“It’s Friday? You said it was Friday.” “It’s Friday,” she confirmed, using an antiseptic wipe from her first-aid kit to clean the almost invisible cut on her neck. Almost invisible. To Luther, it looked like a murderous slash. And it could have been; that was what scared him. Callie had picked up his knife and carried it back here because he didn’t want to touch it. He looked toward the door, where Cesar lay on his accustomed rug, watching Luther but without apparent malice or even visible tension. The other three dogs, who had remained in the cabin during an outing whose purpose and destination was still a blank to Luther, were lying around the living area of the cabin, each on a thickly folded blanket or rug that served as a bed. They all looked completely calm and relaxed. In fact, Lucy was snoring. “What happened to Thursday?” Luther asked. Callie frowned slightly and, finished with her neck, went to pour out two cups of coffee.
