thinking, I threw open the door and yelled, "Hey you! Get away from my car!"
There was the clank of something being dropped, and the figure turned and ran away. I had an impression of someone tall and slender. Nothing more. Heart pounding, I flipped on the outside light and went out to inspect the damage. Other than a few ugly scrapes, the rustmobile was in pretty good shape. I knelt down and picked up the tool that he had dropped. Pry bar. Nice, handy, burglarious tool. Carrying it with me, I went back inside, locked the door, turned off the light, and went back to bed, the sturdy metal bar on the table beside me.
The surge of adrenaline must have put me right over the top, because as it subsided, I fell into a deep sleep. I slept like a rock until I was dragged from sleep by my alarm clock. Feeling like I'd been beaten from head to toe with a cast-iron frying pan, I limped into the bathroom and tried to compose my face and hair into something vaguely human. Then I pulled on some clothes, whatever was on top of the suitcase, and headed for the stairs. This was a lot like summer camp. Roll out of bed too early, sleepy and sore from exercise, in steamy, rustic surroundings, pull on slightly damp clothes from an undifferentiated heap, and head out to start the day. Only this time, I wasn't having any fun.
Halfway down the stairs, a sudden thought snapped me back like a bungee cord into the room. My purse and my gun. The purse could go back in the car. It was probably safe enough in daylight, with all the comings and goings at the restaurant. But just in case, I didn't want to leave the gun there. On the other hand, I didn't want to leave it lying around my room, either. People were already showing themselves a bit too curious about me. I finally left it at the bottom of an ancient box of sanitary pads under the bathroom sink, protected by half a dozen of the ugliest spiders that ever crept across the planet. I expected it would be a guy who came searching, if anyone did, and no guy I've ever known will cross a barrier of spiders and a jumble of cleaning products to reach into a Kotex box. Even if it was a woman, my deterrents were pretty good.
Theresa, Clyde, and the boy who had come yesterday to help at lunch were already in the kitchen. No sign of Natty. I mumbled good mornings, poured myself a desperately needed cup of coffee, and remembered that I'd reformed. Just this once, I thought. Only half a cup. I put some wheat toast in the toaster, and started checking supplies. We needed more bread. More muffins. More butter and syrup and jam in the tubs. Mechanically, I performed my morning tasks. Without being asked, Clyde fixed me scrambled eggs. I made more coffee. Gulped my breakfast. Picked up my apron and was about to tie it on when Theresa said, "You might want to look in a mirror before you go into the dining room." I ducked into the bathroom and checked. Aside from a decorative cluster of cobwebs in my hair and the fact that my T-shirt was wrong-side out, I looked fine.
Restored to order, I went back to the kitchen. "Thanks," I said. "Too little sleep last night. Someone tried to break into my car. After I scared him off, I couldn't get back to sleep."
Theresa exchanged glances with Clyde, then shook her head. "It won't happen again," she promised.
I tied on my apron, checked the pockets, picked up the coffeepot and headed for the dining room. It was amazing how little sound carried through the kitchen door. The room was already half full, though it wasn't officially opening time yet. I recognized a few people from the day before, and lots of new faces. A couple people even made a point of saying good morning, and asking how my first day had gone, doing their best to make me feel welcome. The whole place was buzzing with talk about something in the news, but I was so busy I couldn't catch more than snatches of conversation. I didn't count the number of trips, but it felt like close to a thousand, back and forth,
There was the clank of something being dropped, and the figure turned and ran away. I had an impression of someone tall and slender. Nothing more. Heart pounding, I flipped on the outside light and went out to inspect the damage. Other than a few ugly scrapes, the rustmobile was in pretty good shape. I knelt down and picked up the tool that he had dropped. Pry bar. Nice, handy, burglarious tool. Carrying it with me, I went back inside, locked the door, turned off the light, and went back to bed, the sturdy metal bar on the table beside me.
The surge of adrenaline must have put me right over the top, because as it subsided, I fell into a deep sleep. I slept like a rock until I was dragged from sleep by my alarm clock. Feeling like I'd been beaten from head to toe with a cast-iron frying pan, I limped into the bathroom and tried to compose my face and hair into something vaguely human. Then I pulled on some clothes, whatever was on top of the suitcase, and headed for the stairs. This was a lot like summer camp. Roll out of bed too early, sleepy and sore from exercise, in steamy, rustic surroundings, pull on slightly damp clothes from an undifferentiated heap, and head out to start the day. Only this time, I wasn't having any fun.
Halfway down the stairs, a sudden thought snapped me back like a bungee cord into the room. My purse and my gun. The purse could go back in the car. It was probably safe enough in daylight, with all the comings and goings at the restaurant. But just in case, I didn't want to leave the gun there. On the other hand, I didn't want to leave it lying around my room, either. People were already showing themselves a bit too curious about me. I finally left it at the bottom of an ancient box of sanitary pads under the bathroom sink, protected by half a dozen of the ugliest spiders that ever crept across the planet. I expected it would be a guy who came searching, if anyone did, and no guy I've ever known will cross a barrier of spiders and a jumble of cleaning products to reach into a Kotex box. Even if it was a woman, my deterrents were pretty good.
Theresa, Clyde, and the boy who had come yesterday to help at lunch were already in the kitchen. No sign of Natty. I mumbled good mornings, poured myself a desperately needed cup of coffee, and remembered that I'd reformed. Just this once, I thought. Only half a cup. I put some wheat toast in the toaster, and started checking supplies. We needed more bread. More muffins. More butter and syrup and jam in the tubs. Mechanically, I performed my morning tasks. Without being asked, Clyde fixed me scrambled eggs. I made more coffee. Gulped my breakfast. Picked up my apron and was about to tie it on when Theresa said, "You might want to look in a mirror before you go into the dining room." I ducked into the bathroom and checked. Aside from a decorative cluster of cobwebs in my hair and the fact that my T-shirt was wrong-side out, I looked fine.
Restored to order, I went back to the kitchen. "Thanks," I said. "Too little sleep last night. Someone tried to break into my car. After I scared him off, I couldn't get back to sleep."
Theresa exchanged glances with Clyde, then shook her head. "It won't happen again," she promised.
I tied on my apron, checked the pockets, picked up the coffeepot and headed for the dining room. It was amazing how little sound carried through the kitchen door. The room was already half full, though it wasn't officially opening time yet. I recognized a few people from the day before, and lots of new faces. A couple people even made a point of saying good morning, and asking how my first day had gone, doing their best to make me feel welcome. The whole place was buzzing with talk about something in the news, but I was so busy I couldn't catch more than snatches of conversation. I didn't count the number of trips, but it felt like close to a thousand, back and forth,
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