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I slept in. But then, it is my day off.”
    “I feel stupid now. I just assumed you’d be awake.”
    I sat up in bed and rubbed my face. “What’s up?”
    “This can wait.”
    “Tell me,” I said.
    “Did you hear any more from the cops about Sara?”
    “No, not really. I guess both you and I will have to appear in court sometime.”
    “Yeah, sounds like it.”
    “Sara’s husband phoned, though,” I said.
    “Aw, hell. I thought he might.”
    “He wanted to know if I saw any warning signs in Sara’s behaviour before she flipped out. He asked if Sara and I were having an affair.”
    “Were you?” Liz asked.
    “No!” I said. “She flirted with me, I guess. But I thought we were just friends. I still can’t believe she was the stalker.”
    “Before our divorce, I never would have believed my ex was capable of what he did.”
    Neither of us said anything for a moment.
    “You didn’t phone to ask about Sara, did you?” I said, finally.
    “Not really. But that can wait for another time.”
    “Come on.”
    She paused. “I wanted to talk about what happened in the cave on Bone Island Saturday night.”
    “You were scared. I understand. Forget it ever happened.”
    “I’m not sure I want to forget it,” she said.
    Now I paused, long enough that Liz asked, “You still there?”
    “I do make it a policy not to get involved with my employees,” I said. “Seems like a good rule, after this past weekend.”
    “I understand.” She sounded hurt.
    I got out of bed. “However, we could come up with a different arrangement. You could run your own catering and guiding business. I could hire your company to cook for my tours and help with guiding. That way, our companies would work together, not you and me personally. Strictly speaking, you wouldn’t be my employee.”
    Liz didn’t say anything at first. Through the phone, I heard what I thought were footsteps and then the slam of a truck door. Was she starting up her truck? I went to the kitchen in my T-shirt and jockey shorts to look out mywindow at her house. Sure enough, she was in her truck.
    “Funny you should mention that,” she said. “I’ve decided to start my own business. I quit. Now, are you interested in a contract with Liz’s Catering and Guiding Company? I’m good with a paddle, and I make a mean western omelette.” She did make the best western omelettes. Her secret ingredient was sausage, farmer’s sausage instead of ham.
    “I think we can come to some agreement,” I said.
    “Then Sunday was officially my last day,” she said.
    “I usually ask for two weeks’ notice before I let an employee quit. In your case, I could overlook that. If you deliver your letter of resignation in person .”
    There was another long pause. I watched her drive her truck into my yard, get out, and jog up my path. And there she was, framed in the window of the kitchen door, wearing that tight little pink tank top, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her cell phone was pressed to her ear. “I’ll be right there,” she said, and she closed her phone.

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    2010
    The Stalker by Gail Anderson-Dargatz
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