He walked away and lit a pack of matches and lobbed it into the truck as Owen pulled into view. He tossed a second one to land underneath the running board. The initial blast of the cooking gasoline licked at his skin and drove him away at a trot.

Owen got out of the car, setting his cuffs and buttoning his jacket as he came. Carly stepped out into his wake, openmouthed at the fire already busy in the truck.

Jonathan positioned himself at the open passenger window of his car and put the knife against the satin that covered Marcelline’s throat.

“Stop,” Jonathan said. “You have to be carrying a gun. I would be so disappointed to find out you weren’t. So take it out now and put it on the ground. Either that or Marcelline will have to insist you strip naked for everyone’s peace of mind.”

Jonathan brandished the knife, hoping his hand covered the embarrassing camouflage plastic that decorated the handle. The blade was bright and impressive, though, and he put it back against the fabric.

Carly gasped.

Owen reached behind him. “That would be quite an education for young Carly here.”

“Stop,” Jonathan said again. “Put your hands up where I can see them.”

Owen sagged in exasperation.

“If it’s at your waistband, let Carly get it.”

Owen unbuttoned again and raised his jacket clear of his body. “It’s okay,” he said to her. “The safety’s on. You’ll be fine.”

She struggled at the small of his back, then stepped out from behind him holding the gun as if it might blow up in her hand.

The worried, wary look she’d had in the kitchen this morning was gone, replaced with disbelief. Anger. Carly looked disgusted. There would be no when John disappeared legend. She would hate him or excuse him or possibly forgive him. But her new expression was a banishment. He’d never know how Carly would tell it.

“Carly, bring that here.” He held out his hand for the gun and stepped to the blade-tip limit so that she wouldn’t have to get too close. She wouldn’t want that. He certainly didn’t. He didn’t want to see her face change even more when she got a closer look at Marcelline.

“Carly, do not do that,” Owen said.

“Carly!” Jonathan called.

Owen smiled at her. “Take it across the road. Throw it down the hill. You know that’s what you want to do.”

Carly straightened up and scowled at Jonathan. She stomped off across the grass and overhanded the gun down the embankment.

The flicker of the fire in the truck was starting to grow wild sprouts and plumes of dark smoke.

“Carly,” Owen said as she came back into their standoff. “Can you please go get your present from the back of the car?”