Chapter 22: The Lodge Is Full

The fire marshal walked the whole lodge with Cal and a flashlight.

He checked the extinguishers, the exit signs, the bonfire ring, and every tent's lantern.

He was done in forty minutes.

"Everything's in order," he said, and he sounded almost disappointed. "Best-kept camp in the county."

"Then why are you here at one in the morning?" Cal asked.

The marshal turned the clipboard around.

"Three complaints since Monday. Fire hazards, overcrowding, unlicensed fireworks. All from the same cell number."

Cal read the number.

I read it over his shoulder, and I knew it.

It had been in my phone for six years under Mother-in-law.

"Diane Casto," I said.

"Is that who it is?" said the marshal. "I'll be sure to mention it to my supervisor. Making false reports is a misdemeanor."

He tipped his cap and went back to his truck.

Cal stood on the porch looking at the sticker, and then he started to laugh.

It was a tired, helpless laugh.

I put my arm through his.

"She's still out there," his cousin said, behind us. "In the lot. Her husband took the car with Waylon."

I looked out the window.

In the dark by the road, a small figure in a camel coat sat on a hay bale with a pie carrier on her lap.

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