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under her breath. “They’re so easy.”
    “When they’re not being difficult,” Sheila added.
    As they climbed the two steps to the porch, Cate looked around. Mr. Layton still hadn’t returned. She didn’t want to charge an extra night to his credit card; since she had no other guest coming in until tomorrow, he wasn’t causing any problem by not checking out at eleven, but she was annoyed. What if he returned after she locked up for the night? She didn’t give keys to her guests, so either he’d have to wake her—and maybe the boys, as well as her mother—or he could damn well climb back in the window the way he’d climbed out. Except she’d closed the window and locked it, so that wasn’t possible. If he did disturb them after they’d gone to bed, she thought, she would definitely charge an extra night to his credit card. Besides, where else would he stay?
    “What’s wrong?” Sheila asked, noticing her expression.
    “A guest left this morning and hasn’t come back to check out.” She lowered her voice so the boys wouldn’t hear her and get ideas. “He climbed out the window.”
    “Running out on his bill?”
    “I have his credit card number, so he can’t. And he left his things here.”
    “That is weird. And he hasn’t called? Not that he could, since cell phones won’t work out here.”
    “There are telephones,” Cate said wearily. “And, no, he hasn’t called.”
    “If he hasn’t gotten in touch by tomorrow,” Sheila said as she followed the boys inside, “pack up his stuff and sell it on eBay.”
    Now, there was a thought, though she should probably give him more than one day to claim his belongings.
    Guests had made strange requests before, but this was the first one to walk off—well, drive off—and leave everything behind. She felt vaguely uneasy, and wondered if maybe she should alert the state police. What if he’d had an accident somewhere, driven off the road? But she didn’t know where he could possibly have gone, and even though there was only one way out, there was an intersection about twenty miles away and he could have gone in any direction. Moreover, he’d climbed out the window, as if he were sneaking out. His absence might be deliberate, and there might be nothing wrong with him at all.
    She had his telephone number on the form he’d filled out when he checked in. If he hadn’t returned by tomorrow, she’d call it. And when this was straightened out, she’d make it plain to him he wouldn’t be staying at her place again. The mysterious—or nutty—Mr. Layton was too much trouble.

 
3
    CATE GOT UP AT FIVE AM TO BEGIN PREPARATIONS FOR the day. The first thing she did was look out her side window into the parking area below, to see if Mr. Layton had returned during the night and was perhaps sleeping in his car, since she hadn’t been awakened by any pounding on the front door. The only vehicles there were her red Ford Explorer and her mother’s rental, which meant Mr. Layton was still a no-show. Where on earth was that blasted man? The least he could have done was to call and tell her…something: when he’d be back or, failing that, what to do with his stuff.
    She was so annoyed she decided she would pack up his things and charge him a second night’s stay for her trouble. It wasn’t as if she had a lot of free time on her hands today—or any other day, come to that.
    But first she had to start the coffee and get ready for the morning influx of customers. The big house was silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway, and though she had a lot to do, she treasured the peacefulness of these early hours when she was the only one awake and she could be alone. Only this early did she have the opportunity to think without the constant interruptions of children and customers; she could talk to herself if she wanted or listen to music while she worked. Sherry would arrive shortly before seven, and at almost
seven thirty
on the dot the