Tim asked from behind me. “You got me.” I picked up the mouse and stared at it for a moment before I tossed it back in the box. “But I’ll tell you one thing—I’d sure like to find out.” Tim made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “The guy’s just a nut case from Hutchings.” Pickles jumped up on the counter, rubbed her head against my hand, then lifted it up so I could scratch under her chin. “I hope so.” But I wasn’t entirely convinced. There had been something very controlled about the guy, very purposeful. I had the feeling this was the opening shot in a game I didn’t know I was playing. I shook my head to clear it. I was getting jumpy in my old age. Tim was right. The guy was a nut case. He’d probably just forgotten to take his morning Thorazine. Tim twirled one of his earrings around. “Mrs. Garriques called earlier,” he told me, changing the subject. “She wants us to deliver and set up the tank next week. I told her I’d check with you.” “That’s fine.”
