I realized that I could have kept tabs on Mr. Early even without seeing him, since the sheep flock tended to hover near him, and there was a constant trickle of sheep coming to him to be petted and then returning to the main flock to resume grazing. Must have made the wait more amusing. From a distance, though, the sheep were less amusing. Did they really have some kind of sleep-inducing qualities? Or could I blame Timmy for the fact that I kept almost nodding off and then jerking awake just as I was about to slide off my perch. I positioned myself so the stump of a dead branch would poke me in the chest if I started nodding off and resolutely avoided looking at the sheep.

After fifteen minutes, I began to think better of my surveillance. After half an hour, I had decided it was a waste of time. But it was too early for the next item on my agenda, and when I thought of climbing down and going home, I reminded myself that at least it was quiet and peaceful up in my tree. Odds were I’d have an even harder time finding a babysitter the next time I wanted a Timmy-free evening. And the later the better for most of the other places I planned to prowl.

I settled back and concentrated on enjoying the unaccustomed solitude. I did my yoga breathing exercises—the ones that were supposed to bring clarity and energy, not the relaxing and falling asleep ones. Clarity and energy were proving elusive.

Then I spotted something at the house that woke me up a little. Rob, coming out the front door.

Rob, who refused to baby-sit because he was going to be out all evening? Rob, who I thought had already left for his rendezvous with Ms. Wrong?

Well, maybe he was going out after all. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, but he had a garment bag thrown over his shoulder. He was carrying something in his other hand, but I couldn’t quite see what.

He set the something down to stuff the garment bag into the Porsche’s almost nonexistent trunk, and I recognized the other piece of luggage—Spike’s carrier. Just then the carrier rocked back and forth slightly, which meant Spike was in there, hurling himself from side to side as he usually did to protest his imprisonment.

Rob squatted down beside the carrier, and leaned toward the screen in the door, as if speaking to Spike. Then he laughed and patted the top of the carrier—safer, most of the time, than patting Spike directly. He buckled the carrier into the passenger seat, got into the car, and drove off.

Where on earth was Rob taking Spike at this time of night?

While I was still pondering that dilemma, I heard a car engine off to my right. The Honda had started up. I couldn’t see its driver, but I watched in astonishment as it gently glided down the road, following Rob.