Page 45 of No More Billionaires

“Well then, y’all sleep tight and stay as long as you like. There’s some coffee and some cans of food out there that should do you. Come on up to the house in the morning if you want me to cook you breakfast, though I suspect you’ll sleep in a while after the day you’ve had.”

“It’s okay—no need to cook for us—we’ll just eat whatever we find there. Thank you so much. We really appreciate it. Good night,” I said as Larson ushered me out the door.

As soon as it shut behind us, I asked, “So how is it really?”

“It’s fine. Much less frou-frou than the house. The drive over there is no joy ride, though. We’ll have to go slow because of the ice.”

I stalled beside the frightening vehicle. “Do you even know how to drive this thing?”

Larson threw one leg over the wet seat and sat down, motioning for me to get on behind him.

“I keep a motorcycle at my family’s house in Italy—this is easier to operate. Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. Like I said, we’ll just take it slow. I started off too fast and slipped a little on the way over there. I had flashes of lying in a frozen field with a broken neck while Ruby stuffed you and made you the latest addition to her doll collection. Climb on.”

After a few more moments’ hesitation and a last glance at the House of Dolls, I straddled the wide ATV seat and scooted up behind Larson, thankful once again to be wearing pants, though they were soaked through at this point.

“Ruby’s harmless. But yeah, she might be atadcreepy if she wasn’t so nice.”

Larson started the vehicle, and my arms went around him as it lurched forward. He turned and spoke over his shoulder.

“Annie Wilkes in Misery was nice, too—at first.”

I slapped at his belly. “Stop it. You’re starting to freak me out.”

Larson laughed out loud, his rib cage contracting under my hands.

“I’m just kidding. But now that I think about it… this cabinispretty remoteandright on a lake. If we hear any strange noises tonight, will you go outside in your bra and panties with a steak knife to investigate?”

“Seriously—shut up—or I’m going back to spend the night with the scary dolls and attack dogs.”

SIXTEEN

No Rest for the Weary

I’d never been in a hunting cabin, but it was pretty much what I’d imagined—a tiny log house with a pointed tin roof.

Its shallow porch held two rocking chairs and a high stack of firewood. Inside, I was relieved to find the place a little dusty, but uncluttered.

Ruby must have been the hoarder of the pair. Fred was a minimalist.

The cabin was basically a one-room structure. It wasn’t quite warm yet, though a fire crackled in the woodstove, so I assumed we were getting there.

An ancient recliner sat near the stove. A sink and some kitchen cabinets lined one wall. In the center of the space there was a small table with four chairs.

Three jar candles glowed atop its linoleum surface. A low bookshelf held an old transistor radio, but there was no TV, no couch.

Just beyond the tiny kitchen was a sleeping loft, and underneath it, a door stood open to what I hoped was a bathroom.

Please God, let there be a working bathroom.

This was roughing it enough for me without having to use nature-potty.

“Home sweet home,” Larson quipped. He turned to me and laughed. “You should see your face.”

“No—it’s great—really. So much better than trying to sleep in the car or standing up against the wall at Burger Barn. Or cuddling up with Killer and Spike. I’m grateful.”

I walked over to the wood stove and held my hands out to its radiant warmth, shivering in my wet clothes. “You don’t think there are any mice in here, do you?”

“If there were, they’re on their way out now that we’re here. I’ll go check the bed.”

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