Cyril and Caroline were seated at a small table off to the right of the bar. Inside with the blackouts down, curtains drawn, the lights dimmed, and logs blazing in the hearth, The Black Dog Inn was a cozy respite from the swirling fog now blanketing the island streets. Caroline glanced at Mrs. Bundy, the innkeeper, who was behind the bar pouring drinks for her guests. The woman suddenly turned toward the mirror behind her, ran a hand over her short black hair, peppered with gray, and seemed to stare a moment at her image. She caught Caroline watching and waved at her in the mirror.
Caroline waved back.
The older woman’s weathered face gave no clue to her age. Caroline suspected she was younger than she looked, and found she had great respect for this hearty soul who ran the inn on her ow
