“I’ll check them out.”

She picks up the lease, folds it, and slides it into her purse. “I think we’re all official now.” She offers me a card. “If the temps dip below zero, keep the water dripping in the kitchen. Keeps the pipes from freezing.” Another cluck of the tongue. “I need to get that skirting panel replaced.”

I nod, pondering all the different ways I could kill Suggs and Betancourt.

“Toilet paper only flushed down the toilet. No sanitary supplies.”

“Got it,” I tell her.

“There’s no garbage collection out here, so you’ll need to take it to the dump. Don’t leave it out for the critters. Coyotes will come right into the yard for scraps.” She walks to the front door and opens it, shivering a little when the breeze lifts her hair. “Cats have been disappearing all over the place out here.”

“No problem.”

She steps onto the steel decking, pulling her coat tighter about her. “There’s a snow shovel in the shed out back, if you want to make use of it. The closest phone is the Amish pay phone on the corner.” She cocks her head at me. “Do you have some form of transportation?”

“Not yet,” I tell her. “I may pick up a bicycle.”

“Don’t know how you people do it.” Shaking her head, she descends the steps. “Especially in winter with all this snow. Give me a call if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

Giving a final wave, she walks away without looking back.

CHAPTER 7

It’s not until I’m alone and the events of the day settle that the enormity of the undertaking hits home. So far everything has gone as planned. But I’m fully aware that, while this first day was productive, the real work has yet to begin.

Nightfall is fast approaching and the trailer is dark, so I take a few minutes to light the lanterns. I check the heat and find that Bowman had it turned down to fifty, so I crank it up to sixty-five. I didn’t bring much in the way of clothes—just the dresses and, for when I’m here alone, a heavy cardigan, sweatpants, and a couple of flannel shirts. It takes me ten minutes to unpack and stow everything either in the dresser or the closet. I’ve decided to keep my .22 and my personal phone with me at all times. I’ll need to hide the other phone and the .38 in a safe place.

The trailer rocks slightly when I walk to the kitchen. The flames from the lanterns throw shadows against the ceiling. I look through the cupboards. There’s a mismatched set of dishes, but not a scrap of food. I’ll need to make a trip to the grocery, and once again I’m reminded that the lack of transportation is going to be a pain in the ass. I find a small pad of paper in one of the drawers and start a list.

I find an electrical outlet in the living room and plug in the phone given to me by Betancourt and Suggs. Relief sweeps through me when the charge symbol flicks on.