He pulled the dangling string, which turned on the overhead light, stopped by the cooling board, reached out and touched Pete’s face. Before he went out the door he turned, said, “You and that little gal are gonna pay. James Wilson Jones does not forget.”

“Then get on out while you got brains in your head to remember with.”

“I’m gonna get ice over here. It’s too warm for the body. I’ll get ice sent over.”

“That’ll be okay. Now go. And don’t you bring it. You get one of the fellas to bring it.”

Jones gave her a look she had seen before. Right before a beating he was going to give her. But this time it wasn’t going to happen. She felt strange. Good. Powerful. She had not felt this strong since she was a girl.

“Don’t think to come back here,” she said. “I’ll be listening for you. And I won’t say a word next time. I’ll just shoot. And I want you to know I hate you. I hate everything about you, and have for some time. And today I hate you more than ever.”

Jones went out and slammed the door.

Marilyn followed him out, yelled at him as he went down the steps and into the moonlight. “You leave that truck,” she said. “I’m gonna need that truck.”

He didn’t look back at her, just kept walking.

Marilyn went out to the truck, got the keys out of the ignition, brought them inside the house with her.

They had seldom locked their doors here in the camp, but now Marilyn used the house key hanging on a nail beside the door.

As soon as she locked it, she remembered he had a key, so she put a chair under the knob. Tomorrow she’d have to find the camp locksmith, get the locks changed. She bolted all the windows down, locked up the back screen door, pulled the solid door to and put a chair under its knob as well.