'd be here by six." The woman had a powerful contralto voice that added to her intimidating bulk.

"Yes, I'm Miles. Sorry we're late. We missed the ferry."

The back woods woman rubbed her chin and appraised the burnt orange Supra and Jackie's haute couture city attire. "Newlyweds huh?"

The card dealer bristled. "Were not married. I'm Jackie Woo." She gestured at Miles with her chin. "This is my personal assistant."

"You two should be married. You're already riding his butt. Why not make it official?" The woman pulled out the latest iPhone model and had Miles sign them in.

"Excuse me?" Jackie put her hands on her arms and hugged herself. "Listen, I'm tired, cold and hungry."

"You got that right, I know mangry when I see it."

Jackie took a hesitant step inside the cabin and onto the wooden floor. She ducked her head under cobwebs in the doorway and brushed them out of her hair. Under her weight, the planks sagged a quarter of an inch below the flooring. "Is this cabin insulated for winter?"

Arlen put her hands in her hips. "Insulated? That's rich. It's only October."

"Well that's funny. The ferry schedule is running on winter hours."

Inside the cabin, the corpulent landlady pointed to an ancient potbellied stove and a stack of split wood piled in the corner of the cabin. "That's your main heat source. There's more wood out back. Chop as much kindling as you need. There's snow in the forecast. You'll need it."

"Snow?"

"That's right—the white fluffy stuff known as precipitation. Good for the syrup".

"Syrup?" Jackie frowned.

Arlen smiled. "Mapleton's syrup is famous. The equivalent of a gold commodity and ranked number one in New England, although our honey is darn good too." Noticing that Jackie was shivering, she walked over and retrieved an ancient handmade quilt from the rickety piece of furniture. "There's bedding in the wardrobe."A few acorns slipped from the blanket's folds and rolled the floor. Oliver rushed over to smell them and Jackie shuddered. 

————

Once they were alone, Miles turned to his companion. "I'm glad you told Arlene that cover story. In hindsight, that was a smart idea."

"Really? Why's that?"

"Her last name is Stone. She must be related to Nick Stone."

"Now that you say that, I can see the resemblance." Jackie raised her finger, accenting each point with a mysterious medium's voice. "Who is this woman? What does she know? Does she drink? Who does want?"

Miles crossed his arms and gave her the look.

"You mean it's that easy? Just match up last names. Anyway, I can see the resemblance. She does seem to have his build. Exhausted, she pulled the handmade quilted comforter around her and swaddled herself in a tight ball. Curling up on the couch she burrowed under a thick brown horse blanket. "Ouch! Why does this couch feel like it's filled with rocks? Hold on. What's this?

She stuck her hand under the covers and held up an artisan bottle of wine. Maybe some newlyweds left this here. It certainly can't belong to Sasquatch. I'm sure that women drinks Jack Daniels. The label was a colorful watercolor of blueberries.

Charlotte Village Winery, in Vermont's Champlain Valley. Our fields are home to some of the best blueberry-picking in Vermont.

Miles opened dusty cabinets and found jelly glasses.  He washed two in a minute stainless steel sink that could have fit in a play house.

"It's so dark and quiet. This is spooky." Jackie drained her glass.

"This is nature. It's peaceful." Miles knelt down in from of the wood stove. Fifteen minute later, he had a cracking fire going. Jackie watched yellow-orange flames lick the glass door and her aching, tight muscles began to relax as the wine took effect.

Turning over a book she randomly grabbed from the shelf above her head, she noted the title. "Pride and Prejudice. Elizabeth Bennett was one of my favorite heroines growing up. She never backed down. Where did you learn to make a fire?"

Miles smiled. "I was an Eagle Scout. He reached up and adjusted a metal pin jutting out of the long smoke stack. "This is how you adjust the draft. The more air the fire gets, the hotter it burns. Kind of like you."

He pulled a pair of thick, wool socks out of his luggage and wiggled them in from of her. "Our troop's motto was, Always be prepared."

"At least we're not going to freeze to death." Jackie pulled on the socks and then got up and grabbed the fire poker beside the stove before returning to her improvised nest. Within fifteen minutes, she was fast asleep and facing the door with the fire poker clenched in her hand.

Miles pulled out the case file, took a sip of wine and jotted down a few notes. Oliver settled comfortably next to him. His mind worked intuitively, like a spider spinning a web. Each piece information they'd encountered either carefully considered and and woven into a pattern of individual motives, or discarded.

He worked patiently knowing that once he reached the web's center, he knew he would find the culprit.