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“Shit,” Zig said as Quaid went inside and closed the door. “Is this guy ever leaving?”
Misty watched the cabin’s inside lights come on. They had the layout down, from their previous window peeping. The kitchen light came on. About a minute later, the bathroom. “Not the bedroom, not the bedroom,” she prayed.
“Not yet, anyway,” Zig whispered. “Kitchen light’s still on. He never leaves a light on behind him. Maybe he needed a potty and snack break.”
“What do you, teach preschool?”
“Nephews.” She grinned and Misty understood the playful spark in her eyes. They were close and they both knew it.
“Bathroom light’s off,” Zig said. A second later the kitchen light went out as well. They watched, holding their breath, staring so hard at the little cabin that it should’ve rattled the windows.
And then a light came on in the little room with the paper- and photo-filled corkboard wall, and they saw him walk past the window that faced them, coffee mug in one hand.
“Coffee break,” Misty said on a relieved sigh. “He’s gonna work on his murder wall, while he enjoys a cuppa Joe.”
“If he does this after every ten pieces, we’ll be here all night again.” Zig looked her way. “You want to go back to town, find a phone and call… anyone?”
“Christy. I’m going to call Christy. And no. We’re too close.”
She looked down at Paul Quaid. He stood before his corkboard and sipped his brew so slowly, Misty wondered if he knew they were out there and was torturing them.
But eventually, he walked back the way he’d come, and the light went out. A moment later, he was outside again. He’d left the mug behind.
They settled in to continue watching him as he loaded his precious cargo at the pace of a sedated sloth. And predictably, they both nodded off.
The slamming of the trailer doors startled Misty awake. She had no idea what time it was. Zig had brought all the camping gear. Misty had no travel clock or plain old, analog watch. Her sole contribution to their survival was her dumb-ass Crisis Companion. If they needed pepper spray, a tire pressure gauge, or to escape a submerged vehicle, it might even be helpful.
Zig straightened up beside her. She’d been resting her cheek on the log, and its bark pattern had stayed behind.
“This is it,” Misty said. “Look, look.”
“I’m looking, I’m looking.”
Quaid closed and locked the workshop. Then he went to the cabin and went inside.
“He’s just locking up the house, unplugging the toaster or whatever,” Misty said. “My dad used to do that before every family trip.”
“You took family trips?” Zig sounded as if she hadn’t.
Before Misty could say anything, Quaid came back out of the cabin with a black satchel. He turned to lock the door, then went to the car, slung the satchel in ahead of him, and got behind the wheel.
“Hallelujah!” Zig said. And as the car rolled down the driveway with its trailer rolling behind, she got up.
“Wait,” Misty said, grabbing her wrist. “He’s barely even out of sight yet.”
“He’s gone. He’s heading to the art show. He won’t be back anytime soon.”
“Unless he forgot something,” Misty said.
Zig sighed, then said, “You’re right. We’ll give it an hour, let him get well on his way, all right?”
Misty nodded, then got up and stretched. They’d been so still for so long, she was stiff and achy. Zig got up too. She went into the tent and came back with a pair of granola bars.
“Thanks,” Misty said, taking hers and unwrapping it. “I can’t believe we’re this close.”
“I’m glad you’re as into this as I am,” Zig said.
“How can I not be? I work where she worked. I see her picture on the wall there. I don’t know, something about her speaks to me.” She took a breath, sighed hard. “It’s more than that, though. This is the most fun I’ve ever had.” She bit off half her granola bar. “Screw it,” she said. “Let’s get down there now. I can’t stand waiting.”
