He sensed another change of direction. “For Venus Lake? Maybe nine or so. I doubt that Miss Alyssa gets up very early. Why?”

“I want to work on the chicken house. I thought maybe if you had a few free minutes you could explain the next steps so I could make a little progress before I go to the clinic. It’s supposed to be a nice morning.”

Gurney sighed. He tried to focus on the chicken project—the basic geometry, how far they’d gotten with their measurements, the materials that needed to be purchased, what had to happen next—but he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. It was as if the Spalter issues and the chicken issues required two different brains. And then there was the Hardwick situation. Each time his mind went back to it, he regretted his decision to do as the man had asked.

He promised Madeleine he’d deal later with the chicken house issue, went into the den, and called Hardwick’s cell number.

Unsurprisingly—and frustratingly—it went directly to voice mail.

“Hardwick—leave a message.”

“Hey, Jack, what’s happening out there? Where are you? Let me know. Please.”

Finally realizing that his brain had reached a useless point of exhaustion, Gurney joined Madeleine in bed. But sleep, when it eventually came, was hardly sleep at all. His mind was stuck in one of those feverish, shallow, circular ruts—in which the ID and the directive, “Hardwick—leave a message,” kept recurring in all sorts of twisted permutations.

Chapter 30

Beautiful Poison

Gurney waited until the following morning to tell Madeleine about the power-line drama at Hardwick’s house. When he completed his much abridged rendition of the incident, she sat quietly watching him, as if waiting for the other shoe to fall.

The other shoe was the one he was afraid to drop, but felt he had to. “I think, as a precaution—” he began, but she finished his thought for him.

“I should move out of the house for a while. Is that what you were going to say?”

“It’s just to be on the safe side. Just for a few days. My feeling is that this guy made his point and isn’t likely to repeat the performance, but still … I want you to be away from any possible danger until the issue is resolved.”

Anticipating the same angry reaction she’d had to a similar suggestion he’d made a year earlier during the unnerving Jillian Perry case, he was caught off-balance by her evident lack of objection. Her first question was surprisingly practical: “How many days are we talking about?”

“I’d only be guessing. But … maybe three, four? Depends on how soon we can eliminate the problem.”

“Three or four days starting when?”

“Hopefully by tomorrow night? I was thinking maybe you could invite yourself to your sister’s place down in—”

“I’ll be at the Winklers’.”

“You’ll be where?”