Devin spent the early part of Friday afternoon loading debris into his truck so that he wouldn’t miss Tiffany’s passage down to the B&B for knitting. He was white with plaster dust by the time he was done but he’d seen no sign of her. The tiny nails in the lath strips had caught his clothes and skin, tearing holes in the former and leaving him scratched and scraped. It stung, but it was also comforting in its familiarity. Demolition of plaster was a familiar part of renovating older homes.
He checked the trailhead before leaving for the dump, but there were no new footprints coming out of the woods.
On his way back from the dump, he pulled into the B&B, ostensibly for water and an energy bar, though he had both in his truck. He didn’t know how he’d speak to Tiffany in her circle of frien
