“Doesn’t sound like my guy.” I relaxed muscles I hadn’t realized had gone taut.
“Your guy? You’re looking for someone in particular?”
“Just someone who was friends with Mike.”
“Mike was friends with everyone. He was a good guy.”
I smiled and changed the subject. It was easy; we just talked about Julie.
Meeting this errant caretaker proved no problem at all. The next morning, as I was trying to fry my third egg over easy without turning the yolk into something like dried plaster, a knock drew me to the front of the cabin. Who in the hell could that be? I opened the door and stood face-to-face with Mike’s Artemis. A six-foot, good-looking guy in his mid-twenties stood with an expectant smile on his slender face. Slate-gray eyes crinkled with his grin; hair the color of pale smoke floate
