“The mail is delayed these days.” Dylan shrugged and sneered.

Jamie shoved back at Dylan.

Dylan pushed his glasses up on his nose.

“Right. Old technology.” Mara openly looked around.

The place was a dump: one tiny room that included the living space and kitchen, and an open door into the even smaller bedroom and, Mara supposed, a bath. The cottage smelled the way old houses do when they’re close to the sea—of salt, fish and mold. Nothing was that old: furniture, appliances, the gas fireplace. But everything looked worn and sad.

“Sorry about the mess,” Jamie said.

“Sorry I dropped by and caught you unaware.” Mara cut a glance toward Dylan. God forbid he should do anything to help his wife.

“What happened to Bill Miller, last year’s intern?” Jamie asked.

“I don’t know about Bill Miller. I suppose he got a job.” He had, with Mara’s help, and when she removed him from the rotation for this position, she inserted Miranda’s name and waited to see what would happen. Nothing, that’s what. No one fought for this job—which told her a lot. “I’m a graduate student. They don’t tell me all the good stuff. Um, they did say I could buy fresh produce from you, you’d keep an account and charge it to the university at the end of every month.”

Jamie nodded frigidly. “That’s the way we’ve done it before.”

“With the new folks living up at the big house, we’re going to be hopping!” Dylan said.

“Shut up, Dylan,” Jamie answered.

“You know you’re worried about the old—”

“Shut up, Dylan!” Jamie put all her power into her voice.

“Yeah. Shh.” In an elaborate pantomime of shushing, Dylan put his finger to his lips. He stared meaningfully at Mara. “It’s a secret.”

Jamie looked as though she was going to plant her fist in his throat, so Mara said, “The university also said if I had any problems to let you know and you’d help.”

“Of course we will. Right, Jamie?” Dylan elbowed his wife and grinned with lopsided good cheer. He pointed at the sagging plaid couch. “Sit down, Miranda.”

Mara sat rather gingerly.

He flung himself down beside her and sprawled with his arms over the back of the couch. He smelled like sweat and liquor. Strong liquor like something out of a still, which made sense since out here, liquor stores didn’t exist.

Okay. He was drunk, and how much easier did that make Mara’s job?

“The other interns have been self-sufficient.” Jamie was so pissed at Dylan, she wasn’t really paying attention to Mara.

Perfect. “I’ve got everything I need. Tent, supplies—you name it, the university had it for me.” After a single glance at her fake ID, they’d blithely handed everything over. “I think they meant in case of a storm or something.”